Conan: Begins to collaborate with Miss Bayonetta and become famous

“Vermouth?” Bourbon asked in surprise.

After a brief moment of surprise, Bourbon looked at the walkie-talkie in Vermouth's hand, and the more he looked at it, the more familiar it seemed. He looked down at his waist and, sure enough, it was empty.

So all that was happening was that I was talking to myself in the air.

Vermouth's hand speed was so fast that she didn't even realize she was holding air, and she still maintained the same feeling as before.

Vermouth smiled and exchanged a knowing smile with Baijiu.

Baijiu nodded. "Vermouth."

Jäger didn't care about anything else and put his hand into his pocket without hesitation, only to find that the area around his pocket was still empty.

Vermouth swung the pistol in a beautiful arc and handed it to Baijiu.

Baijiu's hand wasn't even fully raised; he simply held his palm up, making an extremely natural gesture, as if accepting a glass of water.

The next second, the sleek black pistol that had been in Vermouth's hand was now firmly in his palm.

The metal casing still carried the cool temperature of Vermouth's fingertips and a faint scent of perfume.

The entire process was smooth and seamless, without the slightest delay, as if the handover had been rehearsed countless times.

Bourbon on the other side reacted almost the instant Baijiu received the shot.

His left hand moved with lightning speed to the right sleeve of his suit jacket—where there was a very well-hidden magnetic holster, one of his usual hiding places for his gun.

However, the touch from my fingertips was empty; all I felt was the smoothness of the expensive fabric.

His pupils contracted almost imperceptibly, and then his right hand quickly swept over several spare spots, including his left ribs and lower back, only to find them all empty.

He paused, then, with a mixture of absurdity, frustration, and utter surrender, slowly turned half his body to the side, casting his gaze upon Vermouth, who was leaning against the wall, watching the scene with an air of nonchalance.

A crack appeared in the usual impeccable mask on his face; the corner of his mouth twitched slightly, eventually transforming into an extremely helpless, even self-deprecating, indifferent expression.

He said nothing, but looked at Vermouth quietly with those eyes that seemed to see right through people, questioning her silently.

This move left even the liquor company speechless.

"When did you take it?" Baijiu asked incredulously.

"After two months of secluded cultivation, you should have made some progress, right?" Vermouth said calmly. "What I want to do is very simple. Do you know what it is?"

"Timing." Baijiu nodded and smiled.

“Gentlemen.” Vermouth smiled slightly, raising an eyebrow at the two men.

Baijiu naturally stepped forward, and the situation instantly reversed. The two men stared at each other with a chilling aura, like two lions preparing to hunt their prey.

"Please back up slowly," Baijiu said politely.

Baijiu's finger remained pressed against the trigger, the muzzle pointed at Bourbon's heart, his face showing no trace of favoritism, only the indifference of a stranger.

Bourbon raised his hands and retreated continuously under the aim of the gun.

The two were gradually forced into a small room.

Vermouth turned around and pulled up the red curtain behind her to ensure everything was in perfect order in case of a fierce battle, without alerting the enemy.

"I'm addressing the issue, not the person," Baijiu said, looking at Bourbon.

He then raised the butt of his rifle high and slammed it down heavily on Bourbon's forehead.

The liquor started moving.

Without warning, without gathering strength, and without even changing that calm and composed expression.

It was as if his raising of his arm and waving of the black pistol he had just received was simply a natural extension following the action of taking the gun.

But the speed was so fast that it disrupted the visual continuity.

The gun drew a short, sharp black arc in the dim light, not for aiming, but for a pure, efficient blunt weapon strike.

The target was the area above and to the side of Bourbon's temple—one of the thinnest and most vulnerable areas of the skull.

"boom!"

A dull, teeth-grinding thud.

It wasn't a gunshot; it was the violent kiss between the sturdy metal stock and the human skeleton and muscles.

All the expressions on Bourbon's face—the lingering helplessness, the renewed sharpness—froze completely in that instant, then were crushed by the immense impact.

Before his purplish-gray pupils could even register shock or pain, they instantly lost focus.

His body felt as if all the bones had been removed. Following the direction from which the gun butt had struck, he slumped softly to the side, crashing into the metal storage shelf next to him with an even louder thud, before sliding to the ground and remaining motionless.

The entire process, from Baijiu raising his hand to Bourbon falling to the ground, took no more than 0.5 seconds.

Jäger's roar had barely reached his throat when he didn't even see how Bourbon fell; he only caught a glimpse of the black afterimage moving from one target toward himself.

His massive body instinctively jerked backward, his thick arms rising to try and block—a combat reflex honed through countless battles.

But the actions of baijiu (Chinese liquor) are like those of a supercomputer with precise calculations.

The butt of the gun, swung towards Bourbon, struck the target without hesitation. Using the recoil, it pulled back smoothly, and the wrist rotated at an incredible angle. Instead of using the butt, the harder edge of the grip was used to strike from below, precisely and ruthlessly at the junction of Bourbon's jaw and earlobe from a blind spot where Jäger's arm could block!

"Crack!" A fainter, but more chilling, sound of bone cracking.

Jaeger's parrying motion froze in mid-air, his eyes bulging out suddenly. All his roar and power were abruptly blocked by this attack, turning into a short "ho" in his throat.

His massive body swayed, and the old scar on his face contorted with pain and disbelief.

Before he could even collapse, Baijiu took half a step forward, his other free hand forming a knife-like shape, and swiftly struck the carotid artery on his side.

The fierce glint in Jäger's eyes vanished completely, like a light bulb that had been turned off.

His knees buckled, and like a felled giant tree, he crashed down, landing directly on Bo, who was not yet completely unconscious. The two of them lay on top of each other, completely silent.

From the moment the liquor was thrown up to the moment the two people fell to the ground, the entire process took no more than two seconds.

“Your hair has gotten a bit long.” Vermouth twirled a strand of hair with her finger.

"I didn't have time to get a haircut." Baijiu hugged Vermouth tightly. "Anyway, I miss you."

"I'm really touched that you came." Baijiu's smiling expression suddenly turned icy: "But you shouldn't have come here."

Vermouth's expression immediately fell: "I had no choice."