There were a few red and yellow hot air balloons floating in the sky, and there were some symbols and words on them.
Garon looked up from the corner of the street, but he couldn't see much. The sun was too bright, and the balloons were too far away. They were too dazzling for his eyes.
He was wearing an ordinary long-sleeved white T-shirt and dark black jeans. His muscular body and golden tassel-like hair attracted the curious gazes of the black children around him.
Some of the old streets had white traffic lines drawn horizontally and vertically. A few dirty cars slowly drove past, and the ground was covered with a faint black color of yellow dust. Under the scorching heat of the sun, waves of heat rose from the ground.
Not far away, there were old buildings. The surface of the buildings had an old yellow tint, and some places were obviously damaged.
Kawula. This was not a bustling city in Africa, nor was it a famous tourist city. It was just a very ordinary and unremarkable small city.
A group of black women carrying fruit baskets walked past the entrance of a small shop by the street. They were wearing bright yellow dresses unique to the area, and wore bone bracelets that jingled as they chatted and laughed.
Garon couldn't understand their language at all, but that wasn't important. He looked at the sun in the sky. He had just gotten off the train, and it should be around midnight.
Kenna and the Men in Black organization should be near this city. Similarly, the representatives of the other cultural relic organizations had joined forces with Vincent and a mercenary group called Black Blade to invite the local representative of the Primary Colors, who had a good relationship with the Nighthawks. They hoped that the two parties could mediate in this city.
The mediation could be real, but it could also be fake. This was actually a chance to test the hidden power behind the Nighthawks.
Garon came as promised. The members of the Nighthawks were completely hidden, but he never had the habit of hiding. No matter what he did, he would do it openly and directly crush his opponents. Hiding? That was the method of the weak. For someone like him who had enough power, he would only choose to hide when he encountered a possible threat.
Strolling along the sidewalk, Garon put on his black sunglasses, and his gaze swept past the advertising banners and signs on the roadside.
Nigger boys were hawking him cigarettes, lighters, and the like.
"Five dollars! Five dollars! "They shouted in fluent American English. Perhaps that was the only sentence they knew.
Garon looked at the other people in front and behind him. As long as they were black, no one would try to sell to them. Only those who looked like foreigners would encounter the same situation as him.
He was not familiar with this city, nor did he like it. There were wild animals everywhere. Stray dogs and cats scurried through the streets from time to time. Some people had snakes coiled around their shoulders, and colorful birds stood on the ground.
Garon even saw a golden spotted leopard sitting in a limousine passing by.
It was too hot here. Most people were either wearing short sleeves and shorts, a tank top, or a thin, almost transparent dress.
Walking along the street, Garon soon stopped in front of a bar. The bar had a curved signboard with a strange green human head painted on it. Red colored lights were flashing on the side of the signboard in broad daylight.
The entrance was completely deserted, and almost no one could be seen coming in or out. Only a little guy came out from the side door with a basin of water and poured it into the sewer.
Garon stood at the entrance of the bar and waited for a while. He saw two black men in white shirts coming out. The two of them nodded politely at him and opened the door of the bar.
It was pitch black inside, and nothing could be seen. It was like a bottomless black hole.
Garon glanced at the two of them, and saw that they were smiling, revealing their white teeth.
"Boss, someone is waiting for you inside," one of the black men whispered in American English.
Garon smiled and strode into the bar. The door behind him was quickly closed. The bar was completely dark. The windows and doors were covered with black cloth, but it was very cool inside.
Boom!!
All of a sudden, the entire bar burst into an incomparable light. The white lights lit up in an instant, and the surroundings were lit up instantly.
"Welcome, welcome, dear Captain Nighthawk." An old man wearing a cowboy hat and large sunglasses came out. He was dressed in cowboy attire, and looked like a cowboy from the American Western movies.
The old man walked out and pointed to the left. There was a group of people sitting there, and they all looked muscular. Tattoos could be seen on their arms and necks. Some of them had their heads down and were trimming their nails with a small knife, and some of them were crossing their legs and hugging the black woman next to them.
There was one thing in common about this group of people, and that was that they all had a small black knife tattooed on their bodies.
"Black Knife's people," the old cowboy introduced with a smile. "That's Vincent and the Octagonal Pot's people over there." He pointed to the group of people sitting on the other side of the black man.
This group of people looked like they had all kinds of personas. There were company employees, aunties selling vegetables, bakery owners, lawyers, and nouveau riche. There were all kinds of people. They were different from Black Knife's people. They were more restrained, and not very casual.
However, no matter which side they were from, Garon could feel that both sides were carefully sizing him up.
"Octagonal Pot? Are you referring to the eight largest cultural relic groups in Europe? "He asked.
"Of course, it's that Octagonal Pot," the old man did not explain in detail which side this group of people was from.
"I've never seen how mediation works, so I'm here today to see how the process works," Garon said honestly with his hands open.
"Since everyone is here, you're giving this old man and Primary Colors face. Leader Nighthawk, why don't you be straightforward and point it out clearly," the old man said with a smile.
Garon had used secret techniques to distort his facial features as soon as he arrived in South Africa, so these people could not find out anything about him at all. At most, they could only eliminate his identity through other channels, but they did not know what kind of power he represented.
"Clearly? Didn't I just walk over in the open? What else do you want clearly? "Garon tilted his head and asked.
"We don't have any big conflicts with your group," the representative of Vincent stood up and said. "It's just that your group wanted to expel us as soon as we got involved, so as the weaker party, we had no choice but to work together to resist."
"Is the Stone Clock of Fortune in your hands?" Garon did not answer him, but asked directly.
"Of course."
"Very good." Garon nodded, "My request for mediation is very simple, hand over the Stone Clock of Fortune, and the Nighthawk Group will take eighty percent of the treasures and secrets obtained. I can let this matter rest. "
Whoosh …
As soon as he said that, everyone present could not sit still anymore.
"Eighty? Hehe, that depends on whether you have the life to take it … "the people from Black Sword suddenly laughed coldly.
A strong black leader stood up, acrobatically playing with a sharp knife in his hand.
"First, the people who broke the rules will be punished."
"Hehe, I heard that the sniping field of the Nighthawk Group is invincible in the African battlefield, I wonder if you can show it to me?" He walked in front of Garon, his height was actually slightly taller than Garon.
"Sniping field?" Garon knew that the Nighthawk Group had their own special tactic, which was to form an encirclement with long-range sniping techniques. The snipers in this encirclement could protect each other and snipe the opponents around them. At the same time, they could monitor the entire area to a certain extent, achieving a powerful sniping technique that had no blind spots.
Outside the bar, there were street performers playing drums faintly passing by, the rhythmic drumming could be heard clearly, accompanied by the strange singing of men.
Garon looked around, everyone's eyes were focused on him, as if waiting for him to change his decision, or to watch a good show.
Black Sword and the Nighthawks had always been top mercenary groups that did not get along. Black Sword was deeply rooted in South Africa, but their first place was taken away by the Nighthawks, so they were definitely unhappy. With the Nighthawks injured, they would definitely make a move on such a good opportunity.
Originally, they were waiting for Garon to show his trump card, but they did not expect him to not follow the steps at all. If that was the case, then there was nothing to worry about.
Garon glanced at the people from Black Sword, some of them had already started to touch their guns, some of them had unknowingly sharp knives in their hands, staring at him with a mocking expression.
"Before that, I have a question that I need all of you to answer." Garon suddenly spoke.
"What question?"
"Are all the people who surrounded the Nighthawks last time here?" Garon's lips suddenly curled into a smile.
Psst!!
In an instant, a bloody hole appeared in the forehead of one of the black men present, and he fell to the ground.
"Enemy attack 1!!"
The Black Sword leader's arm suddenly went for Garon's neck.
Bang bang!!
Two consecutive gunshots rang out, and his arm seemed to have sensed something as it paused in the air, just in time to avoid the two bullets that came from behind Garon.
The black leader did a backflip, and two silver pistols appeared in his hands, continuously shooting at Garon.
This time, there were no more bullets to snipe him.
"Our people have discovered the Nighthawks! Take him as a hostage!! "The Black Sword leader roared loudly.
The bar was in a mess, and everyone was looking for cover. The sofa, the bar counter, the tables and chairs were all used as cover.
Everyone was like a bug whose nest had exploded, and ran away without a trace.
With a crash, a stray bullet hit the crystal chandelier, and the light went out instantly.
Garon walked in the bar uninterestedly. These people were just normal people, and he was extremely bored. At the same time, he only agreed to meet them after they took the initiative to gather together.
Under the influence of the Primary Colors, the other party obviously thought that they would not really attack, but unexpectedly, he really did.
The old cowboy from the Primary Colors skillfully rolled behind the bar counter, and did not make a sound. He was a smart person, and knew that since the other party did not intend to give face to the Primary Colors, then the first thing he had to do was to protect himself.
Bang bang bang!!
Subtle and sharp gunshots rang out continuously in the bar.
Garon strolled in the bar, as if he did not care about being hit by stray bullets at all. He sat on a chair that was still intact, and poured himself a glass of clear white wine. He did not care what kind of wine bottle it was, and just smelled it, and took a sip.
The gunshots soon became shorter and quieter, and it was obvious that the Nighthawks were being suppressed.
One of the Black Sword people suddenly rolled out of the sofa, and raised his hand.
Bang!!
A gunshot rang out.
Garon tilted his head slightly, and the bullet broke a brown wine bottle on the wine cabinet behind him. Wine and glass shards flew everywhere.
When one of the glass shards flew past Garon, he flicked it lightly, and at a speed that no one could see clearly, the glass shards changed direction, and accurately pierced between the black man's brows.
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