This black man is Fields Chalkley. Unlike most native-born African Americans, he is actually African.
When he was twelve, he saved the life of the former leader of a poaching organization by killing a leopard that was about to attack him.
Impressed by the boy's strength and ruthlessness, the former leader brought Fields to the United States and raised him alongside his own son. A few years ago, the former leader retired and handed the organization over to his son. Fields, his godson, ranked second in command and was unrivaled within the group.
Fields arrived in the U.S. at twelve years old. He had no interest in academics or culture; his focus was solely on fighting.
By the age of fifteen, he was competing in underground black boxing matches in New York. At twenty, on his first mission, he killed three forest rangers in Africa. Now at thirty, his body is at its physical peak, his experience is unparalleled, and he is ruthless and merciless.
Though usually reckless, Fields knows how to gauge his limits.
His intellect isn't sharp, so he has no grand ambitions beyond money, women, blood, and wine. Power doesn't interest him. The organization values him because the leader trusts a fighter of his caliber implicitly.
Even his subordinates address Fields as "big brother." That's why he's notoriously wild here—he can't remember the last time someone dared to speak to him like that.
But that doesn't mean he won't teach Jiang Hai a lesson if he crosses the line.
In Fields' eyes, Jiang Hai's head should be flattened with a punch. Luckily, he still has enough control not to strike the temple—just the face. If someone died, he'd have to go into hiding abroad for eight to ten years. An injury, however, isn't a problem.
At that moment, Jiang Hai was frozen, clearly terrified. Fields thought the yellow-skinned man was far too timid—reminding him of the opossums on the grasslands, just as cowardly.
Just as Fields' fist was inches from Jiang Hai's face, a large hand suddenly grabbed it—big as a casserole dish.
Surprised, Fields looked up. The hand belonged to Jiang Hai. Even more shocking was that his fist could not move forward an inch.
"You really don't want to live," Jiang Hai said coldly, chuckling as he looked at the captured fist.
His voice barely faded before he kicked Fields in the lower abdomen.
Fields flew backward like a car crash, knocking over dozens of cages. Fortunately, they were small cages, well-built, and the animals inside did not escape.
But the whole room erupted with animal screams.
The guards outside heard the commotion and rushed in immediately.
"Do it." Jiang Hai wasn't going to show mercy now that the fight had started. Spotting the first man rushing in, he saw Fields lying motionless. Without hesitation, Jiang Hai raised his gun.
The guards had military backgrounds, armed with automatic rifles.
Though only older M16 models, the bullets were deadly. The difference between the first and latest generation is significant, but the first still kills.
Before the guards could fire, Bell drew his gun. Without aiming, he fired three rapid bursts, and the man dropped instantly, eyes wide in shock. Blood seeped from three wounds in his chest.
More guards rushed in.
But the door was narrow, and Jiang Hai and Azarina took their positions, guns drawn, ready to block anyone from entering.
Patton was about to move when Connorson charged forward.
A massive fist crashed into Patton's face, sending him spinning four or five times before he hit the ground hard.
Philemon, crouched quietly in a corner, knew better than to engage. He understood that Jiang Hai, the woman, Fields, and Bell were not opponents he could handle. His only job was to protect himself.
The warehouse was solidly built; no one else could get inside. At the door stood three defenders, including Jiang Hai. Even with pistols, they were untouchable. The intruders could only fire at the door, but none of their shots hit Jiang Hai.
Unfortunately, the animals near the door bore the brunt. Trapped in cages, they suffered terrible casualties as bullets tore through their enclosures.
Blood pooled beneath many animals, driving the survivors into a frenzy.
Still, the standoff continued.
As Jiang Hai reloaded, he glanced at Philemon.
"Call the police."
Philemon immediately pulled out his phone and dialed. More than a dozen men were outside. Jiang Hai wasn't about to confront them head-on—not knowing if reinforcements awaited.
The call connected quickly. After hearing the gunfire, the police did not hesitate. Once given the address, they immediately mobilized.
This was a shooting incident involving a wealthy Winthrop resident. They had to tread carefully to avoid complications.
What they didn't realize was that provoking Jiang Hai would bring far bigger problems.
Once police confirmation was received, Jiang Hai called Moses Adams.
Someone was going to die today. Though the death would be the other side's fault and Jiang Hai's actions were self-defense, having a lawyer was a wise precaution.
Hearing the gunfire, Moses Adams knew Jiang Hai was in trouble again.
They drove from Boston to the town swiftly. The warehouse, while remote, was still on the town's outskirts. The police arrived promptly.
Hearing the sirens, the men outside panicked. Rushing in now would be suicidal.
They couldn't take hostages with police surrounding the area—it was clear they were trapped.
As they debated surrender or escape, the police broke down the warehouse door.
Before the poachers could react, several were knocked down by police, staring in disbelief at their fallen comrades.
The men realized that resistance was futile. Their crime—selling wild animals—carried only a three-to-five-year prison sentence. They preferred surrender over fighting for those years.
One by one, they gave up.
When the police announced that the outside group was controlled, Jiang Hai and his team finally exhaled.
Jiang Hai smacked his lips. He had hoped to buy some wild animals, but most were dead or injured. The survivors were probably destined for zoos. He was no longer going to be associated with these criminals.
The big cats—black panthers, leopards, tigers, lions—were either dead or badly hurt.
Turning around, Jiang Hai noticed the cages holding a crocodile and a green anaconda nearby were riddled with bullet holes.
The anaconda had three gunshot wounds but still writhed stubbornly.
The saltwater crocodile was less fortunate—shot twice, it lay motionless.
"It depends on your luck," Jiang Hai murmured. He had grown fond of these two animals.
Before the police arrived, Jiang Hai directed a stream of spiritual energy into their bodies. At that moment, the two creatures absorbed it, stirring faintly.
The police burst in moments later. Jiang Hai and his friends cooperated, tossing their guns aside and crouching with heads down.
Though he hated losing face, Jiang Hai knew better than to risk being shot by a nervous officer.
Back at the station with lawyer Moses Adams, Jiang Hai regained some of his usual arrogance.
But for now, facing down the muzzle of a gun, caution was necessary.
The police first secured Jiang Hai and his team, then checked on the injured Patton and the man Jiang Hai had kicked, calling for an ambulance.
After confiscating their weapons, they took everyone to the station.