Chapter 19: The Infernal Field of Carnage

When Yang Fan arrived at Midnight Bar, he chose a seat where he could oversee the entire venue. Qian Furong, meanwhile, sat in his office, observing the bar through the security cameras, curiosity stirring within him—how could Yang Fan manage the place alone?

Tonight, the bar welcomed more guests than usual, though it still fell short of its former lively bustle. Some patrons were friends of Qian Furong, there to support his business. The bar's DJ princess was a sultry woman, her revealing attire and ample curves drawing attention. As the DJ's music filled the hall, the crowd swayed to the rhythm, strobe lights flashing overhead.

Yang Fan sat quietly, his gaze vigilant, watching everything unfold. At that moment, a group of teenagers entered, seventeen or eighteen years old, their hair dyed in garish colors, a few sporting oversized ear piercings. There were seven in all. Led by a blond-haired youth, they settled at a bar table.

"Welcome! What would you like to drink?" A young waitress approached them with a pleasant smile.

"Hey, this chick's pretty cute," the blond youth remarked, his eyes lighting up. "Come sit with us, let's take our time deciding what to order." As he spoke, he reached out to grab her wrist.

The waitress resisted internally, but didn’t outright refuse. She found a seat nearby, knowing her job required a certain tolerance.

"Here are the drink packages. Please take a look and choose one," she said, maintaining her smile.

"Wow, miss, your skin is so smooth. What cosmetics do you use?" The blond youth caressed her hand, his tone teasing.

"Ha, Fengzi, you’ve got moves," one of his companions laughed.

"No wonder he's our Fengzi—already cozying up to a girl," another chimed in.

The blond youth, called Fengzi, was evidently their leader. He basked in his friends' flattery.

"Let’s hurry and order," the waitress urged, uncomfortable with their advances. Had it not been for her job, she would have snapped.

"Why rush? Let’s discuss our dreams first," Fengzi said, pulling her into an embrace, his hand reaching for her chest.

Seeing this, the waitress broke free, cursed him as a pervert, and fled.

"Damn, acting all high and mighty. Isn’t she out here selling herself at night?" Fengzi grumbled, annoyed at her escape. He had come to stir trouble and wasn’t about to let it go.

"Waitress! Get over here!" he shouted arrogantly.

A male waiter hurried over. "Is there anything I can help with?" he asked with a smile.

"Get me a female server! I can’t stand looking at a dude," Fengzi snapped.

The male waiter hesitated, troubled. Despite his anger, he dared not protest.

"You heard him. Our brother Feng wants a lady to serve him. Get moving!"

"Yeah, hurry up! Our brother Feng only likes female service."

"Are you deaf? Move it!"

The rest joined in, their manner brash and domineering. They were here to cause trouble, confident in their backing.

"Sorry, gentlemen, our female servers are busy at the moment," the male waiter replied, forcing a smile.

"Fuck you," Fengzi cursed, grabbing an ashtray from the bar and smashing it onto the waiter’s head.

The attack was so sudden, the waiter couldn’t dodge. Blood gushed from the wound.

"Damn, you talk too much," another youth spat, kicking the waiter twice. The others piled on, beating him.

Witnessing this, the bar patrons retreated, afraid to intervene.

Fengzi, eyes fierce, lunged with the ashtray, intent on further assault.

Suddenly, a gust swept through—the blond youth was kicked hard in the abdomen, sending him flying.

Bang!

He crashed into a table, overturning it, his body wracked with pain.

The onlookers gasped, stunned by the force.

Struggling to his feet, Fengzi glared at Yang Fan. "Do you know who my boss is? Touch me, and you're dead!"

Yang Fan’s answer was a resounding slap.

Reeling from the blow, Fengzi spun in place, nearly fainting from the pain.

The other six rushed in to attack Yang Fan, but they were no match for him. Before they could even touch him, he had knocked them all to the floor.

In less than a minute, all seven lay groaning.

"Call your boss and have him come here. I’ll wait," Yang Fan said coldly, staring at Fengzi.

Stunned, Fengzi nonetheless pulled out his phone and called his boss.

When his boss learned his men had been beaten, he arrived swiftly, bringing over thirty men, each wielding a machete.

The customers turned pale with fright.

"Boss, it’s him," Fengzi pointed at Yang Fan, his face twisted with hate.

"Damn, you dare touch my men? You must have a death wish," Black Brother snarled at Yang Fan. "Get him! Hack him to death!"

At his command, thirty men charged at Yang Fan, machetes raised.

Yang Fan’s energy surged, a fierce aura emanating from him, his eyes cold.

The first attacker was seized, his machete snatched, and he was kicked away.

Facing dozens, Yang Fan showed no fear; his eyes gleamed with bloodlust.

He charged, machete in hand, moving with lightning speed. With each strike, an arm flew, blood spraying.

None could approach him.

The bar erupted in a brutal bloodbath, screams echoing throughout. The battle ended in less than three minutes.

All thirty men lay on the ground, each missing an arm, blood soaking the floor. The carnage was chilling.

The scene resembled a hellish slaughterhouse, sending shivers through all who witnessed it.

Yang Fan stood like a demon incarnate, his killing aura inspiring terror.

Qian Furong watched the monitor from his office, his face pale from the bloody spectacle.

He never imagined Yang Fan would be so formidable—facing thirty men alone, without a scratch.