CHAPTER 1462: CHAPTER 1443: PERPLEXED, CONFUSED, FEARFUL.

The faces of the Black Demon’s group looked ashen, beaten.

Twenty years ago, when everything he knew turned to dust overnight, Pavlovich lived alone in the suburbs of Minsk without a car because he didn’t want to step outside, without a TV nor listening to the radio because he didn’t want to know anything about the outside world. This world was already bad enough, so why let himself get angrier by hearing more bad news?

The Soviet Union was gone, the KGB was gone, the Black Demon was gone. In a ridiculous way, none of this mattered. What mattered was that for Pavlovich, the meaning of his existence was gone too.

Ten years ago, when an arms dealer approached him offering a sum ten thousand times higher than his retirement pension to do work for them, Pavlovich felt nothing but disdain.

When did an arms dealer become confident enough to think they could get the Black Demon to work for them? This was Pavlovich’s only thought.

However, when that arms dealer promised he could reunite with his old brothers, and it was at a time when his brothers were planning to come out of retirement, Pavlovich didn’t hesitate. No, he didn’t even think before agreeing to work for an arms dealer.

Pavlovich was very poor, he had no money, but he didn’t need money. The only reason he agreed to come out of retirement was to be with his old brothers again, a reason so powerful he couldn’t think, and didn’t need to think.

After more than ten years of retirement, he hadn’t touched guns, but never truly fired one, never seen blood, never even met with old brothers face-to-face. Despite this, Pavlovich insisted that no one in the world could beat him, nor his team, his former team, the best team in the world, the most feared team.

Facts proved Pavlovich correct, the times changed, but the Black Demon didn’t. They were still that Black Demon, that bloodthirsty and cold-blooded Black Demon, the invincible Black Demon.

Politicians, businessmen, anyone at all—as long as the arms dealer pointed them out, the rest was left to the Black Demon. They did many things for that arms dealer, and Pavlovich felt he was reborn during the process.

After working for the arms dealer for a few years, when there were no more opponents, the Black Demon was once again idled. But this time, Pavlovich’s heart was no longer full of anger because he knew that even as times changed and both the Black Demon and he aged, the Black Demon was still the Black Demon, and he was still that fearsome him.

Pavlovich never used a phone, but he kept one at home, kept on twenty-four hours a day, never out of credit. The only purpose of this phone was to receive calls from the arms dealer.

The Black Demon never actively contacted teammates; it was that way back then, and it still is. Even retired, even after the KGB was gone, even with a longing to meet old comrades, even with their phone numbers, Pavlovich wouldn’t actively call them.

The Black Demon would only gather during battle, that was the way it was originally, and still is. Moreover, Black Demon members were mutual comrades in arms, but not friends, so there’s no reason for them to call each other like other old men would, just to catch up.

Four years had passed, four years without receiving any notification, without any chance to meet old comrades. Pavlovich thought the arms dealer wouldn’t call him again, but then he received another call, so he came again, although this time it wasn’t the call from the familiar arms dealer.

Pavlovich came, although this task was different from before, yet he completed the mission extremely well. Then things changed.

Pavlovich knew he was a stubborn person, now an old stubborn man. But stubbornness stems from pride; he was actually proud to an extreme.

Pavlovich was a commander of the Black Demon, a squad commander, not the chief commander, yet this identity was enough for him to be proud for a lifetime.

But now, Pavlovich felt the invisible yet exceedingly solid dam in his heart was being cracked by the impact of wave after wave, seemingly on the verge of collapse, swaying though not yet broken.

Bewilderment, confusion, fear.

Already changed tactics five times, failed six times, Pavlovich still couldn’t understand why their enemy, the mercenary group named Satan, could eliminate them time and again.

No matter what he did, they faced fierce retaliation. In the first encounter, Pavlovich thought he had been careless, so he began to take his enemy seriously, but what followed was one after another total annihilation, defeats with no chance to retaliate.

It was clearly just a mercenary group, a group he wouldn’t even give a second glance at, yet...

But why could a mercenary group repeatedly annihilate his commanded Black Demon? Has the Black Demon lost the ability to confront a mercenary group head-on?

Pavlovich didn’t dare think about it further, although the thought kept surfacing again and again. After shaking his head vigorously, he spoke in a deep voice, "Change tactics, we’re all splitting up! Split up entirely, fight individually, mind the timing. They absolutely cannot defend. As long as one person, just one person can enter their core area, we can win this battle!"

Completely abandon the advantage of team combat, fight entirely as individuals. The risk was great; even if they won, the victory would be bittersweet, very few would survive. But Pavlovich couldn’t care less now; he needed victory, not total victory.

Pavlovich firmly believed in the superb individual abilities of the Black Demon members. Even fighting individually, they could take down that mercenary group, but ten minutes later, his hope was shattered again.

This battle lasted ten minutes, longer than any previous one, and they "killed" two opponents, yet although the opponents died, the Black Demon still lost, lost undeniably, and helplessly.

Being shot would cause smoke to be emitted, but the smoke had already dissipated, so being shot meant the gun in hand wouldn’t fire, but the body wouldn’t emit smoke anymore.

Pavlovich stood stunned at the street corner. He was very close to the enemy, yet still got suppressed by superior firepower, then shot and killed from behind.

How could they always gather superior forces, and across every battle line? Now the Black Demon had divided into twelve independent lines, how could they still achieve this?

The dam in Pavlovich’s heart collapsed completely. He lifted his head, took a deep breath, then shouted, "I admit defeat, come out!" (To be continued. If you like this work, feel free to go to Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendations and monthly votes. Your support is my greatest motivation. Mobile users please visit m.qidian.com to read.)