Chapter 18: Chaos in Chicago (4) The Terror Legend

The first to fall victim was a burly man closest to "Han Solo." He abruptly let out a sudden yawn, inexplicably so, and the hand gripping his gun began to tremble slightly. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, but his eyelids felt as heavy as if filled with lead.

"Damn... feeling... off..." he muttered, his voice growing fainter until with a thud, his head struck the cold, muddy ground.

This seemed like a signal.

The effect of the drug spread like a secret tide, silently creeping into everyone's nostrils and throat.

One after another, some raised their guns to aim but found their bodies growing weaker, their weapons slipping to the ground as they lacked the strength even to bend down and retrieve them; others tried to stand and charge or dodge, only to have their legs give out and collapse.

Gunfire thinned out, weak and intermittent, until it fell completely silent.

Only then did "Han Solo" leisurely step out from the shadows.

The battlefield, moments ago alive with the clamor of gunfire, was now strewn with fallen strongmen in disarray.

Some lay on their backs, mouths agape, snoring thunderously; others curled up on the cold ground like helpless infants.

Seeing the clear "effectiveness," a slogan — no, an introduction — automatically sprang to "Han Solo’s" mind:

"Our Mesmerizing Spirit is made from dozens of authentic poisonous herbs, distilled with over 99% pure alcohol for forty-nine hours. It’s colorless, tasteless, naturally volatile, and incapacitates without a trace."

"No refrigeration or preservatives needed; besides causing intense unconsciousness and a few days of weakness upon awakening, it also helps relieve mental stress..."

Thus, "Han Solo," hands behind his back, strolled among the slumbering weaklings, gathering their scattered weapons and ammunition into his spatial backpack.

"Once you wake up, just disperse quickly; don't go damaging the flowers and plants," he muttered.

After collecting all the arms, he nimbly jumped onto a truck from the smuggling convoy, where neatly stacked crates of Canadian-labeled whiskey awaited.

"Han Solo" nodded with satisfaction, then eyed the newly modified trucks before hopping down, heading to the driver’s cabin to drag out the driver, who was sound asleep.

With a wave of his hand, he took both the liquor and vehicles into his spatial backpack.

Repeating this ritual across the smuggling convoy, "Han Solo" gathered all the spoils, then with a flick of his sleeve, departed quietly, just as quietly as he had arrived, leaving not a single cloud behind.

...

This was not "Han Solo’s" only act of stealthy plunder.

On another night, near the desolate shores of Lake Michigan close to Chicago, he watched as a heavily laden, suspicious old barge slowly emerged like a ghost from the dense night fog, approaching the shore where a convoy awaited.

Then, faster speedboats with a brazen air chased after the barge; meanwhile, a group onshore charged diagonally forward.

"Han Solo" had no idea how many factions were involved, but after a brief "exchange," the familiar, blood-pressure-raising gunfire erupted.

In an instant, the lakeside exploded into chaos: those on the boats firing at each other, those on shore doing the same.

"Han Solo" wore a face full of irritation—"Who am I? Where am I? What the hell have I done to deserve this?"

He could tolerate the lack of scruples; fine, he’d be magnanimous.

He could accept their recklessness and foolishness; okay, he’d just pretend to be blind.

But making such a ruckus — wasn’t anyone afraid of attracting the water police?

Once the water police showed up, no one would be playing anymore.

The combination of recklessness and stupidity made "Han Solo" feel his blood vessels might rupture from sheer frustration.

Following his standard procedure of drugging, incapacitating, confiscating weapons and liquor, everything flowed so smoothly the night breeze seemed to dance in delight.

After several rounds, this routine almost became second nature to him — regulating the market according to Raymond’s "client list," with only one instance where no third party interfered.

In "Han Solo’s" spatial backpack, besides the extra whiskey worth millions, there were over a hundred guns, countless rounds of ammunition, a dozen well-maintained vehicles, and a well-kept speedboat...

Most of these were spoils dropped by the third-party factions.

"Han Solo" had no idea how deep a shadow this left over Chicago’s gangs.

Friends, do you know how terrifying this is?

A perfectly typical turf war suddenly halted as everyone dropped unconscious; upon waking, they found their weapons gone, the liquor and vehicles vanished without a trace...

Whether the robbers or the robbed, all exchanged bewildered glances before fleeing the "trouble zone" terrified out of their wits.

Angry gang leaders wanted to investigate the mastermind behind it all, but to no avail.

Their men had been knocked out before even seeing the "black hand;" they couldn’t explain what had happened.

Attempts to trace the liquor’s whereabouts failed as not a single clue remained at the scene.

Simply put, it was inexplicably terrifying.

Thus, after the first "all mysteriously knocked out in the turf war" incident, rumors began to ferment in Chicago’s underworld—

Near Chicago, there seemed to lurk an indescribable "Alcohol-Devouring Monster."

Some said it had countless tentacles that snatched bottles; others claimed it was incorporeal, like a ghost, sucking dry both the finest liquor and souls wherever it went.

After the silent conclusion of the Lake Michigan skirmish, the rumors grew more sinister.

"A whole bunch of people just dropped! Not a drop of booze left, and they slept so deeply they couldn’t be awakened, like their souls were drained..."

Some participants swore the "Alcohol-Devouring Monster" was a water beast; one even claimed to have seen wet tentacles dragging a speedboat underwater, like it found a new toy...

When the entire Canadian smuggling team was silently taken down, suffering huge losses, the legend turned downright chilling!

From the outskirts to Lake Michigan, the "Alcohol-Devouring Monster" was everywhere.

Liquor was its nourishment, living souls its food, and powerful modern weapons its playthings!

Panic quietly spread.

"Why didn’t it appear before? I heard a spirit medium say it was awakened by the fire that destroyed the old distillery..."

"No no no, I heard it’s not a monster, but the vengeful ghosts of drunkards who died unjustly at the lake bottom, so it drifts around Chicago, gathering wherever the scent of alcohol is strong..."

"Right right right, only hiding in crowded urban areas can you avoid being caught..."

For a while, even gang leaders who didn’t believe the terrifying legends couldn’t find anyone willing to smuggle liquor.

Haven’t you noticed? Those who faced the monster came back as the church’s most devout believers.

They must have endured unspeakable terror.

Helpless, many gang heads secretly asked church priests if holy water could banish the "Alcohol-Devouring Monster."

The priest: ?

...