Shortly after Andrew and his group left, a black Mercedes slowly pulled up to the alley entrance and stopped.

The driver glanced inside and immediately showed an expression of utter disbelief. "Mr. Byrne, Ezra and the others… They…"

He trembled for a long moment, unable to get the words out.

Marcelo sat in the back seat, his spine straight, saying nothing. After a long silence, he coldly ordered, "Drive!"

The driver was sweating profusely. "But all our men are dead. Who the hell did this? Are we just going to let this slide?"

Marcelo replied indifferently, "It doesn't matter who did it. In the end, they'll all have to die! I underestimated Andrew, that's for sure!"

The driver kept swallowing hard, thinking this was not just a case of underestimating Andrew.

Ezra was a genuine martial king. He was fierce and battle-hardened, and he was not someone ordinary martial artists could handle.

Yet now, he was just lying there on the ground, his corpse probably stone cold by now