The lobby manager who followed behind looked terrified upon hearing my words.

He quickly stepped forward to explain, but was grabbed by the change and pulled aside.

I looked at the crowd in the lobby, who hadn't moved, grabbed a shotgun, and fired two shots into the air.

As a result, the large chandelier in the main hall was knocked down, and the huge crystal chandelier shattered on the floor.

That's when everyone realized I wasn't just talking; I really meant it. People started frantically running out of the hotel.

I started shouting too: "How's it going? Is there anyone who can actually say anything? Does such a big hotel not have a single person with the guts?"

Just then, a seemingly refined scoundrel came down from upstairs. He was blond and wore a sharp gray suit.

Wearing gold-rimmed glasses, without a tie, and with a handkerchief tucked into his jacket pocket, he strode forward.

Before he could speak, he pulled out a handkerchief, covered his mouth, and coughed. Then he folded the handkerchief and put it back in his shirt pocket.

But before he could speak, I slapped him across the face, making his mouth bleed profusely.

Then I gestured and said, "This time there's something on the wipe; there was nothing before."

He instinctively reached into his pocket, but managed to resist the urge.

With blood still trickling from the corner of his mouth, he said to me, "Hello, I'm the general manager of this hotel, my name is Will. What can I do for you?"

After he finished speaking, he extended his hand to shake mine, which I did. Then I said, "Your hotel owes me twenty million. I'm here to collect the money. I'll leave immediately once I get it. Otherwise, I'm tired of saying these harsh words and don't want to repeat myself."

He, however, said to me without batting an eye, "Our hotel has not received any information regarding outstanding payments, so we absolutely cannot give you this money, and I do not have the authority to allocate such a large amount of funds."

After he finished speaking, he shrugged his shoulders.

After hearing that, I closed my eyes and calmed myself down for a while. Then, holding his hand, I just exploded.

I squeezed his hand so hard he knelt down, then roared, my voice shifting from calm to urgency: "If you can't make the decision, what are you doing standing up? Are you looking for death?"

I had already squeezed him until he was sweating profusely and couldn't say a word, then I twisted his arm slightly and broke it completely.

Then I kicked him away. I didn't want to waste any more words, so I just called people to start smashing the store.

The police didn't move; only my own men started to act, but they only smashed a few times...

Then another bunch of spoiled brats appeared. I looked at these endless streams of scoundrels, like nesting dolls on either side.

Instead of ordering them to stop, he drew his gun and fired a shot at them. These people were all second-generation superhumans.

They were all protected by secret treasures and weren't injured by the shotgun shells, but they were all startled.

My habit is to immediately fire a shot at the person leading the conversation, and while firing, I also move a little closer.

In the end, a shotgun was pressed against his head, and just as I was about to fire, a shout came from afar: "Spare his life!"

As he spoke, he launched an attack on me, but Old Huang intervened, shouting, "Sword One, One Sword Opens the Dust, Sword Moves Like a Dragon and Snake!"

The person who flew here will fly back just as fast.

But as he flew, he kept shouting, "We'll pay you back! Fifty million! We'll pay fifty million!"

When I heard the amount, my eyes lit up. I quickly put down my gun, helped the spoiled brat up from the ground, and brushed the dust off his clothes.