Chapter 318: A Tense Encounter

Duncan sidestepped him, ignoring the still-struggling Vincent on the floor, and walked straight up to Yan Chuan.
Yan Chuan didn’t know what he wanted to do, his lips pressed tightly and his brows furrowed.
What did this person want?
“I’m sorry,” Duncan’s apology came with sincerity; he casually holstered his gun and showed Yan Chuan his empty hands. “Did I scare you?”
Yan Chuan didn’t know what to say, so he merely shook his head.
He was a little afraid that this person might shoot again at the slightest provocation.
“Thank you…” Yan Chuan paused for a moment, then spoke softly to Duncan.
He didn’t know what would happen if Duncan hadn’t shot, and although Duncan had other reasons for shooting, this action had also protected him.
Yan Chuan lowered his eyelids, and his long, dark lashes trembled.
He looked so pale from being scared, yet still thanked him, making him seem both obedient and nervous.
Suddenly, a smile broke out on Duncan’s face, light and carefree.
“Protecting a lady is a gentleman’s duty.”
Yan Chuan felt uneasy hearing Duncan refer to him as a “lady,” spoken teasingly amid such dire circumstances.
But opening fire twice hardly matched the behavior of a gentleman.
Yan Chuan pressed his lips together.
The color drained from his lips, and his thick, curled lashes fluttered, revealing a sense of confusion on his delicate and handsome face.
The young Asian man with dark hair was shielded behind the tall clerk, his slender shoulders faintly trembling.
He was frightened.
He had just endured lewd comments from aggressive customers and watched as bullets struck down before him.
With his pretty, snow-white face turned away, he bit his lip, unable to bear the sight.
Vincent had shot through his right palm, blood pooling on the floor as he contorted and cursed on the carpet.
“Those treacherous Norton family!” Vincent spat angrily. “I shouldn’t have accepted your commission at all!”
Duncan glanced at him expressionlessly, momentarily lifting his gun.
The barrel still felt warm, smelling of gunpowder.
He didn’t say anything, but the rolling Vincent understood the warning in Duncan’s gaze and shut his mouth as if he had been choked.
“Drag him out,” Duncan said, lowering his gun and turning to his people.
The three men standing nearby nodded, “Yes.”
They were trained recruits brought by Duncan, quick and efficient, handling the situation smoothly. They found a piece of burlap and carried the unconscious prospector out, cleaning up the stained floor afterward.
Vincent wasn’t dead yet; Duncan still needed him to guide them, so he signaled for them to just set him aside.
“Find something to stop the bleeding,” Duncan remarked, glancing at his own wound with a calm tone. “Just don’t let him die; keep him alive to guide us.”
Then he turned to walk towards the police officer in the lobby.
The young officer appeared shocked by the series of unexpected events. What had started as a simple harassment case escalated into a murder case.
As a police officer, he had no way to contact his partners in this remote foggy mountain forest.
Yan Chuan glanced at the officer’s displayed badge, which bore a number and a photo, with the name “Brandon.”
Brandon pressed down his hat brim and took back the badge that had just been confiscated by the prospector. He displayed it to Duncan. “Sir, I think you need to come back to the police station with me…”
His expression was serious, reminiscent of his earlier attempt to stop Vincent from harassing the Asian shopkeeper, though he had been obstructed by the prospector.
Duncan, meanwhile, was calmly issuing instructions.
The young man with cerulean eyes had a detached attitude, his tone as cold as if submerged in frigid sea water, almost as though he were the owner of the little inn.
Duncan instructed his men to deal with the situation and told Yan Chuan that he would cover the cost of the furniture and carpet damage.
The real innkeeper stood beside them, pale-faced, revealing signs of hesitation.
Officer Brandon was processing the incident according to protocol.
Despite being unable to call for backup in this secluded foggy mountain forest, he still addressed Duncan, “Sir, do you have a gun permit? What’s your relationship with the deceased? We need to consult our superiors…”
The officer spoke earnestly, anxiously glancing at the remaining people in the lobby, trying to get them to cooperate, especially since there were still four or five prospector gang members present.
Yan Chuan, as the innkeeper, should have wanted the officer to handle the murder investigation. However, he also understood that script-driven circumstances would not be simple.
The title of the script was still “Night of Terror in the Hotel.”
“Uh-huh,” in response to Officer Brandon’s questioning, Duncan remained unfazed.
He merely forced a slight smile, barely a curve, and his gaze stayed icily calm.
“Sir, you need to cooperate with the officer…” Brandon continued, his expression stiffening.
His right hand was poised over his sidearm, wary of Duncan and his entourage.
Yan Chuan frowned.
In the script, perhaps a police officer could help solve the case and complete the task, but Brandon looked like just a rookie.
Did he really believe he could take Duncan and his accomplices away all by himself?
Listening to Brandon’s rehearsed lines, Yan Chuan’s frown deepened.
Duncan interrupted Brandon.
He gestured with an open palm, indicating the officer’s hand resting on his sidearm, and said coolly, “I don’t think touching weapons is a good idea.”