The senior now had his hands free and came to help subdue the man in the shirt, seizing his walkie-talkie while gripping his neck.
Holding the walkie-talkie, the senior ordered him to call off the operation.
With his throat constricted, the man in the shirt managed to gasp, "It's too late, they've already moved."
Startled, I listened carefully outside. Indeed, shouts and the clang of fighting filled the air. I chopped the back of the man in the shirt's neck, knocking him unconscious, and quickly rushed out with the senior.
The two individuals we had subdued struggled to get up. The senior delivered a kick to each of them, sending them back to the ground.
We emerged from the jungle to find the scene in chaos. Fortunately, the VIP and the leader had already departed. The fighting was confined to our security guards and men in black.
I scanned the surroundings. The opposing force clearly had the advantage; most of the fallen were our men.
The ones capable of engaging them were Da Kui and a few others, along with the Daoist brothers. Our ordinary security guards were no match for them.
Young Master Wu's men had returned with him to Old Myanmar. I had few fighters on my side, and today Kang Gong was added to our ranks. We were not only unlikely to win, but escape itself would be difficult.
I saw the two Daoist brothers who were disguised as our men. Their skills were undeniable, but continuing to fight like this would surely expose them. A fake was still a fake. Their mission was to draw them out, not to fight them. I tugged on the senior's sleeve and said, "Let's help those two disengage and lure some of them away."
The senior understood. We pushed through the chaotic crowd and approached the Daoist brothers.
I spotted Wen Siqiang first and told him to get a car ready to rendezvous.
Five or six men surrounded them. It seemed they truly mistook them for us, putting considerable effort into dealing with them, aiming to capture them.
The senior bent down, picked up a rattan vine over two meters long, and whipped it fiercely at the black-clad men attacking the Daoist brothers. Caught off guard by the surprise attack from behind, two of them were struck on the back, one stumbling precariously.
The senior didn't relent, delivering several more swift strikes, sending two more men sprawling.
Seizing the opportunity, I ran to the Daoist brothers and whispered, "Get in the car quickly and get out of here!"
They nodded. Taking advantage of the moment the senior swung his vine, they dodged the charging enemies and retreated while fighting.
Wen Siqiang had already started the car and driven it to their front. They scrambled into the seats, and the car shot out like an arrow from a bow, weaving left and right through the gaps in the crowd, escaping the scene.
The attackers reacted instantly, and two black sedans immediately gave chase, pursuing Wen Siqiang and his companions.
Watching them disappear, the senior swung his vine at a man in black and shouted to me, "You take the left flank, I'll handle this side. Remember, strike hard. Take them down first to neutralize them."
I understood the senior's intention. The disparity in strength between us and the opponents was too great; we needed to weaken their fighting force as quickly as possible.
Da Kui would cover the center, the senior the right, and I the left, to divide the opponents.
I picked up a discarded stick from the ground and quickly charged at a group of men in black who were ganging up on some of our security guards.
I yelled, "Watch out!" A few men stopped their actions and turned to look at me. I brought the stick down hard on the head of one of them. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed without a sound.
I didn't stop. I immediately struck the right-hand man in the black clothes with another blow. He winced in pain, glaring at me. I delivered another hit to ensure he rested.
The others finally understood. They abandoned the security guards they were beating and formed a semi-circle to surround me.
Gripping the stick, I calculated how to deal with them. There were four of them. If they attacked simultaneously, I would be no match and would be beaten to the ground.
As they closed in, I used the stick like a javelin, thrusting it at a man to my left, then performed a flying tackle and kicked the man to my right in the waist, followed by a punch to the face of the man in the center.
They hadn't expected me to move so fast. Three of them were hit at once. Before they could recover, I drove my knee forcefully into the chest of the man in the center. He stumbled back several steps in pain, looking at me in fear, and stopped advancing.
The remaining one lunged at me, a gleaming short blade in his hand, aimed at my chest. I was busy with the others and couldn't dodge in time. I kicked him squarely in the groin. He cried out and dropped his knife, but I took a blow from a club, my vision went black, and I almost fell to the ground.
This blow came from the man I had poked with the stick earlier. I had dropped the stick after poking him, and he had picked it up and struck me on the head.
Seeing me hit, they quickly surrounded me, and their gleaming short blades danced around me.
Their weapons were all lethal; being cut would mean death or severe injury. With three of them against me, a direct confrontation would surely put me at a disadvantage.
I struggled to stand upright, watching them advance, my mind racing to find a way to break their formation.
These men gave me no time to think. The one with the club was already swinging it at me.
A club is a long weapon; dodging it is futile, and the more I dodged, the more likely I was to be hit. I decided to ignore the other two and charged directly at the man with the club.
He hadn't expected me to lunge at him, losing his striking radius. The club lost its force, and he was actually forced back a few steps.
The other two didn't let up and were already close. I grabbed the man with the club and pulled him towards me. With a yelp, he used him to block a knife strike.
The injured man looked at me in pain, mumbled something, and then collapsed to the ground.
The attacker stood stunned, unable to comprehend how his companion had fallen when he had clearly struck me. I delivered a swift kick to his groin, and he knelt to the ground. I abandoned him and quickly turned to deal with the other opponent.
It wasn't that I resorted to such low blows deliberately. When aiming for a decisive blow, this was the only way to achieve the goal, and it never failed.
The other man, seeing the sudden shift in the situation, was somewhat bewildered but didn't forget about me. He quickly approached me with his weapon.
Perhaps sensing my tactics, he became more cautious, no longer facing me head-on but jumping to my left and lunging with his knife.
As he shifted position, I bent down and picked up the discarded club. It was too late to swing it, so I charged directly at his body with it.
His knife was less than ten centimeters from me. A fraction of a second more, and I might have bled out on the battlefield.
His waist was pressed against the stick, and his knife-wielding hand gestured, trying to reach me. I twisted my hand, rotating the stick ninety degrees in his flesh. He lost his strength, dropped the knife, and I pulled the club back and raised it high, striking him down.
Holding the club, I prepared to support the senior when suddenly my vision went dark, my mind went blank, and then I knew nothing more.