Two fashionable, good-looking girls suddenly passed by his car.
"Qianqian! It's so lively! Didn't I tell you? It's really nice to go abroad and have fun once in a while. If you always stay cooped up at home, I'm afraid you'll get depressed..."
"Mmm."
"..."
The two beautiful women were speaking Mandarin, and York was stunned. He looked at the two who were clearly Chinese, then chuckled.
He couldn't go back. When he arrived in this parallel world, he had tried calling his old number, and his parents' cell phone numbers, but all were out of service. This meant there was no trace of his previous life in this world.
Thinking of this, York shook his head, picked up his bag, and got out of the car.
At that moment, the sound of the car door closing made the two passing girls subconsciously look over.
Seeing this, York gave them a gentle smile and walked towards the building in front of him.
This left Chang Manman and Su Qian, who were visiting New York for the first time, utterly confused.
"Uh, Qianqian, that foreigner is so handsome. Why do I feel like he was smiling at you? Do you think he might have a tiny crush on you?"
"Don't talk nonsense! That was just a polite smile."
"Oh, my Qianqian is shy! Her face is all red!"
"Chang Manman!!! I'm going to tear your mouth off!!"
"Hehe!!! Come on!!!"
"..."
The sounds of laughter gradually faded, and York had already entered the building.
From the outside, this building looked like a clothing store that also made clothes. If someone came in to buy, it really was a clothing store. But York knew there was more to this clothing store than met the eye.
Because his guns and bullets were all custom-made here, and even the divine robes, which were bulletproof and cut-resistant, were custom-made here.
Walking in, York ignored the greetings of the staff and headed straight for the bar inside.
Behind the bar stood a calm, lean man in a black suit.
Ward Martin, the owner of this building, was also a gunsmith and an expert in bulletproof vests. He was an old acquaintance of York.
"Reverend Father, is there anything I can help you with?" Ward Martin's voice was steady and hoarse.
York calmly placed his bag on the bar and unzipped it.
"Ward, help me deal with these things."
Ward Martin glanced at the contents of the backpack, seeing the dazzling array of gold ornaments and valuable watches, then tilted his head slightly.
"Reverend Father, have you been on a killing spree?"
York's mouth twitched, "You call me Reverend Father, what do you think?"
Hearing this, Ward Martin also smiled, and without further questions, he took the backpack from the bar.
"Reverend Father, please follow me."
With that, Ward Martin carried the backpack and walked towards a small door inside.
York nodded and followed him.
When the small door opened, and the two walked through a passage, a very large space appeared in York's vision.
Rack after rack was filled with various brand-new firearms, rack after rack hung with brand-new bulletproof suits of various colors, and rack after rack was filled with various special bullets.
These racks were all against the walls, while in the center was a complete set of sofas, seats, a bar, and so on, similar to a reception area.
The overall layout gave a sense of technological advancement.
Every time York came here, he would compare his own basement warehouse with this place, and each time he would feel uncomfortable.
Compared to this place, his basement warehouse was just trash!
"Reverend Father, please sit!"
Ward Martin smiled, watching York who was looking around. "I'll give you the list after I've finished counting."
York waved his hand and, instead of sitting on the sofa, walked towards the racks filled with firearms and picked up a submachine gun-like weapon.
Under the illumination of the white walls and lights, these firearms were like a poison, enticing men's desire to buy.
Ward Martin nodded, allowing York to play with his firearms, and then left.
"Czech CZ Scorpion submachine gun, Scorpion submachine gun third generation, magazine capacity 30 rounds, effective range 250 meters..."
"M4 Super 90 shotgun, twelve-gauge, seven-round capacity, rate of fire: 3.62 rounds/second..."
York expertly clicked it a few times, put it back in its place, and then, unable to part with it, picked up another gun.
"TTI Sig Sauer MPX carbine, with Trijicon Mro scope and TLR-8 laser designator, extended base plate for a capacity of 41 rounds..."
"If consecrated and enchanted, these 41 rounds should instantly tear Bathsheba, that evil spirit, to shreds."
Using Bathsheba as a new unit of measurement, York indeed had the thought of buying it, but remembering his basement warehouse at home, York reluctantly put the carbine back in its place.
There was no help for it; his basement warehouse at home still had too many firearms. Originally, these guns in the warehouse were meant as tools for exorcism, but conventional exorcism methods were sufficient for him.
"No place to use them..."
York felt a sense of regret. He had been thinking, ever since he arrived in this parallel world, about the day he would powerfully exorcise a demon or something else with a shotgun in his left hand and a rocket launcher in his right.
Unfortunately, he hadn't encountered one yet.
Of course, York always felt that such a day would come, and he had been waiting for it, believing that all his efforts and practice would not be in vain.
With this thought, York picked up a few more guns to play with. Just then, Ward Martin finished counting the loot in the backpack. He came out of the back room with a list.
"Reverend Father, everything has been counted. Here is the list of items."
York glanced at him, casually put the Remington Model 12 double-barrel shotgun he was holding back in its place, and took the list from Ward Martin's hand.
On the list, the names of the items were listed with serial numbers, along with their prices.
There were well over a hundred items, and York felt dizzy just looking at them. He simply looked at the total on the last page.
"After deducting a ten percent handling fee, you will receive one million seven hundred thirty thousand US dollars. Reverend Father, how do you feel about this price?"
"It's alright." York folded the list and put it in his pocket.
"Transfer it to my account."
Ward Martin smiled and bowed respectfully.
"Yes, Reverend Father."
York turned to leave, but after only a few steps, Ward Martin's voice echoed behind him.
"Reverend Father, have you heard the news that John has returned?"
"John?" York stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the quietly standing Ward Martin.
Ward Martin nodded and spoke a name.
"John Wick! The Grizzly Gang is looking for him."
York's eyebrows raised slightly, and he instantly thought of the man who used to come to his church frequently to pray and confess for a period of time.
And even before that, the man had brought his wife, but in the end, it was just him and a dog.
"I don't know." York responded indifferently, turning his head back and continuing to walk.
"What does that have to do with me? I'm just a Reverend Father."
Ward Martin watched the gradually receding broad back and offered his reminder.
"Reverend Father, everyone has heard that you helped John overcome the grief of his deceased wife, so I hope you can make some preparations."
A calm voice rang out, clear and resonant.
"Let them come."