Chapter 116: A Belated Arrival

Gunshots echoed relentlessly through the grand hall.

Pepper Potts was on the verge of panic. She whispered urgently to Tony Stark, who was hiding beside her, “Why are the police attacking civilians?”

Tony, grimacing in pain, rolled his eyes and explained, “Those aren’t police.”

Just moments ago, he had been shot in the waist trying to protect Pepper. Blood was pouring uncontrollably. Tony felt utterly defeated, convinced his life was over.

If the Mark armor didn’t arrive soon, he feared his legacy would be torn apart.

From a short distance came a barrage of gunfire, interspersed with abrupt screams. The scar-faced man’s arrogant laughter resounded through the hall. “Tony Stark, come out and meet your death!”

Tony’s expression flickered with uncertainty. Who was targeting him?

There were hundreds, if not thousands, eager to end his life. He couldn’t pinpoint who this was.

Behind Tony and Pepper, there was no way out. Running toward the elevator meant immediately exposing themselves to enemy fire. Dozens had already fallen in that direction. Now, only the two of them remained.

Seeing one person after another collapse before him, unable to save them, Tony felt a deep, gnawing guilt.

The flaws of the Mark armor were once again painfully clear.

Portable defense and combat power were inadequate; the non-portable versions required calling them in. What he desperately wanted was a powerful suit he could don anywhere, anytime.

The enemy was closing in step by step, and Tony felt utterly powerless.

“Hey, let’s talk this out...” Tony tried to negotiate.

The only response was a gunshot, and the slow, ominous footsteps echoed through the hall like the approach of Death itself.

“Oh my god...” Pepper trembled violently, the looming threat of death nearly breaking her spirit. She never imagined attending a charity event would end like this. She felt guilty—it was she who had persuaded Tony to attend tonight.

Tony grabbed a shield from somewhere—a serving tray lid from when the food was brought out, too small to even cover his face—but he held it up in vain.

The footsteps stopped.

A man clad in a blood-splattered police uniform, looking like a butcher, with a gruesome scar slicing across his face, sneered at the two cowering behind the counter.

The scar-faced man laughed heartily, pointing a gun at Tony. “Tony Stark, how pathetic. You never thought this day would come, did you? Not even knowing whose hands you’d die in. The famous Iron Man...”

Bang!

Suddenly, an orange energy shield exploded into existence.

A four-and-a-half-meter-radius barrier instantly expanded, enveloping Tony and Pepper. The scar-faced man was blasted backwards by the shield, crashing with a heavy thud at the far end of the hall.

Seeing the familiar orange shield, Tony’s eyes narrowed, then he breathed a sigh of relief. At the same time, a searing pain washed over him, cold sweat breaking out—he had lost too much blood beneath him.

Luke’s figure did not immediately appear, but he had clearly been here moments before.

The scar-faced man scrambled up quickly, glancing around with suspicion. Except for the peculiar orange shield, he saw no one else.

“Is this Stark’s technology?” The scar-faced man began to speak but suddenly clutched his chest in pain, his eyes bulging as something struck him forcefully in the upper body, sending him flying backward.

Crash!

He landed, smashing a large array of tables and chairs, adding chaos to the already chaotic hall.

Filled with shock and fury, the scar-faced man bit his teeth savagely, his face darkening as he wildly fired bullets into the air—bang, bang, bang!—but to no avail.

In the next moment, the gun was ripped from his grasp with great force, vanishing in an instant.

Luke finally appeared before him.

The scar-faced man tried to react, but before he could, a flash of motion—a brick hurled by Luke—struck him squarely, and without a word, the man collapsed utterly.

At that moment, a rushing sound tore through the air outside the hall. The glass doors of the hotel lobby shattered explosively. The Mark VI armor had finally arrived, albeit belatedly.

The armor flew to Tony’s side, attempting to pass through the psychic shield, but with a loud clang, it was repelled and thrown aside, crashing to the ground before rising again.

Tony crouched low, peeking cautiously over the bar to assess the situation. The scar-faced man lay motionless, apparently subdued by Luke.

Only then did Tony clutch his side and step out with Pepper.

The Mark VI came late. Less than three minutes had passed, which was actually quite fast.

Fortunately, Tony didn’t think it was too late. He immediately stepped into the already open armor.

The suit’s panels closed in a magnificent flourish, the system booting up before him. J.A.R.V.I.S.’ familiar British-accented voice sounded in his ear: “Detecting injuries, commencing treatment, sir.”

Fully armored, Tony felt reborn. He approached Luke.

Glancing at the scar-faced man lying on the floor, then out the window, Iron Man asked, “What about the others outside? How did you get in?”

Luke shifted his gaze away from the scar-faced man, gave Tony a dismissive glance, and replied coolly, “I took care of them. This was the last one.”

Iron Man was silent for a moment. Then he looked down at the scar-faced man. “Who is this guy? I don’t know him. Why does he want me dead? Were these attacks directed at me?”

Luke was too indifferent to explain.

He crouched down, wearing a disgusted and repulsed expression, and began rummaging inside the scar-faced man’s mouth.

“Huh? Nothing?”

He peered inside curiously, failing to find the poison tablets that the others had in their mouths. Luke withdrew his hand, wiped it on Iron Man’s armor, and frowned in thought.

Luke’s strange behavior puzzled Tony deeply.

“What are you looking for?” Tony asked, crouching beside him. He extended his hand, a soft white light glowing in his palm as he scanned the man’s face, but found nothing.

After a moment of contemplation, Luke said, “Wake him up. I have questions for him.”

Tony hesitated briefly, then placed his hand on the scar-faced man’s chest, releasing an electric shock. The man twitched violently as if electrocuted, then slowly regained consciousness.

When the scar-faced man opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the arc reactor embedded in Iron Man’s palm glowing ominously, aimed at his face. Luke stood nearby, his expression grim.

Startled, the scar-faced man realized he had been captured alive.

“State your identity,” Luke demanded. He figured it was better to let the man reveal the name himself.

The man had risked exposure to come after Luke, which only fueled Luke’s growing anger.

The scar-faced man suddenly laughed hysterically, as if mad.

Then his expression twisted into something ferocious as he looked at Luke and Tony in turn, his voice harsh: “Cut off one head, two more shall grow! Ha ha ha... uh ah.”

Then, abruptly, his head slumped to one side. He was dead.

Luke frowned in confusion. How did he die? It seemed these traffickers had anticipated being caught alive and had prepared multiple fail-safes for death. What a bunch of idiots.