The Most Wanted Devil King

Lyon, France.

Interpol Headquarters.

Secretary-General Victor Wright rushed to Interrogation Room One. He had just been jolted awake from sleep with news he wouldn't have dared to dream of. "Are you sure? Number one on the Red Notice?He surrendered himself?"

"Yes!" his subordinate reported excitedly. "We've confirmed it multiple times. It's the number one fugitive, Marcus Cazal!"

The Red Notice was Interpol's highest-level global wanted list.

The number one spot was recognized as the world's most wanted criminal.

This Marcus was a former leader of a certain African country. Years ago, he was put on Interpol's wanted list for crimes against humanity. Despite countless efforts, they had failed to capture him. He had even openly mocked Interpol, calling them "a bunch of incompetent pigs."

And now he was walking right into their trap?

Thank God!

"But... he's acting strangely," his subordinate said hesitantly.

"If he were normal, would he turn himself in?" Victor sneered dismissively. "Now that he's inside headquarters, he's not getting away!"

"No, he keeps yelling for us to protect him!"

"What?"

Interrogation Room One.

Marcus was in a state of extreme terror. A young officer was interrogating him.

No matter what he was asked, Marcus only mumbled the same thing over and over.

That person is going to kill me.

I'm being hunted. I'm dead.

Victor shook his head. The young officer stood by the interrogation table, his eyes never leaving Marcus's face--that kind of stare didn't look like he was watching a suspect, more like watching prey.

Still too young.

This aggressive interrogation style wasn't suitable for this type of criminal guilty of crimes against humanity.

"How's it going?" Victor asked.

The others shook their heads.

A subordinate briefly explained the situation. Marcus had rushed into headquarters like a madman, constantly shouting that he was being hunted by a "ghost," that he was going to die, begging them to protect him. Even in the interrogation room at the prison, he showed extreme fear.

Some even thought he was faking insanity to escape legal punishment.

But that didn't make sense either--why would he turn himself in?

Over the past few years, Marcus had lived freely, protected by his enormous wealth and the backing of the American government. Even when Interpol members were around, no one dared touch him.

"Let me question him." Victor nodded to the young officer and took the interrogation seat.

Victor studied him carefully.

Every expression, every gesture, every detail revealed his inner panic.

If this were acting, the Oscars should give him the Best Actor award.

"Marcus Cazal. Former leader of a certain African country, you are now charged with committing massacres in your country..."

Victor was reading out his crimes.

Marcus cried out in terror, "Save me, lock me up! That ghost is after me."

"Ghost? What ghost?" Victor tapped on the table.

"You idiots don't even know about the ghost. Useless trash. Everyone he targets dies. You fools still call them accidents. Stupid, stupid." Marcus cursed furiously. If he weren't handcuffed, he might have lunged forward to strangle him.

Victor looked at the fragmented information his subordinates had compiled.

Finally, he understood the situation.

In international assassin circles, there had always been a legend about a ghost--omnipresent, and anyone he targeted would be plagued by nightmares until they died suddenly.

"Ghost, this is crazy. If such an assassin really existed, wouldn't Interpol know about it?" Victor scoffed, picking up his coffee and taking an elegant sip. "Whatever ghost it is, you're safe here..."

Just then, Victor's phone rang.

Unknown number?

Victor answered. A clear male voice came through. "Hello, Interpol Secretary-General Victor Wright!"

Victor was about to ask who it was.

Marcus heard the voice on the phone and was scared out of his wits. "It's the ghost, he's here, he's coming for me."

"Hmm?" Victor frowned.

"So you're this ghost?"

"They really have no creativity with nicknames. Even 'Grim Reaper' would sound better." The other party laughed casually.

"Stop playing games! I don't care who you are. The tyrant Marcus has been officially arrested by Interpol. We will detain him. You'd better not cause us trouble." Victor warned.

"Oh, sorry about that. Killing Marcus is my last job before retirement. I want a beautiful ending."

The conversation was heard by all the officers present. They looked at each other.

Someone immediately started tracing the call's origin.

"Are you challenging Interpol's authority? I advise you to behave yourself. No matter who you are, we can easily dig up all your information. Once you're on the Red Notice, you won't be able to move anywhere in the world." Victor replied coldly.

He heard a scornful laugh from the other end, full of contempt.

"Arrogance makes you shortsighted--"

The voice seemed to come from inside the room. He glanced around.

He noticed that the young officer from earlier had already put on a gas mask.

He found this odd.

"Sir!!"

The staff member who had been tracing the signal shouted nervously.

"Where?" Victor asked quietly.

"This ghost is inside headquarters!"

Victor's head snapped up, scanning everyone in the interrogation room. He was about to give an order--

Bang.

As soon as those words fell, several grenades exploded in the interrogation room.

A thick gas immediately filled the air.

Victor quickly covered his nose and mouth, but intense dizziness hit him immediately. "It's knockout gas."

By the time he realized it, it was too late.

Suddenly, he saw the young officer nearby, who had already put on a gas mask, walking toward Marcus.

Marcus screamed in terror.

"It's him, he's here, save me!"

"Kill him!"

Victor grabbed desperately at the young officer's collar. The officer turned around and slowly walked up to him.

Paralyzed by the gas, Victor's consciousness was rapidly fading.

He heard the ghost say:

"Not even Jesus can save him. I guarantee it."

That day, in the absolutely secure interrogation room at Interpol headquarters, the tyrant Marcus died on the spot; his death was gruesome.

That night, it rained in Lyon.

In the corridors of Interpol headquarters, everyone was repeating the same name.

The number one spot on the Red Notice had a new name--

"Ghost Godslayer"