Chapter 760: Nickolai’s Suspicion
Nickolai didn’t even glance at the corpse. He holstered his pistol with a smooth, practiced motion, his gaze snapping to
like a predator locking onto its next target.
"And you," he said, his voice a blade wrapped in velvet, "who the fuck are you?" His finger hovered over the grip of his pistol, his eyes narrowing as he took
in—every detail, every breath, every lie he sensed clinging to
like a second skin.
"Because I dug. And you know what I found?" His lips curled into a snarl, his voice dropping into sothing darker, sothing deadlier.
"There is no Victor. Your face is in the system, sure—your fingerprints, your voice, your movents—but your identity?" He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, his voice a low, threatening rumble. "It doesn’t exist."
Nickolai’s hand twitched, his pistol already half-drawn, the cold tal glinting under the dim light. His voice was a blade wrapped in velvet, each word dripping with lethal intent. "So tell , Viper—or whatever the hell your real na is—who sent you? Who do you really work for?" His eyes burned into mine, searching for cracks, for lies, for any sign of weakness. The air between us was thick with tension, the kind that precedes violence—inevitable violence.
Natalya didn’t let him finish.
She moved between us, her body a shield, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Dad," she said, her tone leaving no room for argunt, "he’s Jack."
Nickolai’s gaze snapped to her, his expression darkening. "So why are you protecting him?" he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "He’s been lying. Betraying us. Playing us like fools."
Natalya shook her head, her voice steady, unshaken. "Because he’s my man."
That was all it took.
Sothing primal flickered in Nickolai’s eyes—rage, possessiveness, the instinct of a father who had spent a lifeti controlling everything around him. But before he could react, I stepped forward, pulling Natalya behind . My gaze locked onto Nickolai’s, unflinching, unapologetic.
"Hello, Mr. Nickolai," I said, my voice calm but carrying the weight of a promise. "My na is Jack Reynolds." I didn’t break eye contact.
"I know approaching Natalya like this doesn’t seem good. But I had no other choice." My voice dropped, darker, raw.
"I fell in love with her the mont I saw her. And trust —I had no intention of hurting her. Only protecting her." I paused, letting the words sink in. "And now? She’s my woman."
Nickolai’s expression twisted, his fingers tightening around the grip of his pistol. "What if I don’t agree?" he snarled, his voice a warning.
I didn’t hesitate. "Nothing can make
leave Natalya," I said, my voice final. "If you don’t like it..." My eyes darkened, my tone turning cold. "Then I’ll take her away from here."
For a mont, the world seed to stop.
Then—Nickolai laughed.
It was a deep, rumbling sound, filled with sothing between amusent and respect. "Kid," he said, shaking his head, "this is the first ti soone has challenged
like this." His grin was sharp, predatory. "Good. Good."
He leaned back slightly, his gaze sweeping over
like he was sizing up prey. "Okay," he said, his voice dropping into sothing deadly. "I’ll give you a chance." His eyes flicked to the n standing in the shadows of the hall, their postures rigid, their hands resting on their weapons.
"I know you’re a good fighter. So prove it." His voice turned cold, final. "If you can beat my n—all of them—and prove you’re worthy of my daughter..." He shrugged, but his eyes were lethal. "Then I have no objection. But if you fail?" His smile didn’t reach his eyes. "You’ll be buried here."
Natalya stepped forward, her voice sharp with alarm. "Dad—!"
But Nickolai had already made a gesture with his hand.
The doors at the far end of the hall swung open, and fifty n filed in, their boots thudding against the marble floor. Each one was built like a tank, their faces scarred, their eyes cold. Professional killers. Elite fighters. The kind of n who didn’t just fight—they ended people.
Natalya moved between us again, her voice urgent. "Dad, this isn’t good," she said, her eyes flicking between
and the army of n now surrounding us. "Your n will be dead. It’ll be difficult to find their replacents."
Nickolai chuckled, clearly shocked by his daughter’s confidence in . "You have that much confidence in him?" he asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
Natalya didn’t flinch. "He’s the man I’ve chosen," she said, her voice steady. "He can beat all of them..." She smirked, her eyes gleaming with sothing dangerous. "With just a snap of his fingers."
Nickolai’s amusent faded, replaced by sothing colder. "Don’t worry," he said, his voice a low growl. "I’ll ask my n not to beat him to death." His gaze locked onto , challenging.
"And I’d like to see how he can beat fifty of the world’s top fighters..." His smirk was mocking. "With a snap of his fingers."
If this man wasn’t Natalya’s father, I would’ve killed him already.
But he was.
And it looked like I needed to show him what I was capable of.
Natalya and Nickolai stepped to the side, taking their seats on the elevated platform like spectators at an execution. Nickolai’s eyes glead with anticipation, his fingers tapping impatiently against the armrest. "Begin," he said, his voice a command.
Nickolai’s fifty n fanned out in a loose semicircle, their postures rigid, their eyes locked onto
like wolves sizing up prey. Each of them was a killer—hardened, trained, their bodies marked with scars from countless battles.
Their knuckles cracked, their muscles coiled, ready to strike at Nickolai’s command. The clink of tal against tal echoed as they drew knives, brass knuckles, and batons, their grins sharp with the anticipation of bloodshed.
Nickolai leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his gaze never leaving mine. "Go on, then," he said, his voice a dark purr, "show
what you’ve got, Viper." His smirk was a challenge, a dare, the kind of expression a man wears when he’s already decided you’re dead.
Natalya, seated beside him, bit her lip, her fingers gripping the armrest of her chair. She knew what I could do—but she’d never seen it like this. Not in front of her father. Not in a room full of n who existed to kill.
I didn’t move.
I just stood there, my hands loose at my sides, my expression unreadable. The n charged.
The first wave ca at
like a storm—fists flying, blades flashing, their shouts filling the air. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even breathe harder.
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