The three guards converged on in perfect synchronization, a well-rehearsed attack pattern that might have troubled an ordinary opponent. Unfortunately for them, I was anything but ordinary.
I pivoted slightly, my movents economical as I caught the first attacker's wrist. A simple twist—just enough pressure applied to the right point—and I felt bones grind beneath my grip. He scread, dropping to his knees.
The second guard swung a heavy fist toward my temple. I ducked under it effortlessly, my free hand driving into his solar plexus. The impact lifted him off his feet before he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath that wouldn't co.
The third man hesitated, eyes widening as he processed how quickly his companions had fallen. His mont of indecision cost him. I stepped forward and swept his legs from under him, sending him crashing onto the marble floor with enough force to knock him unconscious.
Three trained fighters dispatched in less than ten seconds. I straightened my jacket and turned back to Blaze Lane, whose face had drained of all color.
"Is that all?" I asked calmly, the wooden box still tucked securely under my arm.
Asher Lane's jaw literally dropped. "Father," he stamred, "he's—"
"Silence!" Blaze snapped, though his voice lacked its previous confidence. His gaze shifted to Ortega, who hadn't moved yet. "What are you waiting for?"
Ortega assessed with newly cautious eyes. Unlike the guards, he seed to recognize the level of skill I'd just displayed wasn't sothing to charge blindly against. Smart man.
"Mr. Lane," he said carefully, "perhaps we should—"
"I don't pay you to think," Blaze hissed. "I pay you to handle problems. Handle this one!"
The enforcer's face hardened. He rolled his shoulders back and began circling slowly.
"Your employer seems determined to see you humiliated," I noted conversationally.
A muscle in Ortega's jaw twitched. "Nothing personal," he said, and lunged.
He was faster than the others—much faster. His first strike nearly grazed my chin as I leaned back. A second punch followed imdiately, forcing to sidestep. This was no amateur. Ortega moved with the practiced precision of soone who'd broken bones for a living for many years.
But I could see every move before he made it.
I parried his third strike, redirecting his montum past . As he tried to recover, I delivered a single palm strike to his sternum—not enough to cause permanent damage, but sufficient to make my point. He stumbled back, wheezing.
"Stay down," I advised.
Please read this chapter on its original platform—*.
Pride got the better of him. Ortega charged again, this ti pulling a blade from his sleeve. The steel flashed as he slashed at my midsection.
I caught his wrist mid-swing, applying just enough pressure to make his fingers spasm open. The knife clattered to the floor. Before he could react, I twisted his arm behind his back and forced him face-first onto a nearby table.
"I said," I repeated softly, "stay down."
This ti, wisely, he didn't get up when I released him.
The room had gone completely silent. Blaze Lane stared at like he was seeing a ghost. Asher looked ready to faint.
"Now," I said, turning my attention back to Blaze, "as I was saying, I'll be taking these herbs as agreed. Unless you'd like to continue this... discussion?"
His lips pressed into a thin line. I could see calculation behind his eyes—weighing the cost of continuing this fight against the value of the herbs and his wounded pride.
"Wait!" he finally called out, raising a hand. "There's one more option."
I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Aidan!" Blaze shouted. "Aidan Ortega, get in here!"
A door at the far end of the room opened, and several staff mbers peered in nervously.
"Sir?" one ventured. "Mr. Aidan is... he's asleep."
"Then wake him up, you fools!" Blaze roared.
"We've tried, sir. He won't respond. He's breathing, but we can't rouse him."
I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. My earlier preparation had worked perfectly. The sleeping powder I'd introduced into Aidan Ortega's quarters last night—a special formula of my own design—had taken effect exactly as planned. The Lane family's most feared fighter would be enjoying a peaceful, uninterruptible slumber for at least another twelve hours.
"Looking for your champion?" I asked innocently. "I'm afraid he's indisposed."
Blaze's face contorted with rage and disbelief. "You... what did you do?"
"? Nothing at all. Perhaps he had a late night." I shrugged. "Now, if our business is concluded..."
"This isn't over," Blaze growled, but the threat rang hollow. His most powerful assets had been neutralized, and he knew it. "You'll regret this day, Knight."
I adjusted my grip on the box of herbs. "I doubt that very much. Good day, gentlen."
No one moved to stop as I walked toward the exit. I paused at the door. "Oh, and Asher? Next ti you make a wager, be prepared to honor it. It saves everyone a lot of trouble."
The South City sunlight felt particularly warm as I stepped outside the Lane family compound. The confrontation had gone almost exactly as I'd anticipated—Blaze's arrogance, the predictable attempt at intimidation, and the ultimate realization that he'd severely underestimated .
All part of establishing myself in a new territory. The herbs were valuable, but the reputation I'd just cented was worth far more.
I'd walked perhaps two blocks when I noticed the sleek black vehicle pacing . It finally pulled alongside, and the back window rolled down to reveal a middle-aged man with sharp, intelligent eyes and an expensive suit.
"Mr. Knight," he called out. "A mont of your ti?"
I paused, studying him. Unlike Blaze Lane's obvious aggression, this man exuded a more refined type of power. "Do I know you?"
"Caesar Nolan," he replied with a slight incline of his head. "I believe we have mutual interests to discuss. Perhaps over dinner?"
The na registered imdiately. Caesar Nolan—one of South City's most influential figures and, if rumors were true, a major rival to the Lane family. This was an unexpected developnt, but potentially useful.
"And what interests might those be?" I asked.
His lips curved in a knowing smile. "The humbling of Blaze Lane, for one. Word travels fast in certain circles. I'd like to hear about your visit firsthand."
I considered my options. Navigating South City's power structure would be easier with allies, even temporary ones. And information was always valuable.
"I accept," I decided. "When and where?"
"The Golden Phoenix, seven tonight. My driver can take you, if you wish."
I shook my head. "I'll find my way."
"As you prefer." He handed a business card through the window. "Until tonight, Mr. Knight."
The car pulled away smoothly, leaving wondering what ga Caesar Nolan was playing. Almost certainly he was trying to use in his rivalry with the Lanes. That was fine—as long as I was using him too.
The Golden Phoenix lived up to its reputation. Crystal chandeliers illuminated private dining alcoves, each separated by ornate screens that created the illusion of seclusion while allowing soft conversation to flow through the space. The air was perfud with exotic spices and the rich aroma of perfectly prepared dishes.
Caesar Nolan awaited at a corner table, accompanied by three others—two n and a woman. All eyes in the restaurant tracked my progress as I was escorted through the dining room.
"Mr. Knight," Caesar rose to greet , extending his hand. "Welco. Please, join us."
I shook his hand firmly. "Thank you for the invitation."
"Allow to introduce my associates," he gestured around the table. "Ming Chen, South City's foremost expert in business law. Jonathan Drake, who oversees my shipping interests. And Ellis Mitchell, a dear friend and one of South City's most respected martial artists."
I exchanged pleasantries with each of them, noting how Ellis Mitchell's eyes assessed with particular intensity. His handshake was deliberately firm—a subtle test of strength that I returned with precisely the sa pressure.
"We've ordered so of the house specialties," Caesar explained as I took my seat. "I hope you don't mind."
"Not at all."
The conversation flowed smoothly as the food arrived—a procession of elegant dishes that spoke to Caesar's refined taste. Business topics were discussed obliquely, interspersed with local gossip and cultural observations. I contributed enough to seem engaged while revealing little about myself.
Finally, after the main courses had been cleared, Caesar leaned forward. "I understand you had quite the encounter with Blaze Lane today."
"Word does travel fast," I observed.
Ming Chen smiled thinly. "South City thrives on information, Mr. Knight. Particularly when it involves soone new defeating Blaze Lane's security team single-handedly."
"While walking away with rare dicinal herbs," Jonathan added. "Most impressive."
I sipped my tea. "The herbs were rightfully mine. Lane's son made a wager and lost."
"Indeed," Caesar nodded. "Asher Lane's arrogance has caused his family problems before. But few have made them pay for it so... effectively."
"The Lanes aren't accustod to losing," Ming remarked. "They'll retaliate."
I set my cup down. "I'm aware."
"Which brings us to why I invited you tonight," Caesar said. "South City operates on alliances and mutual interests. Standing alone is... challenging."
"Are you offering an alliance, Mr. Nolan?"
He spread his hands. "Let's call it an exploration of possibilities. Your pharmaceutical knowledge combined with my distribution network could be profitable for us both. And I can offer sothing the Lanes can't—protection without subjugation."
His offer was straightforward enough, but I wasn't naive. Caesar saw as a potential asset in his ongoing struggle with the Lane family. Still, temporary alignnts could serve my purposes too.
"An interesting proposition," I acknowledged. "Though I wonder what your associates think of bringing a newcor into your circle."
All eyes turned to Ellis Mitchell, who had remained mostly silent during dinner. He studied intently before speaking.
"I think," he said deliberately, "that Mr. Knight's reputation exceeds his capabilities."
The table went quiet. Caesar looked uncomfortable.
"Ellis," he began, but Mitchell raised a hand.
"No offense intended," he continued, looking directly at . "Defeating street thugs and an aging enforcer is one thing. But true power?" He shook his head. "I've seen your form. Serviceable, but unrefined. Your spiritual energy flow is erratic at best."
I kept my expression neutral despite the incorrect assessnt. "Is that so?"
"I've trained martial artists for thirty years," Ellis said dismissively. "I can gauge potential at a glance. Yours is... quite ordinary."
Caesar cleared his throat. "Ellis, perhaps this isn't—"
"However," Ellis continued, ignoring him, "in light of Mr. Nolan's face, I can take you as my disciple and elevate you to the level of an Inner Strength Master."
The condescension in his offer hung in the air between us. I could feel the others at the table holding their breath, waiting for my response to this calculated insult disguised as generosity.
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