Georgia Adams’ eyes darted, her heart pounding like a drumbeat of doom. When a blade rests against your throat and someone whispers such chilling words in your ear, how could you not be terrified?
Even though she had braced herself for death-thought she had made peace with it-when faced with the real deal, her fear surged to unbearable heights. Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face as she teetered on the brink of complete mental collapse.
But the woman holding the knife wasn’t about to stop there. Her voice dripped venom as she continued, “Your family, your husband, everything you hold dear-they’re about to be ripped away from you. From this moment on, you’ll be nothing but a memory. You’re about to part ways with the living!”
This woman had a habit-a twisted ritual. Before taking a life, she loved to break her victim down, drowning them in fear. Only when they truly tasted terror, she believed, would they fully grasp the horror of death.
“Alright then!” she sneered, eyes gleaming with malevolent glee. “Time to savor your final moment!”
With that, her grip shifted, and the knife plunged toward Georgia’s throat with merciless precision.
But in that heart-stopping instant, a strange object-something marble-like-whizzed out of nowhere with a sharp whizz. In a split second, it struck the woman’s hand, piercing straight through her grip.
“Ahh!” she screamed as the knife clattered to the ground. She stumbled back, clutching her wounded hand, caught completely off guard.
And then, a voice boomed through the room like rolling thunder:
“Anyone who dares harm the wife of Seclela’s Commander shall die!”
The voice was deep, commanding, and utterly indomitable, crashing over the room like a tidal wave. It was as if the sky itself recoiled in shock, the air trembling with sheer power.
In the stunned silence that followed, every gaze swung toward the entrance.
A gust of wind surged through the room, and there he stood at the threshold of Fcon International Hotel-a man built like a lion ready to pounce. He wore a battle-worn uniform and exuded a presence so overpowering it felt as though the whole world bowed at his feet.
The man’s sharp, chiseled features and towering frame were unmatched, but it was his sheer dominance that made everyone’s breath catch.
Dominance! Might! These weren’t just words; they were etched into his very being.
Just standing there, he radiated an aura of a thousand armies, as if he could sweep away all who stood in his path. His piercing gaze swept the room like a blade, stopping briefly on Georgia Adams. Without hesitation, he strode forward with powerful steps that echoed through the air.
Every heartbeat in the room faltered. Even the self-proclaimed “Defender of the South” stiffened, his earlier confidence suddenly wavering.
This young man-so used to controlling the script-now found himself blindsided. Whatever meticulous plans he’d crafted were unraveling at lightning speed.
He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed intently on the burly man standing outside the door.
The towering figure ignored the rest, striding directly to Georgia. Dropping to one knee, his voice resounded with reverence.
“Mrs. Scott, I, Greedy Wolf, have arrived. My apologies for my late rescue and for the fright you’ve endured. Please, forgive me!”
Yes-this was Greedy Wolf, one of Kayden Scott’s most loyal knights, the Masked Knight!
If his presence alone could shake the earth, what would happen when that man arrived? No one dared imagine.
The room shuddered under the weight of the thought. Even Kendall Lindsey, who moments ago had been full of bluster, could only stammer incoherently:
“Y-you… You…”
Greedy Wolf didn’t bother sparing him a glance. His attention remained solely on Georgia Adams, steadying her trembling frame as he glanced briefly at the lifeless Beckett Robinson sprawled on the floor.
With calm assurance, he declared, “Rest easy, my lady, Defender is here. He’ll deal with this mess.”
His words were like a death knell to the imposter in the room. The self-proclaimed “Defender of the South” felt a chill run through him as confusion gnawed at his mind.
What was happening? The plan was foolproof! That man wasn’t supposed to show up, let alone here of all places! Did the organization screw up? Could even they not stop him?
He needed to run. Now.
But as if reading his thoughts, a voice like steel cut through the air:
“Run? Oh no, don’t even think about it. I said it before-anyone who lays a finger on the Defender’s wife… dies!”
The young man’s face twitched, betraying a fleeting moment of panic. He quickly masked it with a forced laugh, hands casually slipping behind his back.
“Wow, not bad! You guys went all out-even impersonated my second-in-command, Greedy Wolf. Bravo. Pretty convincing, I’ll admit.”
Greedy Wolf remained silent, his gaze flicking past the imposter toward the entrance.
Softly, yet with a weight that shook the very air, he murmured: “The Defender is here.”
Four simple words. But they struck the imposter like a sledgehammer.
Suddenly, the hotel was filled with the deafening roar of rotors. People instinctively looked up, their jaws dropping as they saw an entire fleet of battlefield helicopters hovering over Fcon Hotel, blotting out the sky like a storm cloud.
And it wasn’t just the air. The streets below were surrounded by soldiers-rows upon rows of them, standing like statues, their cold expressions and steely eyes exuding absolute authority.
This was power. True power.
Compared to this, the earlier charade was nothing but a pitiful circus act.
As the awe-struck crowd gaped, a lone helicopter descended, landing gracefully before the hotel entrance. The doors slid open, and out stepped a man in his mid-twenties.
His face was sharp as a blade, his eyes unyielding as stone. Despite his disheveled appearance-clothes worn, face gaunt-he carried himself with the air of a king.
And then, the soldiers erupted as one:
“Defender!”
“Defender!”
“Defender!”
Their voices shook the very ground, filling the hearts of all who heard it with awe and dread.