Chapter 63
As the conversation wrapped up, Nash, who had been sitting silently on the sofa, finally spoke up. “You’re both too weak. I can protect the Warden by myself.”
George and Janson exchanged looks, their eyes narrowing. If not for the Warden’s imposing presence, they might have been furious.
Harold frowned and asked, “Colonel Orwell, this is…?”
Stellar smiled, clearly amused, and introduced Nash. “This is the Smiling Grim Reaper, the bodyguard I hired with your security fund.”
Harold’s gaze drifted from the tall, slim figure in a mask to Stellar. “140 million dollars, and this is all you hired?”
Stellar nodded confidently. “He’s worth every penny.”
The name “Smiling Grim Reaper” carried weight—those four words were worth more than the 140 million dollars Harold had just heard.
Harold, though skeptical, forced a smile. “There are a lot of people at the banquet. It might not hurt to have a few more to protect the Warden.”
Nash raised his head slowly and looked at Harold with a cold, unwavering gaze. “More people will only attract the killer’s attention.”
The statement irked George and Janson. They were well-respected figures in the Watson family, but now they were being dismissed by someone they considered an outsider.
George’s patience snapped. He coldly said, “You claim you’re all it takes to protect the Warden, but what exactly are you capable of?”
Nash’s eyes narrowed as he replied with chilling calmness, “Good enough to kill you.”
There was a palpable wave of murderous intent behind those words. George’s breath caught in his throat. For a moment, it felt as if the very air around him had thickened with danger. He stared at Nash, disbelief flickering in his eyes. “You… who are you?”
Stellar, sensing the tension, stepped in. “Let me properly introduce you. This is the Smiling Grim Reaper, the number one killer on the dark web.”
Everyone in the room, except Zakariah, exchanged confused glances. None of them had heard of this name before.
George sneered, recovering from his shock. “I wonder if your highness would care for a challenge?”
Nash’s voice was as calm as ever. “Sorry, I don’t compete. I only kill.”
Fury flashed in George’s eyes. He couldn’t tolerate the disrespect and immediately lunged forward, raising his leg to deliver a kick.
Stellar moved to intervene, but the Warden held up a hand, signaling for him to stop. He was curious to see just what the Smiling Grim Reaper was capable of.
George’s kick was lightning-fast, a powerful blow that seemed to strike with the force of a tiger. The air around him seemed to ripple with the speed of his attack.
But Nash’s eyes glinted coldly. Without hesitation, he pushed himself off the sofa with his arms and kicked up, meeting George’s attack head-on.
Clang!
The two legs collided with a loud metallic sound that made everyone wince. The sofa beneath Nash exploded into pieces from the force.
Stellar and Zakariah instantly moved in front of the Warden, their bodies tense as they prepared for any further escalation.
George pulled back, only to unleash a series of additional kicks, each one faster and more powerful than the last. Nash continued to block them with his own leg, each impact shaking the ground and shattering tiles beneath them.
Harold and Janson, watching from the sidelines, broke out into a cold sweat.
George’s legs, constructed from a special alloy steel capable of withstanding 2000-degree temperatures and immense pressure, were designed to withstand impacts that could destroy tanks. Yet, Nash was using his own legs to block these devastating kicks.
Bang!
Nash launched a powerful kick that struck George’s calf. The impact was so intense that it sent George spinning through the air like a puppet with its strings cut.
Boom!
George slammed into the wall, the impact cracking the stone before he crumpled to the ground, clutching his chest and spitting out blood.
Pain and disbelief filled his eyes as he stared at Nash. The legs he had so proudly replaced with alloy steel had been shattered by this man’s sheer power. George couldn’t help but wonder—just how strong was this masked man? His strength seemed to surpass even that of a level-nine grandmaster.
Janson, watching the scene unfold, snorted derisively. “It’s just a matter of kicks. Let me see if you understand boxing…”