King-In-Law, The Hidden God Of War!

009

They closed in on Raymond, their faces twisted with a murderous resolve. The leader brandished a gleaming switchblade, sneering: “If you know what’s good for you, kneel down and beg for forgiveness, maybe you’ll keep your life.”

Raymond stood tall, his expression unchanged. He glanced around, counted six men, each one big, broad-shouldered, reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. He didn’t reply, didn’t even blink.

“Die!”

A burly guy on the right lunged first, fist swinging straight at Raymond’s face. Raymond sidestepped, grabbed the attacker’s wrist and twisted sharply, a dry “c***k” rang out. The man howled in pain, collapsing to the ground, his arm bent at an unnatural angle, unable to move.

Before anyone could recover, two more rushed in, one swinging a wooden club at Raymond’s back. He turned, blocking with his forearm, then suddenly lashed out with a kick, slamming into the other’s knee. The man crashed face-first onto the curb, mouth full of blood.

The tattooed ringleader screamed, charging with his knife aimed at Raymond’s chest. Raymond leaned aside, locked the attacker’s wrist, then drove his elbow hard into the man’s chin. Dazed, the knife clattered to the ground, and before he could recover, Raymond twisted his arm back and drove a heavy kick into his back, leaving him sprawled on the pavement.

“You dare lay a hand on my men? You’re dead!”

The remaining three exchanged a terrified, furious glance and rushed at Raymond all at once. Raymond didn’t back away. Coldly, he launched two swift left hooks, then spun and delivered a backward kick to the last one’s groin. In seconds, all six men were sprawled on the ground, some with broken arms, others unconscious, none able to stand.

Raymond stooped to pick up the knife, scanning their battered faces. He said nothing, simply backed into the darkness, leaving the gangsters groaning in the light drizzle of Draventon’s night.

...

The Grant Residence. The living room was flooded with warm golden light, a row of phones on the table vibrating nonstop. Victor lounged on the sofa, legs crossed, frowning at the stream of messages flashing across the screen. Arnold stood with his arms crossed behind his back, his imposing figure casting a shadow on the cold marble floor.

A subordinate burst in, his face drained of color: “Young master, sir, our men… they failed. All six are in the hospital, some with broken arms, some in a coma. None of them could lay a hand on Raymond Wang.”

Victor shot to his feet, grinding out each word: “Just a live-in son-in-law, and he can cause this much trouble? Useless trash, I sent six men and still nothing!”

Arnold didn’t look at his son, only asked quietly: “Did anyone see anything?”

The subordinate shook his head: “It was a blind spot, no cameras. The hospital told the police it was just a street brawl. We paid extra, they’ll look the other way.”

“But…” The subordinate hesitated.

“Spit it out.”

“But our men… I’m afraid…” The subordinate faltered for several seconds before finally continuing: “I’m afraid they’re all going to be crippled for life. I’ve sent someone to the hospital to keep watch. That’s the preliminary report.”

Victor trembled with rage, his voice hoarse: “A bunch of useless fools. Six men, with knives and clubs, and they still couldn’t touch him? They deserve to be crippled. Can’t even fight, call themselves gangsters!”

Arnold remained quiet, his icy gaze fixed on the darkness outside: “Forget these local street thugs. I don’t tolerate failure. You know who’s capable enough to handle this, don’t you?”

Victor paused, glanced at his father, his eyes wavering before turning resolute: “Rex. In Draventon, only Rex will take a hit contract at any price, no one dares mess with him.”

Arnold nodded, unsurprised: “Black Claw backs Rex. His status is on par with any powerful family in this city. Once he takes the money, no one survives.”

Victor gave a cold smile, pulled out his phone, and dialed. The other end picked up after two rings. A hoarse, slow male voice answered: “Who is it?”

Victor didn’t mince words: “Victor Grant. I have a job for you. I want a man named Raymond Wang dead. I want him gone from this city. Name your price.”

A cold, metallic laugh rang out: “You think I’m short on contracts? What’s so special about this one?”

Victor struggled to keep his composure, speaking straight: “He just took down six of my men, all seasoned criminals. I don’t want complications, I need this done cleanly, quickly, no trace.”

The other end was silent for a few seconds, then replied curtly: “I’ll take it. A hundred thousand up front. The rest depends on how hard it gets. In three days, if he’s still alive, I’ll give the money back.”

Arnold listened to Victor’s call, his expression icy as ever. When the call ended, he only shook his head: “Don’t let this trace back to us. Everything goes through intermediaries, no names, no trail. If the military investigates, we don’t want any trouble.”

Victor nodded, slumping onto the sofa. His face twisted in anger, eyes staring up at the ceiling. The whole mansion was steeped in a heavy, oppressive silence. Outside, the cold wind rattled the iron fence, tree shadows swaying like a bad omen.

Elsewhere in the city, Rex’s phone call ended, and he let out a dry laugh. Rex, a name whispered only behind closed doors in Draventon’s underworld, was cold-blooded, undefeated. With Black Claw backing him, he owed respect to no one. As long as there was money, he would kill. Still, he wondered what kind of man this Raymond Wang was, for the Grant family to be willing to pay any price. Now that was interesting.

...

Late at night, Raymond returned home. His clothes were worn and wrinkled, but his face showed neither exhaustion nor discouragement. The hallway lights flicked on as he stepped into the vast marble-floored foyer. The space was broad and tall-ceilinged, furnished in a modern, minimalist yet refined style, the kind of place for those who never needed to prove their wealth to anyone.

Vera was already waiting in the living room. She wore a simple suit, holding a folder, rising to her feet as Raymond entered. Her voice was decisive, clear: “I’ve checked Anna’s situation thoroughly. The hospital confirms she has congenital heart failure, awaiting surgery. Because they couldn’t reserve a donor heart in advance, the treatment costs keep piling up, currently over five hundred thousand dollars.”

“If a heart donor becomes available now, she’ll get surgery immediately. The upfront cost is about two hundred thousand, not counting post-op care. But the problem is, your wife doesn’t have the resources to compete for a donor, so Anna’s stuck in the ICU, and her condition could turn critical at any moment.”

“The Grant family promised to help your wife secure a heart for transplant and pay all costs, that’s why your wife…”

Raymond was silent for a few seconds, something flickering in his eyes before vanishing. He said briefly: “Proceed with the paperwork. Get the surgery done for her as soon as possible.”

Vera nodded: “Everything is ready. The money will be transferred under a special relief program, as support for the daughter of a decorated veteran. The paperwork goes through the government’s channels. No one can trace the true source.”

Raymond was silent, sitting down on the sofa, hands clasped, only nodding and saying nothing more.

Vera worked on her tablet, the transfer completed in less than a minute. She confirmed: “They’ve received confirmation of the funds, the surgery will be prioritized this week. Sophia’s family will be notified directly by the hospital, no middlemen needed.”

Raymond nodded, his eyes turning cold again: “Good. Keep all information about me confidential for now. If I need to see anyone, I’ll handle it myself.”

Vera gathered her files and left, leaving Raymond alone in the living room of the grandest mansion in Kingston District, the lights casting sharp, lonely lines over his face. Outside, the rain had stopped. Another night in Draventon, a city where power and human hearts could turn black and white in an instant. It was for this power that he’d once left, never expecting everything to change so much, or that he’d end up causing his wife and child so much pain. He really wasn’t worth living.