The Beggar in the Lobby Was the Supreme King

Chapter 027

The two assassins from the Blood Mafia grew deathly pale, their complexions turning the color of ash as they clutched their throats. A guttural, wet rattle escaped their lips—a sound of pure, unadulterated terror—before they collapsed like puppets with their strings severed. The forest fell into a heavy, oppressive silence, broken only by the rustle of leaves in the wind.

The remaining executioners stood frozen, their eyes wide with a frantic, animalistic fear. They were professional killers, men who lived and breathed violence, but the sheer ease with which Ethan Smith had dispatched their comrades had shattered their resolve. Even Luke Baumann, the veteran commander of the Capital of Valeridge branch, felt a cold sweat prickling at his hairline. His mind raced, calculating the odds. Had Ethan truly ascended to the rank of a Supreme Master?

If that were the case, the Blood Mafia wasn't just in trouble; they were facing an existential threat. A Supreme Master possessed the power to single-handedly dismantle a regional headquarters. The legend of such masters—beings who could manipulate internal energy to strike from a distance—was something Luke Baumann had always treated as exaggerated lore until this very moment.

"Ethan! You’ve really done it, haven't you? You’ve reached the peak!" Jana Smiths cried out, her voice filled with a mixture of relief and awe. She scrambled toward him, her scientific mind struggling to grasp the miracle she was witnessing. "They mentioned our sisters... they mentioned Iris Smith. We have to stop them, Ethan. We can't let them touch anyone else."

Ethan looked at his sister, his expression softening for a fraction of a second. "Don't worry, Jana. I promised to bring you home. None of these vultures will leave this mountain alive to carry back a single word."

Catherine Jones, standing guard nearby, bowed her head slightly in a gesture of profound respect. She had seen Ethan’s strength before, but this was different. This was a transformation. "Congratulations, Supreme King, on breaking through the bottleneck. With the power of a Supreme Master, the Hall of Supreme shall be unrivaled under the heavens."

Ethan turned his gaze back to the enemy, the ancient bronze shard in his hand now gleaming with a strange, predatory light. As he stepped forward, the seventeen remaining killers instinctively recoiled, their boots scraping against the gravel.

Luke Baumann gritted his teeth, his heterochromatic eyes darting around the clearing. He had intended to be the "yellow bird" waiting in the shadows to snatch the prize, but he had miscalculated. He was no predator; he was merely a mantis about to be crushed by a wheel.

"You claim to be a Supreme Master, Ethan Smith," Luke Baumann shouted, though his voice lacked its usual oily confidence. "Prove it! Show me the proof! Or are you just a lucky brat playing with an old relic?"

Ethan let out a short, dry laugh that lacked any humor. It was the sound of a predator amused by its prey's denial. He gestured toward the corpses cooling in the mud. "They served as proof. Do you require a more personal demonstration?"

Luke Baumann, desperate to maintain control over his men, tried to rationalize the situation. He knew that even a Supreme Master must obey the laws of physics. Ethan had been battered by a python; surely his internal energy was depleted. He was likely using the bronze shard to project a false sense of power—a "last stand" performance intended to scare them off.

"He’s bluffing!" Luke Baumann roared to his men. "Look at him! He’s covered in gore! He’s at the end of his rope, trying to frighten us with ghost stories. If he were a true Supreme Master, we would already be dead. Kill him! Take the shard and the girl! The Blood Mafia will reward you with enough gold to retire in the West District for ten lifetimes!"

Spurred by greed and the fear of their commander, the seventeen swordsmen found a final reserve of courage. They raised their Iron Swords and surged forward in a disorganized wave, screaming to mask their terror.

Ethan didn't move. He didn't even raise the bronze shard. Instead, he reached into his tactical vest and pulled out twenty Soul Nails. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the metal spikes didn't fall; they hovered in the air around him, suspended by an invisible, shimmering field of force. They rotated slowly, like tiny planets orbiting a dark sun.

"You wanted proof," Ethan said, his voice echoing with a terrifying resonance. "Is this sufficient?"

The charging assassins skidded to a halt. Their eyes bulged as they stared at the levitating spikes. This was the hallmark of letting out the ultimate trick at a level they couldn't even fathom. The air itself seemed to hum with the pressure of Ethan's internal energy.

In the back, Luke Baumann's jaw dropped. The reality of the situation crashed down on him like a landslide. "Retreat! Everyone, fall back now!" he screamed.

He didn't care about the mission anymore. He needed to get word to the Blood Mafia's central leadership. If a new Supreme Master had emerged in Ambershire, every operation in the Veridian region had to be aborted immediately.

"It’s too late for a retreat," Ethan growled.

With a sharp, decisive gesture, he sent the Soul Nails flying. They didn't move like thrown objects; they moved like bullets. The air cracked with the sound of breaking sound barriers. Seventeen spikes found seventeen targets. Each nail punched through the forehead of an assassin, exiting the back of their skulls with surgical precision, leaving nothing but small, dark holes and instant silence.

Only two men survived the initial volley, though not by choice. Ethan had deliberately aimed low, shattering their knee joints and pinning them to the earth. They wailed in agony, the sound echoing through the trees of Williams Mountain.

Ethan walked toward them, his boots thudding rhythmically. "Who is your Head? Where is your primary base of operations located?"

The survivors were beyond rational thought. They stared at Ethan as if he were a god of death. One managed to stammer out, "We... we are the Blood Mafia... our regional hub is in the Capital of Valeridge... please..."

Before he could finish, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Luke Baumann, realizing his men were about to compromise the entire network, fired two shots from a silenced pistol, executing his own subordinates.

Ethan flicked a finger, and a final Soul Nail streaked toward Luke Baumann. It didn't kill him; it slammed into his left knee, vaporizing the joint.

"AAGGHH!" Luke Baumann tumbled to the ground, clutching his ruined leg. "You... you monster! You think you’ve won? You’re just one man!"

Ethan stood over him, the bronze shard held loosely. "The location of your headquarters. Now."

Luke Baumann looked up, a manic, b****y grin spreading across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small digital recorder, tossing it toward Ethan. "You want information? Fine. Have it. But know this: you’ve signed your family’s death warrant."

Ethan caught the device. As he did, Luke Baumann grabbed his own Iron Sword and, with a final act of twisted loyalty to his organization, drove the blade into his own throat.

"Wait for... the retribution..." he gurgled, blood foaming at his lips. "The Blood Mafia... will hunt... your sisters..."

With a final, convulsive shudder, the commander of the Blood Mafia's elite unit expired.

Ethan pressed the play button on the recorder. A deep, gravelly voice, distorted by a scrambler but carrying an unmistakable weight of authority, filled the clearing:

"Smith, if you are hearing this, it means my scouts were right about your potential. My name is the High Commander of the Blood Mafia. We are the architects of the human trafficking networks you’ve been disrupting. Here is my counsel: kneel before us, and you may yet live as a king in Ambershire. Oppose us, and I will erase the Smiths name from the history books of Solinar. Your sisters will not just die; they will be sold to the darkest corners of the earth."

Ethan's grip tightened until the plastic of the recorder shattered into fine powder. His eyes were cold, reflecting a resolve that could move mountains.

Jana Smiths watched him, her heart heavy with fear. "Ethan... we have to go. If there are more of them... if they really know about Iris and the others..."

"They know," Ethan said, his voice calm but lethal. "But knowing is their first mistake. It gives me a list of people I need to erase."

He turned to Catherine Jones. "Clear the area. Dispose of these carcasses in the wolf pits. We leave no trace that we were ever here."

Catherine moved with practiced efficiency, dragging the bodies toward the ravine. As she worked, she looked back at the giant python. "The Supreme King’s breakthrough is a blessing. But he’s right—this snake is a treasure. Its scales are harder than the steel of an Iron Sword, and its meat... even a small portion could help the Guards of Supreme increase their vitality."

Ethan nodded. "Take what you can. But do it quickly. We need to get back to Ambershire. The Herman family and the Wilson family think they’ve won. It's time to show them that the Supreme King has returned to claim his throne."

As they began their descent from the heights of Williams Mountain, the sun began to set, casting long, b****y shadows across the landscape of Valeridge. Ethan walked at the front, his senses expanded, feeling every heartbeat in the forest. He wasn't just a brother anymore; he was a guardian who had transcended his limits, and the world was about to feel the weight of his vengeance.