C39 Too Scary

As soon as he spoke, Ethan and the others dropped their human facades, revealing sinister grins like wild beasts. To them, Westley was nothing more than a lamb to the slaughter, with no say in his own fate. Sienna's face drained of color from fear as she stumbled backward.

But then, Westley's smile vanished, and he straightened up gradually, standing tall and firm like a spear. "I don't agree," he said calmly. His voice wasn't loud, but it struck like thunder, resonating in everyone's ears. They had crossed a line with him, and he saw no reason to keep up the charade.

Something stirred in Sienna's heart. Against all odds, Westley refused to bow to their demands. In that moment, she saw him as a towering figure, the epitome of masculinity.

"You don't agree? You think you have another choice?" Mr. Haris scoffed, convinced that Westley was just being defiant.

"Of course I do. I never agreed to this, so we might as well all stick around here," Westley replied nonchalantly.

"Oh?" Mr. Haris sneered. "So you're saying you're going to shift this expense onto us?"

"That's right, you're not as dumb as you look," Westley said with a smirk.

Leopard's temper flared. Clenching his fists, he demanded, "Do you even know who we are?"

"I do. You guys are like a zoo crew," Westley responded with a nod.

"Zoo crew?" Mr. Haris, Leopard, and Mr. Dogg exchanged bewildered glances.

"With wolves, leopards, and dogs, isn't that just a zoo ensemble?" Westley quipped, then turned to Ethan and shook his head, "Sorry, this piece of trash doesn't count."

At that, Sienna, who had been scared out of her wits, burst into laughter. Even in the face of danger, Westley still found room to mock them. Was there ever a moment when he was truly afraid?

"Damn it!" It dawned on Mr. Haris and the rest that they'd been played. Furious, Mr. Dogg lunged forward.

He launched a straight punch at Westley's chest.

But don't underestimate Mr. Dogg—he was the quiet type, but vicious to the core.

This guy was once a star pupil at a mixed martial arts school until an accident where he severely injured a classmate forced him to flee back to Lindzac.

His penchant for bravery and brutal fighting earned him a spot under Mr. Haris's wing.

Brother Gou's contributions were instrumental in the expansion of Mr. Haris's turf over the past few years.

He was like a rabid dog, biting whomever Mr. Haris sicced him on.

Westley just smiled as he saw the punch hurtling toward him.

With his toes coiled tight, he waited for the punch and then unleashed a kick as quick as lightning.

The kick was stealthy and swift, like a ghostly apparition.

Mr. Haris was quick on the uptake, noticing Westley's subtle body shift and eyeing his stance.

Predicting a lower body strike as Westley tensed his toes, Mr. Haris instinctively transformed his punch into an elbow drop with crushing force.

Westley, unfazed by the need for evasion, casually met the attack with his foot.

The private room echoed with the sharp snap of breaking bone.

Brother Gou clutched his elbow, collapsing to the floor in agony.

The kick was merciless—it had shattered his elbow!

Witnessing the event, Mr. Haris's eyes flickered with a hint of surprise.

Madman was seldom bested in a brawl, yet he had just been taken down by this unassuming young man?

"Good Lord!"

Paul, in a sudden rage, shattered a bottle beside him, the shards flying.

The broken bottle's neck bristled with uneven, serrated edges.

Gripping the jagged bottleneck, Paul charged at Westley with a burst of speed reminiscent of a cheetah.

Mid-leap, Paul aimed the sharp bottleneck at Westley's left arm—a cunning angle, indeed.

But Westley, undeterred, swung his right hand around.

A resounding slap struck Paul's cheek.

His body hit the floor like a discarded bundle of gauze, rolling several times before coming to a stop.

Struggling to lift his head, he opened his mouth and, with a wail, spat out two bloodied front teeth.

The entire crowd was stunned by the spectacle before them.

With just one kick and one slap, Westley had taken both men down?

Mr. Dogg and Paul were Mr. Haris's most trusted lieutenants, his right-hand men.

And Westley had disabled Mr. Haris's enforcers with just two moves?

Ethan was utterly bewildered.

He could never have imagined that this guy he called Jimenez, not only a formidable drinker, but also possessed such fearsome combat skills.

What kind of background did Sienna's boyfriend have?

The smile on Mr. Haris's face slowly vanished, replaced by an icy chill.

He rose swiftly from the sofa and drew a dagger from his waistband, a weapon he always carried.

Back in his days in the underworld, Mr. Haris had dispatched many foes with his Dagger Technique.

His most legendary fight was at the age of 23 when he took down thirteen thugs and left a local kingpin critically wounded with nothing but his dagger.

That fight had made Mr. Haris a name to be reckoned with.

It was the victory that allowed him to take over the kingpin's territory and gradually expand his empire to its current size.

Though Mr. Haris seldom had to get his hands dirty anymore, he never let his blade skills rust, believing he had achieved mastery.

"You're asking for it!"

Mr. Haris hissed, the dagger spinning through his fingers.

He lunged, aiming the blade straight for Westley's waist.

The attack was swift, precise, and vicious.

"Westley, watch out!" Sienna's voice broke through, a reflexive cry of concern.

Mr. Haris slithered forward, his wrist twisting the dagger's path in a display of deceptive skill.

Westley just smiled.

All flash and no substance, he thought, spotting the openings.

He struck like a bolt of lightning, seizing Mr. Haris's wrist.

With a slight squeeze, Mr. Haris let out a cry as the dagger clattered to the ground.

Westley caught the dagger with his left hand and thrust it downward toward Mr. Haris's arm.

"Don't!"

Sienna, terrified, quickly covered her eyes, unable to watch.

Perhaps alerted by her cry, Westley's grip slipped, and the dagger grazed Mr. Haris's steel watchband instead.

Sparks scattered in every direction.

Westley's performance was about to take center stage.

With a flourish of his wrist, the dagger's icy glint danced continuously.

In the blink of an eye—or rather, before anyone could manage even that—he had delivered a staggering 28 stabs.

Once Westley had completed his display of knife skills, he casually slipped the dagger back into Mr. Haris's hand, much like a swordsman sheathing his blade.

A hush fell over the room.

The faux Rolex gold watch on Mr. Haris's wrist began to disintegrate, starting from the face, its components scattering across the floor.

But that wasn't all.

The sleeve of his shirt split incrementally, drifting down like wisps of fluff.

Upon closer inspection of Mr. Haris's arm, it was pristine—not a single mark to be seen.

The private room was engulfed in an eerie silence, punctuated only by the pounding of hearts.

The thrill was palpable—this was a demonstration of the Dagger Technique akin to a master chef's precision butchery.

"My goodness."

Mr. Haris, still clutching the dagger, clutched his chest and collapsed to the floor, heaving for breath.

Terrifying didn't even begin to cover it—it was beyond terrifying!