C80 Save Me

The newcomer was a young man with a pale complexion and a listless demeanor. Yet, when his gaze landed on Westley, it burned with intense loathing, as if Westley had stolen his wife.

Indeed, the man was none other than Rollen Tang. Flanking him were two bodyguards, propping up the frail Rollen while eyeing Westley with predatory vigilance.

"How's it going, Young Mr. Freeman?" Westley chuckled.

"And who exactly do you think you are? What gives you the right to address me?" Rollen's face darkened with resentment.

"Come on, we just saw each other last night. Oh? Changed your pants, I see? Those aren't the ones you had on before," Westley quipped with a smirk.

Rollen's body shook with fury at the sight of Westley's unabashed grin. It was Westley who had humiliated him the previous evening!

Now, the mere mention of 'pants' seemed to trigger an allergic reaction in Rollen. That morning, his bodyguards had found him roadside, pants-less and passed out in a tangle of weeds, drawing a crowd of onlookers and causing quite the spectacle.

Overwhelmed with shame, Rollen felt he had lost all his dignity. Only after receiving two bottles of IV fluids did he regain enough strength to return and check in, never expecting to run into Westley once more.

What was Westley doing at the Freeman family's home? This was his domain!

Could it be that Westley had come to apologize for his misdeeds?

With this thought, a smug expression crossed Rollen's face. "You realize who I am now, don't you?"

"Of course, you're the young master of the Freeman family," Westley nodded.

Rollen's smile widened with satisfaction. "So, you must be here to apologize, right? Well, let me tell you, it's too late for that! I will never forgive you! I'll make sure you experience a fate worse than death."

"Apologize? Why would I apologize to you? Have I done something wrong?" Westley feigned innocence.

"You!" Rollen's anger flared anew. "Are you telling me you're oblivious to last night's fiasco?"

"Oh, are you referring to the incident where you soiled your pants?" Westley's face lit up as if he'd just remembered the embarrassing event.

He pinched his nose and waved his hand through the air as if trying to dispel a foul odor. With a look of revulsion, he said, "Young Master Freeman, you're well into your twenties. Why on earth are you still defecating like a toddler? It's utterly uncivilized."

Westley had intentionally brought up the very incident Rollen wished most to forget!

The two bodyguards at his side averted their faces, struggling mightily to suppress their laughter.

Rollen, upon hearing this least favorite topic, completely lost his cool. His eyes blazed as he bellowed, "I will kill you!"

"Young master, please, calm down. You're still quite weak," one bodyguard urged.

"Indeed, young master. Allow us to handle him for you," the other added.

"Fine, help me finish him. If anything goes wrong, I'll be accountable. And if you leave him crippled, I'll reward you generously!" Rollen spat out the words with venom.

The bodyguards exchanged a glance and nodded in unison. Young Master Freeman might be unreliable, but he was known for his magnanimity, never shortchanging his men.

Westley saw the bodyguards advance and casually shook his head.

"What's the matter? Ready to give up? Sorry, but we must follow the young master's orders. You've only yourself to blame for crossing someone you shouldn't have," one bodyguard taunted before throwing a punch at Westley's face, the air whistling with the force of his blow.

The Freeman family's bodyguards were no ordinary men, and this one was a true martial artist. His attack was ruthless, and it was clear he wasn't holding back.

Westley stood motionless, as if frozen by fear.

Rollen sneered inwardly, thinking Westley a fool deserving of whatever beating came his way.

But the next moment wiped the smirk off his face.

Westley reached out, his hand enveloping the bodyguard's fist. The bodyguard, taken aback, tried to withdraw, but Westley's grip was like a vise, his fist trapped and immovable.

"I mean, you guys are just too weak!" Westley shook his head in disappointment.

With a slight flex of his wrist, there was a sharp crack.

The bodyguard's arm was instantly broken.

At the sound of his comrade's agonized scream, another bodyguard charged forward, leaping high with knees bent, aiming a vicious blow at Westley's chest.

With an effortless toss, Westley sent the bodyguard in his grasp flying.

Midair, the two collided with a thud and then crashed to the ground, groaning in pain.

Rollen was stunned.

His bodyguards were genuine tough guys.

Why couldn't they overpower Westley?

Could this man also be a master?

"Young Mr. Freeman, your bodyguards just don't make the cut. Need me to recommend a few?"

Westley's smile didn't waver as he approached Rollen.

"Stay back!"

Rollen trembled with fear.

"What's the matter? I'm no natural disaster or wild beast; why the fear?" Westley halted his advance.

"What's your name?" Rollen ground his teeth.

"I'm Westley. How may I assist you?"

"Fine! Westley! You dare to run wild on Freeman family turf!"

Rollen spat venomously, "I swear, I'll kill you! I'll exterminate your entire family!"

"Oh?"

Westley's gaze sharpened, his figure shifted.

In a heartbeat, he was right next to Rollen.

The smile on Westley's face faded bit by bit, replaced by an icy chill.

"What if I kill you first?" Westley's smile was now sinister.

"You wouldn't dare?"

For some reason, Rollen's words came out in a stutter.

"What does it matter if this is Freeman territory? Can anyone here stop me?" Westley's voice was icy, laced with boundless pride.

The Hidden Dragon Squad had never feared anyone.

Even Master Cruz himself held a hint of fear for them!

Rollen was suddenly overcome with terror.

It was a fear that seeped from his very bones and spread rapidly through his body.

His breath came in gasps, his body turned icy, his muscles tensed.

It was as if he was completely paralyzed, utterly unable to move.

He was suddenly filled with regret for crossing someone he never should have. Westley was far from ordinary.

Just then, a booming voice echoed through the courtyard, "Who dares to commit murder in the Freeman household?"

A figure arrived with the swiftness of lightning, deftly navigating the rocks of the ornamental mountain to take a firm stand at the heart of the yard.

The man was of average build, a middle-aged fellow in a worn long coat with short hair. His features weren't particularly striking, except for a pair of eyes that shone with the sharpness of a hawk's. His mere presence exuded an air of enigmatic depth.

Upon seeing him, Rollen, like a man floundering in water, latched onto a lifeline, crying out, "Uncle Devon, save me!"