Chapter 129: Reaper Descends

"And if I don't?"

Leo's words echoed through the opulent private room, carrying a certain fearlessness... no, more like the contempt of someone who viewed all living beings as mere ants.

"Ha ha ha! If you don't?"

Edgar froze for a second, as if he'd just heard the funniest joke of the century.

He leaned back against the velvet sofa, threw his head back, and burst into wild laughter, laughing so hard tears nearly streamed down his face.

"Mr. Franklin, looks like all those keyboards and lines of code in Silicon Valley have fried your brain!"

Edgar's laughter cut off abruptly, his eyes turning venomous as a viper's:

"You think having a few bucks in your pocket means you can waltz around Europe like you own the place? Let me tell you something—on this continent, the Rothschild family 'makes' the rules!"

"If you know what's good for you, hand over that black card and the women. Otherwise..."

Edgar's smile turned icy. "I'll show you what it means to wish you were dead."

Wilmer jumped forward, jabbing his finger at Leo's nose. "You ignorant pig! Mr. Rothschild taking an interest in your women is your 'lucky day'!"

"Still running your mouth? Believe me, I'll have someone pull out your teeth one by one and make you crawl on the floor licking Mr. Rothschild's shoes!"

Faced with this chorus of barking dogs, Leo simply flicked the ash from his cigar, his expression cold.

Edgar's face darkened. He hated nothing more than people who didn't know their place.

"Paxton, get him! Break his legs first—teach him what happens when you talk back to me!"

"Yes, Mr. Rothschild!"

Paxton grinned savagely, cracking his neck.

As one of the Gray Cloaks' elite-trained bodyguards, Paxton's combat skills ranked among the best in Europe's mercenary circles.

He'd won fifty consecutive matches in underground fight clubs and killed over a dozen challengers with his bare hands.

To Paxton, this pampered Silicon Valley tycoon was nothing but a soft target who couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag.

"Buddy, I'm gonna make you regret being born!"

Paxton charged at Leo with a savage grin, his fist whistling through the air toward Leo's face.

But before his hand could even touch Leo—

A deafening impact exploded through the room!

Leo didn't even lower his right hand holding the cigar. His left leg shot out in a brutally efficient kick straight into Paxton's chest!

No contest.

Paxton—all two hundred-plus pounds of him—flew backward like a broken ragdoll!

He slammed into the room's expensive wine cabinet, bottles shattering everywhere. He twitched twice, then passed out cold.

Dead silence.

The arrogance froze on Wilmer's face, his eyes nearly popping out of his head.

Edgar's hand—the one holding his wine glass—jerked violently, red wine spilling across his white suit.

"Is this the vaunted power of the Rothschild family?"

Ivy covered her red lips with one hand, laughing delicately, her sapphire eyes full of disdain. "Can't even handle one kick from our boss. Weaklings like you think you can take his women?"

Serafina twirled a lock of wine-red hair around her finger, her voice dripping with seductive mockery. "European nobility—turns out all you can do is run your mouths. How utterly disappointing."

Charlotte cast Edgar a cold glance, her eyes regarding him like he was already a corpse. "Trash like you think you're worthy of having us stay the night? Take a good look in the mirror first."

Hearing these three women's brazen taunts, Elton—the Gray Cloaks commander who'd been sitting quietly to the side—finally couldn't sit still.

"No wonder you had the guts to walk in here alone. Turns out you're a real fighter."

Elton slowly rose, removing his gray suit jacket, his eyes locked coldly on Leo. "But if you think beating one muscle-bound idiot means you can run wild here, you're dead wrong."

"Today, I'll show you what real killing technique looks like!"

Elton closed the distance in an instant.

A vicious straight punch aimed for Leo's throat, while his right knee silently drove toward Leo's abdomen.

High and low—both lethal strikes!

Facing this fierce assault, Leo finally tossed aside his cigar.

He met it with an equally devastating punch!

Fist met fist mid-air with the sound of leather striking a war drum.

The powerful recoil instantly tore the expensive carpet beneath their feet!

Surprise flashed through Elton's eyes. He hadn't expected this 'nouveau riche' to take his full-force punch head-on without giving an inch.

Then, in the cramped confines of the private room, the two launched into a brutal close-quarters brawl.

No flashy moves, no wasted motion—every punch, every kick aimed straight for vital points. Pure, bone-crushing violence.

Elbow strikes, knee thrusts, blocks, counter-grapples!

The dull thuds of flesh hitting flesh sounded like rapid drumbeats. Their exchange was lightning-fast, and the room's expensive furniture shattered under the force of their occasional stray impacts.

After a brief dozen exchanges, the two were evenly matched!

"What the hell is this guy?!"

The longer Elton fought, the more alarmed he became. His arms were going numb from the repeated collisions with Leo.

His prized Gray Cloaks ancient combat techniques couldn't gain even the slightest advantage against this man.

His opponent's moves were simple and brutal, yet carried the pure killing intent forged in mountains of corpses and seas of blood!

While Elton and Leo were locked in combat—

Wilmer, cowering in the back, saw Leo tied up and found his courage.

He glanced at the three women behind Leo, then at the Gray Cloaks assassins who stood frozen in shock at the fight.

"What are you idiots waiting for?!"

Wilmer screamed frantically. "That upstart is tied up with Mr. Wheeler! Grab those three women! Use them as hostages and he's finished!"

The dozen-plus Gray Cloaks assassins snapped out of it, drawing daggers and short clubs from their waists, lunging toward Ivy and the others like wolves.

Edgar stood in his safe spot, eyes gleaming with lecherous anticipation. "Don't damage their faces—take them alive!"

However, what happened next plunged Edgar and Wilmer into absolute despair.

Faced with over a dozen professional killers rushing them—

Ivy, Serafina, and Charlotte didn't scream or dodge. Instead, they exchanged smiles.

"Big mistake."

Ivy's wrist twisted, and a dark red claw blade slid into her palm like a viper's fang.

Her form moved like a crimson phantom, charging straight at two assassins.

The blade traced a deadly arc through the air. The two killers didn't even see her move before twin jets of blood sprayed from their throats!

Serafina kicked off her heels. Those long, elegant legs became lethal weapons.

She leaped into the air, executing a devastating scissor-leg maneuver that locked around an assassin's neck.

His cervical spine snapped instantly!

Charlotte was coldest of all. She produced two slender scalpels from somewhere, weaving through the crowd like a butterfly.

With each strike, she severed a killer's hamstrings or tendons. Screams filled the room.

In less than a minute—

Over a dozen elite Gray Cloaks assassins had been reduced to scattered limbs and broken bodies, their agonized wails echoing through the room at the hands of these three seemingly delicate beauties.

Blood stained the luxurious carpet. The acrid stench of blood filled the air.

"This... this is impossible?!"

Wilmer collapsed onto the floor, a wet stain spreading across his pants.

Edgar backed away repeatedly, his face white as a sheet.

These weren't three women meant for men's pleasure—

These were three demons crawled straight out of hell!

The carnage caused Elton—still fighting Leo—a fatal moment of distraction.

"Your people don't seem to be holding up too well," Leo said with contempt.

Elton turned back, only to see an iron fist rapidly filling his vision!

Leo's fist slammed into Elton's chest.

Elton's imposing frame lifted clear off the ground, flying straight to Edgar's feet.

Elton lifted his head, staring at that demonic figure in black, his eyes filled with undisguised shock.

Top-tier military killing techniques, three terrifyingly skilled female assassins, and this overwhelming arrogance that treated Europeans like nothing...

All the clues connected in Elton's mind, and a soul-shaking realization surged forward irresistibly.

"You... you're not some Silicon Valley investor named Warren at all!"

Elton's voice trembled as he roared, "This kind of skill, this kind of style... who the hell are you?"

Leo walked through the blood-soaked floor, step by step approaching Elton and Edgar, looking down at these foolish prey from above.

"Didn't you set up that little trap outside the auction house, waiting so eagerly for me to walk right into it?"

"I'm Leo."

"Leo Ashford."

Leo's voice rang out like a death knell from hell, thundering in everyone's ears.