Chapter 180: Solo Raid on the Tovar Villa

At his command, several guards hidden in the hall immediately rushed out.

Combined with those who came running from outside after hearing the commotion, there were over a dozen men in total.

They surrounded James in a tight circle, all brandishing knives.

James stood his ground, motionless.

Watching them charge forward, he shifted slightly to one side.

Dodging the blade swinging toward his face, he caught the attacker's wrist in one smooth motion and applied pressure.

Crack!

The man's wrist snapped cleanly.

The knife clattered to the floor.

James picked it up and swung it backhand.

The flat of the blade struck another man's shoulder.

The man screamed and collapsed.

James kept his strikes measured—he wasn't going for kills, just incapacitating them.

Most of these guards were hired muscle. No need to wipe them out completely.

The dozen or so men went down in less than five minutes.

The last two cowered off to the side, too terrified to approach.

Their whole bodies trembled.

Terry's expression grew darker by the second.

He hadn't expected James to be this formidable in a fight.

A dozen guards couldn't even last five minutes.

No wonder Kimball had died at his hands.

"Stand down."

Terry spoke, his voice heavy.

The remaining two guards retreated gratefully to the side, as if pardoned.

Terry leaned on his cane and slowly shuffled forward two steps.

He stopped several yards from James.

He tossed his cane aside and rolled his wrists and neck.

His bones cracked audibly.

A fierce aura radiated from him.

Far more intense than Kimball's had ever been.

"James, you've got some skills."

Terry fixed his gaze on James, his eyes vicious.

"But you're too cocky."

"Barging into my home, killing my grandson."

"Today I'm going to cripple you and hang you from the city gates as revenge for my boy."

The moment he finished speaking, he moved.

Fast—nothing like an old man.

His fist cut through the air with a whistling sound, aimed straight at James's face.

The force of it stung.

James didn't dodge. He raised his hand to meet it head-on.

Their fists collided.

Boom!

A shockwave rippled outward.

The candles on the table flickered, nearly going out.

James remained rooted in place.

Terry, however, staggered back two steps.

Surprise flickered across his face.

He clearly hadn't expected James to pack this much power.

"Interesting."

Terry's expression turned serious.

He realized he was up against a real fighter.

He couldn't afford to be careless anymore.

He took a deep breath and charged again.

This time, he went all out.

His strikes came fast and brutal, every one aimed at a vital point.

Fists and palms sliced through the air with sharp whooshing sounds.

James handled it all with ease.

His movements were simple, no wasted motion.

Each block landed precisely against Terry's attacks.

The occasional counterattack forced Terry into frantic defense.

After a dozen exchanges, Terry began losing ground.

His breathing grew labored, sweat beading on his forehead.

Age was catching up with him—his stamina couldn't keep pace.

His endurance was nowhere near a younger man's.

If this kept up, he'd lose for sure.

Kyle watched from the sidelines, anxiety gnawing at him.

He could tell Terry wouldn't last much longer.

He bit his lip and shot a look at the others nearby.

The remaining two guards nodded and crept around behind James.

Planning a sneak attack.

The moment they raised their hands, James—as if he had eyes in the back of his head—spun around without looking and threw a punch.

The guard rushing forward took it square in the chest.

He screamed and flew back several yards, crashing to the ground unable to get up.

The other froze in place, too scared to advance.

Kyle's whole body shook uncontrollably.

His palms were slick with cold sweat.

He'd thought that once Terry stepped in, taking down James would be a sure thing.

But after ten-plus minutes of fighting, Terry's gasps grew heavier and heavier.

His back was soaked through with sweat.

Even the two guards trying to attack from behind got taken out with a casual punch from James.

Any confidence Kyle had left shattered instantly.

If this dragged on any longer, Terry would definitely lose today.

Kyle quickly turned to the side.

He made exaggerated facial expressions at several trusted enforcers hiding in the corner of the courtyard.

His lips moved silently, signaling them.

Go to Cedric's house right now and call for backup.

The enforcers caught his meaning.

Not daring to linger on the front lines, they pressed themselves against the courtyard wall and crouched low.

Hugging the base of the wall, they slipped quietly toward the side gate.

James caught the fleeting figures in his peripheral vision.

He didn't bother trying to stop them.

He knew full well Terry was already at his limit.

Even if reinforcements arrived, they'd be too late to save him.

Terry's ragged breathing echoed harshly in the silent hall.

He clenched his back molars hard.

The murderous intent in his eyes spilled out uncontrollably.

He'd lived most of his life, and no young punk had ever pushed him this far before.

Losing face was one thing.

But if he couldn't take down James today, the Tovar family's dignity—and all the resources Cedric had given him—would be lost.

He wiped the sweat streaming down his forehead.

Then reached behind his back for a dagger strapped to his waist.

The cold metal pressed against his palm.

Terry's frayed nerves steadied slightly.

Hand-to-hand combat wasn't working.

Fine. He'd use a weapon instead.

"You've got some skill, I'll give you that. But today, you're dying here."

Terry gripped the dagger.

His feet planted firmly on the ground.

His aura exploded outward again.

He charged at James once more.

The dagger slashed and stabbed.

Every strike aimed for the throat, the heart—vital points.

His movements were far more vicious than when fighting bare-handed.

James shifted his footing slightly.

His body weaved left and right.

The blade grazed his shoulder, only tearing through the outer layer of fabric.

Iron Wolf stood at the entrance to the hall, fists clenched tight.

Anxiety churned inside him.

He wanted to rush in and help but feared disrupting James's rhythm.

Kevin grabbed his arm and hissed under his breath.

"Don't move. Mr. Anderson knows what he's doing. We'd just get in the way."

Iron Wolf let out a muffled grunt.

His eyes stayed locked on the two fighters, not daring to look away for even a second.

Terry's dagger swings grew more frantic.

The prolonged exertion was taking its toll.

His arm started aching, his movements visibly sluggish.

James seized the opening when Terry pulled back from a swing.

He closed the distance and slammed his elbow into Terry's ribs.

A dull thud rang out.

Terry stumbled backward three steps.

He nearly dropped the dagger.

Pain shot through his ribcage.

He grunted through gritted teeth.

"Terry, there's no point in dragging this out."

James's tone was flat, emotionless.

"All the dirty work you've done over the years with Cedric backing you—today, it all gets settled."

Terry's chest heaved violently.