Chapter 180 Wentworth Breaks Through
Fighting like this was draining him fast, and one wrong move meant getting mauled. Wentworth had just recovered from major injuries—how long could he keep this up?
Then he noticed something. One large male wolf hung back, barely engaging, its attacks half-hearted. Understanding clicked into place.
During wilderness training, he'd encountered wolves plenty of times. They were pack animals. There was always an alpha.
After stunning one wolf with a brick to the skull, Wentworth charged for the alpha directly. The moment that wolf engaged, its explosive power was terrifying—which explained how it had become the pack leader in the first place.
Now he had to fight the alpha while fending off the others that kept getting back up. The hundred-and-fifty-pound alpha launched itself at Wentworth, slamming him to the ground. His brick had shattered on impact—no weapon left. One hand fought to keep those jaws away from his throat while the other tried to block the other wolves closing in.
His fingers brushed something—a wooden stick.
Without hesitation, he grabbed it and drove it straight into the alpha's eye.
The wolf's howl was deafening. Wentworth rolled, surging to his feet, and beat the alpha with his bare fists until it stopped moving. With their leader dead, the remaining wolves scattered in panic.
First challenge cleared.
Above, both Matilda and Juliana could barely stand, their legs shaking violently. Matilda wanted to cry but couldn't—her heart twisted in knots. Juliana stared down at Wentworth in shock. Every movement had been swift and powerful, brave and decisive. His combat skills were breathtaking.
And most importantly—he'd come here to save her. He was like a knight, a hero riding in on a white horse.
Konbu picked up his megaphone, his laugh cold. "Not bad, Black Bear. A few wolves are nothing you can't handle. But the next levels? You won't have it so easy."
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Now he had to fight his way from the first floor to the third. Only after clearing all three floors could he reach Juliana.
The first floor had three assassins waiting.
The first stood seven foot one and weighed two hundred and forty pounds, every inch of him solid muscle. His strength was crushing—if he got his arms around you, you'd be paste on the floor.
The second was six foot three, perfectly built, a master of hand-to-hand combat.
The third stood five foot five, compact and agile, specialized in ambush tactics.
These were internationally ranked killers. And all of them carried knives.
The shortest one sneered at Wentworth. "Black Bear, you're not saving your girl today. What a shame. When you fail, she'll be mine. After I'm done with her, I'll cook her alive. Ha!"
The tall one laughed coldly. "You just fought wolves. You must be exhausted."
Wentworth's smile was contemptuous. "That was just my warm-up."
The massive one charged first. The other two held back—they were contract killers temporarily hired by Big Daddy. They wanted to assess Wentworth's capabilities before committing to the kill.
Wentworth didn't hesitate, meeting the charge head-on.
The tall assassin wasn't just big—he was fast, and his strength was immense. He looked more like a bear than Wentworth did. He kept searching for an opening, trying to get a solid grip. If he could lift Wentworth up, he could break every bone in his body.
But after a dozen exchanges, he still couldn't catch him.
Fighting the wolves had definitely cost Wentworth stamina. After being bedridden so long, his breathing came harder during the fight. But once he engaged, his body's potential exploded out of him. It really had just been a warm-up.
When the giant swung a massive fist at Wentworth's skull, Wentworth flipped up and over, landing on the man's shoulders. His legs locked around the thick neck of the giant. One sharp twist and the crack of bone was audible.
Confusion flashed in the giant's eyes, followed by disbelief. But he had no time to process what had happened. His motionless body was already falling to the ground.
The other two assassins froze, realizing they'd underestimated Wentworth. The three of them had become top-tier international killers because their combination was supposedly flawless. Losing one member severely weakened them.
They didn't dare take him lightly now. They both rushed toward Wentworth simultaneously.
The moment the giant fell, Wentworth yanked a knife from the weapons pouch strapped to his leg. Without a second's hesitation, he moved to meet the other two.
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Matilda watched on the screen from her floor, every muscle in her body rigid with tension. Several times she had to close her eyes, unable to watch. Several times she nearly fainted. But this was Wentworth—she had to watch.
In everyday life, Wentworth was modest and polite, gentle and approachable. Who could have imagined this was the real him?
He didn't have the advantage in this fight. It was brutal—trading blow for blow, each man landing hits. When the compact martial artist went down, Wentworth turned to deal with the tall one. Suddenly the small man sprang up with shocking agility, a knife raised in his hand, charging at Wentworth's exposed back.
Matilda screamed.
She was certain Wentworth, mid-fight with someone else, wouldn't be able to dodge in time.
But it was like Wentworth had eyes in the back of his head. He suddenly dropped low and spun, his leg sweeping the martial artist's feet out from under him. In one fluid motion, he dragged his blade across the man's throat.
Blood sprayed across Wentworth's body.
That's when Matilda couldn't hold it back anymore. She vomited.
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Juliana saw everything too. She couldn't stop crying.
Many men had gotten into fights for her before, but fighting and fighting to the death were completely different things. Wentworth was literally fighting for his life.
She knew she hadn't loved the wrong man. She'd never be able to forget him—not for the rest of her life.
In that moment, she suddenly understood what the highest form of love meant. She hoped Wentworth would win, that he and Matilda would have a happy life together, safe and sound forever.
After Wentworth killed the martial artist, the last man's fighting spirit crumbled. He was having an existential crisis.
When the three of them had accepted this contract, they'd been dismissive. Sure, they knew Wentworth was a soldier who'd seen countless battles, but they'd killed plenty of soldiers. Military training was systematic and predictable.
But this tall, lightning speed soldier in front of them? He was the real deal.
The final assassin took a brutal kick and hit the ground, unable to move. Wentworth lunged forward, grabbed him by the hair, and pressed the blade to his throat.