Divorced and Dominant Now You Cry novel Chapter 739

Chapter 739

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Ashton was entering a more exhilarated state, hungry for harsher confrontations and more ruthless combat.

At that instant, countless gazes shifted toward Flint. No one dared to underestimate Ashton anymore.

Who would rule Javonbury’s criminal underworld was no longer clear.

“Corvus, you’re up,” Flint said coldly. “Show him why they call you the Shadow King.”

His gaze was dark and predatory, fixed on Ashton as if he were trying to see straight through him.

“Got it, Mr. Vance.”

In the next instant, a middle–aged man stepped out of the shadows and onto the life–or–death arena, a cold blade gripped in his hand. No one noticed his arrival.

“Mr. Vance wants you dead,” he said calmly. “My name is Corvus.”

The moment the name left his lips, the temperature dropped as a chill spread through the arena.

“Corvus? He’s the Shadow King of Javonbury, and the strongest assassin alive. He’s also an unbeatable semi–divine realm expert.”

“No one’s ever seen his real face, because everyone who has is already dead. Rumor says he’s the Grim Reaper, walking among us in the dark. Who would’ve thought he was one of the Sage’s men? No wonder the Sage has ruled Javonbury’s criminal underworld for decades.

“With a subordinate like Corvus, he could bulldoze anything in his path.”

“This must be the Sage’s ultimate trump card. Between Corvus and Ashton, I wonder who really deserves the title of Grim Reaper?”

In a blink, Corvus vanished from the arena, leaving behind nothing but a faint distortion in the air.

“What just happened?”

“He’s too fast.”

“It’s not just speed. It’s his movement. He’s the Shadow King for a reason. You can’t catch the wind, and you can’t stop his killing intent.”

In the next moment, Corvus appeared directly in front of Ashton.

At some point, the blade in his hand had become a curved scythe, its edge gleaming with a cold, unnatural sheen. It swept down in a strange arc, leaving behind a warped trail in the air.

Ashton’s eyes narrowed, and his heart pounded with shock. For the first time, he failed to predict his opponent’s position. Worse still, the strike passed clean through his stormwind barrier.

Blood sprayed outward, and a shallow wound appeared across his chest. Cold sweat gathered along his brow as he felt a killing intent far sharper than anything Ronan had exuded.

“So, this is the Shadow King,” Ashton murmured. “Impressive.”

His gaze sharpened as excitement surged through him. He had always known there were stronger opponents out there and had never thought himself to be untouchable.

“You’re not worthy to sit in the Sage’s seat,” Corvus said as he struck again.

His scythe came down again in a strange, unreadable arc, cold and precise, as though wielded by Grim Reaper.

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Corvus had been taken in by Elint as a child and raised in an assassin training camp. Out of the 300 candidates in his class, he was the only one who survived. During that final hunt, he had killed his closest friend and the woman who loved him. From that moment on, nothing could be used against him.

He later became Flint’s deadliest asset, used solely to eliminate anyone who stood in Flint’s way.

The scythe moved again. Every strike was stripped down to its simplest form, yet each carried overwhelming force. There were no wasted motions and no hesitation, only a relentless rhythm that left no room to counter.

The two figures crossed paths.

Fresh wounds split open across Ashton’s body, blood spilling steadily from each cut. It was obvious to anyone watching that he was outmatched.

Flint watched the fight unfold in the life–or–death arena and let out a cold, dismissive laugh.

“Ashton will never stand a chance,” he said, shaking his head.

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