From Outcast to Overlord The Unyielding Heir (Leander Ashcroft) novel Chapter 502

Leander's response hit like a cold splash of water, leaving Denzel momentarily frozen. Most people, when offered a handshake, at least give a polite nod—or fake it if necessary. Some kind of acknowledgment is expected.

Not Leander. He didn't follow the usual script—he made it clear he had zero interest in shaking hands. Denzel's hand hovered awkwardly in the air, caught mid-motion, as he tried to process the outright rejection.

He didn't realize that this was just how Leander operated. Only when friends or trusted allies made introductions did Leander even bother with the tiniest gesture of courtesy. Everyone else? Considered invisible.

The first time he'd met Colin at Yvette's house, he'd given the exact same treatment—no smiles, no pleasantries, nothing. Total disregard for formalities.

At his level, only the top military commander of a nation—or the leader of a country—might earn a handshake. That was the kind of confidence and authority only a true top-tier figure carried.

The Benjamin family might dominate Dechor, commanding respect and fear, yet to him, their influence barely registered. Sure, if the family patriarch appeared in person, Leander might offer a token gesture. But a mere heir? Not worth so much as a glance.

Nathan and the others exchanged grim looks. Things had just gotten serious. Dechor was the Benjamin family's playground—their influence stretched to every corner of power, and even government offices often bent to their will. Their presence was inescapable.

And yet, Leander just snubbed the heir's outstretched hand in front of everyone. That was practically a declaration of defiance against the entire family. Those who knew the Benjamins—locals or outsiders—couldn't help but inhale sharply, exchanging glances that practically screamed, "This kid's asking for trouble."

"Doesn't he realize who he's dealing with? Ignoring Denzel's handshake like that!" someone murmured.

Another voice chimed in, "Wow… some people really have no sense. Denzel extends his hand, and he just flat-out refuses? Is he trying to pick a fight with the most powerful family in Dechor?"

"Completely brazen… utterly reckless." Whispers and headshakes rippled through the crowd. Nobody could believe the audacity they were witnessing.

Even if Leander were the scion of a royal dynasty or the son of the wealthiest man on Earth, in Dechor he'd still have to watch his step under the Benjamins' shadow. Even a dragon bows to the master of the territory.

And the Benjamins weren't just any local power—they were the true power entrenched in Dechor. Should they choose to retaliate, all the money and connections in the world wouldn't do a thing. Every step forward would feel like wading through quicksand.

Most people watching thought Leander was acting recklessly, almost absurdly. Even Nathan and the others shook their heads, thinking he'd let impulse get the better of him.

Only Celia, Maeve, and Aurora remained unmoved. With Leander's skill and influence, the Benjamins' reputation meant little. Strength was his currency—and with it, he could bulldoze anything, anywhere.

It took Denzel a moment to shake off the surprise. He slowly withdrew his hand, a glint of ice creeping into his eyes. "So… you're saying I'm not even on your level for a handshake?"

Leander took a casual bite of his apple, shrugging as if it were no big deal. "I don't really do handshakes with strangers. If you want to twist it that way, go ahead." He added lazily, "Maybe if your family's head were here, I'd toss a bit of respect his way. You? Not even close."

The reaction was instantaneous. The crowd erupted in snickers, disbelief written all over their faces. A mere college student standing up to the Benjamin heir in Dechor? To them, it was laughable—a spectacle of sheer audacity that left everyone shaking their heads.

"Ha!" Denzel burst into wild laughter, the kind that reeked of disdain. When the sound finally died, he dipped his head, and his eyes sharpened into icy blades. "So, a college kid dares to mouth off to me here in Yelem? I have to hand it to you—bold doesn't even cover it.

"One word from me, and you and your friends could end up stranded in the desert, left for the vultures. One command, and every last one of you will be trapped in this country with no exit, no excuses, no hope. Do you think I'm joking?"

At that moment, he couldn't care less that Maeve was present. Leander's defiance was a direct insult equivalent to trampling on the Benjamin family's dominance, and as the heir, Denzel no longer held back. His polite mask vanished, revealing the ruthless predator beneath.

Nathan and the others went pale, faces drained of color, panic creeping in. Sahar Wastes was already treacherous. Dechor was one of the safer pockets—and that had been the only reason they dared to set foot here.

However, it was still foreign territory. The reality hit them hard—one word from Denzel, and they could be left to wander the desert, at the mercy of sun, sand, and vultures. Life or death would be entirely out of their hands. No one would come looking for them.

Even if Astria tried to demand justice, it would amount to nothing. Denzel would remain untouchable—and who could even prove he was behind it? In this strange, uncharted land, Nathan and his friends felt all confidence drain away. Every ounce of courage they'd carried evaporated into pure dread.

The onlookers leaned back, half-amused, half-expecting disaster. In Yelem, Denzel's word carried weight—no tourist from Astria could hope to challenge the Benjamin family. Everyone braced, expecting Leander to back down. But instead, he pushed off from his seat.

With a casual flick of his hand, the world seemed to blur for a heartbeat. Then a sharp crack split the hall. Before anyone could react, Denzel's body was sent flying like a missile, slamming into the flowerbed at the side with a thunderous crash.