Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 226

CHAPTER 164 PART 1

The four men who approached Marcus Steel moved with the casual confidence of professionals who’d done this hundreds of times before. Their positioning was textbook-flankers maintaining optimal attack angles, the leader controlling center, the shooter hanging back with clear line of sight. In any normal scenario, against any normal target, this would have been over in minutes.

But nothing about Marcus Steel was normal.

“You know,” the leader said as they closed the distance, “you’re handling this better than most. Usually people beg by now. Or run. You’re just standing there like you’re waiting for a bus.”

“I’m appreciating the location,” Marcus replied calmly, his dragon eyes scanning the wooded area beside the highway. “Good feng shui. Trees for shade. Quiet. Peaceful. It’s a nice spot.”

“For what?” one of the flankers asked, confusion breaking through his professional demeanor.

“For burial,” Marcus said simply.

The men laughed-genuine amusement at what they assumed was bravado from someone about to be broken.

“Kid’s got jokes,” the shooter observed from his rear position. “I almost feel bad about what’s coming next.”

“Don’t,” the leader said. “He crippled Atlas Lancaster. Nobody gets to walk away from that. Not in this province. Not with the bounty that’s on his head.”

Marcus’s dragon eyes sharpened slightly. “Bounty?”

“You didn’t know?” The leader smiled. “Word travels fast in our world. The Lancaster Family put out a contract within an hour of what you did. Double rate-fifty thousand to bring you in alive, thirty thousand for proof of death. That kind of money attracts attention.”

“And you’re what-bounty hunters?” Marcus asked.

“We prefer ‘independent contractors,”” another man said. “But yeah. We’re the Dalton Brothers. Well, not actual brothers, but we work together. Been doing this for fifteen years across six states. You’re just another payday to us.

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“The Dalton Brothers,” Marcus repeated thoughtfully. “I’ve heard that name. Underground circles, right? You specialize in high-value targets. Politicians. Business executives. Occasionally rival gang leaders.”

The leader looked genuinely pleased. “So you do know us. That’s good. Means you understand what you’re up against. We’re not street thugs. We’re professionals.”

“Mid-forties,” Marcus observed, his dragon senses cataloging details. “All of you. Peak physical condition for your age, extensive combat training, coordination from years of working together.” He paused. “You think age equals skill. That youth means weakness.”

“Doesn’t it?” the leader asked. “You’re what-twenty-five? Maybe twenty-seven? We’ve been killing people since you were learning multiplication tables. Experience matters, kid. And you’re about to get a very painful education in why.”

“Experience,” Marcus said quietly, “only matters if you survive long enough to use it.”

The man in yellow-one of the flankers-stepped forward with a predatory grin. “Big words. Let’s see if you can back them up. I’ll even give you the first shot. Free swing at my face. Make it count.”

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Marcus didn’t move. “Why would I waste energy on a free shot when I can just kill you efficiently?”

The yellow-clad assassin’s grin widened. “Kill me? Boy, I’ve fought Shadow Warriors. Real ones-not the wannabes you find in most cities. I’ve survived knife fights, gun battles, and hand-to-hand combat against opponents who’d make your knees weak. What makes you think—”

Marcus’s fist caught him mid-sentence.

The Dragon King moved with speed that made him blur. One moment he was standing still, the next his dragon- enhanced punch was driving into the yellow assassin’s sternum with force that transcended human capability.

The impact sounded like a car crash. Ribs shattered. The sternum cracked. Internal organs compressed beyond their design tolerance.

The yellow-clad man flew backward, his body traveling ten feet before hitting a tree trunk hard enough to shake leaves from branches. He slumped to the ground, blood pouring from his mouth, his eyes wide with shock and

agony.

Marcus didn’t wait for him to recover-didn’t give him the chance to process what had just happened. He crossed the distance in two strides, his hand moving with surgical precision to the back of the fallen man’s skull.

One strike. Dragon power focused into a single point.

The crack was final and absolute.

The yellow assassin’s body went limp, his eyes rolling back, his final breath escaping in a wet gurgle.

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