Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 246

CHAPTER 173 PART 2

The guard handed over the small container that held the poison darts. Marcus examined it briefly, his dragon senses cataloging weight, balance, aerodynamic properties. Then he made a subtle adjustment to the container’s configuration-something that transformed it from storage into a launching mechanism.

“What are you doing?” Miguel asked.

Marcus didn’t answer. His dragon eyes scanned the surrounding buildings, calculating distances, angles, wind patterns. Then he found what he was looking for-a distant rooftop, approximately two hundred meters away, where a slight reflection suggested glass or binoculars.

He raised the dart box, aimed with dragon precision that transcended normal human capability, and fired.

The dart crossed two hundred meters in less than two seconds, its trajectory perfect, its target impossibly small.

On the distant rooftop, binoculars exploded. A figure jerked backward, the shattered lenses cutting into their face, blood spattering across their expensive surveillance equipment.

Even from two hundred meters away, Marcus’s dragon hearing caught the voice-young, male, filled with pain and rage:

“Marcus Steel! You bastard! Someday I’ll make you wish for death! I swear it!”

Then footsteps-running, fleeing, disappearing into the urban maze.

Miguel stared at Marcus in disbelief. “You just… you made that shot… that’s impossible…”

“For normal people,” Marcus agreed. “For the Dragon King, it’s just precision.”

“Who was that?” Miguel demanded. “Who was watching?”

“Someone with a personal vendetta,” Marcus replied. “Not from Five-River Province. Not connected to the local power struggles. This was revenge for something I did elsewhere-probably related to Grayson City or one of the families I’ve destroyed.”

“Should we pursue?”

“No point,” Marcus said. “They’re gone now. And honestly, they’re not the priority. Let them nurse their grudge and plan their revenge. When they finally come for me, I’ll deal with them the same way I dealt with these four.”

He gestured at the dead Shadow Warriors scattered across the abandoned district. “Clean this up. Dispose of the bodies. And let’s get back to Pearl on the Water. I need a drink.”

The return journey was uneventful-no more ambushes, no more attacks. By the time they reached Pearl on the Water Hotel, dawn was beginning to lighten the eastern sky, painting the province in shades of gold and red.

But peace didn’t last.

The moment they entered the hotel lobby, a waiter rushed forward, his face pale with stress. “Mr. Abbott! Thank God you’re back! We have a situation

“What kind of situation?” Miguel asked tiredly.

“Guests. Arrogant ones. They’ve been causing problems for the past hour. Injured several staff members. Refused to leave. They’re in the main dining hall now, demanding service and-”

“Show me,” Miguel interrupted, his exhaustion replaced by fury. Nobody caused trouble at Pearl on the Water.

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Not in his hotel. Not under his watch.

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They followed the waiter to the dining hall-an elegant space normally reserved for breakfast service. But right now, it was occupied by a group of five men, all dressed in expensive athletic wear, all radiating the kind of casual arrogance that came from never facing consequences.

At the center of the group, standing on a chair like it was a stage, was a Black man in his early thirties. Muscular, confident, with the bearing of someone who knew they were dangerous and enjoyed that knowledge.

He held a handful of chopsticks and was attempting to toss them into a teacup positioned on the table below- some kind of game or bet among his companions.

The chopstick missed. And the next. And the one after that.

“Damn it!” the man cursed. “This stupid game is rigged! Yo! Waiter! Get me more chopsticks!”

A nervous server approached with fresh chopsticks. “Sir, perhaps you could-”

“Perhaps I could what?” the man interrupted. “Perhaps I could shut up and get me what I asked for? Yeah, that sounds about right. Move your ass!”

His companions laughed-cruel, mocking sounds that suggested they’d been enjoying watching the staff squirm for a while now.

Miguel Abbott stepped forward, his voice carrying absolute authority. “I’m the owner of this establishment. You can either eat your meal properly and respectfully, or you can leave. Choose now.”

The Black man looked down from his chair perch, his expression shifting from amusement to contempt. “Oh, look. The old man himself. You gonna serve us personally, old timer? ‘Cause that might actually make this shithole worth visiting.”

“Last chance,” Miguel said coldly. “Leave, or be removed.”

“Removed?” The man laughed. “By who? You? Your little waiters? I’d like to see you try, old man.”

One of Miguel’s bodyguards-the one who’d survived the ambush-stepped forward aggressively. “You need to-

The Black man’s kick was lightning fast. His foot connected with the bodyguard’s ribs with enough force to lift him off his feet and send him crashing into a nearby table. The sound of breaking ribs was audible even across the

room.

“Sick man!” the Black man taunted, using a racial slur that made every person of Asian descent in the room stiffen with anger. “That all you got? This is supposed to be Five River Province’s finest? Pathetic!”

Allen-Miguel’s head of security-pushed forward, his professional pride wounded by watching his subordinate destroyed so easily. “I’ll handle this.”

He moved in with practiced technique-boxing fundamentals enhanced by years of practical experience. His fists flew in combination strikes designed to overwhelm and disable.

The Black man blocked effortlessly. His counters came faster, harder, enhanced by what was clearly professional martial arts training. A spinning kick caught Allen in the ribs. A follow-up punch to the solar plexus doubled him over. An elbow to the face sent him staggering backward, blood pouring from his broken nose.

“Sick man!” the taunt came again, louder this time, delivered with genuine contempt. “Is that all you got? I heard Five-River Province had real fighters! All I see are weak old men playing tough!”

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