Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 247

CHAPTER 174 PART 1

Allen lay on the dining hall floor, blood streaming from his broken nose, his ribs screaming with pain from the brutal kicks he’d absorbed. The Black man stood over him with a victor’s arrogance, still taunting, still mocking.

“Sick man! Is that really all you got? Where’s the legendary Five-River Province fighters I heard about? All I see are broken old men playing dress-up!”

Miguel Abbott’s hands clenched into fists, fury and helplessness warring on his face. His best security personnel had been dismantled like children. His hotel-his territory-was being desecrated by arrogant foreigners who

treated violence like entertainment.

And he had no one left who could stop it.

“I’ll take this one,” Marcus said quietly, stepping forward from where he’d been observing.

The Black man’s eyes shifted to Marcus, and his grin widened with contempt. “You? Look at you, man! You’re built like a damn accountant! Where’s your muscles? Where’s your size? You think you can fight me looking like that?”

It was true-Marcus Steel didn’t have the imposing physique of a professional fighter. At average height and lean build, he looked more like a businessman than a warrior. Nothing about his appearance suggested the dragon power coiled beneath his calm exterior.

“Appearance means nothing,” Marcus replied simply.

“In a fight, appearance means everything!” the Black man laughed. “Size, strength, intimidation-that’s what wins! And you got none of it! Go back to your desk job, pencil-pusher, before you get hurt.”

But before Marcus could respond, movement from the group of foreigners drew everyone’s attention.

A woman stepped forward-early twenties, short black hair styled with deliberate precision, wearing a tight- fitting blazer that emphasized her athletic build without sacrificing professionalism. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, assessing Marcus with the practiced gaze of someone trained to evaluate threats.

Finley Monroe.

The Black man’s demeanor changed instantly when he saw her. His arrogance dimmed, replaced by something closer to respect-or perhaps fear masked as respect.

“Miss Monroe,” he said, stepping back immediately. “You want this one?”

“I do,” Finley replied, her voice carrying authority that made the Black man retreat without argument. “You’ve had your fun, Tyson. Let me see what this Dragon King can actually do.”

She approached Marcus with fluid confidence, each step measured, each movement suggesting combat training far beyond what the Black man possessed. Whatever organization these people represented, Finley Monroe was clearly the superior.

“You’re Marcus Steel,” she said-not a question, a statement. “The one everyone’s been talking about. The Dragon King who’s been tearing through Five-River Province’s power structure like it’s made of paper.”

“And you are?” Marcus asked calmly.

“Someone who wants to test whether the reputation matches reality,” Finley replied. She settled into a fighting stance-professional, efficient, betraying martial arts training that transcended casual study. “Don’t hold back. I certainly won’t.”

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Her strike came without further warning-a lightning-fast thrust aimed at Marcus’s throat with surgical precision. Her hand moved with speed that would have caught most fighters completely off guard, her confident smile suggesting she expected this to end in seconds.

The smile froze when Marcus’s hand caught her wrist mid-strike.

His dragon-enhanced reflexes made her attack look slow, predictable, telegraphed. He held her wrist loosely, almost casually, and smiled.

“Don’t even think about taking advantage of me,” he said with mock concern. “I’m a married man.”

Shock flickered across Finley’s face-genuine surprise that someone had matched her speed so effortlessly. But professionalism overrode emotion. She immediately pivoted, her free hand lashing out in a follow-up strike designed to exploit what should have been Marcus’s exposed position.

Marcus caught that wrist too.

Now he held both her arms, his dragon strength making her attempts to pull free futile despite her obvious physical conditioning.

Finley’s eyes narrowed with calculation. If her hands were trapped, she’d use her legs. Her right leg came up in a vicious kick aimed at Marcus’s ribs-the same attack that had destroyed Allen moments earlier.

Marcus consolidated his grip, holding both her wrists with just his left hand. His right hand came down, slapping her incoming kick aside with dragon-reinforced strength.

The impact felt like striking steel. Finley’s leg went numb from ankle to hip, the force traveling through bone and muscle with shocking power. She gasped despite herself-pain and surprise mixing-and tried to recover her stance.

But Marcus’s right hand was already at her throat, positioned with precision that made clear he could crush her windpipe before she could even think about countering.

“You lose,” Marcus said simply.

Finley froze, her breathing controlled but her eyes wide with the recognition of complete defeat. Three exchanges. Maybe five seconds total. And she’d been utterly outmatched.

Marcus released her and stepped back. “You’re skilled. Well-trained. But not in my league.”

Tyson, the Black man who’d been so arrogant moments before, watched this exchange with growing fury. Seeing Finley Monroe-his superior, his leader-captured and humiliated ignited something beyond mere anger.

“You son of a bitch!” Tyson roared, launching himself at Marcus with killing intent. No showboating now. No taunts. Just pure lethal aggression aimed at destroying the Dragon King.

Marcus didn’t retreat. He stepped forward to meet the attack, his dragon power surging through his body in a wave of supernatural strength.

His fist drove into Tyson’s knee-not a glancing blow, not a testing strike, but full dragon-enhanced force focused on a single joint.

The crack was sickening. Bone shattered. Ligaments tore. Tyson’s leg bent at an angle that made several onlookers vomit. His scream was primal, desperate, echoing across the dining hall.

Before Tyson could even process the pain, Marcus grabbed his arm and threw him to the ground with such violence that the impact seemed to rattle the entire room. Tyson’s body hit the expensive flooring with force that

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felt like his internal organs had liquefied.

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Blood erupted from his mouth-internal bleeding, ruptured vessels, damage that went far deeper than the visible injuries.

Marcus planted his foot on Tyson’s chest, dragon strength making the pressure unbearable. “Who’s the sick man now? Who’s pathetic? Who’s weak?”

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