Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 73

CHAPTER 73

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Dominic Martinez’s face turned purple as Harlan Potter’s iron grip crushed his windpipe. His feet kicked uselessly above the ground, his hands clawing desperately at the older man’s wrist.

“You kidnap a Potter,” Harlan hissed, his cold gray eyes burning with controlled fury, “and you think there are consequences you can afford? You’re insects. And I’m going to crush every last one of you.”

Aaron Jackson’s hand shot to his waist, pulling out a small crimson token etched with intricate symbols-the infamous Soul-Chasing Token. In the underworld, it was a death warrant, a symbol that meant the bearer had been marked for execution by the highest authorities.

He hurled it at Harlan’s feet.

The token clattered across the concrete, spinning to a stop directly in front of the Potter family’s enforcer. Harlan’s eyes flicked down to it, and for the first time, genuine surprise crossed his features. Then he smiled-a predator’s smile.

“A Soul-Chasing Token?” Harlan released Dominic, who collapsed to the ground gasping and coughing. “You think that scares me? I’ve collected seventeen of these over my career. Death threats are as common as rain in my line of work.”

He crushed the token under his heel with casual contempt.

“Let me show you what real death looks like.”

Harlan launched himself at Aaron with terrifying speed, his fist blazing with crimson energy–the Iron Phoenix Rising technique. The air around his strike shimmered with heat.

Aaron met him head-on, his own cultivation flaring to life. Their fists collided with a deafening crack that shook the warehouse’s rusted framework. Shockwaves rippled outward, shattering windows and sending concrete dust raining from the ceiling.

“Not bad,” Harlan admitted, his expression hardening with respect. “You’re no amateur. What school trained you?

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“The kind that teaches us to kill overconfident bastards like you,” Aaron snarled, launching a devastating knee

strike.

Harlan blocked it with his forearm, the impact echoing like a gunshot. They separated, circling each other like wolves. Both men’s breathing was controlled, their eyes locked in mutual assessment.

“Phoenix Wing Slash!” Harlan’s hand blazed with scarlet energy as he unleashed a technique that carved through the air itself.

Aaron twisted aside, the strike missing him by inches and carving a meter-deep gouge in the concrete wall behind him. “Is that all the Shadow’s got? I’ve fought grandmothers with better form!”

“You cocky bastard!” Harlan roared, his composure cracking. He unleashed a barrage of strikes, each one powerful enough to shatter bone.

The two warriors became a blur of motion, trading blows with lethal precision. Harlan’s decades of black ops experience clashed against Aaron’s raw power and killer instinct. They were evenly matched-for every strike Harlan landed, Aaron countered with equal force.

Blood dripped from Aaron’s split lip. Harlan’s expensive suit was torn at the shoulder. Neither man gave an inch.

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While the two titans battled, six of Harlan’s elite bodyguards rushed toward Quamaine Potter, their weapons drawn.

“Get the young master out of here!” the lead guard barked. “Kill anyone who tries to stop us!”

Marcus Steel stood between them and their target, his expression utterly calm.

One of the bodyguards-a massive brute named Curtis with a shaved head and neck tattoos-sneered at him. “Out of the way, secretary boy. This is grown-up business.”

“Secretary?” another guard laughed, a wiry man with a scar across his cheek. “Look at him-probably some accountant they dragged along to count money. Hey, four-eyes, you want to live? Run away now and maybe we’ll only break your legs!”

Marcus didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

Curtis shoved Marcus’s shoulder hard. “I said move, you worthless piece of-”

The words died in his throat.

Something ancient and terrible awakened in Marcus’s eyes-a golden-red glow that made the air itself feel heavy with primordial power. His dragon aura exploded outward like a nuclear shockwave, invisible but overwhelming, pressing down on every living thing in the warehouse.

“You should have run,” Marcus said quietly, his voice carrying an inhuman resonance that made the bodyguards’ blood run cold.

He moved.

Curtis never saw the punch coming. Marcus’s fist, wreathed in crackling energy that looked like liquid fire, slammed into his sternum with the force of a freight train. The sound of ribs shattering echoed through the warehouse. Curtis flew backward twenty feet, crashed through a rusted metal beam, and lay motionless in a heap of twisted metal.

“What the “The scarred guard tried to raise his gun.

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CHAPTER 73 PART 2

Marcus was already there. A single palm strike to the chest sent the man cartwheeling through the air, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground. He landed hard, his chest caved in, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

The remaining four bodyguards opened fire simultaneously, muzzle flashes lighting up the dim warehouse.

Marcus moved between the bullets like smoke, his speed defying physics. His hands became blurs of motion, and each strike dropped a bodyguard-one with a shattered knee, another with a crushed windpipe, a third with his arm bent at an impossible angle.

The last bodyguard, trembling and wide-eyed, emptied his entire magazine at Marcus from point-blank range.

Every single bullet missed.

Marcus’s hand shot out, grabbed the man by the face, and slammed him into the concrete floor hard enough to crack the foundation. The bodyguard’s skull bounced off the ground with a sickening thud, and he went limp.

Six elite fighters. Six seconds.

And in those six seconds, several of them swore they saw it-golden-red scales flickering across Marcus’s skin, dragon fire dancing along his knuckles, an ancient presence that made their cultivated power seem like candle flames before a volcanic eruption.

Harlan Potter froze mid-strike, his fist hovering inches from Aaron’s face. His eyes had caught the impossible scene unfolding behind his opponent.

“No,” he breathed, genuine shock breaking through his iron composure. “That’s… that’s not possible.”

All six of his elite guards-men he’d personally trained, each one capable of taking down a dozen armed soldiers -lay scattered like broken toys. And standing in the center of the carnage, looking completely unbothered, was the “secretary” they’d dismissed as harmless.

Marcus Steel met Harlan’s stare with eyes that glowed with inhuman power.

“Your turn,” Marcus said simply.

Harlan’s shock transformed into pure, incandescent rage. His confidence didn’t just falter-it shattered, replaced by something far more dangerous: the fury of a cornered predator.

“You dare!” Harlan’s entire body began to glow with crimson light as he activated a forbidden technique. His muscles bulged grotesquely, veins standing out like cables across his skin. The Berserk Blood Ignition-a technique that multiplied power tenfold at the cost of burning through one’s own life force.

The air in the warehouse grew thick and suffocating, saturated with killing intent so intense that it felt like drowning in blood.

“I don’t care what you are,” Harlan snarled, his voice distorted by the technique’s power. “In thirty minutes,

everyone in this building will be dead. I’ll paint these walls with your entrails and mail what’s left to your families!

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He launched himself at Marcus with speed that made his earlier movements look sluggish. His fist, blazing with power that could level a building, shot toward Marcus’s skull like a crimson meteor.

Marcus raised his hand almost lazily.

The impact sent a shockwave through the warehouse that blew out every remaining window. Dust and debris

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