Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 78

CHAPTER 78 PART 1

The Moscow Style Hotel stood in Grayson City’s business district, a towering monument to excess with its faux- Russian architecture and overpriced rooms. On the seventh floor, in a suite filled with sophisticated surveillance equipment and encrypted communication devices, Dmitri Volkov-known in the underworld as Iron Hoof- reclined in a leather chair, sipping vodka and monitoring data streams across three monitors.

At forty-five, Iron Hoof had built a reputation as one of the Shadow Warriors’ most reliable intelligence brokers. Stocky and barrel-chested with a shaved head and cold gray eyes, he’d traded information that toppled governments, destroyed corporations, and ended lives-all without breaking a sweat.

Tonight was supposed to be another easy payday. A simple kidnapping job, barely worth his attention except for the generous commission.

His encrypted phone buzzed. Video call. He glanced at the caller ID-Frank Morrison, captain of the Crimson Gorge mercenary squad under the Red Canyon syndicate.

Iron Hoof answered, his face appearing on Frank’s screen with a smug smile. “Frank, my friend! How did the simple extraction go? Did you-”

“SIMPLE?!” Frank’s scarred face filled the screen, his eyes wild with fury and something else-fear. Blood stained his tactical vest, and behind him, Iron Hoof could see the interior of a moving van. “You call that SIMPLE?! Two of my men are DEAD, Volkov! Dead! We were ambushed by elite fighters who killed my best soldiers like they were nothing!”

Iron Hoof’s smile didn’t falter. “Ambushed? By whom? I was told the target was a civilian businesswoman with minimal security-”

“Minimal security?!” Frank’s laugh was unhinged. “They had professional assassins! Women who moved like ghosts and threw darts that could kill from fifty yards! My men didn’t stand a chance!”

“Calm yourself, Frank.” Iron Hoof took another sip of vodka, utterly unconcerned. “Crimson Gorge is supposed to be one of Red Canyon’s elite units. Are you telling me two women defeated your entire squad? Perhaps the problem isn’t my intelligence-perhaps it’s your squad’s competence.”

Frank’s face turned purple with rage. “You arrogant Russian bastard! Those weren’t ordinary bodyguards! They were professionals, maybe even government-trained! And you assured us this would be a clean grab-no complications, no high-level opposition!”

“I provided accurate intelligence based on standard surveillance,” Iron Hoof said coolly. “If you encountered unexpected resistance, that’s what you’re paid to handle. Or has Crimson Gorge grown soft? Should I recommend Deep Cold hire more… capable contractors?”

The insult hit home. Frank’s jaw clenched, his hands gripping the phone so hard his knuckles turned white. ” Listen here, you smug piece of-”

“No, you listen,” Iron Hoof interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. “I am Deep Cold’s primary intelligence broker in North America. I have connections that make your little mercenary outfit look like street thugs. You want to question my methods? Feel free. But I’ll make sure every job opportunity on this continent dries up for Crimson Gorge within forty-eight hours.”

Frank’s expression darkened, but he swallowed his anger. “Fine. Just… just find out who those women were. We need to know what we’re dealing with. The target is secure, but if there’s organized opposition, we need intel NOW.”

Iron Hoof sighed dramatically. “Very well. Since you’re clearly incapable of basic reconnaissance, I’ll do your job

1/3

CAR PART!

+25 Bonus

for you. Send me video footage of these mysterious assassins.”

Frank forwarded the dashcam footage from the parking garage. Iron Hoof pulled it up on his second monitor, watching with growing interest as two women in yellow tracksuits moved with lethal precision, their plum blossom darts finding targets with inhuman accuracy.

His confident smile faltered.

Those movements. That technique. He’d seen it before in classified files, whispered about in the darkest corners of the intelligence community.

“Give me ten minutes,” Iron Hoof said, his tone no longer mocking.

He ended the call and dove into the dark web, accessing encrypted databases that most people didn’t know existed. His fingers flew across the keyboard, cross-referencing facial recognition, fighting styles, weapon signatures.

The results made his blood run cold.

“No,” he whispered. “No, no, no…”

The women weren’t just professionals. They were Willson Pavilion-the legendary Eastern assassination organization that served only the most powerful families in the cultivation world. Their services cost fortunes. Their loyalty was absolute. Their reputation was terrifying.

And if Willson Pavilion had deployed operatives as bodyguards, that meant the target wasn’t just some

businesswoman.

Iron Hoof’s hands trembled as he dug deeper, pulling up recent dark web bulletins. What he found made his stomach drop through the floor.

WILLSON PAVILION – BLOOD-RED KILLING ORDER

Target: ALL Red Canyon Syndicate operatives involved in the abduction of Sacred Saintess Quinn Hartford

Offense: Crimes against the natural order. Assault upon divine bloodline, Attempted harm to a protected Saintess.

Punishment: Total annihilation. No mercy. No survivors.

Warning to Deep Cold and affiliated organizations: Interference will be considered an act of war against powers beyond your comprehension. Stand aside or share Red Canyon’s fate.

The declaration was signed with the seal of Amadeus Fairbanks himself-the Shadow Master of Willson Pavilion, a man whose very name made hardened criminals flee countries.

“Sacred Saintess,” Iron Hoof breathed, his face white as snow. “They abducted a Sacred Saintess…”

He grabbed his phone, calling Frank back with shaking hands.

Frank answered immediately. “What did you find?”

“You idiots abducted a SAINTESS!” Iron Hoof screamed, all pretense of composure gone. “Quinn Hartford isn’t some civilian! She’s a Sacred Saintess with divine bloodline! And those women? Willson Pavilion! You’ve provoked a force that makes nuclear weapons look like firecrackers!”

“What? But the client said-”

“I don’t care what the client said! Willson Pavilion has issued a Blood-Red Killing Order! Do you understand what that means?! They’re going to hunt down everyone involved and torture them to death! You, your men, me,

2/3

TEN PART

+25 Bonus

CHAPTER 78 PART 2

“Check the dark web yourself if you don’t believe me!” Iron Hoof was pacing now, vodka forgotten. “It’s all over the intelligence networks! ‘They abducted a Saintess… they’re all dead men walking…’ Those are the exact words everyone’s using!”

Frank fumbled with his phone, pulling up the bulletin on his own device. His expression transformed from skepticism to absolute horror as he read the declaration.

“Oh God,” Frank whispered. “Oh God, we’re dead. We’re all dead.”

“You think?!” Iron Hoof snarled. “Sacred Saintesses are protected by forces that predate modern civilization! Their bloodlines are divine! Harming one brings down retribution from powers that make your Red Canyon syndicate look like playground bullies!”

Frank’s phone rang in the background-multiple incoming calls. He glanced at the screen, his face somehow going even paler.

“It’s my superior,” Frank said numbly. “It’s Director Kozlov himself.”

“Then you better answer and hope he’s calling to arrange your funeral, because that’s the best outcome you can hope for now!”

Frank answered the other call, switching to speakerphone. A harsh Russian accent filled the line: “Morrison! What have you DONE?!”

“Director, I-‘

“You abducted a Sacred Saintess! A SAINTESS! Are you trying to destroy Red Canyon completely?! Willson Pavilion has declared war on us! The Shadow Warriors are cutting ties! Deep Cold is threatening sanctions! Every major organization on three continents is distancing themselves from this disaster!”

“Sir, we were just following the client’s contract-”

“I don’t care about the contract! Abort immediately! Release the target! Return to headquarters for disciplinary action-and pray to whatever gods you believe in that Willson Pavilion accepts your surrender before they hunt you down like animals!”

The line went dead.

Frank stared at his phone in shock, then looked back at Iron Hoof’s screen. “What do we do?”

“WE?” Iron Hoof laughed hysterically. “There is no ‘we’ anymore, you fool! I’m severing all connections right now! You’re on your-”

His encrypted phone buzzed with an incoming call. Unknown number.

Iron Hoof’s instincts screamed danger, but curiosity won out. He answered.

“Dmitri Volkov,” a cold, unfamiliar voice said. “Also known as Iron Hoof. Intelligence broker for Deep Cold. Currently residing at Moscow Style Hotel, Suite 714.”

Iron Hoof’s blood froze. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”

“Your friend Cash Lawson gave it to me. Right before he died.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer. “Cash is… you’re lying.”

1/2

COMPART 2

+25 Bonus

“Am I? Want me to describe how his chest caved in when my associate’s fist went through his sternum? Or should I skip ahead to the part where I’m coming for everyone who touched my wife?”

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify