Saintess's Worthless Husband Turned Dragon Commander novel Chapter 91

CHAPTER 91 PART 1

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The parking garage’s fluorescent lights cast harsh shadows across concrete pillars as Marcus Steel faced the Taoist assassin. Dustless stood with perfect posture, his white robes immaculate, his long beard swaying slightly in the ventilation breeze. In his right hand, he held a horsetail whisk-an ancient weapon that looked deceptively soft but was woven with steel filaments capable of shredding flesh and crushing bone.

“Marcus Steel,” Dustless said, his voice carrying the serene confidence of a man who’d killed hundreds. “You have excellent instincts. Most targets never sense me until my weapon is already through their hearts.”

“Most targets aren’t married to Sacred Saintesses,” Marcus replied calmly, his dragon aura beginning to manifest as golden-red energy crackling faintly around his body. “Who sent you? Let me guess-Stanislaus Potter, still crying over his son’s broken legs?”

“Among others,” Dustless confirmed. “But my interest is more… personal. You see, Harlan Potter was my disciple. I trained him for forty years. Turned him from a street thug into the Shadow of the Potter family-a legend feared across three provinces.”

Marcus’s eyes narrowed. “Harlan. The enforcer I crippled at the cement factory.”

“Crippled?” A second voice echoed from behind a nearby pillar. Harlan Potter limped into view, both arms in casts, one leg dragging uselessly, his face twisted with vindictive hatred. “You destroyed me! Both arms shattered! My cultivation crippled! My reputation ruined! But Master Dustless will make you pay for every broken bone!”

Marcus glanced at Harlan with casual contempt. “Still alive? I’m surprised you haven’t crawled into a hole to die of shame. Legendary Shadow of the Potter family, reduced to a cripple who needs his master to fight his battles.”

“You arrogant bastard!” Harlan snarled. “Master, make him kneel! Make him beg! I want to watch this nobody grovel before-”

“Harlan,” Dustless interrupted quietly, “be silent. This one is dangerous.”

Marcus checked his watch with deliberate nonchalance. “Look, I have dinner reservations with my wife in fifteen minutes. Can we speed this up? I’d hate to keep a Sacred Saintess waiting because some washed-up Taoist assassin needed to stroke his wounded pride.”

Dustless’s serene expression flickered with genuine anger. “You mock me? I am Dustless-Master of the Formless Strike, trained at Wudang Mountain for sixty years. I’ve killed grandmasters, government officials, crime lords who thought themselves untouchable. And you-a nobody who got lucky against my injured disciple- dare speak to me with such disrespect?”

“Lucky?” Marcus’s laugh was cold and mocking. “Your ‘legendary’ disciple attacked me with his full strength. I broke him in under a minute. That’s not luck. That’s the difference between a fraud and actual power.”

“Then let me demonstrate what real power looks like,” Dustless said quietly.

He moved.

The horsetail whisk lashed out with blinding speed, its steel-woven strands whistling through the air like striking serpents. The weapon moved in a perfect arc, aimed at Marcus’s throat-a killing blow that would decapitate him before he could even register the attack.

Marcus’s head tilted slightly to the left.

The whisk passed through empty space, missing by millimeters.

Dustless’s eyes widened fractionally. Impossible. That speed-he saw it coming-

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“Is that real power?” Marcus asked conversationally. “Because from here, it looks like an old man flailing around with a fancy duster.”

Dustless attacked again-three lightning-fast strikes from different angles, each one precise enough to kill a master cultivator. His sixty years of training poured into every movement, technique honed by thousands of kills.

Marcus dodged all three without even using his hands, dragon-enhanced reflexes making Dustless’s legendary speed look sluggish.

“You’re fast,” Marcus admitted, his dragon aura flaring brighter. “For a human. But you’re fighting something beyond normal cultivation now.”

He struck.

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CHAPTER 91 PART 2

His fist, wreathed in golden-red dragon fire, shot forward faster than Dustless could perceive. The impact hit the assassin’s sternum with the force of a cannonball, and the sound of ribs cracking echoed through the parking

garage.

Dustless flew backward, crashed through a concrete support pillar, and slammed into a parked Mercedes hard enough to cave in the driver’s side door. Blood sprayed from his mouth, and his horsetail whisk fell from nerveless fingers.

“Master!” Harlan screamed, hobbling forward on his one good leg. “No! That’s-that’s impossible! You’re a grandmaster! He can’t-”

“Shut up,” Dustless gasped, clutching his shattered ribs as he struggled to his feet. He stared at Marcus with genuine shock-and underneath that, dawning terror. “What are you? That power-it’s not cultivation. It’s not martial arts. It’s something… ancient…”

Marcus’s eyes began to glow with golden-red light, dragon scales flickering across his knuckles like ghostly armor. “I’m the husband of a Sacred Saintess. The man who protects divine bloodline. And you-you’re the fool who accepted a contract to kill me.”

His dragon aura exploded outward in a visible shockwave that shattered every light fixture within fifty feet. The parking garage plunged into darkness broken only by the crimson-gold fire burning around Marcus’s body.

“You dare attack the husband of a Sacred Saintess?” Marcus’s voice carried inhuman resonance that made Dustless’s instincts scream run, flee, survive at any cost. “You dare threaten the woman chosen by heaven itself?”

Dustless made his decision in a split second. Survival trumped honor. Survival trumped the fifty-million-dollar contract. This was no ordinary opponent-this was something that transcended mortal combat entirely.

He grabbed Harlan Potter and threw him directly at Marcus.

“Master?! What are you-NOOO!”

Harlan’s scream was cut short as Marcus’s dragon-infused fist met his chest mid-flight. The impact was catastrophic-ribs shattered, spine snapped, internal organs ruptured. Harlan Potter’s body, already crippled from their previous encounter, simply couldn’t withstand force that could level buildings.

He was dead before he hit the ground, his master’s final betrayal the last thing he ever experienced.

Dustless used that brief moment to sprint toward the parking garage exit, his injured body moving with desperate speed born of pure survival instinct. Get out. Get away. Report to the Potter family this was a mistake-

Marcus bent down, grabbed a broken streetlight that had fallen during their brief exchange-a solid steel pole fifteen feet long and weighing over two hundred pounds-and hefted it like a javelin.

“Leaving so soon?” Marcus called out. “We’re not finished.”

He threw.

Dragon power infused the makeshift projectile, turning it into a supersonic missile. The streetlight flew through the air with a sound like tearing metal, crossing the distance to the exit in less than a second.

Dustless, legendary assassin, master of the Formless Strike, trained for sixty years at Wudang Mountain, never even saw it coming.

The steel pole impaled him through the back, erupting from his chest in a spray of blood and torn tissue. The

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impact lifted him off his feet and carried him twenty more yards before slamming him against the parking garage’s reinforced steel gate.

He hung there like a gruesome trophy, the streetlight pinning him in place, his white robes stained crimson.

“Fifty million,” Marcus said quietly, walking toward the dying assassin. “That’s what the Potter family paid you to kill me. Fifty million dollars. And you died in under three minutes without landing a single blow.”

Dustless tried to speak, blood bubbling from his lips. His legendary cultivation, his decades of training, his hundreds of successful kills-none of it mattered against power that existed on a completely different level.

“Tell the others,” Marcus said, his dragon eyes blazing in the darkness. “Tell whoever waits for you in whatever hell assassins go to-the husband of a Sacred Saintess is not prey. He is the hunter. And anyone who threatens his wife will meet the same fate.”

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