The Ex-Con Who Conquered the World novel Chapter 63

Stefan looked Dawson straight in the eye. "You really shouldn't have messed with me."

Dawson laughed, "Oh, screw that. You're still putting on a show? Even now? Fine. Let's see how long that attitude lasts when you're on the ground."

He raised his hand. The room erupted. Dozens of men—armed, angry, and more than ready—surged forward. Knives flashed. Pipes swung through the air.

"Stefan! Watch out!"

Eliza's voice cut through the chaos. Her face had gone pale. Her whole body trembled as she watched the wave of bodies crash toward him.

One man against forty. Even if he could fight, how long could he last?

A blade in the back. A pipe to the skull. One wrong move and it was over.

But as she watched—something shifted. Her fear slowly turned to disbelief.

The first guy swung. Stefan sidestepped, wrenched the pipe from his hands, and planted a foot in his chest. The man flew backward like a ragdoll.

Then Stefan moved.

The pipe swept left. Crack. Three men dropped. Bones snapped like twigs.

It swept right. Thud. More went down. Weapons clattered to the floor. Screams filled the room.

He didn't stop.

Each swing carried something the thugs couldn't feel—but couldn't stop. True energy coursed through the pipe in his hands, turning a cheap piece of metal into something else entirely.

These men? They'd trained in the martial arts. They knew how to hit hard, how to break bones. But to Stefan, a martial cultivator? They might as well have been made of paper.

This wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter.

"I can't feel my arm—!"

"My leg—it's broken—!"

"Help—somebody help me—!"

In under a minute, it was over. Forty men lay sprawled across the floor, groaning, whimpering, clutching shattered limbs.

Stefan stood in the middle of it all. Pipe in hand. Not a drop of sweat.

Dawson's face went purple. "You son of a bitch—"

The temperature in the room seemed to drop. Dawson's aura flared—the unmistakable pressure of a Hidden Sect warrior, fifth rank. Dark energy crackled around him like static. "I tried to be nice." His voice dropped to a growl. "I saw potential in you. But since you can't recognize a good thing when it's handed to you, I'll send you to hell."

He snatched a cleaver off the floor. Dark energy flooded into the blade, making the steel hum.

He swung.

Dawson's blade came down like thunder—a vicious overhead chop fueled by every ounce of his dark energy. The cleaver screamed through the air, trailing violent force, promising death.

Stefan didn't move.

At the last possible second, his pipe came up. The impact echoed like a bell. But it wasn't Dawson's blade connecting—it was his blade shattering. The cleaver exploded into fragments, steel raining down around them.

Stefan looked at him, completely unfazed. "That's your big pitch? Join you? Follow orders from someone I could break with one hand?"

"You—" His voice came out in a strangled whisper. "What—what are you going to do?"

"You—you have no idea what you've done." His voice shook, but he forced the words out. "This is Celestial Wyrm territory. Mr. Burgess is right downstairs. You cause trouble here—you make noise—he'll hear about it. And when he does? You're finished. You hear me? Finished."