The Void Manor stood like a beast in the night, its towering black walls glowing faintly under the flood of golden lights. Inside, the great hall brimmed with tension, a storm waiting to break. The centerpiece was the massive ink painting of a white tiger, its roar frozen in brushstrokes, yet radiating such authority that even hardened killers felt a faint chill when their eyes met its gaze.Beneath the painting sat Black Monarch, straight-backed upon his throne, his presence as commanding as the tiger itself. Dressed in his signature black linen, he exuded an effortless dominance, the kind that came not from wealth but from a lifetime of breaking men beneath his heel. Beside him, like a shadow fused to his right hand, stood Black Phoenix, eyes gleaming with anticipation, lips curled into a faint smile that hinted at the blood he longed to spill.The two invited guests of the evening sat across the hall. Riback Essence of the North—broad-shouldered, scar-faced, with fists like sledgeh

Black Monarch’s face twisted with fury. His voice thundered across the hall, shaking even the men who stood closest to him."How dare you kill my men!"Jaden, calm as if he were standing in his own living room, smiled faintly. His tone was sharp enough to cut glass."Not just your men… I’d kill you too. Do you believe that?"The hall fell silent. For the briefest moment, even the roar of a hundred boots on stone seemed to vanish.Black Monarch’s eyes bulged wide, veins crawling across his temples. His rage simmered, then—shockingly—morphed into a laugh. A deep, manic laugh that echoed through the chamber like rolling thunder."Fantastic," he snarled, slamming his palm down on the arm of his throne with a sharp crack. "Since all of you have lived too long, I’ll gladly shorten your time on this earth. Kill them all!"The order exploded like a spark in dry wood.Black Phoenix, Riback Essence, and Duban Griffin lunged forward, their men surging behind them like a black tide of steel and f

The hall had become a storm of blood and steel. Black Monarch’s fighters poured in from every corner, screaming war cries as they hurled themselves toward Jaden Rift’s men. Yet no matter how many rushed forward, not a single one managed to close the distance to Jaden.The Elite Eight cut them down like executioners at a gallows. Every strike was fatal, every move calculated, their blades and fists painting the floor with broken bodies. The ground shook with the rhythm of slaughter, but still Jaden stood at the center, calm and immovable, as if none of this chaos concerned him.Then Black Monarch’s roar split the carnage.“Black Phoenix! Stop wasting time! Get their leader! Kill Jaden Rift!”The command struck like lightning.Black Phoenix moved instantly. His massive frame blurred forward with terrifying speed, and dozens of his men surged with him, forming a wall of bodies to keep the Elite Eight from closing ranks around their master. The clash was explosive. Blades sparked, bones s

Morix answered solemnly to his general’s words, his voice firm and resolute.“Yes, sir!”For years, the underworld thugs had run rampant, stirring chaos and daring to cross Jaden Rift’s path. He had tolerated their existence—until now. The moment Black Monarch fell, Jaden had decided it was time to cut off the serpent’s head once and for all.Now the crown of the underworld would pass to Morix Sable. With him in command, Jaden no longer needed to worry about petty criminals or ambitious cutthroats testing his patience. Jaden’s command was clear—abolish every gray market, dismantle every shady business, purge the filth that had been rotting Ironvale from within.A new order was about to rise. With stricter rule under Morix’s iron hand, Ironvale City would finally breathe again, free from the suffocating grip of crime.---Meanwhile, at the Verrick Family Villa, the atmosphere turned suffocating when a messenger delivered the news.“What? Black Monarch… is dead?!” Elias Verrick shot to

Ferrari was already a household name, synonymous with speed, wealth, and prestige. But among its masterpieces, LaFerrari stood apart like a crown jewel. Its price tag alone exceeded twenty million, but money wasn’t enough to buy it. Connections, influence, and patience were required. There were only a handful in the entire region, and the waiting list stretched endlessly, reserved for those who were not only rich but powerful. For most men, it was the ultimate dream machine. To sit behind the wheel of a LaFerrari was to declare to the world that you weren’t just wealthy—you were untouchable. Even certain women, consumed by material worship, dreamed of nothing more than being photographed next to one. Kenton Duvan was no stranger to such luxury. His private garage was already a shrine to speed, lined with nearly twenty rare sports cars, each worth a fortune. Yet despite his influence and wealth, even he had never managed to secure a LaFerrari. It had always been the one that slipped