“Dr. Doyle?”Ronald Peterson clearly didn’t buy Vincent Wallace’s explanation, assuming he was only saying that to keep him from striking the young man and causing harm.Forget it—this was no time for quibbling.He snatched the medical kit from his disciple’s hands, grabbed Vincent Wallace, and headed out. As for the young man—if he wanted to come along, so be it.The car sped through the streets. Benevolence Clinic was still a fair distance from the dojo, and Vincent Wallace used the time to tell Adrian about the Skyline City Martial Arts Association.With the rise of modern technology, ancient martial arts had gradually fallen out of favor as nations turned their focus to scientific progress. The Novaland Republic was a populous country; and even in decline, the martial path still drew crowds of devotees.Unlike other nations, the martial lineage in the Novaland Republic had never been severed; new blood continued to rise.Beyond the old families and sects, there were many independe

“It’s over! It’s over, over, over…”Seeing Neil Peterson spit such a mouthful of blood, Vincent Wallace spun in frantic circles. If Adrian were blamed, what then?Adrian, unruffled, stepped off the bed and moved aside with a faint, amused curve to his lips as he watched Neil.Neil caught his breath, then flipped off the bed in one fluid motion, startling Ronald as he rushed to his side.What on earth—“Master, you’ve given me a second life. Please accept my bow.”He sank to his knees and knocked his head to the floor, earnest and unflinching.The thud left everyone dumbstruck.In the space of a single day, Ronald’s sense of the world had been overturned too many times to count. He couldn’t keep up.Neil had been confined to bed for four or five days—without even water these last two—so weak a toddler could have toppled him. Now he moved with the vigor of a man in his prime—and then kowtowed, and to a young man even younger than Ronald himself.The room was packed, yet utterly silent.

“Sob… fine, I’ll kneel… I’ll apologize…”It was bullying, plain and simple. Tears and snot ran down J. Ino’s face.Adrian wiped his hands on the man’s jacket with open distaste before rising to his feet.Ino scrambled up and staggered to Neil Peterson, then dropped to his knees with a thud.He opened his mouth and spat a mouthful of blood—two teeth clattered out with it.“Mr. Peterson, I’m sorry. I took advantage and went for a sneak attack. I was wrong.”“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come to your dojo when you were hurt and laid so many of your people out. I was wrong!”“I’m sorry. I lost and still tried to ambush you. I was wrong!”On and on the apologies went, piling detail upon detail as if terrified that anything less than exhaustive remorse would earn him another beating from Adrian.Neil pressed his lips tight. The whole hall stared, eyes threatening to pop from their sockets.Everyone silently agreed: anything involving Adrian had to be handled with extreme caution.Terrifying

Before the overturned table stood a man bowing his head, apologizing over and over. From this distance, his words were lost in the noise. The brute facing him, however, wasn’t having any of it—he grabbed the man by the collar and hurled him to the ground.The owner of the neighboring stall fell silent on the spot. Adrian, a trained fighter with keener sight than most, noticed a crushed cigarette butt beneath the man’s foot.“Old Thompson,” the brute sneered, “what’s it gonna be—pay up, or pack your junk and scram?”“Mr. White, I…”“Save it. None of your business,” he snapped at the neighboring stallholder, who shut his mouth at once. He glanced at his friend sprawled on the ground and sighed. This was a man none of them could afford to cross.Old Thompson, the one Mr. White had thrown down, fumbled upright, his face drawn with worry.“Mr. White, please—can you give me a little more time…”“Say that again?” Mr. White drawled. “Old Thompson, it’s not like we’re unreasonable people.”See

Iverson White didn’t dare utter another wrong word. Trembling, he pulled a card from inside his jacket.“It’s all here—everything. I even put in some of my own money. Mr. Owen, Mr. Owen, please spare us.”Conrad Owen snatched the card without so much as a glance at Iverson, then walked straight to old Thompson and, with impeccable courtesy, placed it in his hand.Old Thompson didn’t dare accept it, but Conrad’s smile remained warm and easy.“This was yours to begin with. As for the extra, consider it compensation for everyone.”He shot Iverson White a hard look. “Well? The code.”“Two-three-three-two-three-three!”Iverson blurted it out and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.Hearing the code, Adrian stepped over and patted old Thompson on the shoulder.“They brought it back. Take it.”Only then did old Thompson accept the card, thanking Adrian over and over.With the matter settled, Conrad glanced at Adrian.Adrian finally understood why Conrad could be the Mafia’s number two. The ma