Madam Wivarda walked back and forth inside the room, still taking careful steps as though she could hardly believe what was happening to her own body. She stopped for a moment, then began walking faster, even attempting to turn around once in the middle of the room.Her leg had truly recovered.There was no longer any of the stabbing pain that had accompanied her for decades.Her expression brightened with overwhelming happiness. She looked at Jonathan with sparkling eyes, like a grandmother who had just discovered an extraordinary grandson."Jonathan," she said in a trembling yet gentle voice, "I truly don't know how I can thank you. You have freed me from thirty years of suffering. From today onward, you are no longer an outsider to our family. If there is ever anything in Savana City that requires the help of the Wivarda Family, just tell me. No matter how big or small it is, we will help you with all our hearts."Jonathan smiled casually as usual. He shook his head gently and said

Jonathan followed the two large men into the van. The vehicle soon sped through the increasingly deserted city streets, leaving the lights of the buildings and the bustle of the night behind.One of the large men took out his phone, pressed a speed-dial button, and spoke in a low yet hurried voice."Boss, we've got him. He's alone. No one seems to be following him," he reported.A deep voice came from the other end of the phone. It was hoarse and cold, with only one sentence being uttered."Bring him directly to the location. Don't try anything."The man ended the call and exchanged a glance with his companion. Both looked nervous, though they tried their best to hide it.Meanwhile, Jonathan simply sat quietly in the back seat. He lit a cigarette, took a slow drag, and exhaled the smoke into the air with a gaze as calm as a still lake. There was not the slightest hint of panic on his face. Instead, a faint smile appeared at the corner of his lips, as though he were heading to a party

In the abandoned building in the northern part of the city, dust drifted through the air as the wind blew through the broken windows. Jonathan stood tall in the middle of the room, surrounded by more than a dozen men who were no longer able to get back up. In front of him, the old man in a worn-out suit pointed a pistol directly at his head.Yet Jonathan was not panicked in the slightest. His expression remained calm, with even a faint smile at the corner of his lips. With his cultivation already at the Half-God Realm, a weapon like this could not possibly hurt him. He focused his mind and circulated spiritual energy throughout his body to protect himself."Is that all you've got?" he asked calmly, his eyes staring straight at the barrel of the gun.The old man snorted. "Don't get cocky! No matter how skilled you are at fighting, a bullet is still a bullet!"Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.Bang!The bullet shot through the air at incredible speed.However, when it struck Jo

Jonathan's feet moved casually as he walked out of the dilapidated old building.In the distance, the streetlights flickered faintly, illuminating Bernad, who was leaning against the side of the unlicensed van. The man was trembling violently, his face as pale as a corpse, cold sweat dripping from his temples despite the bone chilling night air.That night, Bernad had truly endured a mental nightmare. At first, he had no idea who had taken him to this remote area. All he could hear were footsteps, rough laughter, and the smell of alcohol from his captors.After desperately waiting, Jonathan had finally arrived to save him.The sound of gunshots earlier had almost made him wet his pants because he thought Jonathan had been killed. Especially since Jonathan had not brought a firearm, only a rubber baton."If he got shot and died, I'm finished," he muttered softly, almost in tears. "They'll definitely silence me too."Bernad tried to stand, but his knees were weak. He wanted to run away,

The senior squad leader, with the sharp gaze of a veteran who had witnessed far too many battles, immediately confirmed with certainty that the small, scorched holes in Jonathan's clothes were not ordinary tears, but genuine bullet holes.His certainty was reinforced by the testimony of another former soldier who quickly stepped forward. The man exclaimed, "Back when we were in the military, we often used dressed mannequins during shooting practice. The pattern of these holes and the scorched edges of the fabric," he said while pointing at them, "are exactly the same. There's no mistaking it!"The atmosphere became even more tense. This further proved that the security guards at Pacific Group were not merely ordinary employees. They had a strong military background and genuinely understood how to distinguish things like this.Amid their heated analysis, Jonathan was instead overwhelmed by extreme exhaustion after staying awake throughout the night.His eyelids felt as though weights h