Ex Husband Returns: The Martial Arts Godmaster

Chapter 3: The True Face of Power

The oppressive silence that had fallen over the grand ballroom was shattered when Darien, his face twisted with rage and humiliation, stepped forward.

"You think you can intimidate me, you pathetic worm?" Darien snarled, his expensive suit rustling as he moved. "I don't care what kind of cheap theatrics you're trying to pull!"

He gestured sharply at the security guards. "Grab him! Throw this cockroach out on the street where he belongs!"

But the guards, still shaken by their earlier encounter with Logan's inexplicable strength, hesitated.

"What are you waiting for?" Darien screamed. "He's just a delivery boy! A maggot! A—"

Logan turned around slowly, his eyes meeting Darien's across the marble floor. The look in his gaze was no longer that of a humiliated husband—it was the cold, calculating stare of a predator.

"You want to handle this yourself?" Logan asked quietly.

"Damn right I do!" Darien rolled up his sleeves, revealing expensive gold cufflinks. "I'll show everyone what happens when insects try to fly too high!"

The wedding guests pressed closer, eager to witness the spectacle.

"Crush him, Darien!" Amelia called out, her voice shrill with excitement. "Show that pest who's in charge!"

"This should be entertaining," laughed a man in the crowd. "Like watching someone step on a beetle!"

Darien charged forward with surprising speed, his fist aimed directly at Logan's face. The crowd gasped in anticipation.

Logan didn't even blink.

He caught Darien's fist in his palm with casual ease, the impact creating a sound like thunder that echoed through the ballroom. Darien's confident expression crumbled into shock and pain as Logan's grip tightened.

"What... how are you..." Darien gasped, his face contorting as he tried unsuccessfully to pull his hand free.

"Impossible," Amelia whispered, her bouquet falling from nerveless fingers.

Logan's voice remained perfectly calm. "You called me a pest. An insect. A maggot." He squeezed slightly, and Darien cried out in pain. "Perhaps you should reconsider your choice of words."

"Let... let me go!" Darien pleaded, all his earlier bravado evaporating.

Logan released him so suddenly that Darien stumbled backward, cradling his crushed hand against his chest. The wedding guests stared in stunned silence as the supposedly weak delivery man straightened his cheap jacket with complete composure.

"The marriage is over," Logan announced to the room. "The divorce is signed. I have no further business here."

He walked toward the exit, and this time, no one dared to stop him.

As the heavy oak doors closed behind him, Logan pulled out an old, battered cell phone. The evening air was cool against his face as he stepped into the parking lot, finally allowing himself to breathe freely for the first time in hours.

He was about to dial when hurried footsteps approached from behind.

"Sir! Sir, please wait!"

Logan turned to see a middle-aged man in an expensive but disheveled suit running toward him. The man's face was streaked with tears, and his usually pristine appearance suggested he was someone of importance.

"Mayor Richards?" Logan recognized the city's mayor, though they had never been formally introduced.

"Please," Mayor Richards fell to his knees on the asphalt, ignoring the damage to his thousand-dollar suit. "You have to help me! My daughter... my Samanta... she's been kidnapped!"

Logan's expression remained impassive. "Call the police."

"I did! They can't help! The kidnappers... they're too powerful, too connected!" The mayor's voice broke. "But I saw what just happened in there. I saw how you handled Darien Blackwood like he was nothing. Please, I'm begging you!"

"I'm not in the business of playing hero," Logan replied coldly, continuing toward his van.

"Wait!" The mayor scrambled after him. "The head of the kidnappers—his name is Aaron! Aaron Blackwood! He's Darien's cousin!"

Logan stopped walking.

"Aaron Blackwood," he repeated slowly.

"Yes! He runs the underground fighting rings, the illegal weapons trade, everything Darien pretends he's too clean to touch! Please, if you have any mercy—"

"Get in the van," Logan said curtly.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Mayor Richards had given Logan the address where the ransom exchange was supposed to take place, his hands shaking as he pointed out the building.

"She's in there," the mayor whispered. "My little girl..."

Logan stepped out of the van, his cheap work clothes and battered appearance drawing immediate attention from the armed men stationed around the warehouse entrance.

"Well, well, well," called out a voice from the shadows. "What do we have here?"

A group of thugs emerged from behind shipping containers, all wearing expensive leather jackets and gold chains. Their leader, a tall man with scarred hands and cold eyes, stepped forward with an amused smirk.

"You must be the delivery boy everyone's talking about," the leader said. "I'm Aaron Blackwood. My cousin Darien called to warn me about some pathetic pest who might show up."

The other thugs burst into laughter.

"Look at this bug!" one of them wheezed. "He looks like he crawled out of a garbage dump!"

"Smells like it too," added another, holding his nose dramatically.

"Did you get lost, maggot?" Aaron taunted. "The flower shop is about ten miles that way."

"Maybe he's here to pollinate something," suggested a thug with gold teeth. "Like a dirty little bee!"

"More like a fly," Aaron corrected. "Annoying, worthless, and attracted to garbage."

Logan surveyed the group with calculating eyes, counting at least fifteen armed men surrounding the warehouse.

"I'm here for the girl," he said simply.

The thugs exploded with laughter.

"Did you hear that?" Aaron slapped his knee. "The cockroach thinks he's some kind of hero!"

"What are you going to do, bug boy?" another thug called out. "Deliver us some flowers?"

"Maybe he'll spray us with pesticide!" suggested another, causing the group to dissolve into fresh peals of laughter.

"Listen, termite," Aaron stepped closer, his breath reeking of alcohol and cigarettes. "The only reason you're not dead already is because I want to have some fun first. See, my cousin Darien told me all about your little performance at the wedding."

"He said you got lucky," Aaron continued, circling Logan like a shark. "Caught him off guard. But luck runs out, especially for insects who don't know their place."

As Aaron spoke, the sound of multiple car engines echoed through the industrial district. The thugs looked around in confusion as a convoy of black luxury vehicles approached the warehouse at high speed.

"Boss," one of the thugs said nervously, "those aren't our cars."

The convoy came to a synchronized stop, and from each vehicle emerged men in expensive suits. These weren't ordinary businessmen—their movements were precise, military, and they carried themselves with the confidence of people accustomed to violence and power.

At the head of the group was a distinguished man with silver hair and a scar across his left cheek. He approached Logan with quick, purposeful steps, and to everyone's shock, dropped to one knee.

"Master," the silver-haired man said respectfully. "We received word that you were finally available. We've been waiting for this moment for eighteen months."

Behind him, dozens of other powerful figures—men who controlled the city's underground, legitimate businessmen worth billions, political figures—all dropped to one knee in perfect unison.

"Master Logan," they chanted. “We are at your service."

Aaron's face went white as sheet. His thugs looked around in growing panic, their weapons suddenly feeling very small in their hands.

"What... what the hell is going on?" Aaron stammered.

The silver-haired man looked up at Aaron with contempt. "You dare to threaten the Martial King? The man who rules the four corners of this country?"

"Martial King?" Aaron's voice cracked. "But... but he's just a delivery boy! A pest! A—"

"Silence," Logan spoke for the first time since the convoy arrived, and his single word carried such authority that Aaron's mouth snapped shut involuntarily.