From Rags to God of War

A Fierce Battle

Nicholas immediately grabbed his phone. His eyes were stinging, but he had to make sure Isabella was safe. He called Martin.

"How's Isabella?" Nicholas asked.

"She arrived home safely, General," Martin replied. "The secret guards confirmed it. They're watching the house."

Nicholas exhaled in relief. "Good. I'm going to send you a picture. Find out its meaning, its symbol, and who owns it. Immediately."

"Understood, General," Martin replied.

Nicholas photographed one of the swords lying on the ground, the King of Death's sword, then sent it to Martin. He wanted to know who had hired that guy to attack him, and why.

---

The next morning, Nicholas was already in his office. His phone rang; it was Martin.

"Well?" Nicholas asked, cutting straight to the point.

"General, I've got the information," Martin said, his voice serious. "That sword belongs to an assassin group called 'Fire Lion'. They're very well-known. Not just anyone can hire them."

Nicholas listened carefully. "Fire Lion? I've never heard of them operating in this area. And by 'not just anyone', do you mean they require a special kind of payment?"

"That's correct, General," Martin continued. "Fire Lion has a high reputation in the underworld. They don't accept monetary payment. They only work if there's an equivalent or greater exchange. For instance, critical intelligence, strategic assets, or even assistance for their own future operations. For them to get involved, the client must have made a huge exchange."

Nicholas frowned. Non-monetary payment. This meant a very powerful party with significant interests was targeting him.

"So, what's their target?" Nicholas asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"General," Martin said, a hint of worry in his voice. "They're not just targeting Adam Weber. The information I gathered indicates that their primary targets are you. And Ms. Isabella, too."

"I figured as much," Nicholas said flatly. "Give me their location. I'll head there immediately."

"General? What do you mean? You can't possibly go alone; they're extremely dangerous! This isn't your usual battlefield. I'll deploy an elite team."

"No need," Nicholas cut in firmly. "This is my concern. I'll handle it myself. Just send me the address of their headquarters."

"Understood, General. Here's the address..." Martin sent the coordinates of the Fire Lion headquarters. "But General, please be careful."

"Make sure Isabella remains safe. Don't let your guard down for a second," Nicholas warned.

"Understood, General," Martin promised. "I won't let anything bad happen to Ms. Isabella."

Nicholas ended the call. He prepared himself. Not for a major war, but for a stealth mission and a one-on-one duel.

---

Nicholas arrived at the Fire Lion headquarters. It was an old complex of buildings located on the outskirts of the city, hidden behind thick bushes. From the outside, there were no signs of life.

He passed the first perimeter with ease. However, as he approached the main entrance, several figures dressed in black emerged from the shadows. They were guards, judging by the sharp weapons they held.

One of the guards stepped forward, his eyes sharp and unfriendly. "Who are you? How dare you set foot here."

Nicholas crossed his arms over his chest. "I have no business with you all. I've come for the King of Death."

The guards exchanged glances, then laughed dismissively. "For the King of Death? Who do you think you are? No one just walks in and challenges our leader like this."

"I have business with him. You'd better step aside because I don't want to hurt you!"

"It's surprising you even know this place," another guard said, his voice cold. "But no one leaves here alive after this."

"I come in peace," Nicholas said. "I'll give you one last chance to step aside. Otherwise, you'll regret it."

Nicholas's words irritated the guards.

"How arrogant of you!" one guard shouted, swinging his sword.

"Attack him!" commanded another.

The Fire Lion guards launched a simultaneous attack. They moved with good coordination, each wielding sharp weapons. However, to Nicholas, they were too slow, and their movements were easily readable. He was the undefeated God of War, a martial arts master who had faced hundreds of situations far more dangerous than this.

Nicholas moved like a storm. Deadly kicks, fierce punches, joint locks—all delivered with incredible speed. He didn't need a weapon. His hands *were* his weapons. One by one, the guards fell, incapacitated without Nicholas having to kill them. Some passed out, others lay writhing, clutching their aching joints.

"I warned you," Nicholas murmured, looking at the five guards now lying helpless on the floor.

The commotion drew attention. From a dark corridor inside the base, a figure emerged. It was the King of Death, with two sword blades in his hands. He looked at Nicholas, then glanced at his sprawling men.

"So, you actually came," the King of Death said, his voice raspy. There was a note of interest in his tone. "I didn't expect you to be so quick."

"Of course I came," Nicholas replied, his gaze chilling. He took a step forward, looking directly into the King of Death's eyes. "I won't let anyone hurt my wife."

The King of Death scoffed, raising both his swords. "Empty words! You think you can walk out of my base alive after neutralizing my men?!"

"I have no quarrel with them," Nicholas retorted, his body already in a ready fighting stance. "My business is only with you. Or with anyone who dares threaten my family."

The duel began. The King of Death attacked furiously. His two swords flashed like lightning in the dark corridor. He was a brilliant swordsman, his movements lethal. Nicholas was a highly trained God of War; every inch of his body was a weapon, every move the result of thousands of hours of intense training.

The King of Death's swords darted swiftly, aiming for Nicholas's neck, heart, and every vital point. Each slash was accompanied by a whistling sound and the clash of steel cutting through the air. Nicholas dodged, parried, and counter-attacked with his bare hands. His hands moved with ballistic speed, his elbows and knees like powerful hammers.

The fierce fight felt like it could shatter the earth. Two great forces clashed in the hidden base. Steel met bone; every impact created a shockwave in the air.

Nicholas relied on his agility and strength, moving between sword attacks with incredible precision. The King of Death relied on the deadly speed of his blades and his unpredictable attack patterns.

"You're pretty good," the King of Death hissed, his breathing starting to quicken slightly. "But how long can you keep evading me?!"

Nicholas didn't answer. He observed the King of Death's every move. He saw the small weaknesses, the brief gaps between the barrage of attacks. Every time a sword came close, Nicholas evaded it with minimalistic movements, sometimes just shifting his body slightly, sometimes twisting his wrist.

The King of Death grew increasingly frantic. He had launched dozens, maybe hundreds, of attacks. But not a single drop of Nicholas's blood stained his blade. Even after he tried several deadly tricks and surprise attacks, Nicholas remained untouched.

He tried to slash Nicholas's hand, attempting to incapacitate him. But each time his sword touched Nicholas's wrist, the blade merely bounced off. Nicholas was indeed wearing strong steel bracelets on both his wrists. They were unseen additional weapons.

"How is this possible?!" the King of Death screamed, his voice filled with frustration. "Why can't my swords touch you?!"

As the King of Death lost a little focus in his shock, Nicholas seized the opportunity. He launched a swift and powerful counter-attack. Nicholas moved forward, evading a low swinging sword, then spun his body and unleashed a strong kick towards the King of Death's waist.

The King of Death tried to block it, but Nicholas had already channeled his inner power. Nicholas's kick contained a hidden, devastating strength, an unseen energy radiating from every muscle. The kick struck the King of Death with thousands of pounds of force.

The King of Death was sent flying several meters backward, hitting the base wall hard. He coughed, blood gushing from his mouth, staining his face covering. Both his swords slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled; his body no longer obeyed his brain's commands.

Nicholas walked closer, looking down at his opponent, now lying helpless. "I gave you a chance to back down."

The King of Death looked up, his sharp eyes staring at Nicholas. He growled, trying to utter words, but only coughed up blood.