Return of the Northern War God

#7

Chapter 7

The patriarch lay on the stage, staring at the tracking device on his chest with trembling hands. His face had gone ruined. The realization that his son was dead seemed to drain whatever fight remained in him.

"Trevor..." he whispered, his voice cracking. "My boy..."

On the second floor, Jasmine Christian-Grey suddenly stood up from her seat. Her wine glass tilted, forgotten, as red liquid spilled onto the carpet. Her eyes were locked on Adrian below, and a slow, predatory smile spread across her beautiful face.

"Well, well," she murmured to herself. "He actually walked right into my trap."

She pulled out her phone with steady fingers, scrolling through her contacts. When she found the name she was looking for, she pressed dial without hesitation.

"Master Lancelot," she said smoothly when the call connected. "I need you at Auction House D. Immediately. Yes, right now. I'll make it worth your time." She paused, listening. "Trust me. You're going to want to be here for this."

She ended the call and started down the stairs, her heels clicking with purpose against the steps.

"Stop," Jasmine's voice rang out across the auction hall.

Adrian turned slowly from where he stood over the patriarch. His eyes tracked her descent, cold and assessing.

Jasmine reached the main floor and walked toward the stage with the confidence of someone who held all the cards. Her smile never wavered. "That's far enough, I think."

Adrian studied her face. The high cheekbones. The sharp, intelligent eyes. The way she carried herself with casual arrogance. "Who are you?" he asked. "And why do you look somewhat like Natasha Christian-Grey?"

Jasmine's smile widened. "How observant. I'm Jasmine Christian-Grey. Natasha's cousin." She said it like announcing royalty, like the name itself should make people bow.

A ripple of shocked whispers spread through the crowd.

"Christian-Grey?"

"She's one of them?"

"Oh god, we're all dead..."

"The Christian-Grey family is here?"

People who had been trying to inch toward the exits froze completely. Some sank back into their seats, faces pale. Everyone knew what the Christian-Grey name meant in Greenville. 

Power, money, connections that reached into every level of government and law enforcement. Cross them, and you disappear.

Adrian's eyes went cold. "You have the audacity” he let out a wry scoff. “You didn’t even bother hiding your identity”

Jasmine threw her head back and laughed. The sound echoed through the hall, clear and sharp. "Hide? What do I have to fear?" She gestured around the auction house, at the cowering crowd, at Adrian standing alone on the stage. "You're the one who should be afraid. The fact that you showed up here voluntarily...I truly didn't expect that. I thought we'd have to hunt you down for weeks."

She took a few steps closer, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "But now? Now I can capture both you and your precious sister in one fell swoop. Do you know what kind of achievement this will be for me? Do you know how long I've been stuck on the margins of the family, playing second fiddle to Natasha?" Her voice rose with excitement. "But this… this will change everything."

Adrian watched her with the same expression someone might give an insect. "You've seen me take down how many people tonight? Including the patriarch. And you still think you can capture me?"

"Oh, absolutely." Jasmine's confidence never wavered. She checked her phone, then looked back at Adrian with that same predatory smile. "Because I invited Master Lancelot."

As if on cue, the sound of rotor blades filled the air.

Everyone's heads snapped upward. Through the glass skylight above the auction hall, a helicopter descended, its searchlight cutting through the darkness. The entire building shook slightly from the downdraft. The helicopter hovered just above the roof, close enough that the windows rattled in their frames.

A rope dropped through an access hatch that someone had opened on the roof. And down that rope, moving with practiced military precision, came a man.

Master Lancelot.

He was in his early forties, tall and lean with the kind of build that came from years of combat training. His face was weathered, scarred, with eyes that had seen too much death. He wore military combat gear, still dusty from wherever he'd come from. A sidearm sat on his hip. Dog tags hung from his neck.

He dropped the last ten feet and landed in a crouch on the auction floor. The impact cracked the floor beneath his boots.

Slowly, he straightened, rolling his shoulders. His eyes swept the room, cataloging everything in seconds — the broken bodies, the terrified crowd, the patriarch on the stage, Adrian standing in the center of it all.

Jasmine walked over to him, her smile radiant. "Master Lancelot. Thank you for coming so quickly."

"You said it was urgent." His voice was rough, like gravel. Like someone who'd spent years shouting orders over gunfire.

"Oh, it is." Jasmine gestured toward Adrian. "That man there has attacked members of the Christian-Grey family's allied forces. He's crippled the patriarch's disciple. Beaten Orthon Castellan half to death. And he's threatening my family's interests." She paused for effect. "He needs to be dealt with."

The crowd's mood shifted instantly. Whispers started again, but different this time. Hopeful and excited.

"Master Lancelot is here..."

"He trained on the Northern battlefield..."

"I heard he killed twenty men in a single engagement..."

"This is over. That guy is finished."

"Finally, someone who can handle him."

Orthon, still lying in a heap on the stage, lifted his head. Blood dripped from his broken nose. One eye was swollen completely shut. But he managed a wet, gurgling laugh. "You're... dead... you hear me? Dead..."

Master Lancelot turned his attention fully to Adrian. He studied him for a long moment — taking in the combat uniform, the blood that wasn't his, the way Adrian stood with absolute confidence despite being surrounded.

"You," Lancelot said, his voice carrying across the hall. "You dare provoke the Christian-Grey family? You dare strike the patriarch?" He stepped forward slowly, deliberately. "If you surrender now, I'll make it quick. One bullet. Clean. I'll even let you be buried in peace in the church cemetery. That's more mercy than you deserve."

The crowd erupted in agreement.

"He should surrender!"

"Take the mercy while you can!"

"You can't beat Master Lancelot!"

Orthon's wet laughter grew louder. "Yes... yes... finally... someone's going to... kill you..." He started trying to push himself up with shaking arms. "I want... to watch... I want to see..."

Adrian shot Orthon a glare sharp enough to cut steel. He stalked over to the man, who was groaning and fumbling to get up, still dazed.  

“What are you…” Orthon didn’t get to finish. Adrian’s boot slammed into his ribs with a sickening crunch.

The scream that tore from Orthon's throat was brief, cut short as Adrian’s fist followed, then another, and another. Each blow was cold, calculated — aimed not to kill, but to punish. To make him feel every ounce of rage simmering beneath Adrian’s skin.

When it was over, Adrian stepped back, Orthon had stopped moving. He lay in the same crumpled heap as before, but now he wasn't laughing. He wasn't even conscious.

Adrian turned back to Master Lancelot, completely unconcerned. "Master Lancelot," he said, his voice flat and cold. "You're merely a junior officer from the Northern battlefield. And you're being far too arrogant."

The auction hall went dead silent.

Master Lancelot's face, which had been professionally neutral, darkened. His eyes narrowed to slits. His hand drifted toward the sidearm at his hip.

"What did you just say?"

"You heard me." Adrian's expression didn't change. "You are just a junior officer. Nothing more. I've met dozens like you. All convinced they're special because they survived a few battles. All thinking their small accomplishments make them invincible."

The auction hall went eerily silent. Adrian had struck a nerve