Return of the Northern War God

#8

Chapter 8

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

Master Lancelot's face twisted, he was enraged. "You don't know who you're talking to."

"I know exactly who I'm talking to.”

Lancelot's control snapped.

He moved with the speed of someone who'd trained decades in actual combat. His fist shot forward in a textbook military strike — designed to break ribs, to incapacitate, to kill. Fast, brutal and efficient.

Adrian's hand came up and caught the fist mid-strike.

The way Adrian did it looked so casual like swatting a fly.

Lancelot's eyes widened in shock. He tried to pull back, but Adrian's grip was iron. He threw a follow-up strike with his other hand but again, Adrian blocked it with his forearm. The impact echoed through the hall.

They separated, both taking a step back.

The crowd held its breath.

Jasmine stood frozen. Her pupils trembled as she watched the exchange. Master Lancelot, her hope for victory had just been blocked. Twice.

A cold sneer spread across her face.

"Even if you can barely withstand Master Lancelot," she said, her voice cutting through the tension, "you can't handle his soldiers. You'll meet your end here today, Adrian Lancaster."

She reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a military-grade walkie-talkie. She raised it to her lips, pressing the transmit button.

"All units," she said clearly. "Target the man on stage and the girl in the cage. Weapons hot. Await my command."

In an instant, red laser dots appeared.

Hundreds of them. They painted Adrian's chest, his head, his arms. They covered Celeste in the cage behind him, tiny red points of light dancing across her terrified face.

Through the glass skylight, the silhouettes of soldiers could be seen on the roof — prone positions, rifles aimed, fingers on triggers. Through the windows, more soldiers lined up outside, their weapons trained through the glass.

The crowd screamed and dove for cover.

"Adrian!" Celeste's voice cracked with terror. She pressed herself against the back of the cage, trying to make herself smaller. "Don't worry about me! Just run! Please!"

Jasmine threw her head back and laughed. She turned toward the cage where Celeste huddled, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

"Look at you," Jasmine said mockingly. "Waiting for your beloved brother to save you. How touching. How pathetic." She stepped closer to the cage, her heels clicking on the stage. "But neither you nor your precious brother can escape now. You should both just wait for death."

Celeste pressed herself against the bars, her face pale as though she had accepted defeat.

Jasmine spun around to face the terrified crowd that had been cowering against the walls. 

Her voice rang out with authority. "Ladies and gentlemen! I apologize for the unusual interruption to tonight's proceedings. But I assure you, this situation will be resolved momentarily." She gestured toward Adrian with casual contempt. "This intruder will be executed on the spot. And then we can return to business as usual."

The crowd stirred with whispers.

"The Christian-Grey family is handling it..."

"We're safe now..."

"That guy is finished..."

Confidence returned to their faces. Some people even straightened up from their cowering positions. A few men in expensive suits started nodding to each other, relieved smiles appearing.

"Finally, someone with real power!"

"That arrogant fool is about to learn his place!"

The auction attendees began openly mocking Adrian, their fear transforming into vindictive pleasure now that they thought they were on the winning side.

Adrian didn't move. The laser dots danced across his face, painting him in red light. His voice came out visceral, dripping with fury. "You're doomed today, Jasmine."

Jasmine's smile widened. She turned back to Master Lancelot, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "Master Lancelot, give the attack order. Let's end this farce."

But Adrian's voice cut through the noise calmly,  "Tell me something, Master Lancelot." Adrian's eyes locked onto the military officer. "As a military officer, as someone who swore an oath to this nation — will you really use the nation's army to intervene in a private vendetta? To help people who auction off innocent girls?"

The crowd went quiet.

Master Lancelot's jaw tightened. His hand moved to his sidearm. "I serve those who have helped me gain power. Nothing more. Nothing less." His voice was flat, emotionless. "Morality is a luxury for people who don't understand how the real world works."

He raised his hand, ready to signal his troops positioned on the roof and around the perimeter.

"All units, on my mark…"

Then Adrian moved in all of his glory.

His hands came together in a configuration that made Lancelot's eyes widen in horror, he undoubtedly recognised this technique. 

Lancelot froze.

His eyes locked onto Adrian's hands. Onto the way Adrian's stance had shifted. Onto the specific positioning of his fingers and the way energy seemed to coalesce around him.

It was rare, only uniquely and perfectly done by the one and only King of the North. 

Adrian’s fingers positioned in a specific pattern, stance shifting into something that radiated killing intent.

"No…" Lancelot's voice cracked. "That's impossible…"

Adrian's hands blurred through a sequence of movements. It was called the Northern Decimation Strike, a forbidden technique known only to the highest commanders of the Northern campaign. A strike that concentrated all of a fighter's power into a single point, designed to break through any defense, to shatter bone and rupture organs.

It was called forbidden because it had been used only three times in recorded history. Each time by the same man.

The King of the North.

Master Lancelot had seen it once, years ago, during a military demonstration. The War King had performed it on a reinforced steel target. The target had been reduced to twisted scrap metal.

"Who..." Lancelot's voice came out strangled. His hand dropped from the signaling position. "Who are you?"