The Savior God of War Returns

Chapter 2

Jack arrived at the Wilson Group building during their extravagant New Year's Eve party.

The place was all glitter and gleam—champagne towers, white marble floors shining like mirrors, and chandeliers that looked like they'd cost more than a small house.

Luxury cars lined the valet like a showroom of excess.

The guests, draped in designer gowns and custom-tailored suits, mingled beneath cascading curtains of gold and silver.

Jack, in contrast, wore a plain black coat, dark jeans, and well-worn boots.

The doorman raised an eyebrow at first, scanning him from head to toe.

But Jack gave a nod so calm, so assured, it confused him.

"Invitation, sir?"

The doorman asked, hesitating.

Jack smiled faintly.

"Not on me. But I’m expected."

There was something about his tone—low, measured, almost too polite—that made the man step aside.

"Of course, sir. Happy New Year."

Jack inclined his head.

“Likewise.”

Inside, the party was a swirl of champagne flutes and superficial laughter.

A jazz band played in the corner, and the clink of glasses rang through the grand hall.

Guests eyed Jack the moment he stepped in.

“Did the janitor get lost?”

One man murmured.

"Maybe he's the valet."

A woman in a sequined gown giggled.

"He's probably here to fix the plumbing.”

Another chimed in.

“God knows the poor sneak in during these things.”

Jack ignored them.

He walked straight to the buffet table, which stretched across an entire side of the ballroom.

Platters of foie gras, truffle risotto, lamb medallions, and oysters glistened under golden lights.

He picked up a porcelain plate and began serving himself generously, without hesitation.

He even took two glasses of red wine, then sat at one of the crystal dining tables—alone—and began eating.

The murmurs grew louder.

"Unbelievable,”

A man sneered.

"Is he seriously eating like this in a soup kitchen?"

“Maybe he thought this was a free tasting.”

Another said with a smirk.

Jack calmly reached for a piece of roasted duck and took a bite.

"The flavor's a little muted. Too much rosemary.”

He commented to no one in particular.

The laughter erupted again, cruel and amused.

Robert Wilson, the long-time butler of the Wilson family, approached briskly.

He was a sharp man in his sixties, always dressed in a white glove and a silver tie.

His expression was severe as he stopped in front of Jack.

"Sir, may I ask who invited you?"

Jack wiped his mouth with a napkin, then stood, towering slightly over Robert.

“I wasn’t invited.”

Gasps followed.

Jack met Robert’s eyes evenly.

“I came because I’m Emily’s fiancé.”

For a moment, the room froze in stunned silence.

Then it exploded.

"Her what?"

Someone shouted.

"You’ve got to be kidding!"

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard all year!”

A man laughed, nearly spilling his drink.

“Emily Wilson?”

Another woman said.

“CEO Emily Wilson? One of the richest bachelorettes in Draconia?”

“He must’ve hit his head.”

Jack remained still, expression unreadable.

Robert’s lips thinned into a sneer.

“You expect me to believe that our Miss Wilson—head of the Wilson Group—would be engaged to you?”

Jack gave a single nod.

“Yes.”

“You’re delusional,” Robert snapped. “If you don’t leave now, I’ll have you escorted out.”

“I’d prefer you take me to her,” Jack said calmly.

That only made the crowd laugh harder.

“Oh, he’s serious!”

“Someone call a doctor. This one's hallucinating.”

Robert’s anger boiled over.

“You dare mock the Wilson family?”

He growled—and threw a punch at Jack’s face.

But Jack barely shifted.

His hand snapped up, catching Robert’s wrist mid-air.

The butler’s arm stopped cold.

Then Jack twisted it slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to make Robert stumble back, eyes wide.

"You shouldn't have tried that," Jack said evenly.

Gasps filled the air again.

“What… just happened?”

“He blocked Robert like it was nothing…”

Robert clutched his arm, staring at Jack as though seeing him for the first time.

Before he could call for help, a dozen security guards burst into the hall, armed with stun sticks, moving swiftly toward Jack.

Jack stepped back from the buffet table, wine glass still in hand.

Then, before the guards could strike….

A blur.

A shadow moved across the ballroom faster than anyone could track.

In less than ten seconds, all twelve guards were on the floor—groaning, twitching, or unconscious.

People screamed and backed away.

A woman dropped her glass.

“What—what was that?”

“I didn’t even see him move!”

"Who IS this guy?!"

The mysterious attacker stood beside Jack, face hidden beneath a black hood.

Silent.

Motionless.

Jack looked down at one of the groaning guards and sighed.

"Wilson Group security,"

He said aloud, raising his eyebrows slightly.

“They don’t make ‘em like they used to.”

The sarcasm was dry.

Cold.

Unshaken.

The crowd was stunned into silence.

Some looked afraid now.

“He’s dangerous…”

“Is this an assassination?”

“Someone call the police!”

Just then, more armed guards stormed into the ballroom, shouting.

“Stand down!”

They raised batons and formed a line.

But none dared to be the first to move forward.

Then, the single word echoed like a bell, slicing through the chaos.

“Enough!”