The Tyrant's Return : From Beggar to Sovereign

Chapter 25: The King of the Hall

Julian’s frantic voice echoed horribly through the giant loudspeakers, vibrating the walls of the grand ballroom.

He stood on the mahogany stage with his chest heaving up and down, his eyes wide and bloodshot like a mad dog. He pointed his shaking finger at Ethan, looking desperately at the five elite private guards standing in the corners of the stage.

"What are you waiting for?" Julian shrieked, spit flying from his lips as he gripped his broken wrist. "A million dollars each! I will write you the checks right now! Shoot this trash! Wipe that arrogant look off his face!"

The wealthy guests in the front rows screamed in pure panic, dropping their champagne glasses and scrambling over chairs to hide. They knew these private gala guards were trained mercenaries who carried real, deadly firearms under their black tactical jackets.

The five heavy guards stepped forward, their faces completely stone cold. Their large hands slid inside their coats, their fingers wrapping around the cold grips of their weapons.

Julian let out a wild, victorious laugh, his face twisting into a demonic grin. "You are dead, Ethan! You think you can destroy my family and walk away? I will feed your body to the fish tonight!"

Ethan stood perfectly still in the center of the stage. He did not dodge, he did not run, and his breath did not speed up by a single beat. He looked at the five guards approaching him, his dark eyes flashing with a deep, majestic calm that felt heavier than a mountain.

"Look closely at the gold emblems on your tactical vests," Ethan said, his voice smooth and incredibly steady, carrying a strange power that filled the entire room. "Before you pull those triggers for a bankrupt criminal, ask yourselves who actually signs your paychecks every Monday morning."

The lead guard froze, his hand stopping right on the handle of his weapon.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at Ethan’s calm, commanding face. Then, he looked down at the tiny gold dragon emblem pinned to his own chest armor.

Suddenly, the lead guard's face went completely pale, as white as a fresh sheet of paper. His entire body began to shake with a sudden, intense physical terror. He recognized that voice. He recognized those deep, freezing eyes.

This grand ballroom, the luxury hotel tower, and the entire private security company belonged to the Grand Dragon Entertainment Group, a massive conglomerate that had been secretly bought out by the supreme Vance Group at dawn. Ethan Vance was not just a guest tonight. He was the literal owner of the ground they were standing on.

The lead guard did not pull his weapon. Instead, he pulled his hand out of his jacket, reached up to his chest, and violently ripped the gold security badge off his uniform. He threw it onto the wooden floor with a loud clatter.

He dropped down straight onto both his knees, slamming his head hard against the floor in front of Ethan.

"Supreme Master Ethan!" the lead guard shouted, his voice trembling with absolute fear and deep respect. "We did not recognize your royal presence! Please forgive our ignorance! Please grant us our punishment!"

The other four elite guards instantly went pale. They dropped their hands from their jackets, unbuckled their heavy weapons belts, and threw them onto the floor all at once. They dropped to their knees right behind their leader, bowing their heads so low that their noses touched the wood.

"Welcome back, Supreme Master!" the four guards shouted in a loud, unified voice that shook the crystal chandeliers above.

Julian’s victory laugh instantly froze inside his throat. He choked on his own breath, his eyes rolling backward as his knees turned into pure water. He stumbled backward into the heavy golden curtains, his mind completely collapsing into black despair. The guards he had tried to hire with millions of dollars were actually Ethan’s personal servants.

The wealthy guests who were hiding behind the tables gasped loudly, their mouths dropping open in absolute shock. A wave of frantic whispers exploded through the hall like a wildfire.

"The guards called him Supreme Master!" a billionaire heir yelled, his hands shaking. "The entire security force belongs to him! He owns the hotel! He owns everything!"

Mr. Yamamoto, the wealthy foreign shadow buyer, stood in the front row, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. He realized the terrifying truth in a single second. He had not just walked into a regular business auction. He had walked straight into a death trap set by the true king of the city underworld.

"This is a disaster," Mr. Yamamoto muttered, his eyes rolling wildly as cold sweat poured down his neck. He looked at the white sheets of bankruptcy papers scattered all over the floor. He looked at the forged ledger on the podium.

He had secret criminal records and millions of dollars of illegal funds hidden in his own offshore banks. If Ethan called the international police right now, Mr. Yamamoto would spend the rest of his life rotting in a dark, concrete cell. He had been completely tricked by Julian’s stupid, greedy scheme.

"You ruined me!" Mr. Yamamoto roared suddenly, his face twisting into a mask of pure, manic rage. He looked at Julian, who was trembling like a wet leaf against the gold curtains.

Mr. Yamamoto reached into his expensive suit trouser pocket and pulled out a sharp, five inch silver hunting knife that glinted dangerously under the stage lights. He did not try to attack Ethan, because he knew Ethan was surrounded by elite guards. Instead, he channeled all his frantic panic and hatred into the man who had scammed him.

He lunged forward across the stage floor like a wild animal, his leather shoes splashing through the spilled champagne.

Julian saw the flashing silver blade moving toward him and tried to scream, but the sound caught inside his throat. He was too weak and too slow to move away.

Mr. Yamamoto reached Julian in two giant steps. He raised his arm and brought the sharp silver blade down with all his physical might, burying the cold steel straight into Julian’s left shoulder bone.

*Splat!*

A thick spray of bright red blood burst out of the wound, staining Julian’s flashy white silk tuxedo into a horrific crimson color. Julian let out a high pitched, deafening shriek of pure agony, his body collapsing onto the wooden floor as he clutched his bleeding shoulder, weeping and rolling in the mud.

Before the five guards could even rise from their knees to grab him, Mr. Yamamoto turned around, sprinted across the stage with a wild, terrifying speed, and launched his heavy body directly toward the massive, arched glass window at the side of the ballroom.

The shadow buyer pulls a knife, stabs Julian in the shoulder for tricking him, and leaps out a window.