The three guards converged on me in perfect synchronization, a well-rehearsed attack pattern that might have troubled an ordinary opponent. Unfortunately for them, I was anything but ordinary.


    I pivoted slightly, my movements economical as I caught the first attacker''s wrist. A simple twist—just enough pressure applied to the right point—and I felt bones grind beneath my grip. He screamed, dropping to his knees.


    The second guard swung a heavy fist toward my temple. I ducked under it effortlessly, my free hand driving into his sr plexus. The impact lifted him off his feet before he crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath that wouldn''te.


    The third man hesitated, eyes widening as he processed how quickly hispanions had fallen. His moment of indecision cost him. I stepped forward and swept his legs from under him, sending him crashing onto the marble floor with enough force to knock him unconscious.


    Three trained fighters dispatched in less than ten seconds. I straightened my jacket and turned back to ze Lane, whose face had drained of all color.


    "Is that all?" I asked calmly, the wooden box still tucked securely under my arm.


    Asher Lane''s jaw literally dropped. "Father," he stammered, "he''s—"


    "Silence!" ze snapped, though his voicecked its previous confidence. His gaze shifted to Ortega, who hadn''t moved yet. "What are you waiting for?"


    Ortega assessed me with newly cautious eyes. Unlike the guards, he seemed to recognize the level of skill I''d just disyed wasn''t something to charge blindly against. Smart man.


    "Mr. Lane," he said carefully, "perhaps we should—"


    "I don''t pay you to think," ze hissed. "I pay you to handle problems. Handle this one!"


    The enforcer''s face hardened. He rolled his shoulders back and began circling me slowly.


    "Your employer seems determined to see you humiliated," I noted conversationally.


    A muscle in Ortega''s jaw twitched. "Nothing personal," he said, and lunged.


    He was faster than the others—much faster. His first strike nearly grazed my chin as I leaned back. A second punch followed immediately, forcing me to sidestep. This was no amateur. Ortega moved with the practiced precision of someone who''d broken bones for a living for many years.


    But I could see every move before he made it.


    I parried his third strike, redirecting his momentum past me. As he tried to recover, I delivered a single palm strike to his sternum—not enough to cause permanent damage, but sufficient to make my point. He stumbled back, wheezing.


    "Stay down," I advised.


    Please read this chapter on its original tform—*.


    Pride got the better of him. Ortega charged again, this time pulling a de from his sleeve. The steel shed as he shed at my midsection.


    I caught his wrist mid-swing, applying just enough pressure to make his fingers spasm open. The knife ttered to the floor. Before he could react, I twisted his arm behind his back and forced him face-first onto a nearby table.


    "I said," I repeated softly, "stay down."


    This time, wisely, he didn''t get up when I released him.


    The room had gonepletely silent. ze Lane stared at me like he was seeing a ghost. Asher looked ready to faint.


    "Now," I said, turning my attention back to ze, "as I was saying, I''ll be taking these herbs as agreed. Unless you''d like to continue this... discussion?"


    His lips pressed into a thin line. I could see calction behind his eyes—weighing the cost of continuing this fight against the value of the herbs and his wounded pride.


    "Wait!" he finally called out, raising a hand. "There''s one more option."


    I raised an eyebrow but said nothing.


    "Aidan!" ze shouted. "Aidan Ortega, get in here!"


    A door at the far end of the room opened, and several staff members peered in nervously.


    "Sir?" one ventured. "Mr. Aidan is... he''s asleep."


    "Then wake him up, you fools!" ze roared.


    "We''ve tried, sir. He won''t respond. He''s breathing, but we can''t rouse him."


    I couldn''t help the smile that spread across my face. My earlier preparation had worked perfectly. The sleeping powder I''d introduced into Aidan Ortega''s quartersst night—a special form of my own design—had taken effect exactly as nned. The Lane family''s most feared fighter would be enjoying a peaceful, uninterruptible slumber for at least another twelve hours.


    "Looking for your champion?" I asked innocently. "I''m afraid he''s indisposed."


    ze''s face contorted with rage and disbelief. "You... what did you do?"


    "Me? Nothing at all. Perhaps he had ate night." I shrugged. "Now, if our business is concluded..."


    "This isn''t over," ze growled, but the threat rang hollow. His most powerful assets had been neutralized, and he knew it. "You''ll regret this day, Knight."


    I adjusted my grip on the box of herbs. "I doubt that very much. Good day, gentlemen."


    No one moved to stop me as I walked toward the exit. I paused at the door. "Oh, and Asher? Next time you make a wager, be prepared to honor it. It saves everyone a lot of trouble."


    The South City sunlight felt particrly warm as I stepped outside the Lane familypound. The confrontation had gone almost exactly as I''d anticipated—ze''s arrogance, the predictable attempt at intimidation, and the ultimate realization that he''d severely underestimated me.


    All part of establishing myself in a new territory. The herbs were valuable, but the reputation I''d just cemented was worth far more.


    I''d walked perhaps two blocks when I noticed the sleek ck vehicle pacing me. It finally pulled alongside, and the back window rolled down to reveal a middle-aged man with sharp, intelligent eyes and an expensive suit.


    "Mr. Knight," he called out. "A moment of your time?"


    I paused, studying him. Unlike ze Lane''s obvious aggression, this man exuded a more refined type of power. "Do I know you?"


    "Caesar Nn," he replied with a slight incline of his head. "I believe we have mutual interests to discuss. Perhaps over dinner?"


    The name registered immediately. Caesar Nn—one of South City''s most influential figures and, if rumors were true, a major rival to the Lane family. This was an unexpected development, but potentially useful.


    "And what interests might those be?" I asked.


    His lips curved in a knowing smile. "The humbling of ze Lane, for one. Word travels fast in certain circles. I''d like to hear about your visit firsthand."


    I considered my options. Navigating South City''s power structure would be easier with allies, even temporary ones. And information was always valuable.


    "I ept," I decided. "When and where?"


    "The Golden Phoenix, seven tonight. My driver can take you, if you wish."


    I shook my head. "I''ll find my way."


    "As you prefer." He handed me a business card through the window. "Until tonight, Mr. Knight."


    The car pulled away smoothly, leaving me wondering what game Caesar Nn was ying. Almost certainly he was trying to use me in his rivalry with the Lanes. That was fine—as long as I was using him too.


    The Golden Phoenix lived up to its reputation. Crystal chandeliers illuminated private dining alcoves, each separated by ornate screens that created the illusion of seclusion while allowing soft conversation to flow through the space. The air was perfumed with exotic spices and the rich aroma of perfectly prepared dishes.


    Caesar Nn awaited me at a corner table, apanied by three others—two men and a woman. All eyes in the restaurant tracked my progress as I was escorted through the dining room.


    "Mr. Knight," Caesar rose to greet me, extending his hand. "Wee. Please, join us."


    I shook his hand firmly. "Thank you for the invitation."


    "Allow me to introduce my associates," he gestured around the table. "Ming Chen, South City''s foremost expert in businessw. Jonathan Drake, who oversees my shipping interests. And Ellis Mitchell, a dear friend and one of South City''s most respected martial artists."


    I exchanged pleasantries with each of them, noting how Ellis Mitchell''s eyes assessed me with particr intensity. His handshake was deliberately firm—a subtle test of strength that I returned with precisely the same pressure.


    "We''ve ordered some of the house specialties," Caesar exined as I took my seat. "I hope you don''t mind."


    "Not at all."


    The conversation flowed smoothly as the food arrived—a procession of elegant dishes that spoke to Caesar''s refined taste. Business topics were discussed obliquely, interspersed with local gossip and cultural observations. I contributed enough to seem engaged while revealing little about myself.


    Finally, after the main courses had been cleared, Caesar leaned forward. "I understand you had quite the encounter with ze Lane today."


    "Word does travel fast," I observed.


    Ming Chen smiled thinly. "South City thrives on information, Mr. Knight. Particrly when it involves someone new defeating ze Lane''s security team single-handedly."


    "While walking away with rare medicinal herbs," Jonathan added. "Most impressive."


    I sipped my tea. "The herbs were rightfully mine. Lane''s son made a wager and lost."


    "Indeed," Caesar nodded. "Asher Lane''s arrogance has caused his family problems before. But few have made them pay for it so... effectively."


    "The Lanes aren''t ustomed to losing," Ming remarked. "They''ll retaliate."


    I set my cup down. "I''m aware."


    "Which brings us to why I invited you tonight," Caesar said. "South City operates on alliances and mutual interests. Standing alone is... challenging."


    "Are you offering an alliance, Mr. Nn?"


    He spread his hands. "Let''s call it an exploration of possibilities. Your pharmaceutical knowledgebined with my distributionwork could be profitable for us both. And I can offer something the Lanes can''t—protection without subjugation."


    His offer was straightforward enough, but I wasn''t naive. Caesar saw me as a potential asset in his ongoing struggle with the Lane family. Still, temporary alignments could serve my purposes too.


    "An interesting proposition," I acknowledged. "Though I wonder what your associates think of bringing a neer into your circle."


    All eyes turned to Ellis Mitchell, who had remained mostly silent during dinner. He studied me intently before speaking.


    "I think," he said deliberately, "that Mr. Knight''s reputation exceeds his capabilities."


    The table went quiet. Caesar looked ufortable.


    "Ellis," he began, but Mitchell raised a hand.


    "No offense intended," he continued, looking directly at me. "Defeating street thugs and an aging enforcer is one thing. But true power?" He shook his head. "I''ve seen your form. Serviceable, but unrefined. Your spiritual energy flow is erratic at best."


    I kept my expression neutral despite the incorrect assessment. "Is that so?"


    "I''ve trained martial artists for thirty years," Ellis said dismissively. "I can gauge potential at a nce. Yours is... quite ordinary."


    Caesar cleared his throat. "Ellis, perhaps this isn''t—"


    "However," Ellis continued, ignoring him, "in light of Mr. Nn''s face, I can take you as my disciple and elevate you to the level of an Inner Strength Master."


    The condescension in his offer hung in the air between us. I could feel the others at the table holding their breath, waiting for my response to this calcted insult disguised as generosity.