Chapter 83

Jaden turned back toward Peter, letting silence weigh heavy in the chilly air. His piercing gaze fell upon him—not in rage, but in icy resolve — as if marking him, choosing him, framing him to carry a message that words could not convey.

"Your adopted father thinks this is a joke... a minor matter... something a piece of black card can resolve." Jaden's voice was firm and gravelly, a king's sentence upon a traitor. "It's time I show him just how serious this is."

He raised his hand, and without a word, Drax stepped forward from the shadows. His large hands presented a katana — a blade forged in the finest steel, a shimmering curve of death itself. Jaden grasped it casually, letting the metal glimmer under the dim glow of the heavens.

Peter's knees trembled beneath him. His face turned ashen, lips quivering. "N... no..... King..... please..... please..... I beg you..... please, spare me..... please... please..." His voice faltered into a desperate whine.

Jaden remained silent. His grip tightened on the hilt. The source of thɪs content is find~novel~net

Then with a single, decisive slash - the blade fell.

The katana cut through flesh and bone as effortlessly as a scythe through grass. The arm fell to the gravel with a sickening thud, a stump of bloody flesh all that remained attached to Peter's shoulder.

For a moment there was a horrified silence - a pause in the universe - then a piercing, anguished scream tore from Peter's soul. His agony was raw, pure — a chorus of suffering — as arterial blood spurted in a dramatic arc, staining the stones beneath him.

Jaden remained impassive. Without ceremony, he turned toward Drax. "Take it. Deliver it to Williams' Gravesend... a message... a warning... Let him know that if he doesn't show up I'll kill his last hope of his lineage.."

Drax nodded quietly, knelt, and retrieved the severed arm. His grip was firm, unfazed by the bloody mess, and then he turned and walked back into the shadows.

Meanwhile, at the Gravesend Mansion, the mood was festive - almost euphoric - a dramatic contrast to the bloody scene at the cliff.

Master Williams stood at the center of a crowd - a mixture of his men, business partners, and sycophants - all cheering him on. His confidence was palpable; a charming, smug mask of power.

"If today were not a day of

celebration... a day of honoring my son's memory... I would handle this myself." His voice was rion and assured, dripping with superiority." would show that kidnapper what it means to challenge the Gravesend name."

The men nodded and raised their glasses in a toast. His guests nodded and

nodded, eager to align themselves with his prestige.

"It's not hard to resolve these things." He paused for dramatic effect. "Send a black card, a small piece of generosity... and everything falls into place. Why soil my hands when a simple tøken can resolve it?” His confidence seemed contagious - everyone nodded, smiling,

applauding him.

"It's a masterstroke!" someone said. "General-like! Winning a battle without lifting

a sword!"

Williams nodded, smiling smugly.

"Exactly. Why should I... a man of my

stature... become a butcher... when cantresolve this gracefully His sycophants nodded and cheered. His men raised their drinks ima

toast. The room seemed filled with an aura of invincibility - a king sitting safely on his throne.

Just then, a young servant rushed into the room, his face a mixture of fear and urgency. "Master Williams... Master Williams!"

Williams sighed, a small frown creeping across his face. "What is it this time?" His tone was firm.

The servant swallowed hard. "I... I can't say it here... But... you need to come... immediately. The kidnapper... has... sent a message. A... a very important delivery."

He nodded toward the large box in his hands — a wooden crate, its surface smeared with something dark and sinister.

The room fell silent. Everyone turned to stare — first at the box, then back at Williams — trying to gauge their master's reaction.