Chapter 63

As soon as the conversation ended, Nash, sitting blankly on the sofa, declared, "You're both too weak. I can protect the Warden myself!"

George and Janson stared at Nash. Were it not for the Warden's presence, their fury would have erupted.

Harold frowned, asking, "Colonel Orwell, this is...?"

Stellar smiled, introducing Nash, "This is the Smiling Grim Reaper, whom I hired with your security fund."

Harold eyed the tall, slender masked man. "One hundred forty million dollars, and this is all you hired?"

Stellar nodded. "He's worth it!"

The words "Smiling Grim Reaper" resonated with their price tag: one hundred forty million dollars.

Harold smiled. "With so many at the banquet, a few extra guards for the Warden isn't a bad idea…"

Nash slowly raised his head, glancing at Harold. "More people will only attract the killer."

This enraged George and Janson. Powerful figures in the Watson family, they were now being dismissed.

George coldly retorted, "You claim to protect the Warden single-handedly. What good are you?"

Nash raised his gaze, snapping, "Good enough to kill you!" Murderous intent gleamed in his cold eyes.

George's chest tightened, his breath catching at the brief eye contact. Horrified, he gasped, "You… who are you?"

Stellar interjected, introducing Nash, "Let me introduce you to the Smiling Grim Reaper! The number one killer on the dark web!"

Except for Zakariah, everyone present was unfamiliar with the name.

George sneered. "I wonder if your highness cares to compete?"

Nash replied calmly, "Sorry, I don't compete. I only kill."

George's fury erupted. He raised his leg to kick the defiant man. Stellar moved to intervene, but the Warden's look stopped him. He wanted to see what the hundred-million-dollar bodyguard could do.

George's kick was swift as a dragon, powerful as a tiger, the air seeming to crackle with energy. Nash's eyes flashed coldly. He braced himself, then violently countered with his own kick.

Clang!

Their legs collided with a dull metallic sound. The sofa beneath Nash exploded. Stellar and Zakariah instantly shielded the Warden. The Warden remained standing, observing the confrontation.

George, pulling back his right leg, launched a series of kicks. Nash met each one, his leg shattering tiles with every impact. Harold and Janson broke into a cold sweat.

George's legs were alloy steel, capable of withstanding 2000-degree temperatures and dozens of tons of impact—the same material used in aircraft carrier decks. With George's strength, even a tank wouldn't withstand his kicks. Yet, this masked man was using his own flesh and blood to fight him?

Bang!

Nash's next kick struck George's calf. The impact sent George spinning uncontrollably through the air like a broken kite.

Boom!

George crashed into the wall, cracking it before collapsing to the ground. He clutched his chest, vomiting blood. He stared at Nash, pain and disbelief etched on his face. His alloy steel legs, his pride, had been defeated by this man's kicks. This man's strength likely surpassed even a level-nine Grandmaster.

Janson snorted coldly. "Kicks are child's play. Let me try. Perhaps you understand boxing..."