Chapter 2257

Andrew did not lose his temper. A true martial artist needed to keep a fire in his chest, but also the patience of a senior. He could allow these spoiled brats their arrogance.

He said, “Out of respect for the uniforms you wear, I won’t make a move. But remember, this is the only time.”

With that, he turned, ready to head upstairs.

Brett’s face flushed red with fury. “Bastard, how dare you ignore me? Take this!”

With two thunderous cracks, his fists split the air as they shot toward the back of Andrew’s head. He had declared he would test Andrew’s strength, yet Andrew had not even bothered to react, which was the ultimate insult to Brett. He was the tyrant of this floor, and no one ever dared brush him off like that.

Andrew did not even look back and casually swung his hand in a vicious slap. The strike carried the echo of the Dragon–Slaying Palm, a technique so fearsome it shook hearts with its sound alone.

Though it was a killing move, Andrew had not unleashed its full force. This slap was only meant to give the Harding fool a lesson.

Brett did not even have time to register what happened before his head snapped sideways, and his body flew up into the ceiling.

With a loud clang, his face smashed into the steel–reinforced ceiling, blood spraying across the metal. His bulky body then crashed back down, and only his lackeys catching him kept him from face–planting into the ground.

“Y–You…” Brett choked, his chest heaving before another mouthful of blood burst from his lips. His finger shook as he pointed at Andrew, but before he could finish a word, his eyes rolled back and he passed out.

The onlookers were stunned. Brett was a peak martial king, praised by senior officers as a future star. Yet, Andrew had flattened him with a single slap, leaving him half dead.

To them, it was like some legendary technique.

The tenth floor fell into deathly silence.

Andrew’s gaze swept across the room, cold and sharp. “What’s wrong? No one has anything to say now? Are martial artists really supposed to be such cowards?”

He rolled up his sleeves, eyes narrowing. Then, he pointed at a young man with slicked–back hair who had been the loudest earlier. “You. Come here.”

The lad froze, trying to act tough but trembling inside. “W–What do you want? My dad’s a colonel, and his commander is General Tobias Sharpe. And General Sharpe’s superior is none other than General Philip Turman himself!”

Andrew sneered, a hint of street–thug swagger in his expression. “So you’re just another coward. Clinging to your daddy’s rank, that’s all you’ve got? I don’t care who your father is. Even if he were king himself, do you think I’d be afraid of you?”

The young man’s tongue tripped over itself. “I–I won’t ever dare again! Please, I didn’t mean it just now!”

Andrew waved dismissively, already stepping up to him. Then, he kicked him clear across the room, sending him flying. In the same motion, he backhanded a heavyset youth across the face.

Without channeling even a trace of inner energy, Andrew beat the spoiled brats down with sheer physical power. In just a few blows, the tenth floor was filled with groans and wails.