C12 South District Dawson

"Are you here for me?" Miron asked, his brow furrowed in suspicion.

"You guessed it," came the reply.

A burly man grinned sinisterly and, with a sudden surge of motion, swung a heavy punch toward Miron's face.

Miron's reflexes kicked in, and he nimbly sidestepped the blow.

The two assailants were quick and vicious, their movements betraying professional training.

"Not bad on the reflexes," the burly man said, a hint of surprise coloring his tone after his fist cut through empty air.

"Well then, let's see how you fare without the use of your legs!"

Their faces twisted into snarls, the men lunged at Miron, aiming brutal kicks at his knees.

Miron shifted his stance and countered with a swift, spinning kick. The air whistled as his legs connected with the assailants' midsections.

*Thump! Thump! *

The men were sent flying, landing several meters away with a heavy thud, each spitting blood and looking up at Miron with eyes wide with terror.

They couldn't fathom how Miron had nearly incapacitated them with just a couple of kicks. His formidable prowess was a far cry from the rumored weakling they had expected to confront.

Internally, they lamented their misjudgment. They had assumed that Miron would be an easy target, but they had sorely underestimated him.

"Who sent you? Talk!" Miron demanded, his voice icy and his eyes glinting dangerously.

The men shivered under the weight of his murderous intent.

Miron was prepared to kill. As a scion of the Dragon Sect, he was well aware that many were seeking his whereabouts. He would not tolerate any threats to his sanctuary, especially not here, where Julietta and her family resided. This was a line no one should cross.

"We... we were just following orders from above," stammered one of the burly men, his voice quivering with fear.

"We're under orders from Master Dawson, so I'd think twice before you do something rash. Cross him, and he won't let it slide," the other man warned, his voice tinged with anxiety.

Miron's brow furrowed slightly as he mulled over the situation.

"Dawson from the South District?"

"That's right! We work for Master Dawson of the South District. You've heard of him, so you'd better weigh your next move carefully." The man's tone hardened as he saw recognition in Miron's eyes.

Miron let out a cold laugh.

Dawson was the South District's kingpin, with a slew of shady enterprises under his belt. His wealth and power made him a formidable figure in York City, with a reputation that preceded him.

"What does Dawson want with you here?" Miron's voice was grave.

The men seemed hesitant, stubbornly silent.

*Slap!*

Miron stepped forward and delivered two stinging slaps, leaving their faces swollen and muscles twitching.

"Don't test my patience."

Their eyes skittered away from Miron's piercing gaze, too intimidated to meet it head-on.

One of the men caved, his voice low. "Master Dawson ordered us to surveil East Mountain Quarter daily. If we saw anyone from Julietta's family leave their home, we were to abduct them immediately. That's all we were told; we're in the dark about the rest."

Miron's anger surged. It was fortunate he was the one who had encountered them. Had Julietta or her parents been the ones to step out, they would have been at the mercy of these thugs.

*Thump!*

Miron's foot crashed down onto the talkative man's face, causing him to writhe in pain, his forehead bleeding and body shaking.

"Take me to Dawson," Miron demanded icily.

He resolved to find a safer place for Julietta and her family. It was clear that East Mountain Quarter was no longer safe with eyes watching their every move.

The two burly men had some martial arts training, but their skills were mediocre at best. They were a notch above the average person but certainly not in the realm of experts.

It appeared that the Ancient Martial World hadn't caught up with him yet.

Nevertheless, Miron was determined to confront Dawson and uncover who was really pulling the strings.

Overpowered by Miron's formidable martial prowess, the two men didn't dare put up a fight and obediently started the car.

...

Twenty minutes later.

The Toyota Prado pulled up to Starlight, the most prominent nightclub in the South District.

Led by the two men, Miron made his way to the third floor of Starlight.

The opulent hall was adorned with lavish decorations, and beautiful women in uniforms were stationed throughout, serving as hostesses. The air was thick with a sense of decadence that Miron found unappealing.

Soon, Miron was ushered into a spacious VIP room.

The room was ablaze with lights, and at its center stood a conference table surrounded by over ten menacing figures, their arms emblazoned with fierce tattoos.

Seated at the head of the table was a gaunt, middle-aged man with a malevolent air about him. Clad in a floral shirt, he fiddled with a string of Buddhist beads.

"You've got some nerve, attacking my men and then showing up here," Dawson said, puffing on a cigar, his tone mocking, clearly underestimating Miron.

"So you're Dawson? Who sent you after me?" Miron inquired, unfazed.

"Ha!" Dawson scoffed with contempt. "I've been around York City for years, and I've never met anyone as foolish as you. Bursting into my territory and acting so bold? Who do you think you are?"

"Heaven has a road you chose not to take; hell has no gate yet here you come knocking," Dawson declared, snapping his fingers. "Take him down!"

"At once, Master Dawson!"

The men in suits around the table fixed their cold gazes on Miron.

With a loud clatter, Dawson's henchmen drew steel rods over a meter long from beneath the table and charged at Miron.

Their movements were swift and brutal, expertly wielding steel rods aimed directly at Miron's head with lethal intent.

Unperturbed by the onslaught, Miron caught a descending steel rod with a flick of his wrist, snapping it in two before toppling an assailant in a suit with a thud.

Then, in a blur of motion, he charged into the fray, whipping up a vortex of wind that left only his afterimages visible to the naked eye.

*Bang! Bang! Bang!*

Armed with a steel rod from the ground, Miron delivered punishing blows to his attackers, leaving them powerless to fight back.

Throughout the skirmish, not one of them could touch Miron as they were relentlessly beaten down.

Within minutes, over a dozen men lay sprawled on the floor, faces swollen and contorted in pain, their cries echoing through the room.

"Speak!" Miron's icy gaze fixed on Dawson. "Who's behind this?"

"What the…" Dawson was stunned, struggling to grasp the swift turn of events, disbelief etched across his face.

He had been led to believe that Miron was nothing more than a spineless son-in-law, yet here he was, displaying formidable strength.

His men, seasoned in violence and loyal through countless battles, were effortlessly dispatched by Miron. Dawson felt as though he had just kicked an iron plate.

"Do you think you can be so brazen before me just because you've got some fighting skills?" Dawson spat out, tossing aside his cigar. "Causing trouble on my turf is a death wish!"

Despite Miron's impressive combat prowess, Dawson, the tyrant of the South District's underworld, had seen it all. Bloodshed was no stranger to him, and he stood unshaken before Miron.

"Kneel now! Or I'll end you!"

Dawson suddenly whipped out a handgun from beneath the table, leveling its icy barrel straight at Miron.

"You won't kneel? Seeking death, are you?" Dawson's voice was chilling. "Think I don't have the guts to shoot?"

Miron's expression remained calm. "Give it a try."

Dawson's expression shifted subtly. In his many years dominating the criminal world, he had rarely encountered someone who could remain so defiant in the face of death.

"Then I'll grant your wish!" Dawson's face twisted into a snarl as he clenched his teeth and decisively squeezed the trigger.

*Bang!*

The gunshot echoed, the bullet whizzed from the barrel, and a burst of flame erupted from the gun's muzzle, accompanied by a haze of smoke.