Chapter 467 Confrontation
Everyone in the hall stared at James in shock.
Most didn't know who he was or his background, but seeing his intrusion, their eyes filled with mockery.
This was Atticus's territory. He was about to force himself on Seraphina when James interrupted—how was this any different from seeking death?
When someone whispered that James was the man Atticus had just spoken to on the phone, the dozens of onlookers sneered more intensely. So this was the man Dane had beaten into worthlessness.
"Trash, you really dared to come?" From a corner, a white-haired young man stood up, looking at James with furious amusement. "You're absolutely seeking death."
Having his moment of triumph disrupted filled him with genuine anger.
James looked up. Though he didn't know Atticus personally, he recognized him instantly from his demeanor—that arrogant insolence matched perfectly with the voice on the phone.
On the way, James had gathered intelligence about Atticus. Publicly known as Terrence's nephew, he was actually his illegitimate son. Because of this relationship, Terrence not only passed down techniques to him but spared no effort nurturing his growth.
Unfortunately, Atticus couldn't endure hardship. His martial practices never reached mastery, so Terrence could only elevate him through rank.
This time, Terrence had come to Glowing Oasis to cause trouble with the sole purpose of removing James and making Atticus the new chairman.
James sighed. "Not a bad plan, but you shouldn't have provoked me." He had added Atticus to his death list.
Atticus took a sip of wine. "James, you've spoiled my fun. The consequences will be severe."
On the sofa beside him reclined a young woman with an exquisite figure. Her clothes were disheveled, stockings half-removed—Seraphina, her expression dazed. When she saw James, her eyes suddenly brightened with hope.
James nodded slightly to reassure her, then looked calmly at Atticus. "You should be grateful you haven't done anything despicable yet. Otherwise, I wouldn't leave your corpse intact."
Atticus swaggered forward with his wine glass. "James, I've seen people who don't know when to quit, but never anyone as eager to die as you."
"You asked me to kill you. So I'm here to grant your wish," James replied flatly.
Atticus kicked Seraphina in the stomach. "Didn't you say I couldn't touch her? Well, I'm touching her now. What are you going to do about it?"
Seraphina cried out in pain, blood trickling from her mouth. James's gaze turned icy. Without a word, he took out his phone and sent a message.
"I've hurt her. Tell me, what can you do? Just worthless trash who can't confront me directly, only pretending with your phone." Atticus slapped Seraphina twice more, then looked at James provocatively. "Try to touch me if you dare!"
Many laughed along. James's silence, in their eyes, was cowardice.
"Provoke me like this, and I don't mind teaching you a lesson," Atticus continued. "Don't worry, I won't kill you. After all, you still have your duel tomorrow afternoon."
His voice dripped with sarcasm. "How about this—after Seraphina and I bathe together, you can drink our bathwater. How's that sound?"
The hall erupted in laughter, mocking the fallen James for not knowing his limits. Not only had he failed to rescue Seraphina, but he would face the ultimate humiliation—drinking her bathwater shared with another man.
James walked forward, hands behind his back. "I was silent earlier because I was messaging Terrence to prepare a coffin for you."
"Bastard! Who gave you the guts to defy me?" Atticus shouted. "Someone beat this trash!"
Seven or eight young men roared and charged. James wasted no words. With a kick, he sent them all flying. Their bodies tumbled like kicked balls, rolling across the floor, motionless.
His kicks carried tremendous force, rupturing their internal organs. These accomplices to evil perished instantly.
"Not bad," Atticus sneered, unimpressed. "Teach him a lesson, but don't kill him."
An eagle-nosed elder rushed from the corner, unleashing a devastating punch at James—ninety percent of his full power.
He wanted to make an example: those who offend Atticus die! His fist radiated killing intent, exploding with momentum like a rushing flood.
Several beautiful women stepped back, watching with schadenfreude, certain James would be severely injured if not killed.
"Too weak!" James didn't even raise an eyebrow. He snorted coldly and threw a punch in return. His fist moved like the wind.
Under the heated gaze of dozens of onlookers, James's fist collided with the attacker's. A muffled explosion sounded as James's power surged through with energy transmutation.
The eagle-nosed elder's sleeve shattered, his knuckles instantly broke, and his arm twisted into a misshapen mass. He screamed in agony, flying backward uncontrollably, crashing into several people before hitting the ground.
Sweat poured down like rain. He was crippled!
"How is this possible?"
"What's happening?"
"Why is his punch so terrifying? Wasn't he supposed to be nearly finished?"
"Did he underestimate James?"
Many female guests gasped in shock, unable to accept that a powerful bodyguard could be so easily defeated.
Atticus's expression changed. "James, you've recovered?"
Without wasting words, James flashed forward, appearing before him. Almost simultaneously, two black-clad elders darted out, drawing daggers without hesitation, directly attacking James's vital points. Their coordination was flawless, seemingly impenetrable.
James paid them no attention. His left hand made two casual grabs. After two crisp sounds, the elders groaned, each with five bloody holes in their wrists.
Their daggers dropped, their arms disabled, unable to summon any strength.
James continued toward Atticus without pause. Though Atticus appeared drained by debauchery, years in the Mystic Alliance had given him some skills. He stepped back, a wrist blade appearing in his left hand, which he thrust at James.
James calmly sidestepped, then twisted his waist and hips, throwing a powerful punch at Atticus's chest.
Elysia and the others watched with pupils contracted to pinpoints.
Atticus raised his wrist blade to block, but with a muffled sound, James's punch shattered it and continued unabated into his body.
Atticus felt pain first in his palm, then in his ribs. That punch had wounded him severely.
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