CHAPTER 154: CHAPTER 154

At that moment, Oliver’s patience was done. Every second wasted at that door was another second Cora was in danger, and he could feel time slipping away like sand through his fingers. His eyes hardened, his chest rising and falling slowly as he measured the space between himself and the nine men blocking him. There was no more talking, only action is required.

He stepped forward, but the wall of bodies instantly moved to match him, forming a tight line. One of them, a thick-set man with a smirk that dared Oliver to make a move, jabbed a finger into Oliver’s chest. "Now where do you think you’re going?" he said, his tone mocking. "Go back, boy. You don’t have any business here."

However the touch was a mistake.

In a single, fluid motion, Oliver’s hand shot up, gripping the man’s wrist with a force that made his eyes go wide. There was no pause only a sharp, precise twist. The sickening crack of bone snapping tore through the air, followed instantly by the man’s agonized scream.

"You... you bastard! you broke my hands." he shouted, but he didn’t get to finish.

Oliver’s leg lashed out in a lightning-fast kick that slammed into the man’s jaw with the force of a hammer. The crack of impact was followed by the man’s head whipping violently to the side. Before his body could even slump, Oliver’s elbow drove into the side of his neck, fast, brutal, and final. The man’s eyes rolled back, his body collapsing lifelessly onto the ground.

The entire exchange had taken less than three seconds.

The remaining eight froze, their earlier arrogance replaced by wide-eyed shock. For a moment, no one moved, then, almost instinctively, they all took a step backward.

All of them couldn’t believe what they had just witnessed. A few seconds ago, they had looked at Oliver like he was nothing more than an annoyance, a lone man foolish enough to try and push through nine armed, battle-hardened guards. In their minds, he was just another obstacle to step over, someone they could shove aside and humiliate before throwing him out like trash.

But that illusion had shattered the moment Oliver moved. The speed, the precision, the raw force behind each strike it was nothing like they expected. They didn’t just see one of their own go down; they saw him get dismantled, broken in a way that was both terrifying and humiliating. The sound of bone snapping still rang in their ears, the echo of that kick to the jaw still fresh in their minds. It wasn’t just that Oliver had won, it was how he had done it. Efficient. Ruthless. Without hesitation.

The man who only seconds ago had been smirking on his feet now lay motionless on the ground, his wrist twisted at an unnatural angle, his head lolling to one side. It was a sight that sent a cold ripple through the remaining eight. Their confidence wavered. For the first time, they realized this wasn’t a man to toy with.

Then a couple of them exchanged uneasy glances, the smugness gone from their faces completely. Even the biggest among them felt a subtle knot tighten in their stomachs. This wasn’t a fight they could approach casually anymore, Oliver wasn’t prey; he was a predator, and they had just made the mistake of cornering one.

At that moment the eight men squared up, their eyes narrowing into murderous slits as they fanned out in a semi-circle around Oliver. One of them spat on the ground and growled, "You think taking one of us down makes you a hero? We underestimated you before that was our mistake. Now, you’re not getting out of here in one piece."

However Oliver didn’t say a word. His gaze was steady, cold, and calculating. His stance was relaxed but deadly, like a coiled serpent ready to strike. The air between them seemed to thicken, and then without warning, they lunged at him all at once.

The first man came swinging a steel baton at Oliver’s head. Oliver stepped into him instead of away, deflecting the arm upward with his left hand and, in the same motion, driving his right elbow into the man’s throat. The sickening crunch of cartilage breaking filled the air. The man dropped to his knees, gasping for air that would never come, his hands clawing at his crushed windpipe.

Immediately another attacker came in from behind with a knife.

Again Oliver didn’t even turn his head, he pivoted his foot, caught the man’s wrist mid-stab, twisted until bone snapped, and yanked the blade free. Without hesitation, he reversed the grip and plunged it clean into the man’s chest, hitting the heart. The attacker’s eyes widened in shock before he collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

At that moment three more charged him together one low, one high, and one swinging wide.

Immediately Oliver sidestepped the low attacker, bringing his knee up sharply into the man’s jaw with a crack that sent teeth flying. As that man fell back, dazed and bleeding, Oliver grabbed the wide swinger by the collar, yanked him forward, and headbutted him so hard the man’s nose exploded in blood. Without letting go, Oliver spun the man into the path of the high attacker, using him as a human shield. The high attacker’s punch landed squarely into his ally’s ribs, breaking them with an audible snap.

Upon seeing what was happening the two remaining men hesitated for a split second, that was all Oliver needed. He hurled the limp, bleeding man he was holding into one of them, knocking him to the ground. Then he stepped in and, with brutal efficiency, stomped down on the last standing man’s knee until it bent the wrong way, followed by a sharp, precise strike to the side of the neck that left the man twitching on the ground.

The entire fight had lasted less than fifteen seconds. Eight men had come at him with full confidence; now, they were sprawled across the ground, two dead, several unconscious, and the rest groaning in pain, clutching broken bones.

At that moment Oliver didn’t even glance back. He stepped over the bodies, pushed the door open, and strode inside.

However the sight before him made his jaw clench.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?"