Betrayed, But Not Defeated novel Chapter 11

Daniel simply waved his hand.

"Ms. Ballard, wait outside. I'll go in and take a look," he said calmly, walking toward the warehouse without attempting to conceal his presence.

Inside the warehouse, over 200 people were working in an orderly manner.

The leader was a man with a grotesque scar on his face. The scar ran from his left eye to his right chin—long, thick, and hideous.

He was Colt Kelley, a notorious figure in Qranross, infamous for his nickname "Scarface".

With his hands behind his back, he exuded an imposing presence. He was a martial artist and a battle-hardened mercenary.

"Scarface, don't you think we're overdoing it a bit? It's just a fool. Do we really need this many people and guns?" a subordinate asked, confusion written across his face.

Colt glared at him and said coldly, "You don't know anything! This time, it's not just Mr. Zak who's dead. Even the two grandmasters by his side are all dead. Although I don't believe that idiot Daniel did it, this shows that other skilled people must be around him.

"We're setting up a perfect ambush. Once we take care of that fool and avenge Mr. Zak, Mr. Omari will definitely reward us generously! Maybe I'll even get a position at Gimlin and become a big shot there!"

He grinned, running his fingers over his scar.

The subordinates quickly scattered, taking up positions to prepare for the attack, securing the best spots for sniping, ready with Desert Eagles, shotguns, and other high-powered weapons.

Even if a grandmaster showed up, they were sure to die.

Just then, there was a loud crash. The warehouse doors were kicked off their hinges.

A figure walked in alone—Daniel.

Daniel's expression remained indifferent as he raised his hand. Then, with a few swift slaps, the sounds of five crisp cracks echoed.

In an instant, the heads of all five men exploded, their bodies collapsing to the ground.

He licked his lips and said, "The taste of blood is disgusting yet oddly addictive."

With that, he lunged forward, moving at lightning speed into the crowd.

Wherever he went, bodies flew and blood splattered everywhere. He was like a simple, efficient killing machine. Each punch crushed a skull, and each slap shattered a heart.

In the blink of an eye, over ten men had fallen—lifeless—in pools of blood.