Invading the Castle!

The mission this time hadn't been anything too dangerous; just capturing a few ordinary people, not assassinating powerful dojo owners. How could Samuel have failed, let alone been killed? They were just regular folks, after all.

If the Sean family hadn't been worried about potential complications or other hidden players vying for the same prize, they'd never have spent a fortune hiring Dwayne, a renowned elite fighter, to handle something so trivial. But now, it seemed their fears weren't so unfounded.

"Enough waiting," the elderly leader of the Sean family declared, his voice edged with impatience. He narrowed his eyes. "The ceremony is drawing near. We must locate the key soon if we're to secure our advantage, and the rewards that come with it."

His gaze shifted to a man further down the table. "Charlie, I'm entrusting this to you."

Charlie, a serious-looking, middle-aged man, rose and nodded. "Understood. I'll handle it."

Just as he was about to continue, he paused, frowning as an unusual sound drifted in from outside. It was faint but persistent, the kind of noise that wasn't supposed to exist in the quiet, heavily guarded castle grounds.

"Do you hear that?" he murmured, glancing toward the large windows.

Others around the table exchanged wary glances, each noticing the same disturbance. For a family as prestigious as the Seans, the castle was always kept under strict control. Loud noises were forbidden; any who dared disturb the peace were swiftly dealt with. Usually, the castle was so quiet you could hear a stone drop from across the hall.

But now… now there was chaos outside.

The old man's expression darkened, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Charlie, go out there and see what's happening. I trust you know how to handle it."

"Yes, sir," Charlie replied, turning to make his way to the door. But just as he stepped forward, a tremor shook the ground beneath them, faint at first, then building. It felt like something heavy was slamming into the very foundations of the castle, sending reverberations through the room.

'Bang!'

The door to the hall suddenly shuddered under a massive impact, rattling in its frame. Everyone froze, eyes fixed on the door in disbelief.

Before they could process the first blow, a second and third impact followed in quick succession, each hit louder, more forceful. The noise grew, a steady, relentless pounding that echoed through the hall, sending splinters flying from the door.

'Boom!'

With one final, deafening crash, the door exploded inward, wood splintering and scattering across the polished floor as it was torn from its hinges. Dust filled the air, and the assembled members of the Sean family shielded their faces, confusion and shock etched on their features.

When the dust settled, a lone figure stood in the doorway. He wasn't particularly tall, but his stance was upright, his shoulders broad, his posture exuding a quiet strength. From the looks of him, he was barely more than a teenager, but there was a fierce confidence in his eyes that made him seem far older.

And he wasn't alone. Draped over his shoulder, limp and unmoving, was another man; one whom the Sean family recognized immediately.

"Ryan!" someone gasped, horror coloring their voice.

Ryan was one of the Sean family's three elite fighters, a powerful warrior tasked with guarding the castle and commanding the family's private forces. Known throughout Malian City, he was feared almost as much as Stone Samuel himself. And yet, here he was, slung over this young intruder's shoulder like a discarded rag, unresponsive, oblivious to the world around him.

Harry smirked as he strolled into the hall, his steps slow and deliberate, surveying the assembled members of the Sean family. With a casual shrug, he tossed Ryan's limp body to the floor, letting him fall with a heavy thud that echoed through the stunned silence.

"Is this the right place?" Harry asked, his voice mocking, as if he were simply confirming directions. His eyes swept over the room, taking in the faces of the nobles staring back at him in shock and fear. "You rats sure know how to hide. It was almost a challenge finding you."

"Who… exactly are you, Your Excellency?"

Charlie's voice wavered as he stared down at Ryan's limp body sprawled at his feet. A shiver ran through him, but he forced himself to step forward, attempting to mask his fear with diplomacy. "Perhaps there's been some kind of… misunderstanding?"

"Misunderstanding?" Harry's laugh was low and chilling. "Funny, you didn't think about that when you sent people to kill me."

"What?" Charlie's face drained of color, his expression shifting from confusion to dawning horror. "It's… you!"

Recognition dawned across the room. They had sent Stone Samuel after this young man, knowing him only through the cold facts on a report. But Harry's presence now, his aura and strength, were nothing like what the data had suggested. He was something else entirely.

Harry smirked, his gaze cold. "Now that you recognize me, it's time to say goodbye."

Without another word, he advanced, his movements swift and fluid. The guards stationed in the hall sprang forward, brandishing their weapons in a desperate attempt to stop him. These weren't ordinary men; they were apprentice-level fighters, well-trained and capable. But to Harry, they were little more than obstacles.

With a flash of his blade, Harry swept through them. A gleam of sword light cut through the air, and in a heartbeat, several heads fell, the guards dropping lifelessly to the floor. He barely broke his stride as he approached Charlie, his expression calm, almost disinterested.

Charlie's own strength wasn't insignificant. He was an elite-level fighter, a force to be reckoned with in most circumstances. But as Harry closed in, his confidence faltered. Harry's sword moved like a serpent, striking with deadly precision. Two quick slashes, and Charlie fell, his body collapsing to the ground in a heap.

Just then, a figure appeared from the shadows, another fighter rushing to join the fray. This newcomer was also elite, his skill and presence a match for Charlie's. He lunged forward, hoping to turn the tide. But Harry didn't so much as flinch.

For him, two elite fighters meant little. His blade whirled, cutting through their defenses with practiced ease. They fought valiantly, but in the end, those who deserved to die would die.

Then, a heavy, oppressive aura filled the room.

Harry paused, instinctively sidestepping, just in time to catch sight of an old man stepping forward, sword in hand, eyes blazing with fury. This was no ordinary fighter; he radiated the presence of a dojo master, his every step exuding power.

"So," Harry murmured, raising an eyebrow. "The Sean family hid a dojo master-level warrior as their trump card? Interesting."

The old man advanced, his grip on his sword firm, his expression deadly serious. Despite his age, his aura pulsed with raw, terrifying power. Each strike he unleashed was intended to kill, his blade falling with the kind of force that could easily cleave a man in two.

But Harry sidestepped casually, meeting each attack without even exerting his full strength. To him, it was little more than a warm-up.

The old man's frustration grew with each failed strike. "How… how can he be so strong?" he muttered under his breath, exchanging a quick, worried glance with the battered Charlie, who had managed to drag himself upright. The two fighters now joined forces, but even together, they found themselves struggling under Harry's relentless assault.

"Who is this boy?" the old man whispered, fear lacing his words. He was the Sean family's last line of defense, their ultimate card, yet here he was, unable to gain the upper hand even with elite support. Though his strength was at the lowest among the dojo masters due to his age, he was still leagues beyond any elite fighter in this room.

Yet Harry seemed almost… bored.

"That's all you've got?" Harry sighed, casting a withering look at his opponents. "I thought I might finally be challenged, but it seems I overestimated you."

He stepped forward, his movements calm and unhurried, as if he were strolling through a quiet park rather than engaging in a battle. "Let's end this farce, shall we?"

With that, he surged forward, his blade cutting through the air with deadly intent, ready to finish what he had started.