Chapter 7 Just Trash

If the insult was directed at him... He could endure. But if they insulted Leila, they must all die! Cohen was stunned. It seemed that he had heard the world's most ridiculous joke: "You damn, do you really think you're someone important?" "Today, I will let you understand what the gap is." "Even if Jesus himself came today, I wouldn't spare you." Cohen's eyes darkened with a sense of foreboding. "You're the first person audacious enough to hit my car in Greafank." Nightkill's eyes flashed with fierceness, and Cohen was disdainful. "You lackey, where did you come from? Get out of here. Your master must die today. What qualifications do you have to show your teeth in front of this young master?" "Overestimating yourself." Cohen didn't put Nightkill in his eyes. After all, in Cohen's view, Nightkill was just a lackey. What was there to fear? The elder by Cohen's side noticed something was wrong. "Young Master, let me handle this." "Mr. George, you don't have to show any mercy. If they end up dead, it's on me. In Greafank, I fancy getting rid of two people, and that's quite a straightforward matter, isn't it?" Cohen remained nonchalant and resolute. That was right. This was Cohen's confidence! This was his confidence as a noble! Mr. George didn't speak but looked at Nightkill. "Are you also a Combatant?" Just now, on Nightkill's body, he felt a subtle and imperceptible aura of battle. Nightkill scoffed, "Come on, old man, instead of asking, why don't you give it a shot and see if I'm a Combatant or not?" Mr. George squinted, "Impressive, kid. You better realize that in all of Greafank, no one has the guts to talk to me like that." "Just who the hell are you?" Nightkill sneered at such a Battle Master. Just a piece of trash! "You..." Mr. George was furious, his shoulders trembling with anger. "Brave young man, since you've dared to insult me like this, I'll show you just how formidable I can be." As Mr. George spoke, his words were followed by an instant surge of his battle aura, a formidable pressure that forced the people behind him to step back continuously. The eyes fixed on Mr. George were filled with fear. "Oh my god." "Is Mr. George serious?" "He can't be." "Looks like this lackey is going to have a miserable time." "I hope it won't be too tragic." ... The crowd exchanged worried glances, realizing the gravity of the situation. Who in the entire Cooke family was unaware of Mr. George's identity? He was a formidable figure who had returned from overseas. If not for Zak Cooke, the head of the Cooke family, having some connection with Mr. George, how could the latter have agreed to anything? How could he agree? Many people tried to seek Mr. George's protection, but none succeeded. Cohen sneered, "Letting you be so arrogant is my fault; let's see how you kneel before me later." It seemed as if Cohen envisioned Nightkill and Walter kneeling before him, and the satisfaction alleviated the anger in his heart. Unfortunately. However, his optimism was short-lived. Nightkill looked expectant and declared, "Old man, quit stalling. Although I don't usually beat up the elderly, you've provoked my boss. Tonight, I must vent for him." "Tonight, you must die!" Hiss! The crowd was even more astonished, wondering if they had misheard. Could someone truly be so audacious? Mr. George, equally puzzled, remarked, "Well, you're quite something!" "Since that's the case, don't blame me for being ruthless." Mr. George, unconcerned about his demeanor, wore a gloomy expression as he slowly raised his palm. A formidable wave of pressure erupted like a torrent. It was continuously surging out! The crowd felt as if there was a mountain on their chests, pressing down on them completely. That was right! Just like that. Their gaze towards Nightkill became more pitying, but in the next second, Nightkill wore a disdainful expression, "Old man, is this the maximum power you can display?" "You really disappoint me!" A sound of disappointment! Nightkill rushed forward in a step. He surged forward with a direct charge, eschewing any elaborate maneuvers, and launching a straightforward attack. Without uttering a word, he elevated his fist and directed it straight at Mr. George. Mr. George raised an eyebrow, displaying disdain. Spectators found it almost absurd. The strength possessed by Mr. George was believed to be potent enough to knock out a cow with just one punch! What was the attack power of this guy? What was it? It was nothing more than a drizzle. It wasn't even drizzle. Seeking death! Mr. George raised his fist. Bang! The collision of fists produced a muffled sound along with a cracking noise. "This is..." People were shocked. Without much thought, they saw Nightkill shout, "Kneel before me." Crack! Crack! Nightkill instantly lifted his foot and kicked Mr. George's knee. Immediately! Mr. George's body faltered, his knee giving way, and he knelt on the ground. Beads of sweat, as large as soybeans, dotted his forehead, leaving everyone in awe. He even forgot to exclaim! He even forgot about the pain! At this moment, only astonishment lingered in his heart. Was his formidable Battle Master cultivation insufficient against this young man? How terrifying was the cultivation of this young man? Could it be Battle Commander level? Impossible! How could it be? Unexpected! Truly unexpected. Cohen's shock was no less than his. Others might not know Mr. George's prowess, but how could he not know? This was an existence that could easily take lives with a wave of his hand. In front of Nightkill? Such insignificance? What went wrong? Before Mr. George could utter a word, Nightkill grinned, "Old man, as I warned you, for bullying my boss, tonight I will surely end you!" As he spoke. Nightkill's eyes filled with killing intent! Almost in an instant, Nightkill's big hand fell like thunder on Mr. George's forehead. Bang! The palm fell! Forehead shattered! In a flash, a spray of blood erupted, staining the ground, and onlookers recoiled three steps, reluctant to witness the unfolding scene. It was beyond belief, something no one could fathom. Nightkill! He killed such a powerful figure in an instant? "Ah!" Cohen collapsed to the ground, his gaze fixed on the splattered blood before him. His legs trembled, and fear gripped his eyes. "What have you done?" Nightkill paid him no mind. Meanwhile, Walter calmly emerged, his strides deliberate, resonating like war drums that pounded in the hearts of onlookers, inducing a madness that trembled through their minds. "What... What is your intention?" Cohen stammered, "I'll warn you, my dad is on his way, he's from the Traffic Safety Bureau. If you lay a finger on me, you'll meet your end tonight!" End? Walter sneered even more, "I had no intention of causing harm, but you've brought this upon yourself. Don't blame me." Walter's words, akin to the pronouncement of a demon from hell, reverberated through the hearts of the onlookers, intensifying their apprehension. Could Walter truly dare to act without restraint? "A second-generation official from the Traffic Safety Bureau has no authority to meddle in my affairs." Walter's eyes exuded even more disdain. "You will face the consequences." Cohen, growing even more terrified, attempted to compose himself, "Seize him! Eliminate him together! I'll offer five million!" Under a heavy reward, there must be a brave man! The temptation of five million! This declaration stirred a surge of emotion in everyone. Their fists clenched, and their gazes toward Walter underwent a continuous transformation. In unison, they charged forward. Just as the collective rush commenced, an individual surged to the forefront, barreling forward like an enraged bull. Cohen's eyes widened instantly, "How is this possible?"