The Supreme Soldier in the City
Chapter 438 - 445: Ambushed

Chapter 438: Chapter 445: Ambushed

For two consecutive days, Gina Lopez hadn’t returned home. Emily Lopez was growing increasingly anxious, while James Brown’s mood had settled into calm. He had originally thought that returning to the city would allow him to live a peaceful life—get married, enjoy domestic bliss—but it seemed this romantic life wasn’t going well. It was evident that such an easygoing lifestyle would be out of reach.

Knowing that Gina Lopez wouldn’t be coming home tonight either, James Brown decided he wouldn’t bother returning either. Although Emily Lopez was charming, she wasn’t his wife after all. Things had become so complicated with Gina already, and he certainly didn’t want any ambiguous entanglement with Emily Lopez.

It had been a long time since his last visit to a bar, but tonight James Brown found himself stepping into one again. Drinking a bit to unwind seemed like a good choice.

If James wanted company, a quick phone call would still summon several familiar faces—Helen Wilson, Sarah Utah—but tonight, James simply wanted to drink alone.

"Sir, here’s your drink!" It was still early, and the bar was relatively empty. A waiter came over with a tray, which held a bottle of white liquor, a glass, and several small dishes of dried snacks.

James nodded. The waiter placed the tray down on the table—a routine action that seemed perfectly normal. But suddenly, James’s instincts screamed at him. His body reacted instantly, leaning swiftly back. His sharp eyes caught a flash of cold steel heading straight for his chest.

It was a dagger—short blade, short handle, but alarmingly sharp. The strike aimed directly at James’s vital chest area, executed swiftly and with full force. If that dagger hit, James knew it would mean the end of his life.

His abrupt lean backward had bought him precious time. Behind him sat the booth’s backrest, leaving no room to retreat further. But his hand shot out, targeting the waiter’s wrist in a split-second move.

The waiter’s hand flicked, as agile as a serpent, redirecting the dagger’s trajectory with spine-chilling precision, and lunged at James again. Before the dagger could reach him, however, the waiter retreated abruptly—because a solid tabletop was hurtling straight at him.

James’s survival instincts and combat reflexes were remarkably sharp. Even though he hadn’t actively trained in recent days, it hadn’t dulled his skills. While his hand reached for the would-be assassin’s wrist, his foot had already kicked the table up into the air. To James, anything within reach could become a weapon.

The table forced the waiter to pull back, giving James the chance to spring up in pursuit. Without hesitation, he lunged at the man. There was no room for mercy towards someone aiming to take his life.

The waiter, realizing his initial attack failed, didn’t flee. Spinning his left hand, another dagger appeared. Now armed with blades in both hands, he let out a sharp cry and rushed at James with renewed ferocity.

As the waiter charged, two shadows darted in from the sides. Two long knives flashed toward James, perfectly coordinated with the front attacker, crafting an inescapable wave of merciless strikes as fluid and overwhelming as mercury spilled on the ground.

James felt a shiver of unease. These three assassins weren’t only exceptionally skilled; what shocked him the most was their ability to conceal their murderous aura entirely before striking. He realized their stealth capabilities were incredibly refined.

Even more puzzling was their ambush within this bar. James hadn’t been to such a venue in ages—how could they have anticipated he’d show up tonight?

But there was no time for such thoughts now; eliminating these three attackers took precedence. With a low growl, James executed a sudden, unnatural twist of his body. He narrowly dodged the long knife from the attacker on the left, surged forward to collide with his torso, slipped past the front attacker’s dagger, and outmaneuvered the long knife from the right entirely.

The left attacker’s weapon was effective in long-range combat, but now James had closed the gap, rendering the blade useless. The man’s response was swift: abandoning his knife mid-move, he launched dual punches—one toward James’s face, the other at his chest—seeking to force him back where teammates could strike again. Otherwise, he risked becoming a shield for James himself.

But James foresaw this ploy. He wasn’t about to let it succeed. Tilting his head slightly, he dodged the first fist and drove his shoulder into the second punch as it came forward.

Caught off guard, the man’s blows lacked full force, as his energy had been divided between both fists. Meanwhile, James’s shoulder-delivered strike packed maximum strength, calculated precisely for impact. The attacker’s fist collided with James’s shoulder like slamming into a boulder—and James, a virtual human tank, sent him flying backward.

"Crash!" The man instinctively twisted his body mid-air to reduce the damage from James’s strike. But even so, he crashed heavily into a sturdy table, obliterating it upon impact.

That table, durable enough to withstand a person’s weight, simply couldn’t bear the additional raw force James had applied. It splintered upon impact.

As the first attacker flew, James had already engaged the other two. Despite their deadly blades, James fought back barehanded—yet he wasn’t disadvantaged. On the contrary, his relentless offense kept them retreating step by step. James’s entire body seemed weaponized; any part of him that struck the assassins caused damage no less devastating than their dagger’s edge.

The first man, wounded from James’s earlier strike, now forced himself back onto his feet. Though injured, he was undeniably skilled, withstanding considerable damage. To suffer an injury so quickly in a three-on-one scenario was humiliating in his eyes. Roaring furiously, he rejoined the fight.

Their combined assault gained renewed power. James momentarily appeared trapped in a reactive position. Yet he remained utterly composed, for he wasn’t exerting his full strength. He waited—he knew there must be more involved than these three. Their ambush implied they had thoroughly studied his movements, yet he knew next to nothing about them. James hated being in the dark; he needed to uncover the mastermind behind this.

However, it seemed the hidden players exhibited exceptional patience, holding back as they sought an opening. That left James with no choice but to create one deliberately.

"Die!" James roared, thrusting a straight punch toward the front attacker.

The man struck by that punch was the same one James had injured earlier. He had now retrieved his long knife and met James’s inexorable blow with his blade. Fueled by desperation, he lunged forward, aiming to pierce James’s fist.

Meanwhile, the other two assassins simultaneously launched coordinated strikes at James’s flanks. Their plan was clear: leave James no room to evade, forcing him to confront the frontal attack head-on.

James appeared to fall into their trap, his fist charging relentlessly forward. Within moments, it collided with the blade.

"Slash!" The long knife cut through cleanly, seemingly impaling James’s fist and arm right through.

The two attackers felt elation; if James had sacrificed an arm in such desperation, he would lose all capability to fight back in their encirclement.

"Ah!" But instead of James, the front man emitted a blood-curdling scream as his body went sailing backward. The long knife remained in his hand, but it bore no trace of blood.

Crashing into yet another table, this time the man stayed down for good. James’s punch had smashed six or seven ribs in his chest, the shards piercing his lungs catastrophically. While externally free of blood, the internal damage proved fatal—there was no chance for survival.

The two remaining attackers froze instinctively. In a battle between skilled warriors, hesitation could mean defeat. Lacking James’s raw strength, their momentary lapse in awareness allowed James to close in. Overwhelmed, they stumbled back frantically.

"Bang! Bang!" In rapid succession, the two men were sent flying by James’s strikes. Upon landing, they spat blood onto the ground. They forced themselves upright but their wobbling bodies revealed the severity of their injuries.

"You dare to try and ambush me?" James glowered, his ferocious gaze scanning them. "Who are you?"

They responded with silence, cold hatred glimmering in their blood-specked faces.

"Speak!" James grabbed one by the throat, lifting him effortlessly.

The man struggled to breathe but refused to fight back, glaring daggers at James wordlessly.

Something about the man’s look made James frown. The pure enmity in his eyes suggested deep hatred—this wasn’t random. During his days in the Hawk Squad, James had completed numerous missions and killed countless enemies. Earning vengeful adversaries was nothing new. However, his military identity had always been secret, his exit covert. How had old foes found him here, back in the city?

As James momentarily pondered, a black dagger suddenly flew toward him from behind—silent and icy, its small size masking its deadly precision. James seemed entirely unaware as the dagger plunged straight into his back, burying itself to the hilt.