The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the courtyard of Seven Oaks Apothecary, bathing the red-gold petals of the Silver Flower in an almost divine glow. Inside the sealed cultivation chamber beneath the main building, Jack Sullivan sat cross-legged, his body gleaming with sweat, the Iron Tree pulsing beside him like a living furnace.For seven grueling days, he had endured agony no normal man could survive. His muscles had torn and reknit themselves. His bones had darkened to a faint metallic hue. His body was no longer just human—it was becoming something far more dangerous.Just a little more, Jack thought, exhaling as a surge of power settled deep in his marrow. The Titan Frame… It’s almost complete. Once this step finishes, I won’t need armor. I’ll be the weapon.Upstairs, the peaceful rhythm of the apothecary shattered as Tommy, one of Frank Rolex’s younger apprentices, came sprinting in with wide eyes and sweat-drenched clothes.“Master Frank! Outside! You need to come

The air outside Seven Oaks Apothecary was thick with tension, firelight, and the stench of gasoline. Jack stood alone on the cracked stone steps, his muscles coiled, his eyes locked on Lucas Carter. For a moment, it looked like the city itself had paused—waiting to see if the defiant man in black would be crushed under the boot of power, or somehow survive the impossible.Frank Rolex stood behind him, bruised, tired, and hollow-eyed after Tommy’s execution. Around them, the security lines bristled—Sentinel soldiers armed to the teeth, underground enforcers grinning with cruel anticipation.Lucas took one step forward, cocky and smug. “Last chance, Sullivan. Drop to your knees and maybe I’ll make your execution quick.”Jack didn't blink. “You’ve talked more than you’ve fought. You sure you're not just trying to convince yourself?”The soldiers laughed. Lucas’s grin twitched. “You’re not gonna be smiling when I—”BOOM.A shockwave rolled across the street as dozens of black military tra

The streets of Westport were still in shock. News of Lucas Carter’s death, Colonel Harold Harris’s execution, and the sudden arrival of 5,000 black-ops soldiers under Rose’s command had spread like wildfire. But the most shocking thing of all wasn’t the violence. It wasn’t the military might.It was Jack Sullivan, the man who had emerged from the wreckage not only alive—but untouched.By noon the next day, what remained of Westport’s elite gathered at the City Hall Annex, a modern marble structure that had never hosted anything of true importance—until now.Tarvol Hayley, representing the Brooks family, stood at the front. Beside him, Don Marcus Romano adjusted his cufflinks, his usual arrogance nowhere to be found. Behind them were familiar faces from banks, construction firms, logistics empires—people who normally never agreed on where to have lunch, now aligned by sheer fear and awe.Tarvol looked around the room and muttered, “Feels like we’re waiting to crown a king.”Don nodded,

The last of the sunlight had disappeared behind the trees at Eagle Ridge Estate, casting long shadows across the stone porch. Jack had barely gotten inside and poured himself a glass of water before Charlotte Shaw’s shrill voice cut through the peaceful air like nails on a chalkboard.“Don’t walk away from me, Jack!” she snapped, standing rigid on his porch with arms crossed and fire in her eyes. “You owe me an explanation.”Jack turned slowly, his patience thin. “Owe you?”Charlotte stepped forward, ignoring Jessica’s subtle tug at her sleeve. “You ruined my business deal, hijacked my expansion plan, and humiliated me in front of half the city’s investors. What exactly was your goal? To block me from rising in Westport?”Jack’s eyes darkened.“I don’t give a damn about your rise, Charlotte,” he said, voice sharp and unflinching. “But I’ll always stop a vulture from picking clean a place like Seven Oaks. Especially when they’re trying to buy it with sleaze and blood money.”Charlotte

The training courtyard behind Eagle Ridge Estate was lit by a pale moon and the soft blue flicker of Jack Sullivan’s internal energy pulsing through the air like heat waves off asphalt. Shirtless, his skin bronzed from the refined Ironclad Physique cultivation, Jack moved with absolute precision—every strike deliberate, every motion silent but seismic.His breathing was steady. His fists cracked the air like thunder.Then came the voice.“You’re skipping a wedding for this?” Rose leaned against the wall in full tactical uniform, arms crossed, eyes sharp.Jack didn’t stop training. “The wedding’s not going anywhere. Neither is Rawon.”“He’s getting married once, not every weekend. You could show your face for five minutes and still come back to punch the wind.”Jack finally paused and turned toward her. “I’ll show my face when I finish what matters.”Rose sighed and stepped forward. “Let me guess—cultivating more of your Fighting Spirit?”Jack nodded. “I’m past the physical stage. Now