RISE OF THE DRAGON HEIR: from amnesia to ascension

chapter 18

The blow to his head had been so swift that he almost couldn't tell what had hit him.

Saint reached for the space in front of him, trying to hold on to the air as he tried to provide oxygen to his lungs.

The pain from the back of his head, coursed through his whole body, causing him to go stiff. Saint suddenly stopped reaching for the air in from of him and went limp.

"You really thought that you could get away with what rightfully belonged to me, didn't you?!" A voice thundered.

The man who had waited calmly for Saint to alight his car before striking the deadly hit to his head stood hovering over Saint.

He threw the baseball bat that was now covered with Saint's blood at the tip into a corner and got down on one knee before he grabbed a handful of Saint's shirt and pulled Saint toward him.

"Pitiful...." The man spat into Saint's face with hate.

Soon, the men who had occupied the four cars began to alight the cars until two dozens of men had surrounded Saint.

"Oh c'mon, I know that you remember me, so why that look in your face?!" The man seethed.

"You Never seem to fight fair do you!" Saint let out weakly.

In an instant, Saint lunged forward, grabbing the man's collar and yanking him closer before slamming his forehead into the man's face.

No one had seen this move from Saint coming as they thought the blow to the back of his head would keep him paralysed until they had captured him.

Saint quickly pushed Fredrick off of him and put his legs in the air as he did a Chinese get up.

Fredrick clutched his head as he watched Saint recover quickly.

"What the hell?" Fredrick's mouth hung loosely but he refused to back down.

"So it's you, Fredrick....some people just never learn, do they?" Saint spat out.

Frederick’s lip curled in disdain. “Enough talk." Fredrick yelled, equally getting up to his feet.

"You....you stole my clan from me. You’re no leader. You’re just a pretender who got lucky."

"Here with me are one of the best fighters in the whole seven clan, let's see how you do against them!" Fredrick said with a smirk.

He raised his hand, and the warriors around him shifted, readying their weapons. 

Saint exhaled slowly, his body tense but controlled. He hadn’t come here to fight, but the threat in Frederick’s eyes left no doubt about his intentions. “Don’t do this, Frederick,” Saint said, his voice low. “This doesn’t have to end in blood.” 

Frederick let out a harsh laugh. “Oh, it will. But it won’t be my blood.” He lowered his hand, and the men charged. 

They moved as one, a blur of steel with their weapons aimed to kill. Saint barely had time to think as the first wave descended upon him. Instinct took over, and he moved with a speed and precision that shocked even himself. 

The first man swung a massive axe, but Saint sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing the man’s arm and twisting it until the axe fell to the ground. With a swift kick, he sent the warrior sprawling. Another came at him with a sword, but Saint ducked under the blade, his fist connecting with the man’s jaw in a bone-shattering strike. 

The air crackled around him as more men closed in, their attacks relentless. Saint’s movements became a blur, his body reacting faster than his mind could comprehend. It was as if something deep within him had awakened, something ancient and powerful. 

With each strike, the ground beneath him seemed to tremble. Suddenly, Saint’s body began to glow faintly, and a golden like hue began emanating from his skin. 

“What… what is he?” one of the men muttered, his voice shaking. 

Saint didn’t know either. He could feel the power coursing through him, wild and uncontrollable, but he didn’t stop to question it. He unleashed it with devastating precision and each of his movement sent his attackers flying. 

One by one, the men fell. Some were thrown back by invisible force, others struck down by Saint’s bare hands. The sound of metal clattering to the ground filled the air as weapons were dropped, their wielders too injured or too afraid to continue. 

Frederick watched in horror as his best men were decimated. This wasn’t the Saint he remembered—this was something else entirely. His pride and anger kept him rooted in place, but deep down, a cold fear gripped his heart. 

Saint turned to Frederick, his glowing eyes locking onto him. The ground beneath Frederick’s feet cracked as Saint took a step forward, the power radiating off him like a storm. 

“Frederick,” Saint said, his voice resonating with an unnatural echo, “this is your last chance. Stand down. Leave, and never challenge me again.” 

But Frederick wasn’t ready to give up. With a roar, he lunged at Saint, wielding a dagger aimed at his heart. 

Saint caught Frederick’s wrist mid-air, the force of the impact sending shockwaves through the ground. Frederick screamed in pain as Saint’s grip tightened, the dagger falling uselessly from his hand. 

Saint’s gaze hardened as he twisted Frederick’s arm, forcing him to his knees. “I didn’t want this,” he said, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. “But you left me no choice.” 

With a swift motion, Saint struck Frederick in the chest, sending him flying several feet backward. Frederick landed hard, coughing and clutching his ribs as he struggled to rise. 

Saint stood over him, his body still glowing faintly. “I could end this right now,” he said, his tone cold. “But I won’t. Not because you deserve mercy, but because I want you to remember this moment. I want you to remember what it means to challenge Saint Dragon.” 

Frederick glared up at him, his face a mixture of pain and humiliation. “You think you’ve won?” he spat, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “This isn’t over.” 

Saint’s expression didn’t waver. “It is, Frederick. Go home. Heal your wounds. And don’t make me do this again.”  Saint said before he walked away.

Frederick clenched his fists, his body trembling with rage and defeat. He would remember this moment, just as Saint intended. But in his heart, he vowed that this wasn’t the end.