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Rise Of The Phoenix: Dylan’s Rebirth 38
38But before he could face his old comrades, he needed to look the part. Years of blending in had left his wardrobe uninspiring. If he was going to reestablish dominance, he had to start with presence.His eyes landed on an upscale boutique, its sleek glass windows showcasing perfectly tailored suits, each one exuding power and refinement. Without hesitation, he pulled up in front of it and stepped out.The moment he walked in, the atmosphere shifted.The soft hum of polite conversation stilled for a brief second before resuming in hushed whispers. Dylan’s sharp gaze flicked around the room, taking in the subtle yet unmistakable expressions of disdain.The salesmen, dressed in pristine suits, gave him a once-over, their smiles practiced but unimpressed. The customers, clad in designer brands from head to toe, openly stared, some even nudging their companions to whisper behind manicured hands.“Did he lose his way?” a woman muttered, eyeing his simple jeans and leather jacket as if th
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39The older salesman, a man in his late fifties with silver hair slicked back and a thin mustache, strode over with an air of barely contained annoyance. His polished shoes clicked against the marble floor, his every movement exuding an authority he thought Dylan should fear.“Sir,” he began, his tone patronizing, “perhaps I can direct you to something… more within your range?”Dylan turned slowly, his smirk deepening. “And what exactly do you think my ‘range’ is?”The older man didn’t miss a beat. “Something more… practical,” he said smoothly, his gaze flicking dismissively over Dylan’s leather jacket and jeans. “This suit is handcrafted, made from exclusive Italian wool, and tailored for a very particular clientele.”Dylan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “So, let me get this straight—you’re saying I don’t fit into that ‘particular clientele’?”The younger salesman shifted uncomfortably, looking between Dylan and his superior. The two women near the display exchanged amused
Rise Of The Phoenix: Dylan’s Rebirth 40
40Dylan ran his fingers over the fabric of a sleek black suit, feeling the weight of Gregory’s irritation lingering in the air. Simon, the younger salesman, trailed behind him, looking like a man stuck between duty and self-preservation.Dylan smirked. “You don’t have to keep following me, you know.”Simon hesitated. “I… I was told by Mr. Gregory to assist you.”Dylan turned, leveling him with a cool look. “And I just told you that you don’t have to. You take orders from customers too, right?”Simon shifted on his feet, glancing toward where Gregory had disappeared. “Technically… yes.”“Great. Then do yourself a favor and go.” Dylan gave him a lazy grin. “I can pick a damn suit without a babysitter.”Simon chewed on the inside of his cheek, torn. Gregory had been clear, but Dylan was a customer. And if there was one thing Simon valued more than his job, it was not getting caught in unnecessary crossfire.Reluctantly, he gave a small nod. “Alright. If you need anything, I’ll be at the
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41Dylan schooled his features before opening the door, stepping out with deliberate calm. His eyes flicked between the two guards—one broad and stiff, the other wiry but just as rigid.“Gentlemen,” he greeted, slipping his hands into his pockets. “What’s the problem?”The first guard, the burly one, squared his shoulders. “We need to check your pockets, sir.”Dylan let out a slow, amused whistle. “Wow. No hello? No ‘how’s your shopping experience?’ Straight to accusations?”The younger guard narrowed his eyes. “A staff member saw you hiding something in your jacket.”Dylan tilted his head slightly, pretending to be deep in thought. “Did they now?” He looked over his shoulder toward where Gregory had conveniently positioned himself near the register, pretending to be busy but obviously watching. “Let me guess… was it him?”Neither guard answered. Their silence was answer enough.Dylan sighed. “Okay. I see what’s happening here.” He spread his arms slightly, making a slow turn. “If you
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42Dylan’s jaw tightened, his entire body bristling with barely contained fury. He looked from Gregory to the guards, then back again, his voice cold but cutting as he spoke.“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Dylan said, his tone low and dangerous.Gregory’s smile faltered just slightly, but he quickly recovered. “Do you really want to escalate this? You’re making a scene over nothing.”“Over nothing?” Dylan’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not the one who’s making a scene here. Your buddy Gregory”—he spat the name out like venom—“is the one who’s orchestrated this whole thing.”Gregory’s expression hardened, his gaze flicking to the guards. “Enough talk. Do your job.”The older guard, still uneasy, stepped toward Dylan. “Come on, sir, let’s go. Don’t make this harder on yourself.”Dylan shot a glance at the younger guard, who was practically vibrating with impatience. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re actually going to touch me?”The younger guard’s eyes flashed. “That’s it. You’re coming with
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43But Dylan wasn’t about to step back. He pushed forward, his eyes narrowed. “You’re doing it all wrong!” he shouted, his voice cutting through the tension. “You’re giving her the wrong treatment! You’re going to kill her!”The doctor shot a venomous look at him, snapping, “You’re the one who’s causing damage here! Just stay out of the way!”Dylan ignored him, crouching again as he muttered under his breath. His hands trembled slightly as he began applying pressure to the woman’s chest, using a traditional healing technique that involved manipulating the body’s energy flow. He wasn’t doing it properly by modern medical standards—he was working from instinct, pressing in ways that helped align the body’s natural rhythms.But it was clear to the doctor and bystanders that Dylan was failing to stabilize the woman. His movements were erratic, the healing slow and not precise enough to address her deteriorating condition.“You’re just making it worse!” the doctor barked again, stepping in
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44Panic spread like wildfire. The murmurs in the crowd turned into frantic shouts, people stumbling back, some pressing against the walls as the woman’s body thrashed uncontrollably.“She’s dying!” a voice shrieked.“Somebody do something!” another cried.Dylan didn’t waste a second. He gripped the woman’s arm tightly, his mind racing. The poison had accelerated. The sedative had weakened her body’s ability to fight, allowing the toxin to spread unhindered. If he didn’t act now, she wouldn’t survive the next minute.Gregory let out a loud scoff, shaking his head. “Look at this mess. The great ‘doctor’ can’t even handle a single patient. What a joke.” His words were laced with mockery, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of unease.“Shut up, Gregory,” Dylan snapped, his voice sharp as a blade. “This isn’t some damn game.”“Oh, but it is,” Gregory countered, crossing his arms with an arrogant smirk. “And you’re losing.”Dylan ignored him, turning sharply to the doctor, his expression like
Rise Of The Phoenix: Dylan’s Rebirth 45
45Dylan turned sharply to the assistant, his voice unwavering. “Bring me a clean knife and a small glass bottle. Now.”The assistant hesitated, his eyes darting nervously toward the doctor. “I—should I?”The doctor, still reeling from how rapidly the woman’s condition had deteriorated under his care—and just as quickly stabilized under Dylan’s—clenched his jaw. His pride screamed at him to refuse, but the proof was undeniable.“Do it,” he ground out, his voice tight with humiliation.Gasps rippled through the crowd at his reluctant admission. The same doctor who had barked orders with absolute confidence was now deferring to the man he had called an amateur.The assistant scrambled away, returning moments later with the requested items. The tension in the room was suffocating, the onlookers frozen in stunned anticipation.Gregory scoffed, crossing his arms. “Oh, so now you’re playing butcher? What next? Gonna do a rain dance too? Maybe chant a magic spell while you’re at it?”A few p
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Chapter 179: Through the AshesThe ride was silent at first—except for the soft crinkle of Dolly’s lollipop wrapper and the distant hum of the engine. Dylan stared out the tinted window, his jaw clenched, one hand resting protectively on Dolly’s knee.She leaned against him, but her eyes were wide open, darting around the interior of the luxurious car.“Is this a magic carriage?” she asked, voice soft.Dylan chuckled faintly. “Something like that.”She held up the lollipop. “It’s cherry. That’s my favorite.”“I remembered,” he said.Her brows rose. “You remembered? But you said you didn’t know about me.”He hesitated, then smiled. “I didn’t. But your mother used to say, ‘If I ever have a daughter, she’s going to love cherry more than anything else.’”Dolly’s lips twitched, almost forming a smile. “Mama said that?”“All the time.”They fell into silence again, but this time it was less heavy.After a while, Dolly turned her head and whispered, “Do you miss her?”Dylan’s throat tightene
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Chapter 178: A Father’s OathThe mansion’s heavy front door creaked open, letting in the morning light—and a gust of wind that smelled of ash and distant bloodshed. Dylan held Dolly close, her small arms still wrapped around his neck, her cheek pressed to his shoulder.But as they reached the edge of the stone steps, she stiffened in his arms.“Wait,” she whispered, pulling back slightly. “Where are we going?”“Somewhere safe,” Dylan replied softly, adjusting her weight in his arms.“Safe?” Her eyes narrowed. “But who are you?”Dylan froze.“I told you,” he said gently, “I’m your father.”She looked at him long and hard. Her tiny brows furrowed, lips pursed with doubt. “You… you don’t feel like Papa.”His heart cracked a little. “I didn’t know about you, Dolly. Not until tonight. If I had… I would’ve come for you sooner. I swear on your mother’s life.”Dolly blinked, silent for a moment, then asked, “Did Mama really tell you to come?”“Yes.” He crouched down, setting her gently on the
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177Chapter 177: The Search BeginsDylan’s boots thudded against the stairs as he stormed up them two at a time, Seraphina’s blood still drying on his chest like a second heart. His throat burned, but he swallowed the pain. There was no time to mourn. Not now.“Dolly!” he shouted, voice rough and hoarse. “Dolly, if you’re here—please answer me!”The hallway stretched before him, quiet and cloaked in shadows. The scent of old wood and lavender clung to the air—Seraphina’s favorite oil. His hand brushed the wall as he passed a set of closed doors, his mind racing.He threw open the first room.Empty.Just dusty blankets, a cracked mirror, and toys that hadn’t been played with in years.“Dolly!” he yelled again, more desperately this time. “It’s Papa. I’m here. Please—baby, answer me.”His heart thundered. He moved to the next room, nearly ripping the door off its hinges.“Dolly—”Nothing but silence.Then—A faint thump.He froze.It came again.He turned sharply toward the third door.
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176“I forgave you,” she said suddenly, her voice clear for a brief second. “For everything. For the things you did… for what we became. I forgave you a long time ago, Dylan. I just wish you could forgive yourself.” His chest tightened so sharply he could hardly breathe. “You don’t get to say goodbye. Not like this. No. No—stay awake. Don’t close your eyes. I need you. We need you.” “I’m tired,” she whispered. “But listen… the Alliance… it’s burning. They’re tearing it apart because of you.” He flinched, guilt sweeping over him. “I never wanted this war. I built Dragonia to unite our lands, to end bloodshed…” “But you left,” she said, blinking slowly. “You left it behind… and it turned into a battlefield.” He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes wet with grief. “Because I couldn’t face what I lost. Because I was a coward.” “You’re not,” she murmured. “You were always brave. Stubborn… cruel, sometimes. But brave.” “I don’t want to be brave anymore,” he whispered. “I just want you
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175“Please…” he whispered. “Don’t leave me.”A long silence stretched between them. The forest around them was too quiet—no birds, no wind, just the rising smoke and the smell of iron and earth.Then—suddenly—her hand caught his wrist.His heart leapt.Her grip, weak but deliberate, made his breath hitch.“…It’s too late,” she whispered, a faint smile pulling at her cracked lips.“No. No, it’s not.” His voice was thick with tears as he shook his head. “I’ve got you, I can—”“You can’t.” Her voice was softer than a breeze, fragile and final. “Not this time. Dylan…”His jaw clenched. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not dying, do you hear me? You’re not—!”She squeezed his hand, surprising him with a flicker of strength. “Listen to me. There’s something I never told you…”His heart pounded violently against his ribs. “What?”“Our daughter.”She coughed, blood spilling from the corner of her lips, staining the side of her chin.“Her name… is Dolly.”Dylan froze.“What…?” His voice cracked.
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Chapter 174 Dylan’s hands trembled violently as he knelt beside Seraphina’s broken body. Panic surged through him like wildfire, fast and merciless, as he stared at the blood soaking her clothes. It pooled beneath her like a cruel mockery of life, staining everything it touched a deep, damning red. Her lips were pale. Her breath was shallow. But he wasn’t giving up. Not now. Not like this. “I know what to do,” he muttered under his breath, barely hearing himself over the roar of his heartbeat. “I can save you. I can fix this, Seraphina.” Her lashes fluttered. A small, pained groan escaped her lips. Dylan yanked the pouch off his belt—the one he hadn’t touched in years, the one covered in old leather and tied with fraying string. His fingers shook as he undid the knot, revealing a weathered collection of dried herbs, crushed roots, and dusty vials—everything he had once learned from the old masters in the Eastern Mountains. He swallowed hard. Manwa medicine. Ancestral craft. No
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173The brick came down hard.Once.Twice.The thug’s skull cracked under the force, blood spraying with each blow. His body spasmed, twitched violently, then stilled.Silence.Dylan stood over the body, chest heaving, blood smeared down his arms and soaking into his jeans. His fingers, still clenched around the brick, trembled uncontrollably. The weight of what he’d done—what he had to do—settled like a stone in his stomach.He staggered back a step.And then he heard it.A soft, broken whimper behind him.“Dylan…”His heart seized. The brick dropped from his hand with a dull, wet thud. He turned.Seraphina lay crumpled against the wall, her face bruised and streaked with blood. Her hand trembled in the air, reaching for him. Her eyes, barely open, shimmered with unshed tears.He dropped to his knees beside her. “I’m here,” he breathed, wiping at his face with a shaking hand. “I’m here, baby. I’ve got you.”Her voice was a rasp. “You’re bleeding…”Dylan looked down. His forearms were
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172 Her body jerked in the air like a puppet cut from its strings. Her mouth opened in a silent cry, and then she fell—crumpling into Dylan’s arms, dead weight, blood already soaking through his shirt. “Seraphina—Seraphina! No, no, stay with me!” Dylan’s voice cracked as he lowered her to the ground, cupping her face, her bloodied hair clinging to his fingers. She gasped, just once. Her lips trembled. “Told… you not… to be a hero…” “Shut up,” Dylan choked, blinking rapidly. “Don’t talk like that. You’re not leaving me. You hear me? I won’t let you.” Behind them, the man snarled in frustration. “You stupid bitch! You ruined it! You ruined everything!” He raised the gun again, eyes wild. But Dylan wasn’t finished. He laid Seraphina down gently, the look in his eyes shifting—no longer just pain. Now, fury burned through him like fire through dry grass. He lifted his rifle with one hand, the other still clenched around Seraphina’s, and aimed. This time, he didn’t hesitate. Bang.
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171 Dylan’s mind spun, thoughts crashing like waves in a storm. His back pressed against the cold concrete wall, breath coming in shallow bursts as adrenaline surged through his veins. His eyes flicked desperately between the grimy floor, the cracked ceiling, the flickering lights—anywhere, anywhere he could find an advantage. But all he saw was Seraphina, trembling and cornered, with a pistol pressed against her temple. The bastard holding her hostage—tall, grimy, scarred from a hundred bad choices—grinned like a wolf that had cornered a lamb. The barrel of his gun gleamed under the flickering light, and his finger never left the trigger. “Aww, look at you,” the man sneered, voice slick with mockery. “All that muscle, all that training—decorated hero, aren’t you?” He clicked his tongue. “But none of that means jack now, does it?” “Let her go,” Dylan said through clenched teeth. “You want someone to use as leverage? Use me. Just let her go.” The man laughed—low, condescending. “Oh
