The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 707

The marsh road ended a mile short of the farmhouse. Alex walked the rest alone.

It was three in the morning. Still full dark. No moon. Only the weak glow of a few lanterns from the house itself. He walked straight down the middle of the causeway in his old street coat, hands loose at his sides. Anyone looking could see him coming from a long way off.

Six Reagent security men waited back where the road ended. Their orders were clear and hard: nobody follows, nobody circles, nobody even stands up until Alex signals or the sun comes up. Whichever comes first.

Rael’s last order had been exact. If anyone came near that house — kill her. A group of men would get her killed. A raid would get her killed. Knights on the road would get her killed.

But one man, alone, unarmed, walking up the open road in the dark like he had simply gotten lost — that was different. That was a visitor.

They saw him from far away, just like he wanted. By the time he reached the yard, the farmhouse had already changed. Two men stood on the porch with iron-tipped staves. Three more drifted out to the sides. The rest stayed behind the boarded windows. Professional spacing. Dockyard muscle mixed with two men who looked better than muscle.

The flat-voiced man came out last, slow and calm. He looked Alex up and down the way a man prices a pair of used boots.

“Private property, get out form this place.”

“I know,” Alex said. “I’m here about your wages.”

That hit them. Nothing moved, but the air changed. Ten hired men who had spent a day and a night waiting for money that never came.

“Your boss is already in a Watch cell,” Alex said quietly, stopping at the center of the yard. He lifted both empty hands, turning slowly so every armed man could see. “Legs broken. Arms broken. Face caved in. His full confession is recorded, sealed, and timed.

The fortune he promised you? It was never his. He’s been living off his niece’s inheritance for four years, and that well ran dry months ago.

You’re not kidnappers anymore. You’re now accomplices in a planned execution. Capital crimes. Hanging offenses—for every last one of you.”

He let the words sit for one breath.

“Or I pay you double his price, in bearer notes, now. By morning you are ten men who were never here. That’s the offer.”

The flat-voiced man studied him for a long time. Behind the boards someone shifted. A floorboard creaked.

“Double,” the man said. “Carried by one skinny fellow in a secondhand coat, walking alone into a house with ten of us.” He stepped down one porch step.

“Here’s my counter-offer,” the man drawled. “We relieve you of those notes immediately. We keep the girl, because leverage is leverage. And we keep you as well—someone who knows this much about our client’s cell could be very useful.”

He offered a smile that only moved the lower half of his face. “You miscalculated.”

“No,” Alex said, unflinching. “You did. Because the only choice you have left is which way you’d prefer to die.”

The first stave came at his head. Alex was already gone. His palm touched the man’s shoulder as he passed. The man sat down hard in the mud and stayed there, staring at his own legs like they belonged to someone else. Bone had cracked. He could not stand.

The second and third men came together, trained, coordinated. Alex went through the space between them like smoke. One folded across the water trough with a wet crack of ribs. The other slammed into the porch rail hard enough to splinter wood and leave blood on the boards. Neither of them was sure afterward what had hit them or where.

“Too weak,” Alex said. Not angry. Just measuring them, like a foreman checking bad wood.

The two better men came off the flanks. One of them was a mage. Alex felt the mana gather before the man’s hands finished the sigil — a hard, bright coil of force meant to break bones from twenty feet away. This was the moment the men behind the boarded windows would argue about for the rest of their lives, because Alex did not dodge it.

He put out his hand and took it.

The bolt hit his palm and died. The light drained out of it like water into dry sand. For half a second the whole yard could see the power running the wrong way — out of the spell, out of the air, out of the mage, into the still man in the secondhand coat.

Out of nowhere, a flying sword appeared— a streak of lethal silver. It punched through the mage’s chest with a wet crunch and drove him violently backward, nailing him to the wall. The sword vibrated there, holding him upright like a macabre banner.

The rest went the way simple math goes.

When Alex stepped onto the porch, the yard was deathly quiet. A battlefield of broken men littered the ground. Ribs shattered. Shoulders popped out of joint. One man’s leg was bent backward at the knee. Dark blood pooled in the mud. It was impossible to tell who was still breathing and who had already crossed over.

The flat-voiced man had backed into the doorway with a knife out. His calm was finally cracking.

“Stop — stop there. She’s inside. One more step and I—” The man didn’t even finish his sentence before he dropped dead on the floor.

A few witnesses wasted no time. They sprinted for the back door. One yelled as he ran,

“She’s all yours! We are not getting paid to die! Take her — no double pay needed!”

Some were intelligent enough to realize the man they were facing was no ordinary opponent.

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