Kiet’s jaw tightened, but his voice was as calm and cold as ever. “It looks like I need to remind them who I am.”
With that, Kiet stepped out of the car, his every movement deliberate and precise. The men around him tensed, their weapons raised, but Kiet showed no sign of fear. Instead, he exuded an air of lethal confidence, the kind that came from years of commanding respect through fear and strength.
The leader of the group, a tall, muscular man with a scar running down his cheek, stepped forward, brandishing a knife with a wicked grin. “You’re surrounded, Rattanakorn. You think you can take all of us?”
Kiet’s gaze flicked over the crowd, assessing them with cold calculation. “I don’t think,” he replied, his voice dripping with disdain. “I know.”
And with that, the tension snapped.
The leader lunged first, his knife aimed directly at Kiet’s chest. But Kiet was faster—much faster. In a blur of motion, he sidestepped the attack, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it with brutal force. There was a sickening crack as the knife clattered to the ground, and before the man could react, Kiet delivered a swift punch to his throat, sending him crumpling to the pavement, gasping for air.
The other men surged forward, their numbers overwhelming, but Kiet was a force of nature. He moved with a lethal grace, each strike precise and devastating. He disarmed one man with a quick twist of the wrist, using the stolen knife to slash through another attacker’s arm. A gunshot rang out, but Kiet was already ducking, the bullet whizzing past his ear as he swept the legs out from under another assailant.
Arhit watched in stunned silence from the car, his hands clenched tightly around the steering wheel. He knew Kiet was capable, but seeing him in action like this was something entirely different. It was like watching a predator among prey—each movement was fluid, efficient, and deadly.
The men kept coming, but Kiet was relentless. He took a gun from one of the fallen men and fired off three quick shots, each one hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. Another man charged at him with a knife, but Kiet caught his wrist mid-strike, driving the blade into the attacker’s own chest before shoving him aside.
Blood splattered across the pavement, the air thick with the sounds of grunts, gunshots, and the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground. But Kiet remained untouched, his expression as cold and detached as ever. He moved like a man possessed, his rage channeled into every brutal strike.
One of the last remaining men, seeing the carnage around him, hesitated, his gun shaking in his hands. Kiet didn’t give him a chance to reconsider. In one swift motion, he grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him into the side of the car, disarming him with a quick twist and a knee to the stomach.
The man crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, as Kiet loomed over him, the gun pointed at his head. “Tell your boss,” Kiet said, his voice low and menacing, “that if he wants a war, he’d better be prepared to lose everything.”
