John Lopez's question struck like lightning.
Ned Russell's body trembled slightly and came to a halt.
There was something suspicious!
John's eyes turned cold, his face darkening with a murderous edge. His voice thundered with fury,
"If you don't want the Russell family to be wiped off the face of the earth, you'd better start explaining what happened fifteen years ago."
"P-please spare my life, Mr. Lopez!"
Ned suddenly dropped to his knees and knocked his head against the ground, his voice trembling with fear.
"Yes, I did set the fire fifteen years ago, but it wasn't my idea! Someone told me to do it!"
John narrowed his eyes, a sinister gleam flickering within them.
"I knew there was more to it. Who was it? Speak!"
"I-I don't know…"
Ned's face turned pale as a sheet, but he still shook his head.
Rage ignited in John's eyes. He strode forward and kicked Ned hard in the head.
"You're on the verge of death and you still want to protect the bastard behind it all? You clearly don't give a damn about the lives of your family!"
Ned collapsed and rolled on the ground, clutching his head, terrified.
"Mr. Lopez, please! I'm not protecting him—I really don't know who he is!"
Bang!
Another vicious kick landed on his ribs. John's aura was suffocating now, overflowing with killing intent.
"You dare lie to me? You don't know who he was, and yet you helped him burn down the welfare home? Do you think I'm that easy to fool?!"
"N-no! Mr. Lopez, it's because… that man was also a martial artist! I didn't dare disobey him…"
John froze for a second.
Another martial artist?
Suddenly—
Boom!
Something stirred in his mind—a vague memory, hazy and distant, began to resurface. The fragments slowly fit together, forming a clearer picture.
He remembered.
He had a chance to escape the fire at the welfare home all those years ago.
But something stopped him—an unknown force had paralyzed him, trapping him in place.
Yes. That was right.
The fire wasn't just a random act of destruction—it had been targeted at him.
But that raised a chilling question:
If someone truly wanted him dead, they could have easily killed him directly.
Why go through all the trouble of setting a fire?
And more importantly—
Why had this memory vanished? Why was he only remembering it now?
John frowned, deep in thought. He didn't have the answer to the first question. But the second…
It was likely the doing of the old master.
The mysterious cultivation technique the old master had given him required total clarity and a heart free from distraction—especially in its early stages. If he'd been consumed by vengeance, he may have never advanced in martial arts.
As for the identity of the true mastermind?
The old master might know something.
But that was another dead end.
When John had returned from the frontier battlefield and gone to the temple, the old master was already gone.
Vanished without a trace.
Even using the resources of his seventy-two intelligence agencies, John had failed to locate him.
The man had erased his presence from the world.
That left John frustrated. It was like chasing shadows.
At that moment, Ned dared to speak again.
"I-I don't know who he was… but I vaguely remember… he mentioned he was from the capital."
The capital?
John's gaze sharpened. A long silence followed.
He exhaled a deep breath, as if trying to release the venom swirling inside him.
"Although you didn't mastermind the fire, you were still the arsonist. I'd be letting you off too easily if I killed you outright."
With that, John crouched, placed his hands on Ned's knees—and struck.
Crack!
Two swift, precise jabs shattered both patellae.
Ned let out a gut-wrenching scream of agony.
But he didn't dare utter a word of complaint.
Compared to death, this punishment was merciful. He was lucky to still have his life.
With the matter settled, John stood motionless in the courtyard of the Russell family, his gaze piercing the distant horizon.
"The capital… A martial artist… Things are starting to get interesting. I'll break into that cesspool myself."
After a long pause, he turned and left the Russell compound, the corpse of the colorful centipede in tow.
His expression was calm.
But within his heart, there was nothing but icy resolve.
In the capital, anything could happen.
—
Leo Glenn cast a cold glance at Mason and the crippled Ned, then smirked.
"Do you know who that man was just now?"
Mason clenched his jaw, blood running down the side of his mouth, his eyes burning with shame and fury.
Leo didn't answer. He simply turned and left the Russell compound with Maxwell Ramar and the others.
Moments later, a deep, resonant voice echoed from outside the courtyard walls:
"Mason… have you ever heard the name of the supreme god—King of Horizon?"
Boom!
It was like a thunderclap out of a clear sky.
God!
King of Horizon!
The legendary protector of the country!
Everyone in the Russell family began to tremble, their expressions consumed by horror and disbelief.
A guttural cry erupted from Mason's throat.
"Ahhhhh!"
Blood sprayed from his lips as he collapsed, overcome by fear. It splattered across the red coffin beside him.
—
That night.
The Russell family scrambled to delete all the fabricated news and issued a public apology in the name of a local New York tabloid.
They blamed everything on Amy Gibson—accusing her of jealousy, slander, and malicious rumor-spreading.
Public opinion shifted rapidly.
The hate once directed at Queenie Yeats vanished almost overnight.
Now the wrath of the people turned toward Amy Gibson, painting her as a bitter and toxic woman.
—
The following day.
The Russell family held another press conference.
This time, Mason and Ned appeared in person, publicly confessing and apologizing again.
At the same time, the Russells dropped a bombshell announcement:
They would withdraw from New York entirely within two weeks and sell off all their assets at rock-bottom prices.
The city exploded with shock.
The Russell family had been dominant in the Northern River region and were at the peak of their power.
Why would they abandon everything now?
No one had an answer.
Because everyone who did know what had happened in the Russell compound at dusk the previous day…
knew better than to talk.
A single misstep could cost them their heads.
The only conclusion the public could draw was:
The Russell family had offended someone.
Someone terrifying—even more terrifying than the Duke of Southern River.
Now, everyone's curiosity turned to the Queenie Group.
What kind of force stood behind it?
What kind of backer could make a titan like the Russell family fold overnight?
Speculation flooded the air.
But one thing was now undeniable—
From this day forward, New York belonged to Queenie Group.