What is this Cowardice?

Alexander Blackwood was, after all, Evelyn's lawfully wedded husband.

Theodore Vance had no wish to plant seeds of permanent resentment in Evelyn's heart.

By letting Alexander live, he could always claim that Alexander had chosen to walk into danger himself.

While Theodore was lost in thought, calculating the potential consequences, his men surged forward as one, a unified force determined to overpower Alexander.

But Alexander was a force of nature. His legs moved with piston-like force, delivering sharp, sweeping kicks that sent Theodore's men flying like bowling pins.

"Ah!"

"Ugh!"

Their cries of pain filled the air, a continuous chorus of agony rippling across the room.

In mere moments, Alexander had incapacitated a large portion of Theodore's men using only his limbs.

Throughout this whirlwind of violence, Alexander's expression remained eerily calm. His breathing was steady, as if he were merely taking a stroll.

Astonishment was written all over Theodore's face. His eyes widened in sheer disbelief.

How was this possible?

How was Alexander displaying such lethal skill?

Was this not the same man ridiculed as the incompetent, overlooked eldest son of the Blackwood family?

Where had he acquired such terrifying ability?

The truth was, Alexander had spent years feigning weakness, silently navigating a world of threats while keeping his mind sharp and his body primed.

He had trained rigorously in secret, honing his skills every single day to ensure he could protect both himself and those he loved from any danger.

That he had boldly infiltrated Theodore's lavish estate accompanied by only a few men was a testament to his absolute confidence in his own prowess.

Alexander never entered a fight unprepared. Evelyn was waiting for him at home. He had to return to her.

His cold, dismissive gaze swept over Theodore's men, who were moaning in pain on the floor.

To Alexander, these men were insignificant pawns, barely worthy of his attention.

The few remaining men who had not yet engaged stood frozen, their bodies trembling as they witnessed the carnage.

Some even began to edge backward, their faces etched with pure terror. Alexander's presence was that intimidating.

These were Theodore's top-tier, extensively trained bodyguards, yet Alexander dispatched them with shocking ease.

More impressively, he seemed completely unfazed by the fight, as if he could continue battling indefinitely.

Just who was this formidable man?

With each passing second, a palpable sense of fear and hesitation spread through Theodore's men. Their apprehension about facing this demon grew.

Seeing his men's unease, Theodore yelled, his face contorted with fury. "What is this cowardice? Charge! Are you telling me you can't handle one man?"

The thought of the city's ridicule haunted him. The mere whisper of his incompetence would turn Crestwood's laughter against him.

Spurred by his command, his men rallied and surged forward again, their resolve hardened.

Alexander stood unyielding, his face a mask of contempt.

In one fluid motion, he lifted his leg and swept the advancing men off their feet with a powerful kick.

Then, twisting with feline grace, he delivered a crushing punch to another attacker, who slammed against the wall and crumpled into a heap.

"Damn it!" one of the men cursed, his frustration boiling over as he found no opening in Alexander's defense.

In a moment of blind desperation, his eyes fell upon a wooden stick on the floor.

Seizing it, he swung it viciously at Alexander's head, driven by pure rage.

"No! Stop!" Theodore's voice thundered in panic.

He had given explicit orders to spare Alexander's life.

Was this man deaf?

But his warning came too late.

With ominous calm, Alexander's eyes narrowed. He raised his arm to block the blow.

The stick connected with his forearm with a sickening, resonant crack.