“Enough talking, the more we say, the angrier I get. Next time, I’ll make that bitch cry for her parents.” Ripped Jeans cursed.

The two of them walked over, swearing as they went. Passersby on the street didn’t dare look at them for long, hurrying past for fear of provoking this bunch.

William Carter swept his gaze over the two, pausing on them for just a few seconds before lowering his head and walking toward them.

“What are you looking at, you little bastard?” Blake cursed, his eyes falling on William Carter’s wrinkled old suit. He sneered at the corner of his mouth—this kid looked decent enough, but maybe he was a gigolo or something.

William Carter didn’t respond, hurrying forward.

Chapter Two: The Legend of Enzes

Just as William Carter was about to pass by Blake and Ripped Jeans, Blake suddenly stuck out a leg and kicked William Carter as he walked past.

“Don’t ask me why I hit you, I just don’t like your face.” Blake pulled a cocky grin. For them, randomly beating up a couple of people on the street was nothing, as long as they didn’t kill anyone. If they did, they’d have to go on the run again.

Right before Blake’s kick landed, William Carter had a chance to dodge, but he didn’t. He took the kick head-on, grunted, and with his left hand, grabbed Blake’s foot, making Blake stumble a step. As William Carter regained his balance, his shoulder bumped into Blake’s arm, and his fingers moved like lightning—a cold glint danced at the tips of William Carter’s right hand. If you looked closely, you’d see it was a razor-sharp blade, barely a centimeter long. The blade was so sharp it easily sliced open Blake’s jeans, then vanished without a trace. An ordinary person would probably think it was just their imagination.

William Carter fell to the ground, clutching his shoulder, while Blake also grabbed his arm, grimacing in pain.

To outsiders, it just looked like an accident: Blake kicked William Carter, William Carter lost his balance, grabbed Blake’s foot, pulled him, regained his footing, but then his shoulder hit Blake’s arm and he fell again. That was all—no one noticed what William Carter’s right hand had done.

“You little bastard, you dare fight back!” Blake’s arm was hurting from the collision, reigniting his long-simmering anger. He kicked William Carter a few more times, hard.

Seeing Blake get riled up, Ripped Jeans joined in, venting his anger on William Carter. William Carter protected his hands with all his might—the pain in his back was nothing, he was used to it. The only thought in his mind was that no matter how injured his body got, his hands couldn’t be harmed.

“Forget it, don’t kick him to death. He’s not worth it.” Seeing William Carter’s body twitching nonstop, Ripped Jeans tugged at Blake and said.

Blake landed a few more kicks. Seeing William Carter curled up in a ball, showing no sign of fighting back, he lost interest.

“Kid, keep your eyes open next time.” Blake shook his shoulders. After beating up William Carter, he felt much better.

“Hey, want to go see that hot doctor? She’s got a killer body—those breasts, that ass… tsk tsk, I’d give up ten years of my life to sleep with her just once.” Ripped Jeans exaggeratedly swallowed, the image of the beautiful doctor flashing through his mind—her snow-white uniform easily stirring up a certain wicked desire deep inside.

“Seriously? Don’t tell me she’s just some second-rate chick.” Seeing Ripped Jeans’s dazed look, Blake was a bit interested.

“This time I swear, she’s top-notch. No, not just top-notch—she’s the best. If that doctor is a rose, the girls at the nightclub are nothing but dog shit.” Ripped Jeans vowed.

Blake looked at Ripped Jeans skeptically. “Let’s go check her out, then.”

Ignoring William Carter, Blake and Ripped Jeans walked on ahead.

William Carter sat up, wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, and looked coldly at the backs of the two men, his gaze settling on Blake’s pants. At the bottom of Blake’s pocket was a barely noticeable slit, three or four centimeters long. If you didn’t look closely, you’d never see it. In fact, Blake’s pocket was already empty.

William Carter got up and suddenly rushed at the two, shoving them hard. Henry Carter stumbled a few steps after them. Caught off guard, Blake and Ripped Jeans fell by the roadside. In the brief moment of contact, the cold glint between William Carter’s fingers flashed again, leaving a thin cut on Ripped Jeans’s pants, and something slipped into William Carter’s palm.

Got it. That was easier than expected. A faint smile appeared at the corner of William Carter’s mouth.

“You little shit, you’re looking for trouble!” The two guys, suddenly attacked, scrambled to their feet, but by then William Carter was already sprinting away like an arrow from a bow.

Blake and Ripped Jeans chased after William Carter, but most of their strength had been spent on women—how could they compare to someone as strong as William Carter? In just a moment, William Carter had left them far behind.

William Carter slipped into the bustling crowd and quickly disappeared.