Villain of Fate: The Tyrant System-Chapter 103: The King Who Bled
The King Who Bled
Zain stood frozen, his mouth slightly open.
Dumbfounded.
For a moment, it wasn’t even shock—it was disbelief, the kind that makes your thoughts lag behind reality. His eyes flicked from Julian to the aftermath, trying to piece together what he had just witnessed.
Damn it Young Master DAurelius was actually holding back all this time?
That moment replayed often - him pulling Julian forward like bait on a string. Back then, sureness hummed under his skin, steady as breath. Outcomes seemed locked in place, predictable as sunrise. Every step led where he’d already decided.
Turns out -
A different fate met the wolf that day - sent straight into harm’s way without warning.
"Shit, bro... you’re damn impressive."
Bent low on the dirt, Mike Valquin gripped his neck while harsh coughs shook him. Breath rattled in jagged bursts, sounding cracked and raw. Blood streaked his eyes, which stayed open too wide, caught in a leftover tremor of panic. Slowly, he fought to balance his body.
"Cough - damn... you almost sent him to the afterlife..." he wheezed, wiping the corner of his mouth with a trembling hand. "Remind me never to piss you off."
That punch—
It didn’t just make Evan spit blood.
It nearly broke him in half.
Even the memory of it lingered in the air like a heavy echo. No one spoke for a second. No one dared to.
And that ox horn...
A few of the men subconsciously shifted their stance, legs tightening, as if their bodies reacted faster than their minds. One guy winced outright, muttering under his breath, "Yeah... nope. I’m good."
Another swallowed hard. "That’s... that’s just cruel."
In short—
Every mind in the courtyard held the same four words.
Young Master D’Aurelius is awesome!
Julian stood still, staring at his own fist.
It didn’t feel real.
He slowly flexed his fingers, as if expecting pain, resistance—something to tell him this wasn’t actually his doing. But there was nothing. Just the faint warmth of adrenaline fading from his knuckles.
Then his gaze shifted.
To Evan’s blood-stained backside.
His heartbeat skipped.
(...I really injured the Obsidian King’s rear.)
Damn.
His expression twitched, somewhere between disbelief and secondhand embarrassment.
Thankfully, that bastard looked clean today.
If something more embarrassing had happened...
Julian let out a quiet breath through his nose, eyes narrowing slightly.
He might have actually gone berserk.
"...You’re seriously insane," Mike muttered again from the ground, still recovering, though there was a hint of awe in his voice now. "Who even aims there in a fight...?"
Julian didn’t answer. He wasn’t even sure how to explain it himself.
The courtyard, once filled with noise and arrogance, had gone unnaturally quiet. All eyes were on one man now.
Evan.
"Well done, Julian D’Aurelius," Evan hissed.
He forced himself off the statue.
His posture was wrong.
Each step looked unnatural, stiff.
Because every movement sent a sharp, humiliating pain through him.
He inhaled sharply through his teeth, eyes burning with hatred—and something else.
Fear.
Even though he hadn’t used his full strength.
He should never have failed to cause damage.
And that punch...
Slow. Casual.
Yet more destructive than his own.
If not for his hardened physique, forged through countless life-and-death battles—
He might not be standing.
Internal injuries throbbed beneath his ribs.
His lower body screamed in protest with every breath.
"Don’t let him go!" Gwen Valquin’s voice cut through the courtyard like a blade.
"Beat him up! Break an arm and I’ll reward you with ten million. Kill him and I’ll give you a hundred million!"
Her blue eyes burned with fury.
She had endured long enough.
Now she wanted blood.
The Valquin bodyguards, already humiliated earlier, needed no further encouragement.
They rushed forward like a tidal wave, anger finally given direction.
Evan’s face had gone pale beneath the courtyard lights.
He didn’t dare clash head-on with this group.
Not in this condition.
Not with Julian standing there like a silent mountain.
(That bastard... hiding his strength all this time...)
"A real man knows when to bend and when to stand tall," he muttered to himself.
He endured the pain, then suddenly exploded into motion—
He sprinted toward the outer wall of the Valquin ancestral mansion.
One step.
Two.
Then he leapt.
His body soared upward despite the injury. He gritted his teeth as the torn muscles protested.
He vaulted over the wall.
And landed.
Then he froze.
Outside the Valquin mansion, more than ten luxury cars were lined up in the dark like a silent blockade.
Headlights cut through the night.
Bianca De Dominicis stood at the center.
Long red hair stirred in the wind.
Her expression was cold enough to freeze steel.
Behind her—
More than thirty men in black suits stood in formation.
Disciplined. Silent.
Bodyguards.
After dealing with the traitor Cillian, the De Dominicis household had mobilized everything.
Revenge was not optional.
It was mandatory.
When Bianca learned Evan was at the Valquin estate, she personally led her elite forces here.
She had just stepped out of her car—
And watched him leap over the wall like a wounded dog fleeing a beating.
Her gaze dropped to the blood on his clothes.
She didn’t hesitate.
She raised her hand and pointed at him.
"Beat this bastard to death."
No anger in her voice.
Just cold certainty.
The De Dominicis bodyguards surged forward.
Evan’s eyes turned bloodshot.
He was an Obsidian King.
He had dominated battlefields across Japan.
He had been the one others feared.
The one who crushed enemies beneath his heel.
When had he ever been hunted like this?
When had he ever bled like this?
A roar tore from his throat as he charged into the thirty-plus men.
He moved first.
A spinning elbow smashed into one guard’s jaw.
Bone cracked. The man dropped.
Evan pivoted despite the stabbing pain in his lower body and drove a knee into another’s stomach.
The man folded.
A baton swung toward his head.
He caught the wrist, twisted—
Snap.
A scream ripped through the night.
But then—
A punch slammed into his ribs.
His vision flickered.
The internal injuries Julian’s strike had caused flared violently.
His breathing faltered for half a second.
That was all it took.
Three men rushed him simultaneously.
One kicked his injured side.
Another struck his shoulder.
A third aimed low—
Evan staggered.
His movements were still sharp, still deadly.
But not clean.
Not precise.
The ox horn wound burned every time he pivoted.
His power output dropped.
He drove a straight punch into one guard’s chest, sending him flying into a car door.
He ducked under another swing and countered with a backfist.
Yet for every man he knocked down, two more replaced him.
Breath grew ragged.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.
He roared again, swinging wildly now, fury overtaking calculation.
"You think you can surround me?" he snarled, voice thick with rage. "I am the Obsidian King!"
But titles didn’t stop fists.
Didn’t stop boots.
Didn’t stop pain.
A baton smashed into his back.
Another hit his thigh.
His injured lower body screamed as he tried to pivot again.
This time he was slow.
A heavy punch connected squarely with his abdomen.
He stumbled.
For the first time—
He looked less like a king.
And more like a hunted beast.
Yet even wounded, even cornered—
He kept fighting.
Because pride refused to let him kneel.
