Chapter 216 The Sokolov Royal Family Secret III

Liam was just about to open the large ballroom door when every instinct in his body suddenly screamed at him.

Danger.

Without thinking, he spun and wrapped his arm tightly around Ann’s waist, yanking her back just in time—

BOOOOM!

A massive fist crashed straight through the wooden door, splintering it into jagged shards.

Ann gasped sharply.

Then—CRACK!

The entire door was ripped off its hinges like it was made of paper, thrown aside with casual force. Dust flew into the air as a massive figure stepped through the ruined entrance.

Liam’s eyes narrowed.

One of Boris’ guards.

He was tall with thick arms like coiled cables and a face like carved stone. The tight black uniform stretched across his body, emphasizing every muscle, and his eyes glowed faintly with an unnatural red tint.

Ann’s body trembled.

Her breath caught in her throat.

She knew that face.

She knew what came next.

And in that moment, she was certain—it was over for Liam.

She had seen what these people could do. The way they moved. The strength they carried. The twisted, brutal power that Boris kept in his inner circle.

"Liam, please—don’t—" she whispered, clutching his arm, trying to hold him back.

But he gently pulled her fingers away.

"Stay here," he said simply.

She wanted to scream. To cry. To stop him. But he was already walking forward.

Calm. Focused.

Like a predator heading into a fight he wanted.

The guard smiled coldly as he recognized Liam, cracking his knuckles slowly. "So, you came back," he said, voice deep and rumbling. "You got lucky last time. That won’t happen again."

Liam didn’t answer.

No greetings.

No words.

Just movement.

He snapped forward with speed so fast it blurred, a heavy fist flying straight for the guard’s face.

The man dodged it barely, ducking low. He was fast.

Faster than most.

But Liam... was faster.

The moment the guard shifted to counter, Liam twisted with him, his hand shooting out and grabbing the front of the guard’s shirt with vice-like reflexes. He yanked the man forward, lifting him off the floor entirely.

Before the guard could even process what was happening—

BOOOOM!

Liam slammed him into the wall.

The entire hallway shook from the impact.

Dust and cracked plaster exploded from the point of collision. The guard grunted, the wind knocked clean out of his lungs. But Liam wasn’t done.

Not even close.

His right fist pulled back—and then rocketed forward with full power.

A thunderous CRACK echoed through the corridor as Liam’s punch landed square into the guard’s head.

The wall behind him burst open, shattering into chunks.

But it wasn’t just the wall.

The guard’s skull exploded.

Blood and grey matter sprayed outward in a gruesome arc. Bits of bone shattered against the stone floor. The body twitched once, violently, then slumped in Liam’s grasp.

Ann screamed in horror behind him.

Liam stepped back, letting the corpse fall.

But something was off.

There wasn’t as much blood as there should’ve been.

In fact... it was almost too little.

And then Liam saw it.

Smoke.

Thin trails of black smoke started rising from the body. The skin began to sizzle, crack, and peel, as though it was being cooked from the inside. And within seconds, the entire corpse ignited.

Liam stepped back, watching in stunned silence as the body burned—no fire, just an eerie glow from within—and then crumbled into fine black ash.

Nothing was left.

No bone.

No trace.

Just... dust.

"What the hell..." Liam muttered under his breath.

He’d seen many things since gaining his system, things that defied normality. But this? This was something else.

This wasn’t a science experiment. This wasn’t some drug-enhanced muscle freak.

This was something darker.

Something unnatural.

But there was no time to think. No time to process.

Another scream echoed through the mansion.

Lana.

Liam’s heart dropped.

He grabbed Ann then turned immediately and sprinted through the ballroom, blood still fresh on his knuckles, mind racing.

Liam and Ann burst through the hallway and into the ballroom.

But the moment they stepped in—

He froze.

Everything stopped.

The room ahead of him was split in two by a thick golden ray of sunlight pouring through the open double doors. Dust floated in the air, dancing slowly in the glow. On one side, where he stood, it was cloaked in shadow and silence and same for the other side where Boris stood.

The man himself.

Impeccably dressed in a tailored suit so dark it seemed to swallow the light, Boris had his hands clasped calmly behind his back. His pale face was emotionless, but his eyes—cold, calculating—locked onto Liam with unmistakable focus.

He didn’t flinch.

He didn’t speak.

He just stood there... like he had been waiting.

But he wasn’t alone.

Fifteen men stood behind him in formation, like trained dogs. Each one dressed in black combat gear. Not cheap mercenaries. These were elite. Their posture was sharp, their gazes merciless. A few held rifles. Others had blades. And each of them stood ready to kill.

But Liam’s eyes only found one person.

Lana.

She was being held up like a trophy, one of the men gripping her by the neck with a single hand. Her feet dangled just slightly off the ground, her hands struggling to push his arm away.

Her face was calm.

Too calm.

Almost like she’d accepted it.

But when her eyes met Liam’s, there was something deeper there—guilt.

It was an apologetic look.

Not for getting caught.

Not for failing to fight.

But as if silently saying, "You’re in this position because of me."

Liam’s jaw clenched.

His fists tightened at his sides.

The fire in his veins screamed for violence. His entire body was coiled, ready to strike, to leap, to tear every single one of them apart. But that man holding Lana had one arm raised like a warning—tightened around her neck, his thumb right over her windpipe.

If Liam made one move...

He’d snap it.

Just like that.

Ann stood beside him, frozen. Her body trembling again. She gripped his arm without even realizing it, her breath shallow, eyes darting between Boris and Lana.

And still—Boris didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

The message was clear.

This was a game of power.

Of control.

And right now...

Boris had all the pieces.

The ballroom was dead silent, save for the faint creaking of the wooden floor beneath Lana’s swinging feet.

Liam’s heart pounded in his chest as the sunlight poured in, burning across the marble floor like a line drawn in sand.

Two sides.

One decision.

One wrong or slow move... and she dies.