The Girlboss Begs for Remarriage by Chu

Chatper 492

Frank glanced at Dwight's vile smile even as he tried to play both sides.

"Move." He growled a single word.

Dwight's smile stiffened. "You sure you want to do this, kid?"

"You're asking for it," Frank retorted as he slowly turned and glared Dwight in the eye. "Move if you want to live."

His pompous threat only left Dwight laughing. "No one has ever spoken like that to me in this business."

"Someone has now," Frank pointed out, impassive.

Dwight was incensed right then and grabbed Frank by the shoulder as he launched a punch at Frank's abdomen.

"You asked for this!" He flashed a bloodthirsty grin, already envisioning Frank's stomach bursting apart from his single punch.

Pow!

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And yet, Dwight's smile faded, replaced by utter shock.

His ever victorious Crestone Fists—launched at such a short distance—had struck Frank squarely in

the abdomen as intended, but no gore ensued.

Instead, his body and even his shirt remained unscathed, and Dwight seemed to see a ripple unfurling

away from his fist.

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It was pure vigor stirred by Dwight's punch as it deflected the weight of the strike back on Dwight with

tenfold violence!

Crack.

Dwight stared stupid as his knuckles ruptured, his skin and flesh peeling away as his bone turned to

dust.

In just two seconds, his right knuckled imploded.

"Argh!" he screamed at the top of his lungs even as he clutched the stump that was once his hand.

Frank, however, did not afford him another second.

Smack!

He slapped Dwight so hard that his neck twisted into itself multiple times.

With that, Earthrank elite number thirty-two was eliminated in a split second.

"Wait, what?"

The crowd of hitmen around Frank was stunned by the scene, and some were already thinking about

running away.

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However, one of them suddenly cried, "That's just one! He won't win against all of us! Go!"

The rest promptly raised their weapons and charged at Frank with a battle cry.

Blood soon poured as fast as the rain—Frank danced between the hitmen who numbered around a hundred, unstoppable.



Any weapon swung Frank's way would suddenly be taken out of their grasp before the hitmen were killed with their own weapons.

Within minutes, around a hundred men were on the ground, laying silently.

After all, Frank could kill with a single strike—there was no way for the hitmen to defend themselves or run.

The last hitman, who could see that things had gone terribly wrong, tried to turn and run.

Henry simply picked up a falchion off the floor and flung it at him, stabbing him through the neck.

He dropped on the floor audibly and never got up again.

