Chapter 1 The Tragedy Of A Wife

• “I beg of you, please don't tell my husband. I'm beg on my knees. He'll be driven mad if he finds out.”
• From within an abandoned and secluded factory, the desperate cries of a weeping woman echoed out.
• “Alright, alright, we won't tell him,” an older woman comforted. “Could you describe what those ruffians look like? How did they kidnap you, and how many of them were there?”
• “I don't know, I don't know! Don't pressure me!” the woman shrieked in despair.
• Upon reaching the door outside, Huxley Carrington recognized his wife's voice.
• He felt his heart squeeze as he entered the room.
• The scene that followed devastated him.
• Beneath that rusty iron shed, the wife, Samara Ziegler, was in a state of disarray. She was tugging at several female police officers, weeping so hard that she had lost her voice.
• On the ground, there were signs of struggle and dragging of a body.
• “S-Samara?” Huxley called out, his voice trembling.
• Samara turned her head and saw her husband. She felt neither a sense of joy nor sorrow, only a desperate need to hide her face as if wanting to conceal the most shameful and dirtiest part of herself. “No! No! Don't look at me, don't look at me!”
• Huxley's heart was writhing in pain, his eyes brimming with tears. He yearned to rush forward and embrace her, yet he was held back by a few police officers.
• “Sir, it might be best to let your wife have some time alone to calm down. The shock she's experienced is immense, and she's feeling a great deal of guilt and fear. We have psychologists here who can help her,” a police officer suggested with a troubled look on his face.
• “Samara! Samara!” Huxley cried out in a choking tone. “No matter what happened, I'm here for you!”
• This day was destined to be the worst day of Huxley's life, one that filled him with despair.
• His wife, Samara, was violated by three burly men.
• Overwhelmed by the shock of the incident, she fell into depression. She was admitted to the hospital, and she'd rather die than face Huxley.
• This guilt she felt like a hand with a death grip on her throat.
• Her once radiant smile was no longer seen. Instead, there was only an expression of pain, as if she had lost her soul. She would often scream out loud, unable to sleep at night. Every time she closed her eyes, she would see the terrifying brutes throwing themselves on her.
• Several months later, she leaped off the seventh floor of the hospital, crashing to the ground with a loud thud. All that was left behind was a pool of blood and a suicide note.
• Hubby, I love you. In the next life, I will still be your wife. These were the words left behind on the tear-stained letter.
• After Huxley finished reading it, he couldn't help but let out a resounding cry toward the sky. He felt as if his chest was about to burst open. Only one thought remained in his mind—I'm going to kill them all!
• On the day of the funeral, he gently caressed his wife's coffin, his voice trembling with each word he uttered.
• “Samara, I won't let your death be in vain. May your spirit in heaven look down and watch how I avenge you. I want their lives to be ruined. One by one, I'll make sure they die a painful death!”
• Several days later, at the S-level vault of the headquarters of Eastward Bank which was located on Fortune Street, The bank manager, Sullivan Lipscomb, bowed deeply, his face brimming with anticipation.
• The vault was a place where only dignitaries or billionaires could set foot in it.
• “Sir, welcome!”
• Standing before him was Huxley, dressed in solemn black attire. His expression was icy cold.
• “Open it!” Huxley said slowly.
• “Right away!” Sullivan produced a key, unlocking a top-security gold safe that was in front of him. He carefully retrieved a delicate rectangular box and placed it on the table.
• Huxley gave a dismissive wave of his hand, exuding the arrogance of someone in power.
• With utmost respect, Sullivan excused himself, “I'll be right outside the door, awaiting your instructions.”
• With that, the door was shut.
• Huxley wore a complex expression as he reached out to open the rectangular box. Inside it lay thirteen golden needles.
• Seven were large; six were small.
• Each one was crystal clear, a masterpiece of exquisite craftsmanship.
• These thirteen golden needles had been part of countless legends and secrets of the world.
• A decade ago, a man appeared out of nowhere. With the thirteen golden needles, he not only held the power to steal lives taken by the Grim Reaper but also the ability to send the living into a living hell.
• The three prominent families of Jacaster, the six family conglomerates of Atharia, and the Epean Economic Association were all beneficiaries of his generosity.
• Countless influential figures, despite their earnest efforts, could not secure his services for medical treatment.
• He was revered as the Divine Healer of the underground world.
• He could create miracles that modern medical science simply couldn't achieve and was a descendant of the ancient medical arts of Clusia.
• This enigmatic figure chose to withdraw from the pugilistic world at the height of his success, his whereabouts unknown.
• He was none other than Huxley.
• Back then, he had met Samara and decided to retire in order to live an ordinary life. He also sealed the thirteen golden needles inside the headquarters of Eastward Bank.
• Back then, he thought he would never have to use these thirteen golden needles again in his lifetime.
• Unexpectedly, fate was a cruel mistress, compelling him to come out of retirement.
• “D*mn it, you forced me to re-emerge, so I'll make sure you suffer a terrible fate,” Huxley murmured softly.
• With a swift movement of his arm, he took the thirteen golden needles. Then, without any further ado, he turned around and left.
• As he stepped out of the bank's main entrance, it was as if a sense of gloom descended upon the entire world.