Read The Almighty Dominance Novel (Alexander Leonhart and Sophia Lancaster) by Sunshine Updated 2025 -26 - The Almighty Dominance Chapter 387

The next morning, Alex sat watching the news, his eyes narrowing as the anchor reported on the unrest shaking Vinland State.

Everyone was talking about Jose.

They said he had changed after his son’s death and his wife’s injury.

Now he was cleaning house, rooting out the corrupt officials who had been trying to undermine him.

Speculation spread like wildfire.

To answer Jose’s call, his old loyalists-men who once fought beside him in the rebellion that toppled the tyrant governor-were rising again.

Vinland was witnessing a storm, Jose tightening his grip on power.

“Alex! Alex-something happened!”

Josephine’s voice rang out, sharp and urgent, as she rushed down the stairs.

It was already noon, yet she was just now emerging from her room. She had never slept so late before.

“What’s wrong?” Alex asked, his gut tightening.

“There’s… something inside me.” She pointed at her stomach, her face pale with panic.

Alex froze. “What do you mean, something inside? Are you pregnant?”

“God, are you stupid? I’m still a virgin!” she snapped, rolling her eyes. But her cheeks burned crimson.

“Then what the hell are you talking about?” Alex pressed, thrown completely off balance.

She hesitated, then burst out, her voice trembling with excitement.

“Didn’t you teach me that cultivation technique last night? Well… I did it. I actually did it! There’s this warmth, this… seed in my stomach-the core energy you told me about!”

Alex’s eyes widened. “What? That fast?”

His voice was sharp with disbelief. If cultivating inner energy were this easy, every martial artist in the world would already be a superhuman.

Normally, it took at least a year of relentless training just to glimpse the first sparks of inner energy.

Even geniuses needed months to form the faintest core. But Josephine was claiming she had succeeded overnight.

Suspicion flickered across Alex’s face. He reached for her wrist, fingers steady as he searched her pulse.

His eyes narrowed. There it was—a faint but unmistakable current flowing through her core. Subtle, yes, but real.

And it wasn’t just the beginning. What pulsed within her was the kind of energy most people spent a year, sometimes more, struggling to collect.

In one night, Josephine had achieved what countless martial artists bled, sweated, and suffered for over years.

Her talent was beyond extraordinary. It was terrifying.

Hard work was nothing compared to raw, natural talent.

“So? What do you think? I did it, didn’t I? I told you I wasn’t lying!” Josephine bragged, her voice sharp with triumph.

Alex studied her, a rare smile tugging at his lips.

“I can’t deny it. Your talent is remarkable. You’re a prodigy. If you keep this up, you’ll become superhuman before the year’s out.”

“Hah! I knew it!” Josephine burst into laughter, grinning wide. “Even if I’m not the sharpest mind on the class, I’ve never lost a fight!”

Alex arched a brow. “So you’re admitting you’re stupid?”

“Pffft, no way! You’re the stupid one!” she shot back, her eyes narrowing.

“I mean, I’m not great at books or studying, but when it comes to fighting-I shine. There’s a saying, right? Everyone’s born to succeed, they just need to find their path. Well, mine has always been in combat.”

Alex smirked. “So, what-you plan to sell your fists for money?”

Josephine froze, the future he painted hanging over her like a shadow.

She scratched the back of her head and muttered, “Forget it. I don’t even like fighting. Let’s not go down that road.”

Alex chuckled. “Don’t worry. Martial arts isn’t just about fighting. I can teach you healing techniques too. That requires inner energy as well. With cultivation, you can protect yourself and others.”

Josephine’s eyes lit up, her voice bursting with excitement. “Yes! That’s exactly what I want!”

“Good,” Alex said. “Keep training. Keep cultivating. I’ll teach you everything you need.”

Before he could say more, his phone buzzed.

A call from an unknown number. He answered. “Who is this?”

A cold voice slithered through the line. “I have Jasmine Kingston. If you want her back alive, follow the address I’ll send. Come alone. If you call for help… she’ll be dead before they even arrive.”

The line went dead.

Alex glanced at the address and his jaw tightened.

The ghost town.

Two hours later, Alex stood at the edge of that cursed place. Towering, abandoned buildings and crumbling factories loomed over him.

Thirty years ago, the town had died overnight-industries collapsed, families

vanished, and the streets emptied.

No one dared live here anymore.

It had become a breeding ground for gangs and mercenaries, rebels and killers

for hire-men willing to shed blood for the right price.

A lone figure stepped out of the shadows and approached him, boots echoing against the cracked pavement.

The man gave a slight bow and said, his voice smooth but mocking, “Welcome, Mr. Alex. This way, please.”

Alex eyed the rat-faced man coldly, gave a short nod, and walked straight inside. The stadium swallowed him whole. Once a football arena, now it was a den of wolves.

Hundreds of gang elites filled the stands and the field-hulking men with scarred faces, tattoos crawling over their skin, guns gleaming under the floodlights, blades strapped to their backs and belts.

Their eyes locked onto him the moment he stepped through the gate. Every glare was a knife.

He was prey walking into the slaughter.

One of the giants in the crowd barked out a laugh. “You’re either the dumbest bastard alive… or the bravest.”

“I got a call,” Alex said, his voice sharp, steady. His gaze cut across the mob. “It said you know where Jasmine Kingston is. Is she here?”

The thugs roared with laughter, their voices bouncing around the empty stands. Alex tilted his head, unflinching. “Something funny?”

A man shoved his way to the front, a cruel grin splitting his face. “Yeah, it’s funny. You know why? Because you’re already dead—and yet here you are, asking questions about your girlfriend.”

He pressed a cold pistol to Alex’s forehead. “Tell me don’t you think that’s hilarious?”

Alex chuckled. The sound was low, dangerous. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

In a blink, his hand shot up. He tore the pistol from the thug’s grip, spun it, and rammed the barrel between the man’s teeth. “Now… is it still funny?”

A hundred weapons instantly leveled at him-muzzles glowing in the dim light, blades unsheathed. The entire stadium bristled with killing intent.

Alex smiled, sharp and fearless. “Now this… this is funny.”

From a shadowed room above, Charles Kingston watched through the glass with

the other leaders. Around them sat men in expensive suits, eyes glittering with

greed.

One leaned forward, bored. “That’s the guy? He doesn’t look like much. Why the

hell would you pay a hundred million dollars to kill him? Give me ten and I’ll do it myself.”

Charles adjusted the golden watch on his wrist, his fingers heavy with diamond

rings.

He looked like wealth itself, though everyone knew he’d been broke not long ago.

His voice was bitter, seething. “This isn’t about money. This is Gilbert Guise’s last will-whoever killed him will have to pay painfully for it. His wealth, his legacy, all of it is bound to revenge.”

“The killer’s family, his friends-every last one of them will suffer. Alex is the one

who murdered Gilbert, and I’m just fulfilling the dead man’s command.”

Another leader laughed cruelly. “Then let’s start the show.”

He tapped the control and the stadium’s loudspeakers came alive, echoing across

the field.

“All of you! Kill him now! Payment comes when he’s dead-one hundred million

dollars!”

The order ripped through the air.

The mob moved as one, fingers tightening on triggers.

Up in the box, Charles’s face twisted, a mixture of rage and unholy glee. He

slammed his fist against the glass, eyes burning.

“Alex! You’ll die by my hand!”

And then Alex moved.

He exploded into motion, his body blurring like a phantom in the storm of gunfire.

Bullets screamed through the air, but he was already gone, weaving between the killers, striking like lightning.