The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 144 – The Backer of the Branton Family

"AAAH—!"

Carlos's shrill cry echoed through the compound like a dying pig, sending shivers down the spines of everyone watching.

Ruthless. Cold. Unrelenting.

Just as John raised his foot again to finish the job on Carlos's other knee, Barron suddenly shouted, his voice tinged with fury:

"Young man, don't go too far! The power behind the Branton Family is far beyond what you imagine!"

John paused mid-motion and slowly lowered his foot, an intrigued smile playing on his lips.

"Oh?"

It wasn't the first time he'd heard that line.

In fact, that was exactly why he had come here alone tonight. He wanted to see what gave the Brantons the audacity to think they were above consequences.

John raised his voice and said clearly, "Fine. I'll give you one chance. Tell me—who's backing you?"

Barron hesitated. Silence hung heavy in the air.

Seeing that John was about to raise his foot again, Barron's expression darkened. "You wouldn't listen to reason. Since you insist on courting death, so be it!"

He took out his phone and made a call.

Meanwhile, John didn't strike again. True to his word, he refrained from breaking the second leg—for now. Instead, he calmly pulled over a chair, sat down next to Carlos, and waited.

That, too, was a kind of punishment.

Carlos's humiliation deepened.

He trembled in pain and rage, gritting his teeth.

"You're finished! When Uncle Tristan gets here, you're done!"

CRUNCH!

John stepped lightly on his neck and said coldly, "Shut up. One more word, and I'll snap your neck."

Carlos didn't dare speak again, but his glare screamed revenge.

He swore that once Uncle Tristan arrived, he'd make this bastard pay. And he'd drag Queenie into his bed as a bonus.

The minutes ticked by in tense silence.

And then finally—

A stern, dignified-looking middle-aged man strode through the gates of the Branton compound.

Even Alan, the former Underground Monarch, widened his eyes in shock.

It was him.

The true backer of the Branton Family.

Most of the Branton relatives stared in confusion. Who was this man? He wasn't someone they recognized. Clearly, he had never appeared in family gatherings.

But that made sense—they weren't core members of the family and wouldn't have access to this level of power.

Could this one man really handle someone like John?

Even John raised an eyebrow. He could instantly tell the man was a martial artist... but not a particularly strong one—not enough to threaten him.

Which only meant one thing—

This man's strength didn't lie in his fists alone.

Barron rushed forward, whispering a few words to the man before pointing at John. The man nodded and began walking forward with an imposing aura.

Carlos, unable to contain himself, screamed in agony:

"Uncle Tristan! Help me! Kill this bastard!"

BAM!

John answered with a kick to his skull.

The middle-aged man's eyes narrowed, a flash of coldness passing through them.

"Let him go. Now," he said, voice brimming with authority.

John didn't answer. He simply stared at the man in silence, completely unfazed.

The man was taken aback.

"Hmm... You don't seem to know who I am."

He paused deliberately, then said slowly and clearly:

"Tristan Goodman. One of the Four Guardians of the Southern Martial Arts League."

Silence.

Total silence.

And then—

An uproar.

The Branton relatives gasped. Their eyes widened with disbelief.

The Southern Martial Arts League?!

Not only was Tristan part of it, he was one of its elite Four Guardians?

This was a level of power that most people couldn't even dream of encountering, let alone being protected by.

Barron's lips curled with pride. Years of bribes and careful networking had finally paid off.

If John hadn't gone too far tonight, he would've never revealed this trump card.

Tristan repeated, more forcefully this time:

"Now... Let. Him. Go."

The weight in his voice made it sound more like a decree than a request.

Carlos stirred.

Seeing John not respond immediately, he assumed he was scared. Slowly, he began dragging himself forward—toward Tristan—like a child crawling to a parent for shelter.

His mind was already scheming revenge.

John was afraid.

He had won.

Now it was time to pay him back in blood—and take Queenie for himself.

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Carlos turned to look back at John, his eyes full of venom.

And that was when John finally spoke.

"No wonder Carlos was bailed out...

So it was you pulling the strings."