Yaw Boakye had just left the real estate agency, his mind already shifting from the day’s events to what lay ahead. As he stepped into the bustling streets of Kumasi, his phone vibrated in his pocket. Glancing at the screen, a smirk crept onto his face when he saw the name—Shatta.

"Boss, I’ve arrived," came the deep, familiar voice on the other end of the line. There was a sense of anticipation in Shatta’s tone, the kind that came from years of battles and victories won together.

Yaw’s smirk widened. "Welcome to Kumasi, Shatta. Get a taxi and meet me at the Black Eye Bar."

There was a brief silence, followed by Shatta’s surprised chuckle. "A taxi? After all this time?"

Yaw chuckled softly. "Yes, a taxi. Try not to draw too much attention."

Shatta, however, was not a man who enjoyed blending in. He had been Yaw’s right-hand man back in the warzone, a prisoner of war who had pledged his loyalty to Yaw after being liberated. Under Yaw’s guidance, Shatta had evolved from a skilled fighter into a master strategist, a martial artist, an IT expert, and a shrewd business investor. One of Shatta’s most notable achievements was his foray into cryptocurrency. He had made an investment that sent shockwaves through the financial world, a move so bold that it only paled in comparison to Yaw’s own feats.

But Shatta was more than just an investor; he was a warrior of unparalleled skill. When a navy fleet mistakenly bombed his yacht, Shatta retaliated with a ferocity that left no survivors. The world had come to know him as a warlord, a title that carried with it the weight of death and destruction. In the hierarchy of warriors, there were four levels of cultivation: Soldier, Warrior, Warlord, and Wargod. Shatta had ascended to the level of Warlord, a title that struck fear into the hearts of men. Yet he only bowed to one person—War God Yaw Boakye, one of the six War Gods, who had claimed his title by defeating the War God of Africa in a brutal battle.

Even Shatta’s home country, Thailand, was cautious in its dealings with him. They knew better than to assign him any national tasks, especially when Yaw’s call could summon him at a moment’s notice.

Shatta stepped off the plane in Kumasi, his presence commanding attention. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that exuded wealth and power. As he made his way through the airport, he received curious glances from onlookers, but his mind was already focused on his next move.

Yaw had suggested a taxi, but Shatta had other plans. He strode across the street to a nearby Lexus dealership, his eyes scanning the showroom for the perfect ride. His gaze landed on a gleaming, obsidian-black Lexus LX 600—the latest model, priced at $150,000. It was the most expensive car in the showroom, a vehicle that only someone with immense wealth could afford.

"I’ll take that one," Shatta said, his voice casual as if he were ordering a cup of coffee.

The sales manager blinked, momentarily stunned by the nonchalance in Shatta’s tone. "Sir, that’s our most—"

"Did I stutter?" Shatta cut in, already pulling out his phone. With a few swift taps, he transferred the full amount instantly. The manager’s eyes widened as the transaction cleared, and he struggled to maintain his composure.

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"Y-you can keep the change," Shatta added. The staff stared in disbelief as Shatta approached a young salesgirl who was nervously eyeing him.

"Could you point me in the direction of the Black Eye Bar?" Shatta asked, his voice smooth and commanding.

The girl’s face turned a deep shade of red as she stammered out directions, her voice barely above a whisper. Gathering her courage, she shyly asked, "Would you mind giving me your number?"

Shatta offered her a polite smile, but his eyes were distant. "Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mix business with pleasure."

Without another word, he walked out, sliding into the driver’s seat of his new Lexus. The engine roared to life as he pulled out of the dealership, the sleek car gliding through the streets of Kumasi like a predator on the prowl. People turned their heads as he passed, admiring the powerful vehicle and the man behind the wheel.

When Shatta arrived at the Black Eye Bar, Yaw was already waiting in a private room at the back of the dimly lit establishment. The bar was a notorious spot, known for its underground dealings and exclusive clientele. As Shatta parked the Lexus and entered the bar, his presence immediately commanded the attention of everyone inside.

Yaw looked up as Shatta entered, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Nice ride."

"You know I like to do things in style," Shatta replied with a grin, taking a seat across from Yaw.

Yaw nodded, pleased. "I have a task for you, Shatta. I need Scholar Group back under my control. Can you handle that?"

Shatta’s eyes gleamed with determination. "Consider it done, boss. I’ll make sure they remember."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden intrusion of four street thugs, their faces twisted with greed as they eyed Shatta’s expensive suit and watch. They thought they had hit the jackpot.

"Pay up, gentlemen," one of the thugs snarled, a knife glinting in his hand. "Street dues."

Shatta’s grin turned sinister, a spark of excitement flickering in his eyes. He lived for moments like these, the thrill of battle coursing through his veins. He glanced at Yaw, who gave him a slight nod of approval. That was all the permission he needed.

The first thug lunged at Shatta with his knife, but he was too slow. Shatta moved with lightning speed, sidestepping the attack and delivering a powerful punch to the thug’s gut. The thug gasped for air as Shatta’s fist connected, doubling over in pain. Before he could recover, Shatta grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the wall with such force that the plaster cracked. The thug’s eyes rolled back as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The second thug, realizing the gravity of the situation, tried to pull out a gun, but Shatta was already upon him. With a swift motion, Shatta disarmed the thug, twisting his arm behind his back and forcing him to drop the weapon. The thug cried out in pain as Shatta applied more pressure, his arm nearly snapping under the strain. Shatta then delivered a brutal kick to the man’s knee, shattering it with a sickening crack. The thug screamed in agony as he collapsed to the floor, clutching his mangled leg.

The third thug, now terrified, tried to make a run for it, but Shatta was too fast. He grabbed the man by the back of his shirt and yanked him back with a forceful tug. The thug stumbled, and before he could regain his balance, Shatta delivered a powerful backhand to his face, sending him crashing into a nearby table. The table splintered under the force of the impact, and the thug lay motionless among the broken pieces.

The fourth thug, who had been watching the carnage unfold, was paralyzed with fear. His eyes darted between Shatta and his fallen comrades, his face pale and drenched in sweat. He took a shaky step backward, but his legs gave out, and he collapsed to the floor. A dark stain spread across his pants as he fainted, overwhelmed by the horror he had just witnessed.

Shatta frowned, clearly disappointed. "I hadn’t even warmed up," he muttered, brushing off his suit.

Yaw chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "You’ve still got it, Shatta."

Shatta’s grin returned, but there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. "They were nothing, boss. Just a warm-up."

Yaw nodded, his expression serious once more. "Good. Now, focus on the task at hand. Get Scholar Group back."

Shatta straightened, his tone resolute. "Yes, sir. I won’t let you down."