From Bullets To Billions novel Chapter 139

Chapter 139: A+ Ranked

Max had heard Wolf’s words clearly.

A+ class ranked fighters.

But the truth was, he didn’t actually know what that meant, not by Wolf’s standards, anyway. The ranking system wasn’t something universal or widely known. It was something personal, something Wolf claimed as his own talent. His own secret way of measuring people.

Some said it was just ego, some called it instinct, and others, especially those who didn’t like him, thought Wolf made it all up as he went along. No one knew for sure where his so-called ranking system came from. There was no manual, no scale, no list. Just Wolf’s gut.

But despite that, the people closest to him, the ones who’d actually seen him fight, who’d watched him size up killers and come out alive, knew better. They knew that when Wolf gave someone a rank, he wasn’t doing it lightly. He wasn’t the type to exaggerate.

In fact, if anything, Wolf was too humble about his rankings. Too strict.

So the fact that he’d labeled both Na and Dud, two Sergeants in the Rejected Corps, as A-class meant something serious. It meant he saw them as more dangerous, more effective, and potentially more deadly than even himself.

That thought settled deep in Max’s chest like a weight.

"You think I didn’t know that?" Max replied sharply, his voice dry and calm. "Why do you think I’ve been playing along with their nonsense?"

The answer surprised Wolf. It wasn’t that he thought Max was naive. Max was a tactician, a leader, a man with money, influence, and power. He was street-smart and sharp. But this?

Was Max saying he was complying with the Rejected Corps out of caution? Maybe even fear?

The White Tigers were known for being untouchable. Ruthless. Even the syndicates hesitated before crossing them. People feared even researching the White Tigers, let alone fighting them.

And yet, here was Max. The leader of that very group. And he was playing it safe with the Rejected Corps.

The more Wolf learned, the more it shook him.

Meanwhile, the battle around them had started escalating.

The Chalkline Boys had poured in from the back, dozens of them, even more than last time. Max immediately noticed the numbers. The restaurant was larger than before, and it looked like the enemy had scaled accordingly.

It was confirmation that the Chalkline Boys weren’t just any street gang. They were an organized force. They had logistics. Coordination. Strategy.

This was no ambush. This was war.

And the Rejected Corps?

They were adapting.

Unlike the chaotic brawl from the last encounter, this time the Rejected Corps were tighter. Sharper. They fought with formation and structure, pairing off, backing each other, defending and attacking with rhythm.

Max watched it all unfold with precision in his eyes.

They were calling out code words, quick and efficient. Short bursts of language, almost like military signals, that told their partners what move was coming next. It was tactical. Professional.

One member ducked under an incoming strike, snatched a steaming pot of broth, and hurled it across the room. The boiling liquid splashed into a group of attackers, scattering them in pain. Another fighter rolled low, grabbed a knife off the floor, and hurled it into an enemy’s foot with pinpoint accuracy.

They didn’t stop there.

This is the second time I’ve seen the Rejected Corps fight, Max thought, eyes locked on every movement. But it’s not the same. This time, they’re more serious. They’re getting hit less. They’re backing each other up like they’ve trained for this. They’re not just brawling, they’re evolving. Becoming something else. A real unit. A force.