From Outcast to Overlord The Unyielding Heir (Leander Ashcroft) novel Chapter 550

Three white trails ripped open the clouds.

Cruise missiles screamed downward, smoke tails carving straight lines toward Leander.

His gaze hardened.

"So this is how you play it," he muttered. "Then I'll turn those ten supersonic fighter jets into your warning—and make sure you remember what it means to provoke Jeff Ashcroft."

Leander had already steeled himself.

Even if it meant staking everything, he would carve a warning in blood for whoever thought they could hunt him.

However, resolve alone wasn't enough.

They move at over 600 miles an hour. I can burst faster briefly, but that's only for a moment. I can't keep up by chasing them like that.

Plus, their range is worse. Three, maybe four miles out. They can hit me without ever showing their faces. Even a Dragonfire spear won't reach that far. Two miles and it's already losing power. After that? Might as well be throwing air.

Which means there's only one real option left.

Windchaser Arrows.

Still, that thing eats energy. I've got to lock onto them first... and I need at least half my spiritual strength to fire another round.

What do I have right now?

Not even a third.

Not enough to strike.

Not enough to even find them.

That's the trap.

The entire analysis flashed through his mind in a heartbeat.

His body never slowed.

While tracking the diving homing missile, Leander was already moving, adjusting his position and getting ready for what might happen next.

Three cruise homing missiles were pursuing him when he suddenly changed course, spun in midair, and dashed toward the ruins of the town ahead.

The area had once served as Torre's refuge, a spot to hide and buy time. Now, Leander charged into it too, his silhouette quickly engulfed by the shattered streets.

"What?"

Up in the cockpits, the fighter pilots all went still.

"What? He can't outrun radar."

They crowded around the radar console, staring as if their eyes might force the answer out of it.

A moment earlier, a bright marker had been tracking the target's path across the screen. Now the display was empty—no signal or return.

That made no sense.

Radar wasn't fooled by walls or rubble. Its electromagnetic sweep could accurately map distance, direction, and velocity, similar to how a bat uses sound to detect its surroundings ahead. From miles out, it had given them a perfect lock to guide their missiles.

Once a target was painted, hiding was pointless.

Yet the instant Leander slipped into the town, the trace vanished—clean and total.

No fade, no scatter—just gone as if he had stepped out of the world.

"Hell... what just happened?"

The pilots kept their distance with steady throttles and focused on their instruments. However, the radar screens showed a different picture.

Empty.

No signals. No traces.

They adjusted, rescanned, widened their sweep—but Leander was gone.

Seconds later, the three missiles in flight hit the town's edge, causing a chain reaction of fire that destroyed a nearly 300-foot-long row of buildings.

Dust and flame rolled upward.

Radar blindness?

On this scale?

Impossible.

We've got the best tracking and anti-stealth tech ever built—stuff made to hunt jets, missiles, even things that are supposed to be invisible. And now we can't even keep a lock on one martial artist?

It's absurd.

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