Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet

"Damn it, who is that bodyguard next to William? He's blocking all the shots!" 

Ivan, whose build was twice the size of an average person, stood in front of William, shielding him from any potential frontal attacks. This frustrated the reporters, who couldn't even get a clear shot of William's face.

Once they confirmed it was indeed William, the reporters went wild, shouting his name, hoping for an interview. But seeing that William completely ignored them, they instead focused on taking as many photos as possible of him and Antonov's team. William was notoriously hard to interview and even harder to approach, and it was rare for him to appear with bodyguards. Getting a picture of him alongside his security detail might lead to speculative articles the next day, perhaps claiming that William had been threatened after making a fortune. "Mr. Devonshire! Mr. Devonshire! Look this way!" they shouted.

The scene became chaotic, and even the young protesters holding anti-auction signs were momentarily stunned, forgetting to chant their slogans.

Some pretty girls joined in, calling out William's name excitedly.

"God, don't forget why we're here," the leader of the group, an older woman, said as she pulled her screaming companions back. "William Devonshire's here for those artifacts. He's our target now."

"You're right, but he's so handsome and ridiculously rich," her companions agreed with nods of approval. The leader rolled her eyes, while another girl added dejectedly, "Let's face it, he's probably wealthier than all the attendees combined. If he wants something, I doubt we can stop him."

"Damn," those around her felt a wave of frustration as they realized the truth of her words. The people they had protested against earlier were small-time players, mindful of public opinion to avoid hurting their businesses. But William's wealth, 80% of which came from the stock market, meant that no amount of protesting would have any effect on him.

William, who paid no attention to the reporters, quickly reached the steps of the auction hall when a sudden burst of screams and gasps erupted behind him. Without needing to turn around, a quick scan with his mental powers revealed that Wilson had arrived.

Glancing back, William saw Wilson getting out of a car, surrounded by seven or eight bodyguards, waving to the crowd. William smirked and commented to Antonov, "Being a prince isn't easy. Look at Wilson, trying to expand his influence by acting like a celebrity and always worrying about public opinion. Just seeing his forced smile makes me cringe."

"Haha," Antonov chuckled. A man born in the harsh north, Antonov didn't have much fondness for England. However, considering William and Wilson's friendship, Antonov refrained from making any sarcastic comments. "BOSS, Wilson's just a kid. It's normal for someone his age to enjoy being in the spotlight. Not everyone's a genius like you, indifferent to the media and public's opinion."

"Haha, I didn't expect you to flatter me too," William laughed, patting Ivan's shoulder. "Let's go, Ivan. Leave the spotlight to our superstar, Prince Wilson."

"Understood, BOSS," Ivan nodded. But before they could walk far, Wilson called out to William from behind.

When Ivan stopped, William said, "Keep moving. Ignore Wilson. If he catches up, he'll definitely pull me into some photo op for the reporters."

Wilson quickly closed the gap with a few hurried steps. "Hey, man, why are you walking so fast?" he said, grabbing William, who sighed in resignation. Wilson waved enthusiastically to the people around them, saying, "Smile, man, smile."

After a few minutes of mingling and smiling for the cameras, they finally entered the auction hall. Wilson glanced at Antonov's team and then at his own bodyguards, suddenly feeling that something was lacking in his security detail. Although his bodyguards were former elite SAS members, they seemed to be missing something compared to Antonov's men.

If William had known, he might have explained to Wilson, in a good mood, that what his bodyguards lacked was experience in actual combat. While the SAS was an elite force, not every member got the chance to participate in real battles.

Antonov's men, on the other hand, had taken mercenary jobs to support their families, a situation that had hardened them. Their mindset was different from that of ordinary special forces soldiers, and they had no shortage of firsthand kills.

Once inside the venue, Wilson told his head of security, "You guys stay outside the auction hall. I'll be fine with William."

"But, Your Highness..."

"It's fine. This is an auction, not a battlefield. Bringing so many people in would not only take up seats but also make it seem like I'm overly cautious, like I've done something wrong." After that, Wilson stopped paying attention to his bodyguards and followed William inside.

As soon as they entered, a smiling fat white man approached them, accompanied by an Asian man. However, before they could get close, Ivan fixed them with a cold stare.

The two men suddenly felt as if they were being watched by a bear, breaking into a cold sweat. William patted Ivan on the shoulder, signaling him to step aside, and Ivan shoved the two men back.

Despite being ignored by William, the middle-aged fat man didn't get angry like the young Asian man next to him. Instead, he hurriedly spoke in a low voice, "Mr. Devonshire, I'm Lawrence from MP Group. If you're interested in Celestial Empire antiques, our company has some of the finest collections."

Hearing this, William turned to look at the smiling Lawrence, feeling a sense of familiarity. He took out his phone, scanned Lawrence, and within seconds, his earpiece and phone displayed Lawrence's information.

After Sunday's report, William glanced at the young man next to Lawrence and immediately understood who these two were.

With a look of disdain, William glanced at the fat man. Lawrence was a Frenchman who, on the surface, ran a legitimate antique business but was secretly the largest seller of forgeries in Europe.

Recalling his memories, William suddenly remembered that the Dragon Head statue might be in Lawrence's possession. He tapped Ivan, who moved to stand beside Lawrence and his companion.

Looking at Lawrence, William smiled and said, "Trying to sell me a forgery?"

"Huh?" Lawrence was stunned that William had uncovered his secret within seconds of scanning him. "You must be joking, sir. I'm a legitimate businessman. I would never sell forgeries."

"Haha, a legitimate businessman?" William said mockingly as he glanced at the young man beside Lawrence. "Lawrence, is that really your son? He doesn't look anything like you."

"Damn you, you bas—" The young man hadn't even finished his insult before Ivan grabbed him by the neck and slowly lifted him off the ground.

"Sorry, Mr. Devonshire! I apologize! I apologize on behalf of Mitch!" Lawrence quickly apologized, fearing that his son's neck wouldn't hold up much longer under his body weight.

Lawrence wasn't a good person, involved in illegal trade and forgeries, but he did have a bottom line. While he dealt in fake goods, he had never resorted to murder or robbery, something William respected slightly. "Alright, Ivan, let him go." William pulled out a business card and slipped it into Lawrence's pocket. Smiling, he said, "I know you have the Dragon Head statue. If you're interested in selling, give me a call."

"You—you—you…" Lawrence was just starting to breathe a sigh of relief that his son was unharmed, but hearing William mention the Dragon Head—a secret he had kept hidden—he was shocked. "Y-Yes, Mr. Devonshire," he stammered.

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