“You courting death!” Lester said, contempt twisting his mouth as stepped forward to strike. A single palm swept out in a destructive force toward Corin.
“Master Morden, look out!” Jared shouted, lunging, only to be caught in a tangle of enemy cultivators who barred his path with snarling zeal.
Bang! The blow landed. Corin was no match for Lester. He flew back, slammed into the wall, and coughed up blood.
“Master Morden!” Jared yelled.
“You old fool!” Flaxseed roared, rage cracking in his throat. Jared and Flaxseed wanted to help Corin, but they were blocked.
Lester strolled toward Corin’s crumpled form, a predator‘s grin dawning. “Corin, once your Sword Sect stood glorious. Now look at you. Hand over the sect’s secret scrolls, and perhaps I will let you die quickly…”
“Dream on!” Corin’s roar cracked across the courtyard like a whip, each word drenched in contempt. Corin hacked up a mouthful of dark blood. He wiped it away with the back of a shaking hand, yet the defiance blazing in his eyes never wavered.
Rage flared behind Lester’s gaze. He hauled one boot high, ready to drive it down on Corin’s skull with all the merciless weight of a falling guillotine.
Later, a calm voice sliced through the tension. “Mr. Lester, picking on someone half your strength? That is hardly a sight befitting the lord of Scared Sword Manor, is it?”
Every head snapped toward the sound. Lyra now stood between Corin and the descending boot, slender frame trembling from fear, yet sword remained rock-steady, its tip leveled at Lester’s heart while unwavering resolve blazed in eyes.
“A girl dares bar my path?” Lester’s lip curled. He didn’t pause. His palm swept out in a broad arc toward Lyra. He never even bothered to consider a threat. To him, that single blow should have been more than enough to end her.
Jared’s eyes bulged with panic. Bound by invisible force, strained against it until veins stood out on his neck, powerless to do anything but watch death race toward Lyra.
Bang!
Instead of Lyra’s body shattering, a golden barrier appeared before her, blocking Lester’s strike.
“Who dares interfere?!” Lester’s expression flickered. He scanned the courtyard.
Ararat had appeared suddenly. One casual sweep of the cane in his hand dissolved the golden barrier into warm motes of light that drifted away on the air.
“Mr. Goizeder?” Lester‘s pupils shrank. “This matter concerns you not. I ask that you stand aside!”
“Swordmaster City forbids private duels,” Ararat said, voice mild yet unyielding. “Have you forgotten the rule, Mr. Lester?”
A storm of conflict crossed Lester’s features. He knew Ararat’s strength was unfathomable. Forcing the issue could leave bloodied and empty-handed.
But the memory of his son lying broken rekindled his fury. “Mr. Goizeder, that boy crippled Kael and shamed Scared Sword Manor. I will not let slide!”
“Kael provoked the fight, then stooped to vile tricks. Jared merely struck back in self-defense.” Ararat’s tone never rose, yet the authority in it seemed to press on every chest. “I have looked into the matter. The Sacred Sword Manor is in the wrong. If Mr. Lester Insists, don’t blame me for doing it the hard way…”
The power of a ninth-level Earthly Immortal Realm cultivator crashed over the courtyard like an invisible avalanche. The air that had drifted freely moments ago now congealed, thick as molten glass, sealing every doorway and window in an unspoken command to kneel.
Lester felt the weight first in his lungs. Each breath caught halfway, turned razor-thin, then stalled altogether. His face turned pale. The sect leaders also retreated in fear.
“Splendid, Ararat!” Lester’s voice rattled with fury, every word ground out between clenched teeth. “The Sacred Sword Manor will remember the shame! Let’s go!”
He shot Jared a glare sharp enough to draw blood, then wheeled around. With disciples scrambling after him, Lester led the group to retreat.
The sects that had followed Lester for spectacle scattered next, their panic fast and wordless. None of them cared to learn what punishment might follow the next misstep.
Qivius turned pale, lips parting to protest. One frigid look from Ararat silenced him. Qivius retreated three steps, collar damp with sudden sweat.
The threat was gone. The Sword Sect breathed a sigh of relief. Jared stepped forward. He offered Ararat a deep, formal bow. “Mr. Goizeder, you have saved us again. Thank you…”
Ararat answered with a lazy wave. “Don’t mention it. Lester held a grudge. You should be careful.”
He paused, letting the warning settle. “Pressing matters call me elsewhere. If you face any hardships, you can call me.”
With that promise, Ararat’s figure blurred into a white arc, a comet slicing upward.
