“Damn it! Did you just insult me?!” Myles’s face darkened, his long sword flashed free, yet he could not make it fall. The calmer Jared appeared, the more Myles’ courage shrank. He simply could not decipher what hidden card Jared held.
Jared knew every stalled heartbeat tilted the fight against him. Suddenly remembering something, he let a faint, knowing smile bloom. The unintended grin made Myles’ heart clench.
“You wish to meet the man behind me? Very well, I’ll invite him out now.”
“Fine, call him forth!” Myles tightened his grip, body coiled like a spring. He could belittle Jared, but anyone who had slain Ashcroft deserved caution.
“If I shout, he might ignore me. But if you call his name, he will certainly appear!”
“I’m supposed to yell what?” Myles blinked, thrown completely off balance by Jared’s demand.
“Just holler, ‘Mr. Sanders, get out here before I beat the crap out of you!’” Jared spoke calmly, almost cheerfully. “The moment those words hit the air, the powerhouse who watches my back will show up.”
He remembered how Ashleigh had screamed that same insult and lost his life before he could draw another breath. Now, he figured, was the perfect time to see if lightning would strike twice.
“That mysterious ally of yours… His name is Mr. Sanders?” Myles’ voice trembled between curiosity and dread.
“That’s right. Go on, shout.” Jared nodded, as casually as if he were giving directions to the market.
Seeing this, Myles hesitated.
What game is this lunatic playing?
First, he tells me to cut him down, now he wants me to curse some Sanders fellow…
Confusion churned behind his eyes.
Jared’s gaze turned razor-sharp. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of a little trash talk. Or is it that you simply don’t know how?”
“I know plenty!” Myles snarled.
He drew a breath so deep his ribs creaked, then roared, “Mr. Sanders, crawl out here! Or I’ll beat the crap right out of you!”
The insult shot through the ravaged square, then tore across overlapping layers of space-time like a jagged ripple.
Ah-choo!
Somewhere far beyond mortal reach, Arthur sneezed.
What now? Why do people keep threatening to beat the crap out of me?
His brows knitted. An icy displeasure bleached the color from his face. He then flicked a finger.
A blade of white light sheared open reality and raced along the echo of that shout.
Meanwhile, Myles finished yelling and found only silence. No savior appeared. He chuckled coldly. “So where’s your so-called powerhouse?”
Jared scanned the night. The air lay still, as though nothing in the universe had moved at all.
“Maybe Mr. Sanders didn’t hear it.” Jared frowned.
“Bull! My voice just punched through several dimensions. If your hotshot was anywhere nearby, he’d have heard me. I think you’re just…”
Splat!
The rest of the sentence never left Myles’s mouth. His lips were still parted when his head parted from his neck, spinning skyward in a grisly arc.
Blood geysered. The severed head thudded onto the flagstones, eyes still blinking in frantic disbelief.
The four guards who had marched in behind Myles froze, terror whitening every inch of their faces. They had sensed no aura, seen no blade, yet their leader now lay headless at their feet.
Reason fled. They spun on their heels and bolted. If their king was dead, they had no reason, nor courage, to stay.
“Do not let them escape!” Rowena let out a sharp command that cracked through the ruined courtyard.
In one fluid burst, she flew forward, her black cloak billowing like a midnight banner behind her, blade poised to strike.
Close on her heels came the white-robed cultivators she had assembled, their steps synchronized, eyes fixed on the four Malevolent Path Hall disciples now scrambling for weapons and hope alike.
The outcome was never in doubt. Moments later, the four demoralized men lay in a widening pool of blackened blood, cut down by the relentless blades of Nethergate Sect.
With a casual flick of his wrist, Jared summoned Myles’ storage pouch. The silken bag streaked through the air and settled obediently in his palm.
Rowena stripped the four subordinates of their pouches, too, slipping the trophies beneath her cloak without breaking stride.
She approached Jared, boots splashing faintly in the still-warm blood, and stared at Myles’ lifeless face as though expecting it to speak. “Who finished him off? Was it really that Mr. Sanders?”
