Jared’s gaze turned to ice. “Gems? Not happening. If you want them, prove you’re strong enough to take them.” Hearing this, Trevor‘s face purpled.
“Stupid fledgling, I’ll show you who rules the Sword Sect!” he snapped his fingers and the seniors lunged in a tight flank.
Jared never lifted a hand. A single pulse of pressure rippled from his core. The attackers flew backward like leaves in a gale, clattering across the cobblestones.
Color drained from Trevor’s face. Realizing brute force had failed, he spat an order for reinforcements. Moments later, Clive Dexter, an enforcer in dark robes, hurried over, boots striking sparks on stone.
Clive was Trevor’s frequent conspirator, well-seasoned in shaking coins from newcomers.
“What’s all this noise?!” Clive barked, letting his voice boom so the courtyard walls carried it.
Trevor scrambled to Clive’s side and jabbed a finger at Jared. “Sir, that upstart refused proper tribute and even struck us. You must set him straight!”
Clive’s gaze flicked over Jared, sly satisfaction glinting. “So brazen on your first day? According to sect rules, you forfeit three thousand celestial gems and spend three days in confinement. Consider this your welcome!”
Jared let out a low, cutting laugh, the sound as sharp as steel scraping flint.
“Playing favoritism, aren’t we?” he said, voice smooth but ice-cold. “They started it, yet you punish me, hinting I should pay a fine to walk free. The rules of the Sword Sect are rotting because of men like you.”
Color drained from Clive’s cheeks, then flared crimson with fury.
“Insolent wretch!” he barked, trying to claw back authority. “If I don’t make an example of you today, how will discipline survive in this sect?!”
He swept an arm forward. At once, the guards behind him surged like hunting dogs loosed from a chain, rushing straight at Jared.
A glint of winter flashed in Jared’s eyes. In one fluid motion, he swung his blade. A cyclone of sword energy exploded from the arc, shrieking across the courtyard.
The guards never even reached him. The gust hit first, then their bodies, flung backward like leaves before a storm, thudded against stone. They landed in a coughing heap, blood speckling the flags beneath them.
Clive watched the scene in horror, face bleaching to paper white. He had never imagined the newcomer’s strength could be so terrifying.
Noah, who had witnessed everything, sprinted over and grabbed Jared’s sleeve. “Jerry, please, leave while you can. They won’t let you go if this keeps up!”
Jared remained perfectly still, sword tip resting against the ground.
“I’m staying,” he said, voice flat as iron. “I want to see exactly what sort of men now sit at this sect‘s summit.”
The clash thundered through every corridor.
Within moments, executives of the sect flooded toward the courtyard.
Lyra, as one of the sect’s important figures, arrived in a swirl of pale robes, breathless from haste. Her gaze locked on Jared, and sudden, unguarded joy sparked in her eyes.
“Jared, is it really you?!” she asked, words trembling with disbelief as she hurried to him.
He answered with a quiet, steady smile. “Lyra, it’s me…”
Only then did the surrounding disciples realize the plain-clothed recruit was none other than the legend said to have once led the Sword Sect to glory, Jared Chance.
Trevor, Clive, and every disciple involved in the scuffle went chalk-pale, knees buckled so hard that several of them nearly wet themselves.
Lyra’s face hardened as she turned on the bullies.
“How dare you bully new disciples and stain the sect’s name?” Her voice was a blade of frost. Clive and Trevor dropped to their knees, foreheads nearly touching stone.
“W-We were wrong, spare us, please!”
Lyra ignored their groveling and looked back to Jared. “Tell me everything. How did the Sword Sect fall so low?!”
Jared nodded once. He laid the rot bare, bribes demanded at the gate, rigged trials, senior students preying on novices, each outrage delivered in calm, unhurried detail that made it sound all the more damning.
