“Convinced now?” Corin asked, slipping the wooden sword behind his back, eyes twinkling. Jared drew a slow breath and bowed. “Your swordplay borders on the divine. I accept my inferiority!”
“In that case,” Corin replied, “About joining Sword Sect…”
“Corin, I…” Jared began to speak, but Corin flashed forward and pressed a palm to the younger man’s shoulder. A warm yet irresistible surge of energy poured into Jared’s body. Heat seared his skin. He glanced down. A faint, gold sword-shaped sigil now shimmered on his shoulder.
“That is the disciple’s imprint of Sword Sect,” Corin said, voice leaving no room for protest. “From this moment, you are ours. With your talent, you will serve as the leader. Lyra’s temper runs hot, guide the sect’s affairs in stead.”
Lyra, who had been watching wide-eyed, broke into a radiant smile and offered Jared a graceful bow.
Jared opened his mouth, stared at the indelible mark on his shoulder, then at the hope shining in Corin’s gaze, and finally released a helpless sigh. He understood, had just been recruited by force.
Still, Corin’s dominance carried no malice; every gesture brimmed with respect and sincere intent to cultivate him. That, at least, could feel.
“Very well,” murmured, the sigh slipping from his chest like a reluctant promise.
Jared Chance let out a small, resigned laugh. “Since you insist so firmly, Elder, l have no choice but to do as you ask.”
Corin’s answering laughter rang like tempered steel. “With you in our Sword Sect, its fame will climb higher than any peak. Lyra, guide our guests to Whispers Tower, you know every shortcut.”
“My thanks, sir…” Jared said, offering a respectful bow.
Under the rust-red maples, Lyra set off at a brisk pace, Jared and Flaxseed falling in behind her. A hush lay over the courtyard, yet in the distance the city’s eastern lanes stirred with morning voices and bells.
They turned a corner and nearly collided with several Sword Sect disciples in emerald uniforms. At their head strode a handsome young man whose gem-inlaid scabbard announced old family privilege.
His eyes lit up the instant saw Lyra. “Lyra, perfect timing! I just acquired a slab of cold-iron. Walk with me to the Forge Hall? We might coax a first-rate blade from it.”
He paused, frowning as noticed Jared and Flaxseed. “And these two would be…”
Lyra shifted aside and pointed to Jared, voice calm yet unarguable. “This is Jared Chance. From today, is our sect’s leader. And this is Flaxseed, a close friend of Jared’s.”
The younger disciples traded bewildered glances, disbelief etched on every face.
Julian Leigh, the gallant youth, let out a short laugh, openly sizing Jared up. “You’re joking, Lyra. A mere Wandering Immortal as our leader? Our sect may have dimmed, but not that far.”
He stepped close, releasing the oppressive aura of a third-tier Earthly-Immortal. “Boy, whatever back door you slipped through, it still has to pass us. Take three moves from me, and I’ll call you my leader. Dare you try?”
The other disciples chimed in as well. “Exactly! Julian is one of the best among our generation, if even isn’t qualified to be the head disciple, how can some outsider be given the position?”
Flaxseed rolled his shoulders, ready to speak, but Jared’s raised hand settled with effortless quiet.
