Ten years agoRain hammered the cemetery like fists on a coffin. The sky was dark with storm clouds that wouldn't stop weeping. Navine Garrett stood at his mother's grave, his soaked through clothes, clinging to his thin frame. His arm was wrapped tight around his little sister.Lyanna’s face was buried in his side as her small body shook with sobs she tried to muffle."Why won't she wake up?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rain.Navine stared at the fresh mound of dirt before them and the cheap wooden cross someone had stuck in the ground. There was no headstone, no flowers, no priest. Nothing.His father didn't even show up.Hudson Garrett was too busy with her – Francine Hale. The woman who'd smiled at the funeral from a distance, standing under a black umbrella like she'd just won some sick competition, who'd whispered poison in his father's ear until he threw them all out into the streets like garbage.Navine would never forget that night. He would never forg

Dorian Caldwell stood in the doorway, surveying the carnage in Aunt Miriam's living room with an expression that shifted from shock to fury. His expensive Italian shoes crunched on scattered teeth and bone fragments as he stepped further inside. Blood pooled across the hardwood floor, reflecting the dim light like a grotesque mirror.Behind him, six armed men fanned out with their hands hovering near their weapons. When they saw the twisted limbs and shattered skulls, several of them hesitated."Well, well, well," he said in an amused tone, "The prodigal brother returns. You know, Navine Garrett, I have to admit – I'm impressed. We tortured your precious aunt for hours. Broke her legs into splinters. Made her scream until her voice gave out. All to make her tell us where you were hiding."He gestured casually at Miriam's unconscious form."The old bitch wouldn't say a word. Tough as nails, that one. And your little sister?" He laughed cruelly, "We had men work her over too. Slapped

The entire auction house fell into dead silence. Everyone stared at the man standing in the doorway, with an aura of violence so thick it was suffocating.Some of the women in the crowd leaned forward in their seats, their eyes widening as they got better looks at him. Because despite the blood and the cold fury in his eyes, Navine Garrett was a stunning man. He had sharp features and a presence that commanded attention, even without the tactical gear and the aura if danger. “Oh my God,” One of the women whispered to her companion, “Look at him,”“Who is he?” Another asked. “I don't care who he is," a third woman said, fanning herself. “Did you see the way he walked in here? The power? If he was mine, I'd never let him go,”The auctioneer, however, was not impressed.He was still standing on the platform, his thin face twisted with irritation. He'd dealt with powerful people before, and this man – covered in blood, radiating danger – clearly had power but rules were rules.He st

The Patriarch lay in a wreckage of broken chairs and cracked marble. His body twitched weakly, his ruined arm hanging at an impossible angle.He looked horrified from the realization of what happened. “Impossible..." the Patriarch wheezed through his broken teeth. "This... this can't be…”But it was. Above him, on the second floor luxury suite, Victoria Caldwell stood at the window with her hands pressed against the glass. The Patriarch's defeat didn't elicit any sympathy or concern from her, instead her face glowed with excitement and her eyes gleamed with barely contained glee. “This is absolutely perfect,” She said, elated. She spun away from the window and pulled out her phone, her fingers flying across the screen.“Master Duncan,” she said when the call connected. “You need to come to the auction house. Immediately. Yes, right now. I don't care what you're doing. This is urgent.”She paused and listened for a while. "Because I have him. The target Francine has been searching

Master Duncan's mind raced as he stared at the golden energy swirling around Navine.He knew that technique. Infact, everyone who'd served on the Northern Battlefield knew of it, even though they'd never seen it with their own eyes. The Northern Battlefield was hell on earth. A place where ordinary soldiers went to die and only the strongest survivedIn that brutal crucible, a busy cultivation technique was invented out of pure necessity. The technique has levels. F-Rank was the entry level. All it required was basic body strengthening, enough to snap steel with your own bare hands. E-Rank soldiers could shatter concrete and move faster than the eye could follow.D-Rank was where officers started. They could channel energy into weapons and unleash devastating strikes.C-Rank commanders were walking weapons. Their bodies were harder than armor, their strikes powerful enough to level buildings.B-Rank generals were legends. Only a handful existed in the entire military.And then the