Nick Crane took one last look at the Hartwell compound. The smoke had barely cleared, and the silence hanging over the ruins felt almost too still, as though the estate had not yet realized its masters were gone. A breeze stirred the ash into lazy spirals, carrying with it the faint chemical tang of spent accelerant. Five years ago, the Crane family had suffered something far worse. The flames that consumed his own bloodline had burned hotter, lasted longer, left nothing behind but ash and questions that no investigator could answer. The orchestrator of that night was still out there, still breathing, still walking freely under the same sky. Nick's eyes hardened, the muscles along his jaw tightening until a vein surfaced at his temple. That debt remained outstanding, but the ledger would balance. He would see to it personally.He turned to leave.His phone buzzed, a single sharp vibration cutting through the predawn quiet. An unfamiliar number, but the contact tag made his

Nick vanished beneath the tide of bodies.From his elevated seat, Emperor Alistair Kerrigan let out a cold laugh that carried easily over the clash of steel below. "I thought he was supposed to be impressive. Turns out he's nothing special." He leaned back, fingers drumming against the armrest. "So what if he has the Nightwyrm Blade? He's still going to be crushed beneath Aurelian warriors."High on the observation platform, Lucian Ridgemoor shifted in his seat, unable to shake the unease coiling through his gut. Something felt wrong. Too clean, too easy. But Nick had already fought wave after wave of Aurelian martial artists. No matter how strong a man was, there was a ceiling to endurance. It was only a matter of time."He can't survive this," Lucian murmured, settling back and lifting his tea. "Not with that many bodies on top of him."In the center of the arena, figure after figure threw themselves forward, piling onto the spot where Nick had stood. The mass

Nick Crane let out a cold laugh."Delusional. A mid-tier Sovereign is supposed to frighten me?"Contempt flickered through the remaining warriors, open and undisguised. A man who had barely set foot on the martial path dared speak of defeating a Sovereign-tier fighter as though it were an afternoon errand. The arrogance was almost pitiable. Several exchanged sidelong glances, already mentally dividing Nick's possessions among themselves.Rowan Blackwood's eyes burned with hatred, his jaw clenched so tight the tendons in his neck stood out like cords. If he had already broken through to the Sovereign tier instead of lingering at Warlord-tier, he would have cut Nick down where he stood. The mere thought of it sent a tremor of fury through his sword arm."Today," Rowan snarled, his voice dropping to something guttural and barely human, "this fool learns exactly what we're capable of. Nick Crane, today you die."The moment the last syllable left his mouth, Rowan

Nick tapped a brief message on his phone, letting Lydia and Celia know the situation was handled. They could rest easy. He'd be home in a few days. He watched the screen until the message showed as delivered, then slid the phone back into his jacket pocket and leaned against the headrest, letting the hum of the engine settle into his bones.Beside him, Beatrix Sterling drove with one hand draped over the wheel, glancing sideways with an amused tilt to her lips. The highway stretched ahead in a ribbon of pale concrete, empty at this hour save for their single set of headlights cutting through the dark."I didn't expect you to be so attentive to women," she said, her tone light but probing."She's my fiancée," Nick said, flat and without flourish.Beatrix felt something shift in her chest, a strange prickle she couldn't name. She tightened her grip on the steering wheel by a fraction, knuckles whitening for just a moment before she forced them to relax. She