Justice of the Supreme War God

Chapter 5: The Gift Competition

Chapter 5: The Gift Competition

The Morrison estate's grand ballroom gleamed with crystal chandeliers and polished marble, packed with family members dressed in designer labels and dripping with jewelry. At the room's center sat Grandma Elizabeth Morrison, ninety-two years old with eyes sharp as razors, enthroned in an antique chair like a queen holding court.

"Let's begin the presentations," Elizabeth announced, her voice still commanding despite her age.

Diana's cousin Victoria stepped forward first, a blonde woman in a crimson dress that cost more than most cars. "Grandma, for you—a Cartier necklace featuring eighteen-karat white gold and flawless diamonds. Three hundred thousand dollars."

The crowd murmured appreciatively as Victoria draped the sparkling piece around Elizabeth's neck.

"Exquisite taste, Victoria," Elizabeth said with a thin smile.

Uncle Thomas came next, presenting a large wrapped canvas. "An original Claude Monet, Grandma. Water lilies series, authenticated by the Louvre. Half a million dollars."

Gasps rippled through the ballroom. Thomas beamed with satisfaction as servants carefully positioned the painting for Elizabeth's inspection.

"Magnificent," Elizabeth declared.

One by one, relatives presented their extravagant gifts—rare wines, antique furniture, luxury watches—each announcement punctuated by increasingly astronomical price tags and flowery speeches designed to impress.

Finally, Diana stepped forward, her face a mask of cold indifference, though her hands trembled slightly as she held a small wrapped box.

"Grandma," she said quietly, "I brought you this."

She unwrapped it carefully, revealing a preserved rose in a glass case, its petals perfectly intact, shimmering with a faint iridescent coating.

"A rose?" Catherine's voice sliced through the silence like a blade. "That's it? A single flower?"

The crowd's murmuring intensified.

"It's a rare Juliet rose," Diana said, her voice steady despite the mounting tension. "Twenty thousand dollars—"

Laughter exploded through the ballroom. Cruel, mocking laughter that echoed off the high ceilings.

"Twenty thousand?" Victoria giggled behind her hand. "Oh Diana, that's adorable! My necklace costs fifteen times that amount!"

"How embarrassingly cheap," another cousin sneered. "Did you pick it up at the local florist?"

"I'm surprised she didn't just bring flowers from her garden," someone else called out.

Catherine's face burned crimson with shame. "Diana, this is mortifying. You couldn't afford something better? After everything we've given you?"

Diana stood frozen, her jaw clenched, refusing to show emotion even as humiliation washed over her in waves.

Then Liam Steel stepped forward, his splinted finger held dramatically against his chest, a smug grin spreading across his face. Behind him, two servants carried an ornate jade sculpture on a silk cushion—a dragon coiled around itself, green stone gleaming under the chandeliers.

"Grandma Elizabeth," Liam announced with theatrical flair, "I present to you this ancient Chinese imperial jade sculpture from the Ming Dynasty. It once belonged to Emperor Wanli himself and is valued at over eight hundred thousand dollars. I had it authenticated by three separate experts in Beijing."

The crowd erupted in amazed gasps and applause.

"Eight hundred thousand!"

"From the Ming Dynasty!"

"Emperor Wanli's personal collection!"

Liam basked in the attention, shooting a triumphant glare at Diana. "Now that's how you honor someone, cousin. Not with cheap flowers."

Elizabeth leaned forward, examining the sculpture with interest. "Impressive, Liam. Very impressive indeed."

"Thank you, Grandma. I spared no expense—"

"That's quite expensive for a fake," Marcus said quietly.

The ballroom fell dead silent.

Every head turned toward Marcus, who stood slightly behind Diana, his expression calm and conversational, as if he'd merely commented on the weather.

Liam's face transformed from smug satisfaction to purple rage in an instant. "What did you just say?"

"I said it's a fake," Marcus repeated, louder this time. "An expensive one, certainly. Well-crafted enough to fool casual observers. But definitely not Ming Dynasty, and definitely not imperial quality."

"You lying piece of—" Liam started forward, but Marcus raised a hand.

"The jade is wrong," Marcus continued, addressing Elizabeth directly. "Imperial Ming sculptures used hetian jade—nephrite. This is jadeite, which wasn't commonly used in China until the Qing Dynasty, centuries later. The quality is excellent, but the material is anachronistic."

"He doesn't know what he's talking about!" Liam shouted. "You're a nobody! What would you know about Chinese antiquities?"

"Additionally," Marcus continued as if Liam hadn't spoken, "the carving technique is incorrect. Ming Dynasty imperial pieces used a specific chisel pattern—you can see it in authenticated pieces at the National Palace Museum. This sculpture uses modern rotary tools. You can tell from the uniformity of the grooves."

The crowd's confidence wavered. Marcus sounded disturbingly knowledgeable.

"And finally," Marcus stepped closer to the sculpture, pointing without touching, "count the scales on the dragon's back. Fifteen visible scales. Imperial Ming dragon motifs traditionally featured thirteen scales—no more, no less. It was symbolic, representing the emperor and twelve provinces. This piece has fifteen, which is a common mistake in modern reproductions."

Dead silence.

Elizabeth's sharp eyes narrowed as she leaned forward, examining the sculpture more carefully. Her fingers traced the carving, counted the scales, tested the weight.

"You're lying!" Liam screamed, his face contorted with rage and humiliation. "You're just jealous because you can't afford anything decent! You're trying to ruin my moment!"

"I'm stating facts," Marcus replied calmly. "If you'd like, we can have it independently verified by the Metropolitan Museum's East Asian department. They maintain comprehensive records of authentic imperial pieces."

"Shut up!" Liam lunged forward, his good hand balled into a fist, swinging wildly at Marcus's face.

Marcus moved with fluid grace, his military training evident in every economical motion. He caught Liam's wrist mid-swing, pivoted slightly, and used Liam's own momentum against him. Liam's body sailed through the air, crashing into a nearby gift table with spectacular force.

Crystal shattered. Wrapped presents exploded across the floor. Liam sprawled among the wreckage, clutching his wrist and screaming.

"My wrist! He dislocated my wrist!"

"Should have thought of that before attacking someone," Marcus said calmly, his breathing perfectly steady, not even winded. He adjusted his suit jacket as if nothing had happened.

The crowd stood frozen, shocked into absolute silence.

Gasps rippled through the ballroom.

Catherine stared at Marcus like she'd never seen him before. Victoria's mouth hung open. Uncle Thomas looked like he'd been struck by lightning.