The Supreme Commander of the Immortal Guard

Chapter 10

Wesley collapsed on both knees. His hands trembled as blood dripped from his lips onto the shattered remains of his katana.

"Sword force Mastery?" Wesley stammered out, "A simple branch compressed energy. Who are you?"

Before he could finish speaking, the damage inside his body hit him hard. Wesley gasped, his eyes rolled up, and he dropped unconscious.

The ten disciples who had stood guard around the ring stood Surprise, Their faces turned ashen. Not a single one dared to step toward the stage or make a move toward the quiet caretaker walking away.

In the VIP box, Master Seth slumped against the railing, his breath coming in fast. His mind struggled desperately to process the scene before him.

A caretaker with a tree branch? A legendary foreign sword master dropping in blood after a single tap?

"No, that's impossible!" Seth blurted out, his hands shaking as he gripped the cushion of his seat. "That katana must have been flawed. It was stressed from his earlier fights. The steel snapped on impact, and the flying metal fragments hit Wesley's chest!"

"Yes. That must be it!" a senior disciple shouted eagerly, clutching at the desperate explanation.

"The foreign master was already injured from fighting Master William yesterday! He overexerted his internal energy, and his own blade shattered in his hand! It was a total coincidence!"

"Or an anonymous grandmaster was watching from the rafters!" another disciple added, looking up toward the roof girders of the stadium.

"A senior expert must have used a hidden projectile to save our dojo's plaque!"

They nodded in delusional agreement, eager to rebuild the fragile tower of their pride.

They refused to accept that the useless handyman who cleaned their courtyard was capable of destroying steel with a dried stick.

Beside the central altar, Elliot lay trapped in his own nightmare.

He heard Seth's foolish rationalizations, but Elliot had been lying directly beneath the strike. He had felt the wave.

He had seen the way the dry wooden branch hadn't lost a single flake of bark while a legendary weapon disintegrated into dust.

"Logan." Elliot slurred through his fractured jaw, whispered. "How did you do that? That was an ancient force."

"Quiet, Elliot! Don't strain yourself!" Master Seth yelled down, ignoring the warnings. "Medical team, Get the stretcher. Our champion is delirious from his injuries."

No one listened to Elliot. His desperate murmurs were swallowed by the shouting medical crew and the chaotic noise of the arena.

Outside the main entrance of the stadium, Logan walked slowly down the wide steps, holding Clara's hand gently in his own.

Clara walked beside him in silence, her steps slow and hesitant. The tears on her cheeks had dried, leaving a trail against her pale skin.

She kept her head turned, staring at Logan’s side profile as if searching for a stranger hidden beneath his familiar face.

She remembered the way he had stepped onto the stage without a weapon. She remembered the terrifying weight that had settled over the entire stadium when he raised that simple tree branch.

"Logan." Clara called out, her voice barely above a whisper.

Logan stopped, turning to look at her.

"Yes, Clara?" he asked gently.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice cracking with deep, overwhelming emotion. "Back there, the way you walked, the way everyone froze, You didn't look like a handyman. You didn't look like the man who let Elliot push him down on one knee."

She stepped closer, her hands trembling as she held his bandaged palm between both of hers.

"You hold an entire ocean of secrets behind your eyes, don't you?" she whispered, searching his gaze. "That wasn't something you just picked up. What are you hiding from me, Logan?"

Logan looked down at her worried face. A small knot of guilt tightened in his chest. He hated lying to her, but the truth was something he had sworn to bury.

"I'm not hiding anything, Clara," he said with an easy smile. "I read about it in an old book at the library a while back. It was some forgotten technique, and I never thought it would work. I only tried it because I figured I had nothing to lose."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't really do anything. That man was weak. I could tell by the way he moved, so I took a chance and used it to my advantage. Honestly, I got lucky."

Clara stared at him, her lips parting slightly. Part of her wanted to push back, because luck didn't explain the look in his eyes a moment ago.

"Lucky," she repeated softly.

"Very lucky," Logan said, taking her hand. "And the only thing I care about is that you're safe and the plaque is safe as well.”

She searched his face one last time, then slowly nodded and leaned her forehead against his shoulder for a second. Together, they continued down the steps toward the quiet streets of the city.

While the two walked home, the mood at the commercial docks of Harlow Cross turned tense.

Three black warships pulled up beside the Harbor pier. Their steel hulls rose high above the cargo cranes. The dock workers and port officials backed away in silence, afraid of the armed soldiers lining the decks.

A powerful man walked down the ramp. He was General Preston

A young officer ran forward and knelt on one knee before him.

"General Preston!" the officer said loudly. "We have taken control of the whole harbor! The local garrison surrendered without a fight!"

General Preston did not look at him. He stared at the huge city of Harlow Cross, one hand resting on his sword.

"The aura of the Sword God flared in the city center ten minutes ago," General Preston said in a rough voice. "He has finally unsealed his inner power."

His eyes burned with murderous intent.

"Send the order to all three divisions, Block every exit from Harlow Cross. Find the former Commander of the Immortal Guard. The purge begins tonight."