The Supreme Commander of the Immortal Guard

Chapter 2

By evening, Clara stood by the small wooden dining table, her hands trembling as she packed away leftover tea cups. Her eyes were red and swollen, evidence of the tears she had shed in private after running away from the courtyard.

Across the room, Logan sat on a low stool, wrapping a clean strip of white bandage over his injured palm.

He had swept away every speck of the pulverized wood dust before coming inside, but the sting in his hand remained, a reminder of the volatile power he fought so hard to restrain.

Clara suddenly set a teacup down, turning to face him. Her voice was barely above a whisper, and tight with emotion.

"Go to Uncle Seth tomorrow morning, Tell him you suffered a severe hand injury while working in the shed. Tell him you cannot participate in the demonstration match. Please, Logan."

Logan stopped winding the linen cloth around his knuckles. His eyes met her gaze when he looked up.

Logan said softly, "Elliot only wants to put on a show for the disciples, It is just a demonstration with wooden weapons. A few hits from a practice blade will not break me, Clara."

Clara snapped, taking two steps toward him, her eyes filled up with tears, "You don't understand, Elliot isn't doing this for a demonstration. He wants to destroy you in front of the entire martial arts community of Harlow Cross. He wants everyone to see you on your knees so he can prove to my family that you are nothing. Why can't you see that?"

Logan replied gently as he finished the knot on his bandage, "I see it, but words and wooden blades cannot hurt my spirit. People laugh because they do not understand, and that is fine. Their opinion of me changes nothing."

Clara stared at him as fresh tears welled up in her eyes. To her, his calm demeanor didn't look like wisdom or inner strength. It looked like a man who had given up on his self-respect.

"Your spirit?" she whispered, her voice cracking with frustration.

"What about my spirit, Logan? What about my pride? Every single day, my family looks down on me because I chose you. I don't care about wealth or grand titles, but I wanted a husband who had courage, A man who would stand up when he is pushed! But you just bow your head and let them walk all over you!"

She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as she wept in the center of the room.

The sound of her crying cut through Logan deeper than any blade ever could.

He stood up slowly, stepping toward her, his hand reaching out to touch her arm.

Logan wanted so badly to wrap his arms around her, to tell her that he possessed the power to flatten Elliot and the entire dojo with a single breath. He wanted to promise her that she would never have to hang her head in shame again.

But he couldn't. If he revealed his true realm, the forces that had decimated his brothers-in-arms six years ago would descend upon Harlow Cross. Clara would become a target. Her family would be wiped out in the crossfire. His silence was the only shield keeping her alive.

Before his hand could touch her shoulder, The door slid open revealing Master Seth standing on the porch outside.

He held a leather-bound folder in his hand and he kept a stern face.

"Clara," Seth said coldly, and acknowledged Logan's presence. "I am here to give you official notice regarding the Northern Wind Dojo's administrative rights."

Clara wiped her cheeks, stepping back from Logan and straightening her posture. "Uncle Seth, What are you talking about?"

Seth cleared his throat as he announced "Your late father left you in charge of the dojo's finances and registry. However, the elders met this evening. A dojo's reputation is tied to the strength of its leaders and their households. Logan's pathetic standing is dragging our lineage into the dirt."

Clara’s face turned ashen. "Uncle, you can't take away my father's ledger!"

"I can, and I will," Seth declared sternly.

"Unless Logan steps onto that ring next month and proves he isn't a total drain on our family's honor. If he flees from Elliot's challenge, or if he refuses to participate, I will strip you of your management rights permanently and transfer them to Elliot. The decision is made."

Without waiting for a response, Seth turned and left.

The room fell silent and Clara stood stunned, staring at the doorway.

The dojo's management was the last connection she had to her deceased father.

She looked at Logan, and didn't say another word. The look in her eyes was a painful mixture of heartbreak, resentment, and exhaustion.

“Clara, I will take care of Elliot. You don't have to worry about me.”

She didn't reply, instead she walked into the bedroom, and pulled the door shut between them.

Logan remained in the middle of the room. He raised his left hand, looking at the bandages wrapped around his palm. Memories he had buried inside began to surface.

Six years ago, he was not a disgraced handyman sitting in a dusty courtyard. He was the Supreme Commander of the Immortal Guard, a legendary force that guarded the Northern Borders. His sword, the legendary blade, was feared by empire kings and warlords alike. But during the Siege of the Red River, a traitor within his own ranks leaked their position to an alliance of foreign martial houses.

Eight hundred of his loyal brothers-in-arms were slaughtered in a single night.

Logan had fought his way through a sea of blood, cutting down three enemy grandmasters, but the cost was absolute.

As his dying mentor lay in his arms amidst the ashes, Logan made a blood oath: He would seal his blade and conceal his identity until the true traitor who orchestrated the massacre revealed themselves.

He would live as an ordinary man, enduring whatever humiliation came his way, rather than draw the eyes of the world back onto his surviving allies.

Logan exhaled softly. His eyes softened as he looked toward the closed bedroom door where Clara was sleeping.

"I will bear their insults, Clara," Logan whispered to himself. "I will let them call me a coward. As long as you are safe, I will swallow every bit of their venom."

Suddenly, something brushed past his ear.

Logan narrowed his eyes but didn't move. His senses spread out around him like an invisible net..

Something small flew through the air and stuck into his wooden windowsill, just inches from his head.

Logan slowly turned and looked at it, one brow raised. It was a black knife stuck in the wood, pinning a jet-black envelope with a red wax seal.

The wax was stamped with an ancient insignia, a coiled serpent wrapping around a broken sword.

It was the mark of the Phantom Monarch, an old enemy from his time in the Immortal Guard. This ruthless gang had searched the whole continent for him for six years.

Logan stepped forward and pulled the black knife from the wood without a sound. He broke the red wax seal and found a short note written in red ink.

"The Commander of the Immortal Guard is hiding in Harlow Cross, among wood dust and broken pine. We have found you, Logan. Soon, we will collect the blood debt.”