Their Little Brother Is the Supreme King

Chapter 002

After Victor Jordan retreated with his jaw set in a mask of silent fury, Ethan Smith turned back to his sister, his brow furrowed with a protective edge. "Who exactly is that man, Iris? He seemed remarkably bold to lay claim to you like that."

Iris Smith let out a weary sigh, the kind of sound a woman makes when she has spent too long swatting away persistent flies. "That’s Victor Jordan. He’s the quintessential spoiled scion of the Jordan Corporation. His father is a massive textile and raw material supplier for the industry. I met him during a contract negotiation a few years ago, and he’s been a shadow I can’t shake ever since." She looked at the trash can where the necklace had been discarded. "Out of professional courtesy to his father, I’ve tried to remain polite, but today he crossed a line I won't ignore."

She tightened her grip on Ethan’s arm, her mood shifting from irritation to a desperate need for celebration. She led him into a nearby upscale seafood and hotpot restaurant. The establishment was a sanctuary of luxury, far removed from the grit of the city's docks. She didn't hold back, ordering a sprawling feast that covered the entire table: marbled Wagyu beef, succulent king crab, skewered lamb, and piles of fresh shrimp. To top it off, she ordered a bottle of Domaine Leroy, the kind of wine that cost more than most people's monthly rent.

"Iris," Ethan said, watching the steam rise from the boiling pot. "This reminds me of when we were kids. Remember how our foster father used to take us to those all-you-can-eat buffets? We’d stuff ourselves until we could barely walk."

A shadow passed over Iris’s beautiful face. "Yes," she whispered, a single tear escaping and tracing a path down her porcelain cheek. "But after you were taken... he never took us again. The table always felt too big with one chair empty."

Ethan felt a pang of guilt sharp as a blade. "I’m sorry, Iris. I didn't mean to bring up the pain."

She quickly brushed the tear away, offering him a radiant, albeit slightly tipsy, smile. "What pain? My brother is home! Look, the beef is overcooking—eat! And drink with me. We have fifteen years of lost time to drown."

They talked for hours, the expensive wine flowing freely. Iris, who usually maintained a titanium-strength professional facade, let her guard down completely. By the time they stepped back out into the night air, she was profoundly intoxicated, her head lolling against Ethan’s shoulder as he struggled to keep her upright.

The transition from warmth to the cold night air was jarring. As they moved toward the parking lot, the shadows seemed to lengthen. Suddenly, the way was blocked. Victor Jordan had returned, but he wasn't alone. He was flanked by ten men who looked like they had been pulled from the darkest corners of Ambershire’s underground. They were led by a man with a jagged scar running through his eyebrow—the same man Victor had met earlier. They held short, serrated blades that caught the dim streetlights.

"Get lost," Ethan growled, his voice dropping into a register that signaled a predator was nearing its limit.

"Oh, look at this," Victor sneered, his confidence restored by the muscle behind him. "Ethan Smith, taking advantage of a drunk woman. I’m not here to fight you, kid. I’m here to rescue Iris from a predator."

Victor’s mind was racing with a twisted plan. He would kidnap the unconscious Iris, frame Ethan for the assault, and break the boy's limbs. It was a perfect, three-fold victory.

"Leave the girl and get on your knees," the scarred man said, tapping his blade against his palm. "Maybe if you beg well enough, we’ll leave you with one arm you can still use."

Ethan’s eyes turned cold. He had seen the horrors of the Hall of Supreme; he had ended the lives of warlords and assassins. These street thugs were nothing more than ants to him. "Victor, I’ll give you one last chance. Take your lapdogs and run. If you stay, the consequences will be permanent."

Victor erupted in laughter, a sound echoed by the thugs. "Bold words for a driver! Men, take the girl. Break the boy."

The scarred man looked at Iris with a hungry, lecherous gaze. "Master Jordan, you get the first taste, but surely the boys and I get the leftovers? A woman like this... she’s a once-in-a-lifetime meal."

Victor nodded dismissively. "Do whatever you want with her after I'm done."

The scarred man lunged, his left hand reaching for Iris while his right swung the blade in a vicious arc toward Ethan’s throat. Ethan shifted back just an inch, the blade missing him by the breadth of a hair.

He didn't strike back himself. Instead, he snapped his fingers.

From the darkness of a nearby alley, a blur of pink silk emerged. Catherine Jones appeared like a vengeful spirit, her dual blades—the sub-and-mother swords—spinning in her palms.

"Another girl?" Victor laughed, though his voice was less certain now. "Is this a buy-one-get-one-free deal? Scar, this one looks like your type—plenty of fire."

Catherine didn't waste breath on words. She moved with the fluid, terrifying grace of a Guard of the Earth. She became a whirlwind of steel and shadows. In the blink of an eye, she drifted through the ranks of the thugs.

The sound of the struggle was minimal—just the soft shink of steel parting flesh. A thin red line appeared on the scarred man's throat. He tried to speak, but only a wet gurgle emerged. One by one, the ten thugs collapsed into the wet pavement, their lifeblood pooling on the cold stone. They were dead before they even realized the fight had started.

Victor stood alone in a sea of corpses. The smell of copper and ozone filled the air. His knees turned to jelly, and he collapsed into the blood-stained slush.

"Please! Mr. Barnes—Ethan! I didn't know! I’m just the Jordan Corporation heir! I have money! Take it all!" He began to sob, his forehead slamming into the concrete as he begged for his life. The terror was so absolute that he lost control of his bladder, the stench of urine adding to the grim scene.

"What do we do with him?" Catherine asked, pointing her blade at Victor’s trembling neck.

Ethan stepped forward. As he reached into his sleeve, a heavy object fell to the ground. It was the Badge of Dragon, crafted from cold, celestial iron. On one side was a coiled dragon; on the other, the words Supreme King.

This was the ultimate authority of the Hall of Supreme. It could mobilize the 100,000 Guards of Supreme, command trillions in assets, and bring the governors of Veridian to their knees. To an ordinary person, it was just a piece of metal, but to those who knew, it was a death warrant or a god’s decree.

Victor stared at the badge as Ethan picked it up. He didn't recognize it. If he had known he was looking at the mark of the Supreme King, he likely would have died of a heart attack on the spot.

"Let him crawl away," Ethan said, his voice devoid of emotion. "But if he ever touches my sister again, or if a single word of tonight reaches the public, he dies."

"I won't say a word! I’ll be a ghost!" Victor scrambled to his feet, nearly falling over as he sprinted toward his car. He drove away like a man possessed, his mind already spinning a web of revenge. I’ll call the police. I’ll report the murders. I’ll bury that kid under the law!

Once the car disappeared, Ethan turned to Catherine. "What did you find out about the kidnapping?"

"The report is in, Supreme King," Catherine said, her voice dropping to a respectful tone. "The organization that took you fifteen years ago was the Wilson family, a third-tier clan in Ambershire. Specifically, the architect was their head butler, Oliver Wilson."

Ethan’s eyes darkened with a cold, ancient fire. "The Wilsons. Good. My sister’s villa is nearby; take her home and guard her. I’m taking two Guards of Supreme to pay the Wilson Villa a visit."

As Ethan vanished into the night, the distant wail of sirens began to echo through the streets. Ten police cruisers were already screaming toward the restaurant, led by a tip from a desperate, broken man.