Vengeance of The Reborn Heir

A Dangerous Disrespect

Ronan’s smirk deepened.

“A Grandmaster Rank 7... peak stage. That’s your entire backing, isn’t it?”

A chill ran through the hall.

Benedric’s eyes narrowed into slits.

No one had ever dared speak to him in that tone—especially not a junior.

His fury surged.

“How dare you!”

Without warning, a violent wave of spiritual pressure burst from Benedric’s body, rolling through the hall like a tidal wave, targeting Ronan.

The marble floor cracked under the weight of his aura.

Decorative banners lining the walls trembled.

Several Sable disciples staggered, barely keeping their balance.

If it had been anyone else—someone weaker, less trained—they would have dropped to their knees.

But Ronan stood firm.

His black coat flared in the storm, hair shifting slightly from the chaotic wind.

But not a single tremor passed through his body.

He didn’t even blink.

Benedric’s eyes glowed with faint green spiritual light as he glared down at the boy before him.

“Did your elders not teach you how to show respect to a Grandmaster?” he asked, voice low and threatening.

To Benedric, his current cultivation—being on the brink of a Rank 8 breakthrough—was enough to command respect across the capital.

Martial Saints were mere legends, spoken of but never seen. In the real world, a peak-stage Rank 7 Grandmaster was already king.

So this boy… standing so smugly before him, unaffected?

It was intolerable!

But Ronan answered without flinching.

“I do respect strength, Benedric. But let’s not pretend you have the right to look down on me,” he said flatly.

“What do you think gives you that authority? Your title as head of a first-tier noble house? Or your half-step toward Rank 8?”

Before he could finish, one of the Sable clan elders stepped forward in outrage.

“How dare you speak this way inside our estate!” the man barked. “Just because you're the Crowne heir doesn’t mean you can act without restraint in front of Lord Benedric!”

Another added quickly, “You came to end your engagement with Lady Calista. That means you’re still bound by the decorum of our house!”

A third, clearly younger, scoffed, “With that kind of attitude, it’s no wonder Lady Calista rejected you. Arrogance doesn’t make you worthy.”

The Sables had initially held a degree of respect for Ronan.

After all, not only was he the heir of House Crowne, but he had also extended considerable resources and support to them for Calista’s sake, which had brought them tangible benefits.

However, over the years, as Ronan lowered his posture too much, the Sables had developed a mistaken impression—

That the young heir of House Crowne wasn’t all that impressive after all.

So even knowing Ronan had come to dissolve the engagement, they still maintained this inexplicable air of superiority.

Ronan watched coldly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

At last, seeing that Ronan remained silent, Lucien Cross stepped forward.

His voice was cool, self-righteous.

“You’ve shown disrespect not only to a Grandmaster,” Lucien said, “but to the father of the woman you once claimed to love.”

“With a personality like that, you’re unworthy of Calista—or any proper woman!”

Lucien Cross, who had clawed his way out of poverty and into Royals Martial Academy through sheer grit, had always loathed men like Ronan Crowne.

Men who were born with everything—status, power, talent—and squandered it like it meant nothing.

He believed Ronan was just another spoiled heir clinging to his family name, undeserving of the world handed to him on a silver platter.

Ronan finally turned his gaze toward Lucien, his smirk still lingering.

“I see,” he said calmly. “So this is the new dog barking for House Sable.”

Gasps erupted. The room plunged into dead silence again.

The words weren’t shouted.

There was no spiritual pressure behind them.

But they cut sharper than any blade.

Lucien froze, his entire body going rigid. His fists clenched tight.

“You have no right to talk to Lucien like that!” Before Lucien could act, Calista stood up, her voice rang out, sharp and shrill.

“He’s ten times the man you’ll ever be, Ronan! You—”

“So what?” Ronan said flatly, not even bothering to look her way.

“Believe whatever you want, I don’t care.”

Benedric’s expression was now a storm of fury, but even he had begun to notice something was wrong.

Ronan wasn’t the same timid heir he had once belittled.

And this confrontation… might not end the way he expected.

However, Calista clearly lacked her father’s foresight.

“The Sable family agrees to the annulment,” she said coldly, forcing down her fury.

Then, without hesitation, she pulled a parchment from her robe—a ceremonial copy of their engagement contract—and tore it down the center with both hands, like a queen delivering judgment.

The pieces fluttered dramatically to the polished floor.

“We’re done. Take your pathetic pride and get lost!”

But Ronan didn’t even look at her. It was as if she didn’t exist.

Instead, he turned his eyes toward Benedric Sable.

“Do you agree with her decision, Patriarch Sable?” he asked, voice calm and even.

Benedric’s face was hard as granite.

His jaw tightened, and after a long moment, he gave a curt nod.

“Yes. That is our stance.”

Ronan offered a faint smile.

“Good. Then I assume House Sable is ready to return the engagement offerings,” he said.

“Which include—twenty pounds of Rank 8 Energy Essence.

A dozen of A-grade and B-grade extraordinary weapons.

Two territories totaling four hundred square kilometers.

Shares in over half a dozen key trade industries.

As well as various cultivation resources, with a total value exceeding the combined profits of a first-tier family over a decade.”