2025-07-18 19:56:43Though proud of his own strength as a peak-stage Rank 7 Grandmaster, Benedric knew—there was no comparing himself to a real Rank 8 Gold Master.
That was a different realm entirely.
“You dare lay a hand on the heir of House Crowne,” he said with a sneer. “Do you even understand the weight of your actions, worm?”
Benedric froze.
It finally sank in.
Ronan hadn't come alone.
He had brought a protector—one with power far beyond anyone in this room.
Ronan’s voice was calm, almost amused.
“Uncle Magnus, no need to waste breath on him. He hasn’t even broken through to Rank 8. What would he understand?”
The man beside Ronan was none other than Magnus Crowne, Ronan’s great-uncle and assigned protector.
As the Crowne family’s direct heir, descendant of legends like Elder Archmaster Lucas Crowne and Martial Saint Arthur Crowne, Ronan was never permitted to roam without elite guardianship.
Magnus nodded. “You’re right. The Sables truly are frogs in a well. Their arrogance has made them forget their place.”
He then stepped forward and looked at Benedric.
“You think you can keep the betrothal assets and spit on our name? A house without a single Rank 8 dares defy the line of Elder Archmaster Lucas Crowne?”
He shook his head in disgust. “You’re not even worth being enemies.”
Magnus turned to Ronan again. “Your decision to end the engagement was correct. These fools aren’t worthy to be associated with House Crowne. Let them drown in their own stupidity.”
Ronan nodded slightly. “I only came here to close the door properly.”
Not a single member of House Sable dared to speak.
Who would?
They were facing a true Rank 8 Gold Master, a realm most of them had only heard about in distant rumors.
Benedric clenched his fists, his face pale.
He had never expected that Ronan was assigned a Rank 8 protector.
In a strained voice, he growled, “Does House Crowne intend to break the laws of Thandor? Are you planning to kill a man below your rank? The Martial Code forbids it!”
Magnus chuckled darkly. “Kill you? Oh please. That would be too generous.”
“Killing you would be too quick. Making you kneel? That’s enough,” Ronan added.
The words struck Benedric like thunder.
Kneel? In front of his entire bloodline?
“You basta—!”
Before he could protest, a sudden force slammed into him—a wave of Rank 8 pressure crashing down like a tsunami.
Bones creaked.
His knees buckled without resistance.
He collapsed, face-down on the floor, unable to lift his head.
The hall fell deathly silent.
“No!!” Calista’s voice shrieked through the stillness as she ran to her father’s side.
“Stop it, Ronan! Or I’ll never forgive you for this!”
Her voice cracked, her eyes red with fury. “You’re a coward! A bully! Using your family to humiliate my father—have you no shame?”
Ronan didn’t even blink.
He looked down at her, unimpressed.
She still didn’t get it.
They still thought of House Crowne as just a first-tier noble house.
They didn’t realize, they were facing a mountain hidden behind the clouds.
To the world, House Crowne was backed by Elder Archmaster Lucas Crowne and a prestigious bloodline.
But the truth was far more terrifying.
Behind the scenes, House Crowne housed multiple Elder Archmasters, over a dozen Rank 8 Gold Masters, and countless elites.
They weren’t just a noble house.
They were the true rulers of the United Kingdom of Thandor.
And yet this petty family, with its highest expert still crawling at Rank 7, dared to insult them—just because Ronan had once been foolishly infatuated?
Ronan remembered.
In his previous life, House Sable had clung to House Crowne like a swarm of leeches, draining them dry, bleeding them of every precious resource and ounce of prestige.
And he, blind with love, had let them.
No, worse! He had offered it all willingly.
His time, his reputation, his clan’s treasures... all wasted on a woman who had only ever viewed him as a tool.
For years, Calista played the doting fiancée in public, while behind closed doors she plotted with Lucien Cross—the so-called “Chosen One.”
Together, they seized everything Ronan had gifted her, and used it to lift House Sable to new heights, right as House Crowne crumbled.
Ronan had watched it all collapse.
He had watched the flames devour his clan’s ancestral grounds.
He had seen the banners of House Sable fly high above the ashes of his lineage, like vultures parading over corpses.
Lucien, smug and celebrated. Calista, smiling at his downfall.
That image... would haunt him for eternity.
But not this time.
Never again.
This time, he would not play the fool.
He would not be the one kneeling.
His blood would not feed their ambition.
He had been given a second chance, and he would burn every illusion, every false bond—until House Sable and Lucien Cross were stripped of everything they had stolen.
Calista shouted again, “You bastard, Ronan! You think hurting people makes you strong?”
“You’ve gone too far,” Lucien growled.
“You humiliate the Sables, threaten a Grandmaster, and you dare call yourself a man?”
“If you’re so tough, face me in a duel. Just the two of us. Let’s see if you’re man enough to fight without hiding behind your elders!”
With a Rank 8 Gold Master watching, he knew he couldn’t kill Ronan.
But injuring him?
That was still fair game!
Lucien was counting on the Martial Code—Rank 8s were strictly forbidden from interfering in fights between lower-ranked cultivators.
As long as he didn’t go for the kill, that Rank 8 Gold Master wouldn’t be able to step in.
And he was confident he could crush Ronan.
He was a Limit Breaker Rank 4, mid-stage, enhanced by refined Rank 5 spiritual energy—more than enought to overwhelm Ronan.
After all, from what anyone knew, Ronan was only early-stage Rank 5 at best.
Cultivating spiritual energy was one of the hardest paths.
But once your spiritual strength surpassed your rank, leadfrogging levels wasn’t just possible—it became your weapon.
The thought made Lucien all the more self-assured.
“A duel?” he repeated, as if Lucien had asked for a dance.
“Sure,” he said.
Lucien’s expression twisted with smug confidence.
“Ronan, get on your knees and beg for forgiveness!” he spat.
He surged forward, his fist glowing with refined Rank 5 spiritual energy.
The floor cracked beneath his feet as he launched himself toward Ronan like a missile.
“End it, Lucien!” Calista cried out from behind him.
Seeing Lucien stand up for her made her pulse race. “Teach him a lesson!”
In her eyes, Lucien, who lived and breathed combat, would surely leave Ronan—this pampered little heir—crawling on the floor.
And in that moment, a flicker of sweetness stirred in her heart.
What woman wouldn’t be moved by a man who stepped up to defend her when she and her family were under attack?
Meanwhile, spurred on by Calista’s cheers, Lucien unconsciously ramped up the force behind his stike.
“GO TO HELL, RONAN!” he roared, blood rushing to his head.
Everyone leaned forward, ready for a fierce clash.
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The Isolated Variable
“We know that we cannot accuse you without evidence. But, there’s something else,” he said.He exhaled and continue, “Ronan Crowne, your contribution in defending the camp is undeniable… but so are the anomalies surrounding your presence.”Ronan met his gaze levelly.“What anomalies?”Another officer tapped the hologram and a spectral energy graph lit up — the same silver-gold wavelength the Ministry had been analyzing.“Wherever strong beasts appear — this energy shows up too,” Harrel said. “It attracts them. Rank 7s, rank 8s… and always in the direction of your aura.”Ronan’s brows tightened, but only barely.“You’re suggesting I’m baiting beasts?”Some of the officers stiffened — because yes, they were.Harrel didn’t deny it.“Whether intentional or accidental, your presence is drawing them. And we can’t risk further casualties.”Ronan’s voice held steady.“I don’t know what these signatures are. I haven’t done anything to lure beasts. I’ve only fought them.”Harrel studied him, me
Forging Signature
The night was deeper now over the Thandor wilderness, and the world outside the shelters had turned deathly still. The earlier attack had drained nerves and rattled spirits, leaving most students huddled in silence. The air smelled faintly of scorched soil and dissipated beast-essence. Even those who had slept—did so with half-open eyes and trembling breath. It would be a long night.But far from the blood-soaked camp, in the Ministry of Education in Thalara city, another kind of battle was underway—a battle of information, evidence, and truth.Minister Dorrian Blackthorne stood inside the Strategic Analysis Room — a chamber filled with floating holo-projections, psionic wave maps, and multi-layered tactical overlays that shifted by command of thought rather than hand. The room hummed with quiet neural resonance — like a temple of minds rather than machines.Around him were high-ranking military analysts, senior educators, and two psionic resonance experts whose faces were drawn with
The Second Threat
The announcement came through the shelter intercom—clear, official, almost unreal.“ATTENTION STUDENTS. THE EXAMINATION IS NOW FORMALLY CONCLUDED.YOU WILL BE EVACUATED FROM THE AREA IN APPROXIMATELY SIX HOURS.REMAIN INSIDE SHELTERS UNTIL TRANSPORT ARRIVES.”For a moment, there was only silence.Then reactions came in waves.Laughter of relief.Sobs breaking free.Some even cheered.A few simply slumped down, staring at the metal floor with glazed disbelief.They were going home.Alive.No more beasts.No more trial.No more death.Just waiting—for rescue.Some students collapsed into seats or curled against walls, exhaustion finally given permission to exist.Others laughed hysterically — laughter not from joy, but from nerves snapping back after too much strain.A boy murmured, voice shaking:“Six hours… that’s all. Just six more…”Another whispered:“I’m gonna sleep for three days straight when I get home…”But soon, the sobering truth returned:Six hours.Six hours still inside
Voices of the Fallen
The Ministry of Education building was never meant to hold a crowd this large—neither physically nor emotionally.Parents, guardians, relatives, even siblings of students spilled across the plaza before the great marble steps. The air was heavy with shouting, pleading, anger, and grief. Holosigns flickered with bold protest scripts:“Bring them back!”“They are children, not soldiers!”“Stop the massacre!”Some held framed photos—smiling student faces now silenced forever. Some cried openly. Others screamed until their voices broke. Many simply stood, trembling, in desperate hope.Inside, Minister of Education Dorrian Blackthorne stood behind reinforced glass, listening to the roar outside. His expression was steady—but there was tension in the way his fingers tapped the desk. His eyes weren’t indifferent; they were pained.Behind him, aides argued in urgent tones.“The pressure is overwhelming— we have to respond—”“If we give in, the credibility of the examination collapses—”“We’ve
I Don’t Need Him Anymore
The shelter was dimly lit by emergency lamps — harsh, pallid, and cold.Inside, tables were crowded with soldiers and officers, their armor still stained with dust and beast blood.A heated discussion was underway.“This is unacceptable,” one lieutenant snapped, slamming his palm on the table. “We can’t keep sending students into death traps. The exam needs to be suspended immediately.”Another officer exhaled, shoulders heavy.“Rank 7 beasts shouldn’t even exist in this region. This entire area was mapped, verified, secured.”“Exactly,” someone muttered. “There hasn’t been Rank 7 or Rank 8 activity in this valley for over a decade. So why now?”One of the strategists spoke softly yet firmly:“Something drove the beasts here… or something summoned them.”A ripple of unease spread through the room.“Then we definitely cannot continue the exam—”“But it’s just one more day!” a younger officer protested. “If we cancel now, the entire evaluation cycle collapses. The students have already
The Ones Who Cannot Run
The second day of the Frontier Examination began under a heavy sky.No one felt the same as the day before.Not after watching students die.Not after seeing Rank 7 beasts rampage through living bodies like wet paper.Not after seeing Ronan and Lucien break through to Rank 8 in front of the world.And not after mourning the fallen.The plaza of the encampment was quieter now. Less chatter. Less arrogance. More steel behind eyes.Everyone respected Ronan Crowne now.Some admired him.Some feared him.Some hated him silently for rising so fast.But no one ignored him.And strangely… Lucien Cross received similar treatment. He too had reached Rank 8, though his aura wavered slightly, like a candle in wind. Still, the title was the title. The achievement was real.They were the two highest-ranking students on the field.Even though the Rank 7 cores had vanished, meaning neither could claim them, Ronan didn’t bother searching for excuses. The beasts died. The cores disappeared. Fine.Let t
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