2025-07-18 19:56:43Though proud of his own strength as a peak-stage Rank 7 Grandmaster, Benedric knew he couldn’t compare to a true Rank 8 Gold Master.
That was an entirely different realm.
The elder didn’t answer immediately.
His cold, contemptuous gaze swept over Benedric and the Sables as if they were mere insects in the mud.
“You dare lay a hand on the heir of House Crowne,” he sneered. “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 words. He hasn’t even broken through to Rank 8. What would he understand?”
The elder beside Ronan was none other than Magnus Crowne, Ronan’s great-uncle and assigned protector.
As the Crowne heir, Ronan never moved without elite guardianship.
Magnus nodded. “You’re right. The Sables are frogs in a well. Their arrogance has made them forget their place.”
He then stepped forward, gaze sharp as a blade.
“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.”
Turning to Ronan, Magnus added, “Ending the engagement was the right choice. These fools aren’t worthy of House Crowne. Let them drown in their own stupidity.”
Ronan nodded. “I only came here to close the door properly.”
The words hung in the air like chains.
No Sable dared speak.
Who would?
They faced a true Rank 8 Gold Master, a realm most had only heard of in rumors.
Benedric clenched his fists, his face pale.
He had never expected Ronan to have a Rank 8 protector.
In a strained voice, he growled, “Does House Crowne intend to break Thandor’s laws? Kill a man below your rank? The Martial Code forbids it!”
Magnus chuckled darkly. “Kill you? Oh please. That would be too generous.”
Ronan’s eyes gleamed coldly. “Making you kneel? That’s enough.”
The words struck Benedric like thunder.
Kneel? In front of his entire bloodline?
“You basta—!”
But before he could react, a wave of Rank 8 pressure slammed into him.
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 coward! You bully! Using your family to humiliate mine. Have you no shame?”
Ronan didn’t even blink.
He looked down at her, unimpressed.
She and the Sables still didn’t get it.
They still thought House Crowne was something they could provoke at will.
They hadn’t realized they were facing a mountain hidden behind the clouds.
To the world, House Crowne was merely backed by Rank 9 Elder Archmaster Lucas Crowne and a prestigious bloodline.
But the truth was far more terrifying.
Behind the scenes, House Crowne housed multiple Rank 9 Elder Archmasters, over a dozen Rank 8 Gold Masters, and countless elites.
They weren’t just a noble house.
They stood above the United Kingdom of Thandor itself.
And yet this petty, greedy, arrogant family, with its strongest still stuck at Rank 7, dared to insult them and covet Crowne resources, just because Ronan had once been blind with love?
Ronan eyes darkened.
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 had played the doting fiancée in public, while behind closed doors she plotted with Lucien Cross.
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 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 greedy and 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, her voice cutting through his thoughts, furious, “You bastard, Ronan! You think hurting people makes you strong?”
Lucien’s eyes burned with righteous anger.
“You humiliate the Sables, threaten a Grandmaster, and call yourself a man? If you’re so tough, duel me. Just the two of us. Let’s see if you can 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 couldn’t interfere.
And he was confident he could easily crush Ronan.
He was a mid-stage Rank 4Limit Breaker, powered up with refined Rank 5 spiritual energy, a level he believed let him leap over his rank entirely.
In Lucien’s mind, it was simple: Ronan might be early-stage Rank 5 at best, but his raw energy was far stronger.
Every swing, every strike would land with force Ronan couldn’t hope to withstand.
The thought made Lucien all the more self-assured.
Ronan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“A duel?” he repeated lazily, as if Lucien had asked for a dance. “Sure, why not?”
“Ronan, kneel and beg forgiveness!” Lucien spat, his expression twisted with smug confidence.
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 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, fueled 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.
Previous Chapter
Latest Chapter
The Cost of Holding the Line
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Beyond the Line
The decision did not echo with ceremony.Ronan Crowne left the grounds of House Crowne under a sky already bending with pressure, the distant air trembling faintly as if the land itself sensed what was coming. The outer lights of Thalara dimmed behind him—not by command, but by instinct, as civilian grids rerouted power inward.Garrick Crowne walked at his left.Magnus Crowne at his right.Behind them, the fighters of House Crowne moved in disciplined silence—no banners, no proclamations. This was not a march meant to be seen. It was a path meant to be carved.“Once we cross the outer line,” Garrick said calmly, eyes forward, “there is no military command that can pull us back.”Ronan nodded. “I know.”Magnus glanced toward the distant horizon, where pressure warped the night into a low, distorted haze.“We clear what follows you,” he said. “You do not slow down. You do not turn back.”“I won’t,” Ronan replied.The moment they stepped beyond the final defensive marker, the difference
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The command post near Thalara’s outer boundary was no longer tense.It was frantic.“How long until reinforcement arrives?” someone shouted.A voice answered immediately, too fast, too sharp.“Eight minutes minimum!”“Eight minutes?!” another snapped. “The beast will reach the inner city in five!”On the projection, the dominion-class beast was already pushing past the last rural buffer. Its massive silhouette warped the pressure field ahead of it, steps slow but unstoppable. The defensive grid tried to compensate—failed—recalculated—failed again.The system had already lost the race.“This isn’t possible,” an officer said hoarsely. “That zone was classified stable!”“Stable doesn’t matter anymore,” another replied. “It’s already inside trajectory!”Ronan Crowne stepped forward.“I can pull it away.”The words cut through the chaos—not loudly, but cleanly.Several heads snapped toward him.“Pull it away?” someone repeated, incredulous.“You mean you lure it?”“That’s insanity,” anothe
When Silence Breaks
The auditors had not yet left their seats.Slates were still open. The last exchange—procedural, measured, unresolved—hung in the air like a blade paused mid-fall. Cassian Holt stood near the head of the chamber, posture straight, expression unreadable. Magnus and Garrick Crowne remained composed, hands folded, eyes alert.Ronan stood with them.Then the floor hummed.Not loudly. Not violently. A low, unfamiliar vibration slipped through the chamber’s foundation, subtle enough that only those trained to notice instability reacted at once.Cassian Holt’s head snapped up.The room’s ambient lights dimmed a fraction—then steadied.A heartbeat passed.Then every emergency slate in the room lit up at once.Red.Not audit red.Defense red.A sharp tone cut through the chamber—brief, clipped, unmistakable.“Outer Defense breach alert,” an automated voice announced. “Unregistered dominion-class entity detected within Thalara inner perimeter.”The auditors froze.“What does that mean?” one of
Breach Without an Alarm
The audit did not begin with accusation.It began with silence.Morning light filtered through the tall windows of the Crowne audit chamber in Thalara, casting pale reflections across stone floors polished by centuries of restraint. The auditors took their seats in disciplined order, slates activating one by one, their expressions neutral enough to be unsettling.Ronan stood with the elders of House Crowne—Magnus and Garrick flanking him like immovable pillars. No Patriarch sat at the head. Lucas Crowne remained in interstellar command, his absence noted by everyone and spoken by no one.Cassian Holt occupied the observer’s position.As oversight.“The audit of House Crowne,” the lead auditor announced calmly, “will proceed in accordance with planetary governance statutes of Arken. This session concerns compliance, transparency, and risk evaluation. No conclusions will be drawn today.”Measured. Careful. Surgical.The first inquiries were administrative—records of holdings, deployment
Fault Lines
The golden trace moved again at dawn.Captain Hale was already in the command pit when the perimeter lattice recalibrated itself—quietly, without alarms. The update slid across the main projection like a scar shifting under skin, its coordinates tightening along the defensive arc nearest Thalara’s civilian sectors.“Confirm drift rate,” Hale said.“Confirmed,” an operator replied. “Incremental advance. Same cadence. Same restraint.”Hale leaned in, jaw set. The trace wasn’t testing boundaries anymore. It was learning habits—how close it could press without provoking response, how long command would watch before acting.“Shadow it,” Hale ordered. “Passive only. Randomize patrol cadence within tolerance. I don’t want them reading us.”“Yes, Captain.”The map steadied. The golden residue hovered just beyond escalation thresholds, deliberate as a held breath.Hale exhaled once. “They’re daring us to blink.”Behind him, General Alaric Bray observed in silence. His eyes tracked the data wit
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