Vengeance of The Reborn Heir

The Price of Arrogance

Though 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.