Lucas lunged at , his movents fluid and precise. I sidestepped with minimal effort, watching his expression shift from confidence to confusion as his fist t empty air.
"Stand still and fight like a man!" he snarled, pivoting to face again.
I remained silent, analyzing his technique. Despite his boasting, his movents revealed standard Inner Strength training—nothing special. When he charged again, I caught his wrist mid-punch, applying just enough pressure to make him wince.
"Is this what passes for expertise in your circles?" I asked quietly.
His face contorted with rage as he tried to break free. I released him suddenly, causing him to stumble backward. The room had fallen silent, all eyes fixed on our confrontation.
"Lucas, what are you doing? Finish him!" Nora screeched from the sidelines, her voice shrill with impatience.
Lucas gathered himself, a dangerous gleam entering his eyes. He adopted a more formal stance—the Eight Trigrams formation, if I wasn't mistaken. A respectable technique, but predictable.
"You'll regret humiliating ," he growled, channeling his Inner Strength. The air around his fists shimred slightly—a sign of concentrated energy.
When he attacked this ti, it was with genuine power. His strikes ca in rapid succession, each aid at critical pressure points. For an ordinary opponent, it would have been devastating.
I deflected each blow with minimal movent, not even bothering to counterattack. Let him exhaust himself. Let them all see the gap between us.
After thirty seconds of futile attacks, Lucas was breathing heavily. Sweat beaded on his forehead as frustration and disbelief warred on his face.
"Impossible," he muttered. "How are you—"
"Enough gas," I said, my patience wearing thin. "You wanted to kneel? Let show you how it's done."
I moved, really moved, for the first ti—a simple palm strike that connected with his chest. The impact sent him skidding backward until he crashed into the dining table, sending dishes clattering to the floor. Before he could recover, I was beside him, applying pressure to a specific point on his neck.
Lucas's legs buckled instantly. He dropped to his knees, eyes wide with shock and pain.
"As you can see," I announced to the stunned room, "kneeling isn't so difficult." Help us out by reading on *.
"What did you do to him?" Declan demanded, finally finding his voice.
"Nothing permanent," I replied. "He'll regain feeling in his legs in about twenty minutes."
Nora rushed to Lucas's side, her earlier confidence evaporating. "Father, do sothing! He attacked Lucas!"
Declan's face had drained of color. He looked at with new eyes—wary, calculating. "Mr. Knight, there seems to have been a misunderstanding. Perhaps we can discuss—"
"There's nothing to discuss," I cut him off. "Your daughter made her wishes clear. Unfortunately for her, reality doesn't bend to the whims of spoiled children."
I turned to leave, gesturing for Alaric to follow. This ti, no one tried to stop us.
"This isn't over!" Nora called after us, her voice trembling with rage and fear. "The Donovan family has powerful friends. You'll regret this!"
I didn't bother responding. Empty threats from empty people.
Outside, the cool evening air was a welco relief from the tension-filled room. Alaric walked beside in silence for several blocks before speaking.
"Thank you," he said finally. "For not killing him."
I raised an eyebrow. "Did you think I would?"
"I've seen what you're capable of," he replied simply. "And Lucas would have deserved it for his arrogance."
I nodded, acknowledging his point. "Death would have been too simple. This way, he'll rember his humiliation every ti he sees Nora. A more fitting punishnt, don't you think?"
Alaric's laugh was short but genuine. "You're a cruel man, Liam Knight."
"Only to those who deserve it," I replied. "Speaking of which, what are your plans now? Leaving the Donovan school is a significant step."
His expression sobered. "I don't know. Eight years of my life, gone in an instant."
"Not gone," I corrected. "The skills you learned remain yours. As for what's next..." I paused, considering. "If you're interested, I could teach you a thing or two about proper cultivation."
Alaric stopped walking, staring at with disbelief. "You would take as your student?"
"You showed integrity back there," I said. "That's rarer than talent. et tomorrow at dawn by the lake if you're interested."
The gratitude in his eyes was almost uncomfortable. I wasn't accustod to being looked at with such reverence. Before he could respond, we were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps.
A middle-aged man was approaching, dressed in the formal robes of a martial arts school master. His expression was a mixture of determination and anxiety.
"Mr. Knight!" he called. "Please, a mont of your ti!"
I tensed, ready for another confrontation, but the man's posture was deferential rather than aggressive.
"I am Marcus Valerius, head of the Valerius Martial Arts School," he introduced himself with a deep bow. "I've been hoping to et you."
"How did you find ?" I asked, automatically scanning our surroundings for potential threats.
"Word travels quickly in Havenwood," he replied. "Especially when soone humiliates Lucas Rhodes in front of the Donovan family."
I sighed. Of course the story would spread.
"What do you want?"
Marcus reached into his robes and produced a small, ornate box. When he opened it, the unmistakable aroma of high-quality ginseng filled the air—far superior to the one Declan had reclaid.
"A gift," he said, offering the box. "And a request."
I made no move to accept. "I don't take gifts from strangers."
"Of course, of course," he said hurriedly. "Allow to explain. My school and the Donovan school have been rivals for generations. Next week, there's an annual competition between our institutions."
"And this concerns how?"
Marcus's expression turned sheepish. "We've been... boasting about having a powerful new fighter. The truth is, we were bluffing. Our best student recently injured himself in training."
I almost laughed at the absurdity. "So you want to step in and fight for your school?"
"Just for this one competition," he confird eagerly. "The Donovans have been insufferable lately, especially with Lucas Rhodes joining their ranks. After what happened tonight, I thought perhaps you might be anable to... continuing their education."
The offer was tempting, I had to admit. The opportunity to publicly humiliate Declan and his school held a certain appeal after their treatnt of both Alaric and myself.
"And the ginseng?" I asked, nodding toward the box he still held.
"A token of appreciation," he said. "Whether you accept or decline."
I considered him for a mont. There was a desperation in his eyes that spoke of more than just a simple rivalry.
"I don't fight other people's battles for paynt," I said finally.
Marcus's shoulders slumped. He closed the box with a resigned nod. "I understand. It was presumptuous of to ask. Please, keep the ginseng anyway—as an apology for taking your ti."
He placed the box in my hands before I could object, then turned to leave, his posture defeated.
I watched him go, thinking of the Donovan family's arrogance, of Nora's cruelty, of Alaric's sacrifice. Of Lucas Rhodes and his unearned confidence. Sothing tugged at —not sentint, exactly, but a sense of unfinished business.
"Wait!" I called out.
Marcus froze mid-step, then slowly turned back to face , a flicker of hope kindling in his eyes.
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