My thumb instinctively jabbed the delete button, erasing the ssage before Nigel could read more. His grip tightened on my wrist, nearly crushing bone.
"A guilty conscience, Knight?" Nigel's voice was smooth as polished marble. "Or perhaps protecting soone?"
I t his gaze, asuring my opponent. Tall, lean, with a face carved from stone. The purple robe he wore seed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The air around him felt heavy, charged with unseen power.
"Just clearing my drafts," I replied, forcing a casual tone. "Never know who might snoop through my phone."
Nigel's lips curled in what might have been a smile on a normal person. On him, it looked like a crack forming in granite.
"Liam Knight. The talk of Veridia City." His eyes assessed with clinical detachnt. "I expected soone more... impressive."
I eased into a fighting stance, testing his grip. "Sorry to disappoint."
"Oh, I'm not disappointed yet." Nigel released my wrist suddenly. "I'm simply curious what makes you worth the attention of the Guild's upper echelon."
He stepped back, giving space. A trap? Or confidence?
"I'm just a simple alchemist," I said, flexing my fingers to restore circulation. "Maybe they appreciate my healing potions."
"And maybe I appreciate honesty." The temperature around us seed to drop. "Tell why you're sending ssages to Erson Hols."
Every instinct scread danger. This man was different from the Guild enforcers I'd faced before. His power was contained, controlled, but I could sense its depth like an abyss beneath calm waters.
I needed to test his capabilities.
Without warning, I launched the Absolute Beginning Sacred Fist—a technique that combined speed and devastating force. My fist sailed through the air where Nigel had been standing a millisecond earlier.
He reappeared two steps to the left, not even bothering to adopt a defensive stance.
"Interesting technique," he comnted, as if we were discussing the weather. "Ancient origins. Rare to see it executed with such... diocrity."
My eyes narrowed. "Let try again."
I unleashed a flurry of strikes, each one precisely targeted at vital points. Nigel avoided them with minimal movent, his robe barely rustling.
"Is this truly your best?" he asked, sounding genuinely disappointed.
Anger flared within . I channeled Divine Dragon Power into my next attack, my arm glowing with golden energy as I struck.
This ti, Nigel blocked rather than dodged. The impact should have shattered his forearm.
It didn't even make him flinch.
"Now that," he said, "had potential."
Before I could react, his palm struck my chest. No wind-up, no telegraph—just impossible speed and precision. The blow sent crashing into a wall twenty feet away.
Pain exploded through my body. I struggled to my feet, gasping for breath.
"What are you?" I managed.
"A purple robe." Nigel adjusted his sleeves. "Late-term Military Marquis. And before you get any ideas about your chances—I'm considered the weakest among us."
The weakest? Cold dread settled in my stomach. If this man was their lowest tier, what were the others capable of?
I couldn't show fear. "Funny, I thought purple was just a poor fashion choice."
Nigel closed the distance between us in a blur. This ti I was ready, activating my defensive energy barrier.
His fist connected with my shield—and passed through it as if it weren't there. Another devastating blow to my ribs sent tumbling across the ground.
"Your barrier technique is flawed," he observed clinically. "You rely too much on raw energy and not enough on proper circulation patterns."
I spat blood, forcing myself upright. "Thanks for the lesson."
"Consider it professional courtesy." Nigel circled slowly. "Now, about Erson Hols..."
"Never t him," I lied, gathering my energy for a different approach.
Nigel's expression didn't change, but sothing shifted in his eyes. "Lying to a purple robe is unwise, Knight. We have ways of extracting truth that leave the mind... altered."
I launched another attack, this ti using a different approach. Instead of direct force, I employed the Flowing Water Strike—a technique designed to redirect an opponent's energy.
Nigel countered with a peculiar movent. His internal energy flowed in patterns I'd never encountered before, bypassing my technique entirely and striking directly at my internal organs.
I collapsed to one knee, coughing violently. It felt like my insides were being shredded.
"Internal energy manipulation," Nigel explained. "A skill you clearly haven't mastered yet."
Through gritted teeth, I asked, "Why not just kill ?"
"Orders." Nigel shrugged. "The Guild has questions about your... unique constitution. And your connections."
I needed to change strategies. Direct combat wasn't working.
"If it's Erson you want," I said, struggling to stand, "why not ask him yourself? I'm sure a purple robe has that authority."
"Erson Hols disappeared three hours ago," Nigel replied. "Shortly after receiving communication from an unknown source. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
This was news to . Erson gone? Had Phoebe's plan succeeded already?
I masked my surprise. "Maybe he got tired of Guild politics."
"Or perhaps he's conspiring with a known enemy." Nigel's eyes hardened. "You've beco quite the collector of allies, Knight. The Pavilion Master. The old fox Jackson. Even that cowardly treasure hunter with the ridiculous mustache."
He knew about my connections. This was bad.
"You've done your howork," I acknowledged. Check for the latest updates on My Virtual Library Empire (*).
"The Guild leaves nothing to chance." Nigel moved suddenly, appearing behind . "And neither do I."
His palm strike to my back sent shockwaves through my body. I crashed face-first into the ground, feeling ribs crack.
"Your potential is wasted," Nigel said, standing over . "With proper training, you might have beco sothing remarkable."
I rolled over, facing him. Blood trickled from my mouth, but I managed a smile. "Who says I haven't?"
With a surge of will, I activated my Spiritual Fire Seal—the technique I'd been holding in reserve. Golden flas erupted from my body, forming ancient characters that spiraled outward.
Nigel's eyes widened slightly—the first real reaction I'd seen from him.
"Spiritual manifestation," he murmured. "Impressive."
The fiery seal expanded rapidly toward him. Nigel's hands ford a complex pattern, energy gathering at his fingertips. He drew a character in the air—"Extinguish"—and thrust it toward my approaching flas.
His counter-technique collided with my Spiritual Fire Seal, creating a blinding flash. For a mont, the two forces seed evenly matched.
Then, to my surprise, my flas surged forward, engulfing Nigel's counter-technique and continuing toward him.
The purple robe's expression finally changed—genuine shock replaced his composed facade as the golden flas surrounded him, forming a blazing prison.
"Impossible," he whispered as the Spiritual Fire Seal closed around his body.
The flas illuminated the night, casting long shadows across the street. I struggled to my feet, maintaining focus on the technique. This was my chance—perhaps my only one.
Nigel stood motionless within the fiery cage, his eyes fixed on with new intensity. The purple robe that had seed to absorb light now glowed with reflected golden fire.
"It seems," he said slowly, "I may have underestimated you, Liam Knight."
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