I walked through the gates of The Aegis Academy with a weight pressing on my shoulders. The confrontation with Tyler Westwood last night had made one thing abundantly clear: I needed to make people fear . Not just respect my power, but genuinely fear the consequences of crossing .
The morning sun cast long shadows across the training grounds as students practiced their martial techniques. So glanced my way, whispering behind their hands. News traveled fast in Veridia City.
I found a quiet spot beneath a maple tree and leaned against its trunk, closing my eyes to think. The temporary "Power of Martial Saint" I'd gained from the mysterious stone tablet was fading. Soon, I'd be back to my original strength—still formidable, but not enough to deter the likes of the Westwood family.
"I need more than just power," I muttered to myself. "I need a reputation that makes people think twice."
The sad truth was that being reasonable and asured hadn't protected Isabelle before. The Guild had taken her despite my strength. Only by becoming soone truly feared could I ensure her safety.
A dark thought crossed my mind. What if I engineered a massacre in the next Mystic Realm? A demonstration of such brutality that no one would dare touch what was mine again?
The idea both repulsed and tempted . How many lines was I willing to cross to protect Isabelle?
---
Across town, in a private club reserved for Veridia City's elite, Tyler Westwood sat in a leather armchair, nursing a glass of expensive whiskey despite the early hour.
"He humiliated , Mr. Cromwell," Tyler said, his voice tight with restrained fury. "In front of everyone."
Pierce Cromwell, a thin man with calculating eyes and silver-streaked hair, nodded sympathetically. As a senior official in the Veridia City Martial Guild and a close associate of the Westwood family, he was one of the few people Tyler could speak to candidly.
"Liam Knight has beco quite the thorn in our side," Cromwell agreed. "The Guild has been monitoring his activities closely. His recent actions in the Mystic Realm have... complicated matters."
"He needs to die," Tyler said bluntly. "Not just defeated—erased. My father agrees but wants plausible deniability."
Cromwell's lips curved into a thin smile. "As it happens, an opportunity is approaching. The Exchange eting next week provides perfect cover."
"He won't co if I'm the one extending the invitation," Tyler pointed out bitterly.
"Then don't." Cromwell swirled his drink thoughtfully. "I'll invite him personally. As a Guild representative, I can make it seem like an olive branch—a chance to normalize relations."
Tyler leaned forward. "And once he's there?"
"We'll ensure he joins the expedition to the new Mystic Realm. One of our Martial Saints will be accompanying the group... unofficially."
"A Martial Saint?" Tyler's eyes widened. "That's... excessive."
"Is it?" Cromwell raised an eyebrow. "Knight survived an encounter with a Martial Marquis. We're not taking chances this ti."
Tyler nodded slowly, satisfaction spreading across his face. "Perfect. He'll never suspect a Guild official would invite him directly. His arrogance will be his downfall."
"Indeed." Cromwell finished his drink. "The Guild has its own reasons for wanting Knight eliminated. Your family's interests simply align with ours at the mont."
"Will you handle the invitation personally?" Tyler asked.
"Consider it done," Cromwell promised. "Knight won't live to see the end of the expedition."
They clinked glasses, sealing Liam Knight's fate—or so they thought.
---
Back at The Aegis Academy, I finished my morning training session, my body covered in sweat. The physical exertion had helped clear my mind, but my concerns remained.
As I headed toward the showers, Frederick Cohen appeared in my path. I tensed imdiately. Frederick had been noticeably absent since my return from the Mystic Realm, and we hadn't exactly parted on good terms.
"Knight," he acknowledged stiffly.
"Frederick," I replied, watching him carefully.
He looked uncomfortable, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I heard about your confrontation with Tyler Westwood."
"News travels fast." Content sourced from * – My Virtual Library Empire.
"It does when you punch the heir of one of the Nine Great Families." A hint of admiration colored his voice. "Bold move."
I shrugged. "He threatened soone under my protection."
Frederick nodded slowly. "Just a heads-up—there's an assembly this afternoon. Erson Hols will be making an announcent from the Guild."
My guard went up instantly. "What kind of announcent?"
"Don't know the details," Frederick admitted. "But the rumors suggest it's about another Mystic Realm expedition."
That caught my attention. "So soon after the last one?"
"Unusual, right?" Frederick agreed. "Thought you might want to know, considering your... special relationship with the Guild."
I studied Frederick's face, trying to read his intentions. "Why are you telling this?"
Frederick hesitated. "Let's just say I've reconsidered so things since you returned. Your actions in the Mystic Realm were... impressive."
Before I could press further, Frederick walked away, leaving puzzled by his apparent change of heart.
---
That afternoon, the assembly hall buzzed with speculation as students and faculty gathered. I stood at the back, keeping my distance from the main crowd while maintaining a clear view of the stage.
Erson Hols, the Academy's headmaster, stepped onto the platform. Behind him stood several Guild representatives, including a thin man with silver-streaked hair whom I didn't recognize.
"Students and faculty," Erson began, his voice carrying across the hall, "I bring exciting news from the Veridia City Martial Guild."
I crossed my arms, my suspicion growing with every word.
"First, due to the outstanding performance of our students in the recent Mystic Realm expedition, the Guild has decided to increase our admission quota for next year by thirty percent."
A murmur of approval rippled through the crowd.
"Second," Erson continued, "the Guild has granted us an extraordinary opportunity. In exactly one month, a second Mystic Realm expedition will take place."
The murmur turned into excited chatter. Back-to-back Mystic Realm expeditions were virtually unheard of.
"This particular Mystic Realm," Erson explained, "is different from the one you recently explored. It's known for its focus on martial cultivation rather than natural resources."
My eyes narrowed. The timing felt too convenient—right when my borrowed power would be completely gone.
The thin man with silver-streaked hair stepped forward. Erson introduced him as Pierce Cromwell, a senior official from the Guild.
"Young cultivators," Cromwell addressed the crowd, his voice smooth as silk, "this Mystic Realm appears only once every decade. Its official na is the Cultivation Acceleration Realm, but within the Guild, we refer to it as the Saintly Martial Training Realm."
A chill ran down my spine at those words. Saintly Martial Training Realm. Was the Guild planning to send a Martial Saint into the realm? Or was this just a na?
"Selection for this expedition will be based on both rit and recomndation," Cromwell continued. "We encourage all qualified students to apply."
His gaze swept the room, pausing montarily when it landed on . A slight smile curved his lips before he looked away.
In that instant, I knew with absolute certainty: this was a trap. The Guild was creating an elaborate setup to eliminate in a way that would appear accidental. A mysterious death in a dangerous Mystic Realm would raise few questions.
As the assembly concluded, I remained in place while others filed out. Pierce Cromwell was making his way toward with asured steps, that sa unsettling smile still on his face.
My mind raced. Should I decline whatever he was about to offer? Or should I play along, knowing it was a trap, to discover who else was involved?
Before I could decide, Cromwell reached and extended his hand. "Mr. Knight, I presu? I've heard so much about you. The Guild would be honored if you would attend our Exchange eting next week... and of course, join the expedition to the Saintly Martial Training Realm."
I looked into his calculating eyes, seeing the hidden threat beneath the veneer of politeness. This was no re invitation—it was a deadly challenge.
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