As Kieran and his wives stepped out of the grand auction house, the warm hues of twilight bathed the city, casting elongated shadows across the polished stone streets. The sky was a canvas of fading crimson and deepening violet, and the evening air carried a hint of a cooling breeze. Descending the final steps with Roulan and Baixue by his side, Kieran's figure was striking, draped in a simple yet elegant purple robe trimmed with gold. Just as they reached the foot of the stairs, a group of guards stepped aside to reveal Prince Caleb, standing confidently with his hands clasped behind his back. His lips curled into a charming smile as his eyes landed on Roulan.
"Lady Roulan, it has been a while," he said warmly, his smile hiding the venomous thoughts in his mind.
But Roulan's expression frosted over instantly. She offered him only the barest glance before looking away, her silence colder than ice.
A flicker of rage passed through Caleb's eyes, but he quickly turned to Baixue. His polite nod was interrupted by a brief pause, his gaze sharpening as if he had noticed something that gave him pause. Whatever it was, he masked his reaction almost immediately, the prince's pleasant mask slipping seamlessly back into place.
Then his eyes shifted to Kieran, and his confident façade cracked ever so slightly. Caleb's brow twitched as he sensed the unmistakable spiritual pressure radiating from the man before him. A cultivator? That couldn't be. The intelligence he'd received clearly stated that Kieran Long was a cripple—a waste unable to cultivate.
Behind his gaze, realization dawned. If Kieran could cultivate, then Roulan's dramatic bidding during the auction hadn't been desperation—she didn't need to find a cure for him anymore. His eyes narrowed slightly; the earlier triumph he'd felt was now soured by suspicion. Kieran met his gaze with calm, unreadable eyes and gave the prince a faint, courteous nod.
The three passed him without a word, leaving Caleb standing in the fading light, a chill creeping down his spine despite the warmth of the evening.
As Kieran and his women walked away, Prince Caleb stood silently, his gaze lingering on their retreating figures. The warm glow of the setting sun caught Roulan's hair, and for a fleeting moment, it shimmered with green highlights that hadn't been there before. His brows furrowed subtly, a quiet uncertainty flickering in his eyes. Am I too late? The thought surfaced, unwelcome and bitter. But as his gaze shifted to Baixue's snow-white silhouette beside Kieran, a slow smile curled at the corners of his lips. Even if I am… there's still another one.
He watched them until the trio finally disappeared into their ornate carriage, the fading sunlight casting long shadows behind them.
Prince Caleb's smile vanished as Kieran's carriage disappeared around the bend. He turned sharply and entered his carriage, the door clicking shut behind him like a seal on a dark resolve. His servant, following closely behind him, bowed his head as soon as they were inside.
Without looking up, Caleb spoke coldly, "Send word to our men. When that carriage leaves the city, they are to strike. Kill the man… but bring the women to me unharmed."
The servant's eyes flickered with hesitation, offending the Long Clan within their territory was asking for death, but Caleb's icy gaze silenced any question. "Yes, Your Highness," he said, bowing lower before slipping out into the evening shadows to carry out the order.
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The gentle clatter of the carriage wheels echoed softly as they traveled along the forested road outside Long City, the orange glow of the setting sun casting long shadows through the trees. Inside the carriage, a peaceful silence reigned—until Kieran's eyes narrowed slightly.
A faint, almost imperceptible chill passed over him. Killing intent.
Without a word, he spread his divine sense outward, his gaze sharpening. In the next breath, his mind locked onto six cloaked figures, moving swiftly through the underbrush on either side of the road, three to the left, three to the right. Each one exuded the unmistakable pressure of Grandmaster realm cultivators.
From above his head, Sindra's normally playful voice carried a rare seriousness. "Master… what will you do?"
Kieran's lips curled into a faint, cold smile as he leaned back calmly, his fingers tapping against the wooden frame of the carriage.
"They want to ambush us," he replied to Sindra through their link, not wanting to worry his wives. "Let's see if I can ambush them instead."
Sindra blinked, her purple eyes wide with disbelief. "Master… they're all in the Grandmaster realm. That's three whole realms above you. How do you plan to face six of them at once?"
Kieran's smile didn't waver. He was calm, almost casual. "They can't hurt me," he said, "if they can't catch me."
Sindra's eyes widened even more as realization struck. She gasped, a mix of awe and excitement lacing her voice. "Nine Astral Steps…" she whispered.
Kieran gave a slow nod, his gaze turning cold. "Let's see who is brave enough to come after me in Long clan territory."
Kieran's expression was calm as he turned to Baixue, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Baixue, may I borrow your sword?"
Though surprised, she handed over her blade without question. The moment his fingers wrapped around the hilt, Kieran vanished from the moving carriage like a phantom. His speed left Baixue and Roulan wide-eyed in surprise.
Outside, the air seemed to ripple as Kieran appeared in a blur of motion. The six cloaked figures closing in on the carriage felt a gust of wind and saw a blur, too fast for the eye to follow. One of them crumpled with a gurgled cry, blood spraying the grass as he collapsed.
"A King realm cultivator?!" one of the remaining five exclaimed, all of them springing backward in shock.
Their eyes flicked toward the carriage, now halted on the road, wary and unsure of the strength they had just provoked.
The servant's hands trembled as he fumbled out a jade medallion etched with golden runes. With a surge of spiritual energy, he activated the token. In a flash of white light, a figure in flowing robes appeared above the carriage, radiating an imposing aura, his presence commanding.
Before the attackers could react to his sudden arrival, another powerful aura approached them, this one cloaked in black, the air around him pulsing with restrained fury.
The two newcomers descended like lightning.
Three of the five assailants died before they could so much as scream. The remaining two were snatched mid-flee, one restrained in a grip of the white robbed man, the other under the feet of the black robed man.
Kieran reappeared moments later, sheathing Baixue's sword as the tension drained from the air. When the two figures approached with the captured assassins, his brows lifted in mild surprise.
"Grandfather…?" "Granduncle..?" Kieran was surprised to see them, realizing that the two had been secretly protecting him.
"Brat," the patriarch greeted with a wide smile, turning to the black-robed figure.
"Big brother," Drake replied in a less enthusiastic voice.
The two powerhouses then turned to Kieran, looking at him with faint pride, though neither said it aloud.
Baixue and Roulan stepped beside Kieran, their expressions filled with surprise. Kieran, a Virdian realm cultivator, had just managed to kill a grandmaster, but what surprised them more was that Kieran's grandfather was the patriarch's younger brother, when he looked so much older than the middle-aged-looking patriarch.