"Do I look like someone who gambles?" he asked without breaking stride.
"I, Jared, never move unless the result is already in my hand," he went on, voice level yet carrying the weight of someone used to looking down from very high ground.
"If Icked absolute certainty, I wouldn''t have promised Miss Janis revenge, and I wouldn''t be leading you into Cloudhaven City just to throw lives away."
Luther thought for a beat, then shook his head hard. "No, sir. Since the day I met you, every y you''ve made hasnded exactly where you aimed. You''ve never missed."
The set of his shoulders loosened a fraction after the admission.
He had long noticed Jared''s habit of nning several moves ahead; if the man spoke with this much surety, some unseen arrangement had to exist.
Jaredughed, an easy sound filled with granite-hard certainty. "Then we''re agreed."
He paused, still speaking with unhurried dominance, as though House Wagner and the Celestial Pce mattered about as much as dust on his sleeve.
"House Wagner is a local n puffed up by a single True Immortal Realm Level One patriarch. They swagger because no one''s reminded them of their ce."
"Rowan barely scraped across that threshold. His foundation wobbles; calling him a real powerhouse tters him."
"Most of Wagner''s so-called experts hover at High Immortal Realm Level Seven or Eight. Level Nine is scarce, and none of them can stop me."
"As for the Celestial Pce Elders left in Cloudhaven, their top cultivator is still only High Immortal Realm Level Nine. Impressive—if you ignore context."
Jared let the words hang, a cold gleam shing in his eyes. "Three days ago, outside Sky Dragon Valley, I killed three High Immortal Realm Level Nine Demon Dragons in ten breaths."
"Those beasts are the Draconians'' natural nemesis-thick hides, brutal power, far above ordinary Level Nine cultivators."
"Yet not one of themsted more than ten heartbeats."
The statement loosened the coil of tension clinging to Luther and Grace.
With Jared around, the two of them merely needed to handle cleanup.
*****
Cloudhaven City crouched beneath a drooping sky, the heavens seeming close enough to touch.
The sprawling metropolis that once gleamed with rainbow clouds and circling cranes now drowned under a lid of lead-gray gloom.
The cloudyer sagged so heavy it threatened to crush the ramparts, leaving every street steeped in a silent chill.
The battle three days ago had ended, yet its shock waves still rattled the cultivation world like distant thunder.
The Janis Family—an old house that had endured a thousand years—was erased in one night, not even a watchdog left breathing.
Rumors sprouted everywhere, wild and unchecked.
Some imed the Janis'' hid a criminal wanted by the Celestial Pce and paid the price of heaven''s wrath.
Others whispered that House Wagner engineered the disaster, borrowing the Pce''s de to consume their rivals.
Still more insisted that Miss Janis, the sole Janis survivor, was only waiting to be dragged back and reduced to ash.
Voices shed in every teahouse, and unease seeped through the popce.
One fact, however, rang clear: from this moment on, Cloudhaven answered to the Wagners.
Inside Earthfire Manor, vermilion walls zed with crimsonnterns strung high and bright.
Flutes and strings poured from every corridor, weaving a scene of unrestrained celebration.
The riot of color and music mocked the lifeless hush lingering over the city beyond the walls.
Today was Rowan''s birthday feast.
Rowan-the Wagner Patriarch, True Immortal Realm Level One and the n''s towering pir-upied the head seat in the grand hall.
Robed in dark silk stitched with coiling serpents, he basked in waves of ttery that rolled toward him like surf.
At his side, his eldest son Dominic wore brocade finery and a practiced, courtly smile.
A keen eye, though, would have noticed the flicker buried deep in those pupils, a darkness he could not smother.
The nightmare from three nights earlier looped in his mind without mercy.
A lone figure had descended like a deity of ruin; indifferent eyes weighed all life as ants, andrades Dominic once deemed untouchable were torn apart as though made of wet paper.
Every frozen image of that scene jolted Dominic awake at midnight, undergarments soaked through with icy sweat.
He was the only one who managed to crawl back alive.
Dominic was alive only because
Father had swallowed every shred of
dignity, begged, and finally secured a Guardian Warp Sigil for him. The instant the talisman litup, Dominic tore through space and crawled back here with thest threads of his life.
Yet no matter how far he ran, one truth pressed against his ribs: that man would never let him go. That man woulde-nothing could stop it.
Rowan caught the vacant look in his son''s eyes, frowned, and lowered his voice. "Dominic, why are you drifting off? Today is your father''s birthday feast—don''t forget yourself."
Dominic jerked upright and forced a grin uglier than a sob. "Forgive me, Father. I''ve simply been a bit worn these past few days."
"Spineless whelp!"
Rowan snorted, a sliver of contempt shing across his gaze. "We''re only talking about a High Immortal Realm Level Three brat, aren''t we?"
"Even if he ys a few little tricks, the moment he steps through House Wagner''s gate, one palm from me will smash him t. What''s there to fear?"
Dominic''s mouth opened; his throat worked once, but the words died before reaching daylight.
He couldn''t bring himself to say them.
How could he tell Father that the so-called High Immortal brat had ripped three Demon Dragons-each carrying High Immortal Realm Level Nise bloodlines to pieces with bare hands in less than ten breathis?
If he said that aloud, Father would only wave it off as nonsense.
While the two whispered, a mor rose outside the estate, rushing closer and snapping the banquet''s calm in half.
Rowan''s face darkened. He flicked his sleeve. "Go see who dares create such uproar!"
A guard epted the order and had just pivoted toward the door when-before he set foot outside-
"BOOM!"
A st like thunder split the air.
The vermilion front gate—three feet thick and etched withyer uponyer of defensive arrays—shattered like brittle paper in a single heartbeat.
Splinters and stone fragments sprayed out, and a violent wave of force rolled into the main hall in a cloud of dust.
Cups hit the tiles and burst; startled guests cried out and scattered.
Through the debris and swirling smoke, four figures walked in at an unhurried pace.
The leader wore a gold robe that
cracked in the breeze. No visible
spiritual ripples leaked from him, yet
each step seemed tond with the weight of a mountain, squeezing
every cultivator''s chest tight.
His face looked carved from iron, eyes deep enough to swallow light; wherever that
gaze drifted, even the air felt as if it froze.