I stood in my damaged reception room, staring at the two arrogant men who thought they could assault my friend and walk away unscathed. Conrad lay on the floor, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Eamon was still on his knees, struggling to recover from the spiritual backlash.
"Did I stutter?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm. "You're not leaving until you make amends for this damage."
Dirk Buchanan turned back, his lips curling into a sneer. "Or what? You'll stop us with your mighty Sixth-rank cultivation?"
Burton Griffin placed a restraining hand on Dirk's arm, but his eyes remained fixed on me with cold calculation.
"The man clearly doesn't know his place," Burton said. "Perhaps we should educate him."
I crossed my arms. "By all means, try. I'm curious to see what Mighty Realm masters are capable of these days."
