"You dare raise your hand against my son before the Punishment Pillar?"
Lyara Ashworth's voice cut through the silence like a blade. Her aura surged again— Origin Energy erupting around her like wildfire. The very ground beneath her feet cracked slightly from the force she exerted, and for a moment, it felt like the entire courtyard had stepped into a realm of divine wrath.
Drezan Varkhan, still on one knee and bleeding from his mouth, staggered to his feet. He wasn't just humiliated—he was boiling with rage.
But that was nothing compared to the fear crawling down his spine as he saw Lyara raise her hand again, that terrifying energy curling around her fingertips.
She wasn't just going to strike him again—she was going to cripple him. Her eyes said it all. Cold. Ruthless. Final.
"P-Patriarch…" he croaked, voice dry and bitter. "Must I suffer such disgrace?!"
The Patriarch's eyes—sharp, cold, ancient—locked onto him.
"You acted first. You lost."
Simple. Final. Brutal.
Drezan opened his mouth like he wanted to scream, but no words came out. He clenched his jaw and bowed his head. He knew when to shut up.
"Since the matter has escalated this far," the Patriarch continued with a flat tone, "let it end here. For my sake, Lyara."
There was a beat of stillness.
Then Lyara exhaled slowly. The surrounding glow faded, which was due to the use of Origin Energy.
Her hand lowered.
She turned to Ryan with a single nod.
His eyes were filled with murder.
Literal, boiling, unfiltered killing intent.
He glared at Ryan like a "Ryan," she said, cool and collected. "Proceed."
Ryan Ashworth didn't hesitate.
No dramatic flourish. No smirk.
Just him, stepping forward with that same shoe still in hand.
Kelric Varkhan, barely hanging by his spirit-sealing chains, lifted his head. His face was a horror show—swollen, bleeding, completely wrecked. But his eyes…
His eyes were filled with murder.
Literal, boiling, unfiltered killing intent.
He glared at Ryan like a beast that'd been caged too long. Like if he ever got free, he'd rip him limb from limb and laugh doing it.
A few of the disciples watching flinched. That kind of look from someone who was half-dead already? It was insane. But familiar.
Because he wasn't alone.
From behind, Ryan felt another spike—colder, deeper.
The kind of killing intent that didn't come from pride, but from experience.
It wasn't loud or obvious. Just a subtle pulse, like a dagger tip pressed gently against the back of one's neck.
But Ryan knew it well.
He froze for a split second, eyes narrowing, head slowly turning to glance at Drezan from the corner of his eye.
That look.
That aura.
Drezan was glaring at him like a man possessed—like he was already picturing Ryan's head rolling across the courtyard floor. The same father who just got slapped down in public. His ego cracked, and pride was crushed. All that was left was bloodlust.
"Tch… rookie mistake."
Ryan scoffed internally.
Back on Earth, he'd killed people for less. Gangsters. Warlords. Black ops agents. Cartel heads. Anyone who made that face usually didn't live long enough to make it twice.
"You think I haven't seen that look before?" he muttered under his breath.
"Bro, I've stared down killers who made you look like a schoolyard bully with daddy issues."
Ryan's pupils narrowed, but his lips curled in a smirk.
"So that's how it is, huh?" he thought.
"Both father and son want to kill me now. Cute."
He didn't flinch or back down. Leaning slightly closer to Kelric, who was still dangling in chains like a disgraced mutt, he said, "Kill me? You'd better wake up first, bro."
Then, glancing sideways at Drezan, casual as ever, he muttered under his breath, "And you? You'll need more than those old, battered bones and weak cultivation to bury me."
"I've taken more lives than I can count. If I laid their corpses side by side, they'd form a river of blood long enough to flood this courtyard."
"You're all just old bones playing at war. I've lived through it."And with that—
Slap!
The shoe landed across Kelric's cheek. Clean. Loud. Personal.
Slap! Slap!
Each swing was deliberate. Precise. Calculated to humiliate, not just hurt. A mirror of every cracked rib, every brutal punch, every insult Kelric had laid on him before.
Slap! Slap! Slap!
The courtyard remained dead quiet.
No one dared move. Not a whisper. Not a breath. The only sound was that sole echoing off flesh and bone.
Some disciples clenched their fists unconsciously. Some older elders lowered their heads in silent approval. A few younger disciples couldn't even look.
Because what they were witnessing wasn't just a beating.
It was judgment.
Kelric's lips were shredded. His cheeks were painted with streaks of blood and shame. His body twitched like it still remembered the pain, even as his consciousness slipped.
Ryan didn't look angry. He didn't look proud.
He just looked… done.
Unshakable. Unapologetic. Untouchable.
When the last hit landed, Kelric's body slumped forward, head lolling.
Unconscious. Spent. Humiliated beyond repair.
Ryan dropped his shoe to the ground, slid it back on, and dusted off his robes like he'd just finished a mundane task.
No theatrics. No mic drop.
Just cold, quiet retribution.
And as he passed Lyara, he didn't shout. He didn't smirk.
He just spoke—low, clear, and meant to be remembered.
"He nearly killed me. I may be part of this family—but so is he. If the rules apply to us, they apply to him too."
The words hit harder than any slap.
The courtyard didn't stop them as they walked away.
Not out of fear.
But out of respect.
Because in every world—even one of spirit veins and Origin Energy—only strength matters.
His mother was the most powerful person aside from the patriarch of the family, and the patriarch did not usually get involved in family struggles.
As Ryan walked behind his mother and left the courtyard, he considered how to handle the father-and-son duo. Although his mother was undoubtedly powerful, she wouldn't always be by his side. In his previous life, whenever someone looked at him with killing intent, he would take action before they could become a serious threat.