An Understated Dominance (Dustin Rhys) Chapter 2731 To 2740 English Version

 

2731

Dahlia returned to the company and settled into the large executive chair, her fingertips lightly tapping against the smooth desktop.

On the screen before her, the briefing sent by her secretary laid everything out in stark detail. The pressure from Dash Corporation—and the Ballard family backing it—was spreading rapidly, moving through business channels with alarming speed and precision.

After a brief hesitation, Dahlia picked up her phone.

She scrolled to a number she almost never called, yet knew by heart, and pressed dial.

The call connected after a few rings.

Natasha’s voice came through—deliberately controlled, but sharp beneath the surface.

“President Dahlia? What a rare call. Are you here to showcase Mosey Mansion’s ruthless methods… or to admire my current predicament?”

Dahlia ignored the sarcasm and went straight to the point.

“Natasha, the situation Dash Corporation is facing has nothing to do with me.”

“Heh.” Natasha let out a cold laugh, dripping with irony. “You dare act but won’t admit it? Yesterday at Haidilao, you lost—lost the man and lost face. So today you turn to underhanded tactics? Using the name of Mosey Mansion to suppress my company—is this your pride? Your so-called methods?”

“I’ll be honest,” Dahlia replied calmly, her tone steady and unflinching. “Yes, I want to win Dustin back. That’s the truth. But I will do it openly and fairly, in my own way. I disdain tactics like backstabbing, sabotage, or business retaliation. That isn’t my style—and it certainly isn’t how the Mosey family operates.”

“Then who else could it be?” Natasha shot back, her words coming faster as her anger rose. “My people have already traced the clues. Every pressure order ultimately leads back to Mosey-affiliated channels and peripheral agents. The evidence is right there, Dahlia. Are you still going to pretend you’re innocent?”

Dahlia frowned.

Natasha sounded far too confident. The so-called evidence chain was disturbingly complete—so much so that it felt almost too perfect.

That only strengthened Dahlia’s conviction.

“I’ve always acted aboveboard,” she said firmly. “If I did something, I would never deny it. But this matter has nothing to do with me—or with the will of Mosey Mansion, as far as I know.”

She paused, then continued, her voice growing sharper.

“Think about it calmly, Natasha. If I truly wanted to move against you, would I leave such obvious traces behind? Would I choose such a crude, aggressive method—one that guarantees open conflict between our two families? What would that accomplish, other than turning us into a laughingstock and handing profits to our real rivals?”

Silence filled the line.

Natasha leaned back in her chair, her breathing slowing.

She had considered this possibility—but anger and assumption had clouded her judgment.

Now, hearing Dahlia’s clear, logical analysis, she felt the fog lift.

Given Dahlia’s intelligence and temperament, if she truly intended to act in secret, she would never be this careless.

“So… you’re saying,” Natasha said slowly, her tone noticeably calmer, “someone is framing you?”

“Exactly,” Dahlia replied without hesitation. “Someone is impersonating the Mosey family to sow discord. Their real target may not be either of us—it could be to provoke a full-scale conflict between our families, leaving both sides wounded while they profit. Or worse, this could be a test… a deliberate smear aimed at the Mosey family itself.”

Natasha rubbed her temples, her brows drawn tight.

The business world was a battlefield—she knew that better than most. But the ruthlessness and precision behind this move still sent a chill through her.

“I’ll take your word for now,” Natasha said. “But if it’s not you, then who could pull this off? Who has the power to imitate Mosey Mansion’s orders so flawlessly?”

“That’s what I intend to find out,” Dahlia answered. “If they dare use the Mosey name, they must have leverage—or intimate knowledge of our internal operations. I’ll personally investigate this using every resource I have. When I uncover the mastermind, no matter who it is, I’ll give you a clear explanation.”

“Fine,” Natasha said after a moment. “I’ll trust you—this once. I’ll continue my own investigation, and I expect results as soon as possible. I’ll temporarily suspend targeted countermeasures against Mosey-related businesses, but defensive preparations and intelligence gathering will continue.”

“Agreed,” Dahlia said. “Let’s keep each other informed. Any new discoveries—share them immediately.”

“That’s for the best.”

The call ended.

Natasha stared at the intricate web of business connections displayed on her screen, her gaze sharp and wary.

If the enemy wasn’t Dahlia, then the one hiding in the shadows was far more dangerous than she’d imagined.

Dahlia lowered her phone, her fingertips faintly chilled.

Natasha had been temporarily placated—but time was critical. There was no room for complacency.

After a brief moment of thought, Dahlia dialed another number.

“Help me investigate something,” she said quietly. “I want everything—no matter how small.”

She quickly outlined her suspicions and urged the person on the other end to accelerate the investigation.

The focus would be on internal movements within Prince Mosey’s residence—unusual personnel changes, potential leaks, and any external forces that had made abnormal contact with members of the household.

If this hidden hand wasn’t exposed, it would remain a ticking time bomb.

And Dahlia had no intention of letting it explode on her watch.

 

 

 

English version 

2732

At this moment, inside an elegant study within the Mosey’s Mansion.

Seamus—once a king—personally poured tea for the two young visitors seated before him.

The atmosphere here was nothing like the outside world. There was no imperial majesty, no commanding presence—only restraint, caution, and the kind of politeness one showed when standing before someone far more powerful.

Hayden’s expression remained impassive. He merely gave a faint nod in acknowledgment of Seamus’s attentiveness.

Corinne lifted her teacup, gently inhaled the aroma, and took a small sip. Her movements were graceful, her demeanor elegant, yet she carried an aloofness that came naturally, not deliberately.

“The tea is good,” Corinne said calmly.

“This is a rare harvest from the Heavenly Mountains,” Seamus replied with a smile. “If you two esteemed guests enjoy it, I’ll have someone prepare some to send along.”

“Prince Mosey, there’s no need for such formalities,” Hayden said, setting his cup down and getting straight to the point. “Our time is limited. Have you considered what I mentioned last time?”

Seamus’s expression turned solemn. “To be noticed by the Quinton family is an immense honor. However… there is one question weighing on my mind, and I’m unsure whether I should ask it.”

“Speak,” Hayden replied flatly.

“The Quinton family has existed for a thousand years, transcending worldly affairs—cultivating immortality, pursuing the Dao, and never interfering in the rise or fall of secular dynasties,” Seamus said slowly. “Why, then, would you choose me and involve yourselves in the succession of Dragonmarsh’s throne?”

His gaze was sincere, yet sharp—searching for even the slightest crack in their composure.

Hayden and Corinne exchanged a brief glance. Corinne shook her head faintly.

Hayden turned back to Seamus, his eyes deep and unfathomable, like an ancient well.

“That is not something you need to concern yourself with,” he said calmly. “You only need to understand this—the Quinton family has its reasons. If you agree, we will help you ascend to the supreme position and grant you ten years of absolute authority in the mortal realm.”

He paused, his tone unchanging yet oppressive.

“In return, for those ten years, you will obey every order from the Quinton family and serve our clan without question. If you refuse—”

His voice remained steady.

“We can simply choose someone else. Dragonmarsh has three princes, each with their own strengths. Replacing one pawn with another is of little consequence to us.”

A chill shot through Seamus’s spine. Cold sweat instantly soaked his back.

Only now did he truly comprehend the terror of a hidden clan that had endured for a millennium.

To them, royalty, power, and empires were no more than ants beneath their feet.

He immediately suppressed all probing thoughts, bowed deeply, and said, “Young Master Quinton, you honor me. To be valued by the Quinton family is already beyond my station. I would never dare harbor doubts. From this moment on, everything is at the Quinton family’s command. I will give my utmost loyalty.”

A faint smile finally appeared on Hayden’s face.

“Very good. Prince Mosey is indeed a smart man. Cooperation is always pleasant when dealing with intelligent people.”

With a flick of his finger, a token engraved with strange cloud-like patterns landed silently on the table before Seamus.

“This is a token—and a means of communication. We will contact you through it when necessary. Do not attempt to reach out on your own. Simply do what you’re instructed to do.”

His gaze sharpened slightly.

“Most importantly, avoid drawing attention. And do not provoke those you shouldn’t.”

The warning carried unmistakable weight.

Seamus accepted the token with both hands. It felt cool, yet impossibly heavy—like Mount Tai resting in his palms.

“Yes. I understand. I will remember it,” he said repeatedly.

“For now, stabilize your position and quietly accumulate strength,” Hayden continued. “When the time is right, I will inform you of the next step.”

With that, Hayden and Corinne rose.

Without any visible movement, their figures blurred—then faded like smoke—vanishing from the study as though they had never been there.

Seamus stood frozen for a long while, clutching the token, his expression tangled with fear, ambition, and uncertainty.

The Quinton family’s sudden involvement in royal affairs—was it a blessing, or a curse?

But with the supreme throne placed before him, he had no reason to refuse.

With their support, he could control Dragonmarsh—perhaps even the entire world.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound broke the silence.

“Come in,” Seamus said, regaining his composure.

Frost entered, bowed, and said respectfully, “Godfather, the matter you entrusted to me has been handled.”

“Very good. You’ve worked hard,” Seamus nodded.

“It was no trouble,” Frost replied, puzzled. “But I don’t understand—why would a small company like Dash Corporation require such attention from you?”

“Suppressing Dash Corporation wasn’t my decision,” Seamus said calmly. “I was merely following orders.”

Frost froze. “Orders? Who in this world could command you, Godfather?”

Seamus looked at him. “Have you heard of the Quinton family?”

Frost’s expression changed instantly. “The Quinton family… Could it be that legendary reclusive clan of immortal cultivators?”

“That’s right,” Seamus confirmed. “If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed such a family truly existed.”

“They’ve already approached you?” Frost asked in disbelief.

“Yes,” Seamus said plainly. “They’ve offered to support my ascent to power. The price is ten years of absolute obedience.”

“And… you agreed?” Frost asked carefully.

“Of course,” Seamus nodded. “If I didn’t, they would support someone else—and the Mosey royal line would face disaster. Cultivation families are not enemies we can afford.”

“Godfather is wise,” Frost said, bowing deeply.

“I’m old,” Seamus continued. “Even if I take the throne, my reign won’t last long. Everything I gain will eventually be yours. From now on, you must act cautiously. No mistakes.”

Frost’s face lit up with excitement. “Don’t worry, Godfather. I will never let you down!”

He clenched his fists inwardly.

We’ve been waiting for this.

A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

And if he could bypass Seamus and establish direct contact with the Quinton family…

Would the outcome be entirely different?

2733

Over the next few days, the crisis engulfing Dash Corporation did not immediately subside, despite Dahlia’s explanation.

Although Natasha had temporarily halted direct retaliation, the tension in the commercial battlefield lingered like smoke that refused to dissipate.

Most customers and suppliers who had been affected chose to wait and observe, as if some invisible hand were quietly steering events behind the scenes.

Natasha mobilized every available resource within the Ballard family and launched a reverse investigation.

She did not believe in flawless conspiracies. Anyone bold enough to impersonate Prince Mosey’s influence would inevitably leave traces behind.

At the same time, she increased the frequency of information sharing with Dahlia.

Though misunderstandings still lingered between them, fragile cooperation became unavoidable when facing an enemy hidden in the shadows.

Under Natasha’s firm insistence, Dustin began living a relatively calm and restrained life.

After losing all his cultivation, he experienced the fragility and limitations of ordinary mortals more deeply than ever before.

Yet from another perspective, it was a rare experience.

Setting aside his identity as someone extraordinary, he was now able to feel the rhythm of the city from the standpoint of an ordinary person.

That afternoon, the sunlight was bright and warm.

Dustin went for a walk alone in a large city park not far from the villa district.

Lush trees cast cool shade, the artificial lake rippled with clear blue water, and citizens could be seen relaxing everywhere.

Middle-aged women danced in the plaza. Young parents played with their children. Students read quietly on benches. Vendors sold snacks along the paths.

The park buzzed with life—noisy, vibrant, and real.

Dressed in simple casual clothes, Dustin walked aimlessly along the lakeside path with his hands in his pockets.

He felt the warmth of the sun on his skin, smelled the freshness of grass and trees mingled with the aroma of food drifting from nearby stalls, and heard the overlapping sounds of laughter, chatter, and music.

Being completely immersed in such ordinary daily life felt unfamiliar—yet strangely novel.

His gaze drifted calmly across the crowd, observing their joys and frustrations without judgment.

As he neared an open lawn, two figures caught his attention.

They stood out sharply from the surrounding crowd.

The man appeared to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight, with handsome features and an ancient, restrained aura that clashed with his age. He wore a dark blue, modified traditional long gown with a front opening. The fabric was clearly high quality, faintly gleaming under the sunlight.

Strapped to his back was a long, narrow object wrapped in aged cloth—shaped unmistakably like a sword.

The woman beside him looked no older than twenty. Her beauty was striking, almost ethereal, as though untouched by worldly dust.

She wore a moon-white, wide-sleeved flowing dress embroidered with delicate silver patterns along the hem. Her long hair was tied with a simple jade hairpin, loose strands framing her temples.

In a park filled with T-shirts, jeans, and sportswear, the two looked as though they had stepped straight out of an ancient costume drama.

But what made Dustin’s gaze sharpen wasn’t merely their unusual appearance.

Although his consciousness lay dormant and his cultivation was gone—leaving him unable to sense spiritual energy—his instincts, honed through countless battles and brushes with death, quietly warned him:

These two were not ordinary.

The man’s steps seemed casual, yet each one carried perfect balance and coordination, as if he were seamlessly fused with his surroundings—yet ready to detach and strike at any moment.

The woman, meanwhile, held a pink cotton candy that looked hilariously out of place in her refined hands. She licked it slowly, her satisfied smile softening her features and making her appear unexpectedly charming.

But when her eyes swept across the surroundings, a faint indifference flickered within them—as if she were observing all living beings from a higher vantage point.

They were Hayden and Corinne.

Corinne appeared fascinated by everything in the park, especially the snacks.

After finishing her cotton candy, she darted toward a sugar painting stall, watching the vendor skillfully shape birds and animals from molten syrup. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

Hayden followed half a step behind her, his expression calm as he took in the scenery. He paid no attention to the curious stares, whispered comments, or pointed fingers around them, as though an invisible barrier separated him from the noise of the world.

“Brother, this is so interesting!”

Holding up a freshly made sugar-painted phoenix, Corinne turned toward Hayden with a bright smile. In that moment, she truly looked like an innocent young girl enjoying a carefree outing.

Hayden smiled faintly, a trace of indulgence in his eyes. “I’m glad you like it. Although spiritual energy is scarce in the mortal world, these small things have their own charm.”

They continued walking, Corinne admiring the sugar painting while glancing around excitedly.

As she rounded a corner, her attention was drawn to a group of young people performing street dance routines. Distracted, she failed to notice a couple approaching from the opposite direction.

“Oops!”

The collision knocked her off balance.

Corinne fell to the ground, the sugar painting slipping from her hand along with the empty cotton candy stick.

The phoenix-shaped sugar painting shattered the moment it hit the pavement.

The man who bumped into her wore trendy clothes and earrings, one arm wrapped around a stylish girl with heavy makeup.

He staggered slightly, then frowned, his eyes flicking over Corinne’s unusual attire with obvious disdain.

“Hey! Can’t you watch where you’re going?!” he snapped aggressively, showing no intention of apologizing.

His companion glanced at the broken sugar painting on the ground, sneering. “Dressed like that—it’s creepy. Don’t you have any manners? You’re the one who bumped into someone. Don’t you know how to apologize?”

 

English version 

2734

The smile on Corinne’s face vanished instantly.

The playful charm and sweetness she’d shown moments ago froze over, replaced by a chilling calm. She slowly lifted her head and stared at the man and woman with eyes so cold they seemed to strip away all warmth, as if she were looking at two lifeless objects.

For a brief moment, the surrounding air felt as though it had solidified.

Just as a dangerous glint flickered in Corinne’s eyes—hinting that she was about to act—Hayden gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

He stepped forward, positioning himself between Corinne and the couple. A mild, apologetic smile appeared on his face as he nodded repeatedly, his tone humble and sincere.

“I’m very sorry. Truly. My sister wasn’t paying attention. We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

His attitude was courteous, his posture nonthreatening—completely focused on defusing the situation.

Seeing this, the trendy young man’s anger visibly eased. The other party’s humility, combined with Hayden’s refined demeanor, softened his irritation.

Still, he couldn’t resist one last jab.

“Watch where you’re going next time,” he said impatiently. “Seriously, dressed like that in a park—are you filming a movie or something?”

The woman curled her lips in disdain, tightening her grip on her boyfriend’s arm. “Let’s go. What’s the point of talking to weirdos?”

Muttering under their breath, the two turned and walked away arrogantly.

Hayden kept smiling as he watched them leave, his gaze following until they were more than ten meters away and swallowed by the crowd.

Only then did Corinne speak, her voice icy and displeased.

“Why did you stop me?”

Hayden withdrew his gaze. His smile remained gentle, but deep in his eyes lay utter indifference—as though his earlier apology had been no more than brushing away a speck of dust.

He turned to her and said softly, “Why bother with ants like them? It’s rare for you to come out like this. Don’t let them ruin your mood.”

“I’m already in a bad mood,” Corinne replied coldly, her eyes dropping to the shattered sugar phoenix on the ground.

It wasn’t the broken sugar painting that angered her—but the disrespect in their tone.

Hearing this, Hayden’s smile deepened slightly, as if she had said something amusing.

His gaze drifted casually toward the direction the couple had gone. They were still chatting and laughing, completely unaware that they were being watched.

“Then… should I kill them for you?” Hayden asked lightly, his tone no different from asking what to eat for dinner.

There was no humor in his eyes.

Corinne fell silent for two seconds. Then she shook her head, her lips parting slightly.

“No. I want them to suffer a fate worse than death.”

Her face was calm—utterly devoid of anger—but her words were merciless.

“Alright.”

Hayden nodded, as though she had made the most ordinary request.

His left hand remained clasped behind his back. With his right hand, he raised two fingers and casually traced a few invisible strokes in the air.

The motion was light and subtle, unnoticed by anyone around them. Not even a breeze stirred.

From a distance, Dustin watched intently.

He saw Hayden raise his hand. Though he couldn’t perceive the technique itself, the effortless posture and the brief, razor-sharp focus in Hayden’s eyes sent a warning straight through him.

Then—

“Ahhh—!”

“My head! My body—!”

More than thirty meters away, the couple suddenly let out screams so shrill they were almost inhuman.

It was as if an invisible hammer struck them without warning. Their bodies jolted violently before collapsing to the ground.

Once down, they began convulsing uncontrollably, rolling and clutching their heads with both hands. Their faces twisted in unbearable agony, eyes bulging, mouths gaping as hoarse, broken cries spilled out.

They were fully conscious.

Every shred of pain carved itself deeply into their souls.

“What’s happening?!”

“Did they faint?!”

“Call an ambulance—now!”

“Wait—are they having seizures?!”

The surrounding tourists froze for a moment before chaos erupted. People rushed over, some shouting, some fumbling for their phones, others trying helplessly to assist.

The crowd quickly swelled, obscuring the writhing figures on the ground. Even so, their agonized screams pierced through the noise, sending chills down everyone’s spine.

Hayden lowered his hand, as though he had done nothing at all. Turning to Corinne, he smiled gently.

“Are you satisfied now?”

Corinne glanced toward the chaos in the distance, listening to the faint, lingering cries. Her expression returned to its usual ethereal indifference, as if the cruel command had never come from her lips.

She gave a soft snort, said nothing, and turned away.

With light, unhurried steps, she walked deeper into the park—leaving behind screams, panic, and a punishment far worse than death.

2735

Hayden smiled faintly, entirely unbothered, and followed after Corinne.

Just as he was about to turn away, something seemed to stir in his awareness. His head tilted ever so slightly—almost imperceptibly—toward Dustin’s direction.

Dustin’s heart skipped a beat.

However, his expression didn’t change in the slightest. He remained calm, letting his gaze drift casually over the chaotic crowd in the distance before shifting to the rippling surface of the lake, as if he were nothing more than an ordinary passerby whose attention had briefly been drawn by a sudden commotion.

Hayden’s gaze lingered on Dustin for less than half a second.

An unremarkable young man. Plain clothes. Calm demeanor. Standing by the lake watching the excitement—no different from any other curious citizen.

The corners of Hayden’s lips lifted almost imperceptibly.

That smile carried indifference, faint condescension, and perhaps even a subconscious mockery of the masses below him.

Then he withdrew his gaze, turned around, and calmly followed Corinne.

Their figures disappeared around a bend in the park path, as though they had never been there at all.

Dustin remained where he was, his eyes returning to the lake. Inside his pocket, his fingers rubbed lightly against each other.

A fate worse than death…

A single invisible point in the air—intangible, unseen—yet capable of inflicting such unbearable pain.

This wasn’t something ordinary martial artists or even most extraordinary individuals could achieve.

The way Hayden casually traced that formation felt far more like a cultivator’s technique.

And the incongruity was striking.

Their attire, utterly out of place in modern society.

Their temperament—cold, detached, treating human life as insignificant.

Their methods—casual, bizarre, and terrifying.

“Are they disciples of some reclusive cultivation family?” Dustin wondered.

He didn’t know much about such families—only scattered rumors. He had once dismissed them as myths.

But after everything he had experienced, he knew better now.

There truly were cultivators in this world—beings utterly beyond the reach of ordinary people.

And in truth, after breaking through to the Land Immortal Realm, he himself had already crossed that threshold—transforming from a martial artist into a cultivator.

Now, however, he was in a stage of regression—returning from a nascent soul back into mortality.

“It looks like another storm is coming to Oakvale,” Dustin murmured.

Whenever a reclusive cultivator stepped into the secular world, it was inevitable that the balance would shift.

But with his cultivation completely sealed, there was nothing he could do about it now.

Best to mind his own business—and live as an ordinary person.

At that moment, Hayden and Corinne were already seated inside a luxury car.

“Brother,” Corinne said casually, spinning a newly bought windmill between her fingers, “that guy by the lake earlier was kind of interesting.”

“Oh?” Hayden leaned back against the soft leather seat, closing his eyes. “You noticed?”

“I can’t explain it,” Corinne pouted. “Something felt off, but I couldn’t see anything special about him. Maybe I’m overthinking it. There’s barely any spiritual energy in this mortal world—what kind of person here could really catch my attention?”

Hayden opened his eyes. For a brief instant, a faint golden light flashed within them before fading away.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said calmly. “But even if something unexpected appears, it won’t affect our mission. Our priority is ensuring Prince Mosey’s smooth ascension and securing control over Dragonmarsh’s secular authority. Everything else is irrelevant—as long as it doesn’t interfere with us.”

“I understand.”

Corinne stuck the windmill out of the car window, watching it spin rapidly in the wind. A bright, childlike smile appeared on her face—as if she hadn’t casually condemned others to suffering moments earlier.

The car drove smoothly into traffic, blending into the flow of Oakvale City until it vanished completely.

The incident in the park was like a stone dropped into a lake.

Ripples spread—then quickly faded.

But for some, the gears of fate had already begun to turn.

By the time Dustin returned to the villa, the sky had been dyed orange-red by the setting sun.

The past few days of his life had been unusually peaceful. To his surprise, he didn’t dislike it.

Without cultivation, his attention naturally settled on small details—the aroma of tea, the weight of a book in his hands, the shifting patterns of light and shadow on the windowsill.

The next morning, he went downstairs as usual to prepare breakfast—only to notice something off.

Half a carton of milk was missing.

Several slices of ham were gone from the refrigerator.

An empty milk carton sat in the trash.

Dustin frowned.

The villa’s security was tight. There shouldn’t be any thieves.

Could Natasha have come by last night?

But if it were her, she wouldn’t have taken just this little food.

As he examined the kitchen more carefully, a faint sound came from the storage room.

Dustin walked over silently and pushed open the door.

From the dim corner, a pair of amber eyes stared back at him warily.

It was a small white fox—no bigger than a house cat.

Its right hind leg was curled tightly against its body, clearly injured. Dried blood clung to the wound, dark brown against snow-white fur.

Its coat was immaculate, without a single blemish. Its fluffy tail wrapped protectively around itself. Faint milk stains still marked the fur around its mouth.

The moment it saw Dustin, the little fox bared its teeth and let out a low, threatening growl.

But because of its injury, its posture was unsteady—more desperate than fierce.

 

 

 

English version 

2736

Dustin didn’t approach. Instead, he stood at the doorway and spoke gently, his voice calm and unthreatening.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. If you’re hungry, you can come anytime.”

The little white fox continued to stare at him warily, amber eyes shimmering faintly with spiritual light in the dim room.

Dustin turned away and retrieved more food from the refrigerator.

He placed a few slices of ham and a small bowl of milk in the corner of the kitchen, then returned to the living room. He picked up a book, pretending to read, though his attention remained fixed on the kitchen from the corner of his eye.

About half an hour later, the little fox limped out of the storage room.

It paused, scanning its surroundings cautiously. After confirming that Dustin posed no threat, it quickly grabbed the food and scurried back into hiding.

Over the following days, Dustin left food in the same corner every day—sometimes sliced fruit, sometimes cooked chicken, and occasionally pet treats he bought specifically for it.

The fox appeared at unpredictable times—sometimes early in the morning, sometimes late at night—but Dustin could always tell it had visited by the reduced amount of food.

Its wariness gradually faded.

At first, it only emerged after Dustin left the kitchen. Later, it dared to sneak out even when he was still in the living room.

One afternoon, a week later, Dustin was reading when the little white fox walked straight up to him. It stopped at his feet, looked up, and gently nudged the apple in his hand with its nose.

Dustin smiled.

He broke off a small piece of apple and placed it on the floor.

The fox hesitated briefly before lowering its head to eat. This time, it didn’t immediately flee. After finishing, it lay down on the carpet at Dustin’s feet and began licking its injured hind leg.

Only then did Dustin get a clear look at the wound.

It wasn’t a normal abrasion or bite. Faint scorch marks surrounded the injury, as though it had been caused by some unusual force.

“Let me take a look, alright?” Dustin asked softly.

The fox seemed to understand. It lifted its head and met his gaze. A trace of hesitation flickered in its amber eyes—but in the end, it didn’t resist.

Dustin carefully examined the injury, cleaning it, disinfecting it, applying medicine, and wrapping it with a bandage.

Throughout the process, the fox trembled slightly now and then but never struggled or tried to bite him.

“All done,” Dustin said gently, stroking its head. “Just don’t get it wet for the next few days. You’ll recover soon.”

The little fox rubbed its head against his hand before limping away.

From that day on, it appeared more frequently.

It would curl up and nap at Dustin’s feet while he read, wander over to sniff curiously when he brewed tea, and even allow him to stroke its smooth, soft fur.

Dustin gave it a name.

“Qyla.”

“Qyla, we’ve got your favorite salmon today.” Dustin set a small plate of sliced fish in the kitchen corner.

But that day, Qyla didn’t appear.

She didn’t come the next day either.

Dustin felt a twinge of concern, but then reminded himself that Qyla was still a wild creature. Perhaps she had returned to the mountains now that her injury had healed.

Late on the fourth night, sharp, urgent scratching sounds jolted Dustin awake.

He opened the door.

Qyla stood there, drenched from head to tail.

Beside her lay a woman—also soaked through.

The woman’s body was riddled with wounds. Her face was pale as paper, her breathing shallow and weak. Her ancient white robes were heavily stained with blood, yet even so, they couldn’t conceal her breathtaking beauty.

It was a beauty beyond the mortal world.

Her brows resembled distant mountains, her skin was like frozen jade, and even in unconsciousness, she exuded a cold, otherworldly aura.

Qyla dragged the woman to the doorway, nudged her with her nose, then looked up at Dustin. Her amber eyes brimmed with pleading.

Without hesitation, Dustin carried the woman inside and laid her gently on the sofa.

After examining her injuries, he frowned.

She had numerous external wounds, but the real danger lay within. Her internal organs were damaged to varying degrees, and a strange, violent energy was rampaging inside her body.

Though Dustin had lost all his cultivation, his medical expertise remained intact.

He quickly treated her external injuries, then used acupuncture to stabilize the chaotic energy within her body. Afterward, he brewed a medicinal decoction for her internal injuries and carefully fed it to her.

Throughout the entire process, Qyla never left the woman’s side. Her gaze remained fixed on her, occasionally flicking nervously toward Dustin.

“Who is she to you?” Dustin asked softly.

Qyla, of course, didn’t answer. She simply lowered her head and gently nuzzled the woman’s hand.

The woman remained unconscious for two full days.

During that time, Dustin tended to her with utmost care, while Qyla stayed vigilantly by her side.

Dustin became certain—this woman was no ordinary person.

Her meridians differed greatly from those of normal people. Though the residual energy inside her was violent, its essence was extraordinarily pure—far surpassing that of ordinary martial artists.

On the morning of the third day, the woman finally stirred and slowly opened her eyes.

The moment their gazes met, Dustin nearly stopped breathing.

Her eyes were like a frozen abyss—clear, deep, and aloof, as though they could see straight into one’s soul.

When she noticed Dustin, wariness flashed across her face. She tried to sit up, but the movement aggravated her injuries, forcing a pained gasp from her lips.

“Don’t move,” Dustin said quickly. “You’re badly injured.”

The woman glanced around before spotting Qyla lying beside the bed. The tension in her eyes eased slightly.

“Did you save me?” she asked softly.

“Qyla brought you here,” Dustin replied, pointing to the white fox. “I just did what I could.”

2737

The woman looked down at Qyla, and the little fox immediately moved closer, rubbing her head affectionately against the woman’s hand.

A trace of tenderness flickered through the woman’s eyes—but it vanished almost instantly, replaced by her usual cold composure.

“Thank you,” she said calmly. “Once I’ve recovered, I’ll leave. I don’t want to impose.”

“There’s no rush,” Dustin replied gently. “Focus on getting better. May I know your name, miss?”

The woman was silent for a moment before answering softly, “My name is Kennedy Bellemare.”

For the next several days, Kennedy recuperated at the villa.

She spoke very little, spending most of her time meditating and regulating her breathing. Occasionally, she would stand by the window, staring toward the distant mountains as if lost in thought.

Dustin soon noticed something unusual—her recovery speed was astonishing. Injuries that would normally confine an ordinary person to bed for months had nearly healed within days.

That afternoon, Dustin was pruning flowers in the yard when the doorbell rang.

He opened the door to find Natasha standing there, smiling brightly, a food container in her hand.

“Surprised?” she said cheerfully. “I had our chef make your favorite desserts.”

She stepped forward naturally and hugged him.

Dustin smiled as he accepted the food box. “What brings you here?”

“Things at the company finally settled down, so I thought I’d come see you,” Natasha replied as she walked inside. “How have you been lately? Have you missed me—”

Her words abruptly stopped.

Her gaze locked onto the corner of the living room.

Qyla was curled up by the French windows, dozing in the sunlight. Her snow-white fur glimmered softly under the light.

“Wow! What a beautiful little fox!” Natasha exclaimed as she walked over. “You got a pet? Why didn’t you tell me?”

She bent down and reached out to touch Qyla.

“Wait—” Dustin started to warn her, but it was already too late.

Qyla snapped awake. The moment she sensed a stranger, she bared her teeth and let out a low, threatening growl, quickly retreating behind the sofa.

Natasha jumped back in surprise and pulled her hand away. “She doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

“She’s a bit shy,” Dustin explained. “Give her time.”

Natasha nodded, though her eyes remained fixed on Qyla with fascination. “What’s her name? Where did you find her? She’s adorable.”

As they spoke, light footsteps sounded from the staircase.

Kennedy walked downstairs.

She had changed out of her bloodstained white robe and was now wearing the simple clothes Dustin had prepared for her—a plain white T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

Yet even dressed so simply, she couldn’t conceal her extraordinary presence.

Her long hair fell loosely over her shoulders, a few strands framing her face, making her already pale skin appear even more luminous.

The moment Natasha saw Kennedy, she froze.

Her gaze shifted from Kennedy to Dustin, then back again. Surprise quickly gave way to confusion, then grievance—and finally unmistakable jealousy.

“Who is this beautiful woman?” Natasha asked, her voice edged with resentment. “Don’t tell me you’re hiding a mistress here. Have you found yourself a new lover?”

“How could that be?” Dustin said quickly. “I just met her.”

“Just met her?” Natasha scoffed. “She’s already living in your house, and you say you just met?”

“Natasha, you’ve misunderstood,” Dustin said helplessly. “She was badly injured. I only helped her by chance. She’ll leave once she recovers.”

“Is that really so?” Natasha raised an eyebrow.

“What he says is true,” Kennedy spoke calmly. “He saved my life—nothing more. Miss, there’s no need to worry.”

Only then did Natasha smile again. She walked over and took Dustin’s arm, as if subtly staking her claim.

Kennedy watched the scene quietly, her expression unchanged. Then she spoke.

“Now that the misunderstanding has been resolved, I won’t trouble you any longer. My injuries are no longer serious. I’ll be leaving today.”

“Miss Bellemare, you’re not fully healed yet,” Dustin said.

“Don’t worry. I have somewhere to go,” Kennedy replied, then looked down at Qyla. “Qyla, let’s go.”

Qyla emerged from behind the sofa and trotted to Kennedy’s side. Before leaving, she glanced back at Dustin, her amber eyes carrying a faint trace of reluctance.

Kennedy nodded slightly at Dustin. “I’ll always remember your life-saving grace. If you ever need anything, bring this to me.”

She removed a white jade pendant and handed it to him.

The jade was warm and smooth, engraved with cloudlike patterns. At its center was an ancient character—白.

Dustin accepted it. “Take care, Miss Bellemare.”

Kennedy said nothing more. She turned and left, Qyla following closely at her feet. Soon, the figures of woman and fox disappeared beyond the doorway.

After a moment of silence, Natasha suddenly asked, “What was her name?”

“Kennedy,” Dustin replied.

“She’s beautiful—and she has a lovely name,” Natasha said with a meaningful smile. “You really do attract women.”

“Ahem… it was just a coincidence,” Dustin said awkwardly.

Despite her smile, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“That Miss Bellemare didn’t seem ordinary,” Natasha said, smoothly changing the subject. “And that fox is far too intelligent.”

“Mm,” Dustin nodded thoughtfully. “Lately, there seem to be people in Oakvale who don’t belong here. I have a feeling something big is coming.”

“Something big?” Natasha asked curiously. “What kind of big?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Dustin admitted. “I’ve lost all my cultivation. Without divine sense, I can only take things as they come.”

Then his expression turned serious.

“By the way, you need to be careful these days. If anything happens, tell me immediately. Don’t take unnecessary risks.

 

 

 

English version 

2738

“Don’t worry,” Natasha said with a relaxed smile. “I’ve been keeping a low profile lately and rarely show my face. I’ve already sent people to handle the company matters.”

“That’s good,” Dustin replied, nodding.

A few days after Kennedy’s departure, Dustin’s life gradually returned to its former rhythm.

Natasha began visiting the villa more frequently. Unlike before, when work constantly pressed in on her, she now deliberately set aside time to enjoy a simple, ordinary life with Dustin.

That weekend, she arrived early in the morning, carrying several large bags.

“The weather’s perfect today,” Natasha said brightly, her eyes full of anticipation. “Let’s go on a picnic! I had the chef prepare bento boxes, plus fruit and desserts.”

Dustin glanced at the sunlit courtyard and nodded. “Alright. Where to?”

“There’s a place not far from here—a meadow with a beautiful lake view.”

They drove out of the city, winding along a mountain road for about half an hour before reaching a quiet hillside.

The view was expansive. Below them, an artificial lake shimmered under the sunlight, while the distant city skyline lay faint and hazy beyond the mist.

Natasha unloaded the picnic basket, spread out a blue-and-white checkered blanket, and began pulling things out one by one—sandwiches, fruit salad, roasted chicken wings, small cakes, and a pot of freshly brewed floral tea.

“That’s quite a feast,” Dustin said as he helped arrange the food.

“It’s rare for you to relax like this,” Natasha replied with a smile, handing him a sandwich. “Try it. I had the chef add your favorite sauce.”

Dustin took a bite and nodded. “It’s delicious.”

They sat side by side on the blanket, gazing into the distance and chatting casually as the breeze swept across the meadow, carrying the fresh scent of grass and wildflowers.

“You know,” Natasha said suddenly, leaning closer, “sometimes I think it would be nice if you really were just an ordinary person.”

Dustin turned to look at her. “Why?”

“Because then you could always stay by my side.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “We wouldn’t have to worry about fighting or danger. We could live a normal life—go to work, come home, buy groceries, cook together, and have picnics on weekends.”

Dustin was quiet for a moment before gently wrapping an arm around her. “I want that too.”

“Really?” Natasha looked up, her eyes bright.

“Mhm.” He nodded. “During this time, even without my cultivation, I’ve realized I actually like this kind of peace. Making breakfast in the morning, reading, taking walks, and waiting for you to come home from work.”

“Then it’s settled!” Natasha straightened up and extended her little finger. “Pinky promise—once everything’s resolved, we’ll live like this.”

Seeing her serious expression, a warm feeling rose in Dustin’s chest.

He hooked his finger with hers. “Alright. Pinky promise.”

The afternoon sun was gentle, neither hot nor harsh. They lay on the grass for hours, watching clouds drift slowly across the sky, chatting about trivial things, sometimes falling into comfortable silence.

They didn’t pack up until the sun began to set.

On the drive back, Natasha’s phone suddenly rang.

She glanced at the screen, frowned slightly, hesitated for a few seconds, then answered.

“Hello?”

A calm, cool voice came through. “Natasha. It’s me.”

“I know,” Natasha replied, her tone instantly returning to its usual aloofness. “What is it?”

Dustin glanced at her, questioning with his eyes.

Natasha mouthed a single name—Dahlia.

Dustin was surprised but said nothing, keeping his focus on the road.

“The investigation has results,” Dahlia said bluntly. “The suppression of Dash Corporation wasn’t my doing, nor was it an official order from Prince Mosey’s Mansion.”

“Then who was behind it?” Natasha asked.

“Frost Bane,” Dahlia said. “My sworn brother. You’ve heard of him.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “Prince Mosey’s adopted son? Why would he do that?”

“He secretly mobilized part of the mansion’s resources and forged orders without my godfather’s knowledge,” Dahlia replied, her voice carrying a trace of fatigue. “It took days to pry the truth out of one of his confidants. He was extremely cautious—even I was almost fooled.”

“What does he want?” Natasha asked.

“He wants to bypass my godfather and make direct contact with a certain force.” Dahlia paused before continuing. “I’m still investigating the details, but this force isn’t simple. It may be connected to some… special figures that have recently appeared in Oakvale.”

Her tone grew more serious. “In short, you need to be careful. There are undercurrents within the Mu family mansion right now. Even I can’t see the full picture.”

Natasha fell silent for a moment, then suddenly asked, “Why are you telling me all this? If something happened to me, wouldn’t that benefit you?”

The other end of the line went quiet.

Several seconds later, Dahlia spoke again—her voice steadier, more resolute.

“I know Dustin likes you. I owe him too much. I don’t want to hurt him.”

She paused, then added, “And what I want is fair competition—not winning through underhanded means. I, Dahlia, would never stoop that low.”

Natasha was momentarily stunned. Then a faint smile curved her lips.

“You’ve earned a bit more of my respect,” she said softly.

 

English version 

2739

“The situation at the Mosey Prince’s residence is still unclear. You need to watch yourself.” Natasha rarely voiced concern so openly. “Life would be terribly dull without an opponent like you.”

Dahlia’s soft laughter came through the phone. “Relax. I won’t die before you do.”

“Hmph.” Natasha snorted and ended the call.

“What did she say?” Dustin finally asked.

“She confirmed it was Frost behind everything,” Natasha replied, slipping her phone away. “She also warned me to be careful. Things inside the Mosey family aren’t peaceful anymore.”

She paused before continuing, her expression serious. “She said an unknown force has intervened. Even she can’t call the shots now.”

Dustin’s brow furrowed. “Frost… I remember him. Ambitious to the core. But if even Dahlia finds this troublesome, then whoever’s involved isn’t simple.”

“She mentioned it might be connected to those ‘special figures’ that have recently appeared in Oakvale.” Natasha gazed out the car window. “Do you think it could be the two people you ran into at the park?”

“Very likely,” Dustin replied. “The methods they used were far beyond what ordinary martial artists are capable of.”

By the time they returned to the villa, night had fully fallen.

Natasha decided to stay over. The two of them prepared a simple dinner together, then sat in the living room, eating quietly as the news played on television.

The broadcast reported a bizarre incident that had occurred earlier that afternoon. A villa in Oakvale’s suburbs had suddenly gone up in flames. The fire was massive, and when firefighters arrived, they discovered that the temperature at the center was abnormally high. The burn patterns were strange—nothing like an ordinary fire.

Even more unsettling, three charred bodies were found at the scene. Preliminary forensic analysis indicated the victims had already been dead before the fire began.

“This…” Natasha frowned. “Could it be connected to those ‘special individuals’?”

Dustin stared at the screen for several seconds before answering. “Possibly. But for now, all we can do is wait.”

She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder. “I was finally hoping for a few peaceful days. Tell me—who exactly are these people? Why are they interfering with the mortal world?”

“I don’t know,” Dustin said, shaking his head. “But since they’ve already shown themselves, something big is coming.”

They talked until late into the night before Natasha retired to the guest room.

Dustin returned to his own room, yet sleep refused to come. He stood by the window, gazing at the city lights below, a vague sense of unease creeping into his chest.

These peaceful days wouldn’t last much longer.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of Oakvale, the atmosphere inside a grand mansion was so oppressive it felt suffocating.

This was the residence of the Wiebe family—a well-known upper-middle-class household in Oakvale.

With businesses spanning real estate and import-export trade, the Wiebes were considered a prominent family.

Yet at this moment, dozens of family members were kneeling in the main hall, bodies trembling, hardly daring to breathe.

Seated at the head of the hall was a female cultivator who appeared to be in her early thirties.

She wore a flowing light-purple gown, her long hair secured with a jade hairpin. Her features were strikingly beautiful, but her eyes carried a sharp, hostile edge.

One leg crossed over the other, she casually turned a jade cup in her hand while her cold gaze swept across the kneeling crowd.

Standing beside her was a boy no more than six years old.

He was exquisitely handsome and dressed in fine brocade robes, yet his face held an arrogance and cruelty far beyond his age.

A leather whip dangled from his hand. Every so often, he cracked it sharply, the sound echoing through the hall. The children kneeling in the front row flinched in fear, instinctively shrinking into their parents’ arms.

“Old Master Wiebe,” the female cultivator said coldly, “is this how your family treats its guests? You can’t even brew a proper cup of tea?”

The white-haired elder at the front—Mindey Wiebe, head of the family—kowtowed repeatedly. “Fairy, please calm your anger! It was the servants’ incompetence. I’ll have them remake it at once!”

“No need.” She waved dismissively. “There’s nothing in your Wiebe family worth praising. If not for the auspicious fortune of this residence, I would’ve left long ago.”

Turning slightly, she asked the boy beside her, “Loreo, what do you think of this place?”

Loreo pursed his lips. “It’s boring, Mom. Not even a decent toy. And these people are so clumsy. That girl almost scalded me while pouring tea.”

“Oh?” Her gaze hardened. “Which girl?”

The boy pointed toward a young woman kneeling in the corner.

She was in her early twenties—a distant niece of the family named Yuru Wiebe, who normally helped with household chores.

The moment she was singled out, her body trembled violently, tears filling her eyes.

“Fairy, please spare me!” Yuru begged as she kowtowed repeatedly. “I—I didn’t mean it. My hands were shaking… I was just too nervous.”

“Nervous?” the female cultivator sneered. “You were nervous pouring tea for my son? Or do you think he isn’t worthy of what you served?”

“No! Absolutely not!” Yuru cried, slamming her forehead into the floor until blood seeped out.

“Mother,” Loreo added impatiently, pointing to his lapel, “she got my clothes wet. This is the robe you brought back for me. She ruined it.”

Yuru’s face drained of all color.

The female cultivator slowly rose to her feet and walked toward her, voice ice-cold.

“Since you can’t even pour tea properly,” she said, “then those hands of yours are useless.”

2740

“No—!”

Before Yuru could even finish screaming, the female cultivator had already raised her hand and flicked it casually through the air.

A flash of purple light burst forth.

Yuru’s hands were severed cleanly at the wrists. Blood sprayed instantly as she let out a shrill scream before collapsing unconscious.

A wave of muffled gasps and sobs rippled through the hall. No one dared cry out loudly—afraid they might be next.

“Drag her away,” the female cultivator said, waving her hand as if brushing off a speck of dust.

Two Wiebe family servants stepped forward, trembling uncontrollably. They dragged Yuru’s limp body away, leaving behind a long, glaring trail of blood across the marble floor.

The female cultivator swept her gaze across the hall, eyes sharp as blades. “Anyone else dissatisfied?”

Every head dropped instantly. Not a single person dared meet her eyes.

Still unsatisfied, the boy strolled over to another kneeling figure.

She was Mindey Wiebe’s granddaughter—Jinan Wiebe. She had just started university and had returned home to help during summer break.

Normally lively and pretty, her face was now deathly pale, fear written all over it.

“You,” the boy said, pointing his whip at her. “Go get me some sweets.”

Jinan rose shakily and nearly ran to the kitchen.

Moments later, she returned carrying a plate of delicate pastries and carefully set it on the table in front of him.

The boy picked one up, took a bite—and immediately spat it out.

“So sweet!” he shouted. “Are you trying to kill me with sugar?!”

Crack!

The whip lashed across Jinan’s face.

She screamed as blood split her skin. Clutching her face, she collapsed to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Useless trash!” The boy raised his whip again—

“Enough.” The female cultivator stopped him calmly. “Loreo, why bother arguing with mortals? It only lowers your status.”

The boy snorted but still kicked Jinan hard. “Move! Don’t block my way!”

Jinan scrambled aside, clutching her bleeding face, her sobs reduced to quiet whimpers.

Mindey watched the scene with tears streaming down his face, yet he dared not utter a single word.

He knew all too well—the people before him were beings the Wiebe family could never afford to offend.

Three days earlier, the female cultivator had arrived, claiming to be from a reclusive immortal cultivation clan and demanding temporary residence.

Mindey had tried to refuse politely.

In response, she merely waved her hand—causing the Wiebe family’s two strongest bodyguards to vomit blood and collapse on the spot.

From that moment on, the Wiebe residence became a “temporary palace” for the mother and son. The entire family was forced to serve them like slaves. Any displeasure was met with beatings—or death.

Three servants had already been beaten to death.

“Mom, I’m bored,” the boy complained, rolling around on the sofa. “This place sucks. When are we going to find that bitch? I want to catch her and keep her as a pet!”

A cold glint flashed through the female cultivator’s eyes. “Soon. I can already sense her. She’s seriously injured and can’t have gone far. Once I finish handling matters here, I’ll take you to her.”

“Really?” The boy’s eyes lit up. “And that white fox too! That little beast dared to bite me—I’ll skin it and turn it into a scarf!”

The female cultivator smiled faintly and patted his head. “Alright. Whatever you want.”

Just then, a faint sound came from outside the window.

The boy noticed first. He rushed over, peering out excitedly. “Mom! Look! It’s that white fox!”

Under the moonlight, a small snow-white fox crouched atop an artificial rock in the courtyard. Its amber eyes stared coldly toward the mansion.

“So it really is here,” the female cultivator murmured, greed flickering in her eyes. “This fox is extremely intelligent. If we can capture and tame it, it’ll be invaluable.”

“I’ll catch it!” the boy said eagerly, rushing toward the door.

“Wait.” She stopped him. “That beast is cunning—it escaped last time. I’ll handle it myself.”

She stepped through the window, and in the next instant, her figure appeared in the courtyard.

Seeing her, Qyla turned and fled—but its movements were sluggish. Its injured hind legs clearly hadn’t recovered.

“Trying to escape?” the female cultivator sneered.

She raised her hand, releasing a burst of purple light that transformed into a glowing net, descending toward Qyla.

Just as the net was about to fall—

A white figure descended from the sky.

With a soft landing, the newcomer stood in front of Qyla. A casual flick of her sleeve erased the net of light entirely.

Moonlight illuminated her figure.

Kennedy, dressed in white. Long hair flowing freely. Her expression cold and indifferent.

She bent down, lifted Qyla gently, and stroked its head. “You’re safe now.”

“It’s you,” the female cultivator said, eyes narrowing. “Kennedy. I hadn’t even gone looking for you yet, and you walked right into my hands.”

Kennedy slowly raised her head, her gaze icy. “You and your son tyrannize a mortal family, slaughtering the innocent at will. Aren’t you afraid of divine retribution?”

“Divine retribution?” The woman laughed scornfully. “You? A half-dead stray dog, daring to lecture me?”

Her aura erupted violently.

Purple spiritual energy surged around her, forming raging whirlwinds. Trees bent violently, flowers were torn from the ground, and the mansion’s windows rattled and cracked under the pressure.

Inside the hall, the Wiebe family members collapsed in terror. Some fainted on the spot.

Kennedy remained unmoved.

She gently set Qyla aside and straightened, her voice calm yet resolute.

“Since you refuse to repent,” she said, “don’t blame me for showing no mercy.”