The gray-clad man was never the honorable type. Seeing Lance Quinn standing out in the open as a target, he wasn’t about to let the opportunity slip by.
Hidden in the shadows, the gray-clad man waited a long time before his chance finally came. As soon as Lance’s back was exposed within his attack range, the man burst out from hiding.
“Go to hell!” A flash of blue light—a poison-laced dagger—stabbed straight for the back of Lance’s head.
It was as if Lance had eyes in the back of his head. Just as the dagger was about to strike, he suddenly shifted to the left, narrowly dodging the gray-clad man’s attack.
Missing his first strike, the gray-clad man twisted the dagger back, aiming for Lance’s throat.
Clang—Lance drew the flexible sword from his waist, blocking the attack and pressing forward.
The gray-clad man’s face was ordinary, but his eyes were vicious—clearly not a decent sort. Seeing Lance dodge again and again, he attacked even faster, every strike aimed at a lethal spot.
Now that Lance had discovered his presence, the gray-clad man knew he had to kill Lance to feel safe.
Lance said nothing. Facing the gray-clad man’s killing moves, he countered and defused each one. Soon, Lance gained the upper hand, shifting from passive defense to aggressive offense.
At first, the gray-clad man didn’t take Lance seriously. But as he realized he was being suppressed at every turn, fear crept into his heart.
“Who are you?” Forced back several steps by Lance, the gray-clad man asked in panic.
“You don’t even recognize me? Clearly, you’re not from the martial world.” Lance mocked, the silver mask on his face gleaming sharply.
There was only an arm’s length between them. The gray-clad man couldn’t possibly miss seeing Lance’s identity—yet he still didn’t know who Lance was. That alone proved to Lance that this man belonged to those who lurk in the shadows.
The gray-clad man was cautious. Realizing Lance was probing for his identity, he clamped his mouth shut and refused to speak. Lance didn’t press further; instead, with a flick of his sword, he sent the dagger flying from the man’s hand.
Lance wasn’t afraid of poison, but even he couldn’t withstand the deadliest toxins. It was best to deal with the poisoned dagger early—he had no intention of repeating last time’s disaster.
Now weaponless and seeing Lance’s prowess, the gray-clad man’s urge to kill him faded. Spotting the tree behind him, he quickly retreated.
When he was about a body’s length from the tree, the gray-clad man suddenly lunged forward, keeping his body parallel to the ground. He planted his feet against the trunk and scrambled upward, using the tree for leverage.
“Trying to run?” Lance snorted coldly, sheathing his sword at his waist. He fought the gray-clad man hand-to-hand, chasing him from the base of the tree up into the branches—making it clear he wouldn’t let the man escape.
It was the perfect chance to escape, but the gray-clad man’s plan was seen through. Furious, he nearly coughed up blood. With no way out, he had no choice but to keep fighting Lance among the branches.
The longer they fought, the more anxious the gray-clad man became. Thinking of Lance’s earlier words, he growled viciously, “Why does a martial wanderer like you meddle in others’ business? I’m not from the martial world. I have no grudge with you—let me go now, and maybe we’ll meet again someday.”
By now, the gray-clad man understood: the silver-masked man before him might not match his light-footed qinggong, but his martial skill was far superior. Killing him was out of the question—and escaping would be no easy feat either.
“You and I have no real feud,” Lance said, gripping a branch and spinning with its leverage to kick the gray-clad man down.
Leaves fluttered down as the gray-clad man crashed to the ground. Lance followed close behind, stomping on his chest. The gray-clad man spat blood, rolled twice, and staggered back to his feet.
“Who’s your friend? I’ve never made enemies with martial wanderers.” The gray-clad man gasped in pain, losing all the calm and confidence he’d shown when threatening Consort Purity.
Swish—Lance drew his sword, leaving a bloody mark on the man’s arm. “Serena Feng!”
“What? You’re friends with Serena Feng?” The gray-clad man’s pupils dilated in shock, clearly rattled by the answer.
“Looks like you don’t know much.” Lance sneered, his sword never slowing as he pressed forward, forcing the man into frantic, clumsy dodges.
Despair etched across the gray-clad man’s face. Just as he tried to say something, Lance’s sword swept toward his head. The man ducked, but the blade scattered his hair, and Lance instantly kicked him to the ground again—this time, the man couldn’t move.
Knowing escape was impossible, the gray-clad man’s eyes flashed with ruthless resolve. He squeezed his eyes shut and bit down hard…
But pain shot through his cheek—he couldn’t break the poison hidden in his mouth. Instead, he coughed up blood. Lance grabbed him again, and with another burst of pain and a crackling sound, the man spat out a mouthful of broken teeth…
Agony twisted the man’s face, but Lance showed no sympathy. He tossed the man against a tree, and the gray-clad man’s vision went black—he fainted instantly.
With dawn approaching, Lance didn’t linger outside the city. He dragged the man back toward the Capital, leaving the interrogation to others; whatever they could extract from the gray-clad man wasn’t his concern.
The Menagerie fire incident had led to countless arrests, but the true mastermind remained at large. Ninth Royal Uncle and William Wang Jinling spent half a month investigating without pause—then, suddenly, they stopped.
The investigation had been intense, but its end came without warning. The Emperor, though irritated that Nolan and William didn’t defer to him, had to admit he’d profited greatly: the palace was purged top to bottom, and every unstable factor that could threaten his life was eliminated.
With Nolan and William no longer pressing, the matter was quickly resolved. The Emperor pinned the blame for the Menagerie fire on a middling Menagerie steward, and the case was essentially closed.
Prince Damien of Southlyn and the Summers family representatives were remarkably agreeable. Whatever deal the Emperor made with the Summers family, they accepted the scapegoat without question. The Menagerie fire case was wrapped up, and everyone sat together in apparent harmony—even the Emperor hosted a banquet for the Summers family.
Nolan and William attended out of courtesy, but their expressions stayed cool. When the Summers family brought up their contest with Serena, hinting that she’d set a fake chess trap to humiliate them, Nolan and William didn’t respond—making it clear that unless the Summers family spoke plainly, they wouldn’t take the bait.
Onlookers assumed Nolan and William had failed in the Menagerie fire case and were sulking in frustration. In reality, they watched coldly, each with his own plan. As Nolan had said, this matter wouldn’t be allowed to end so easily…