Kneel Down, You Are Not Even Worthy to Be a Dog

Rowan Bloom, panicked and desperate, stumbles blindly and accidentally enters the Burial Grounds within the Holy Land.

"Damn it, how did I end up here?"

Staring at rows of tombs and gravestones, a flash of regret crosses Rowan Bloom’s eyes. If there were a wall nearby, he’d have punched it out of sheer frustration.

How could he have ended up in this place? If these graves were destroyed, he’d be branded the Demon Sect’s greatest sinner. Even if Ninth Royal Uncle Nolan Doyle let him off, the entire Demon Sect would never forgive him.

Rowan’s heart raced with anxiety, his steps growing erratic. Dorian’s Master immediately understood—Rowan deeply valued these graves.

It made sense—death was a solemn matter. Even Demon Sect members wouldn’t want their ancestors’ resting places disturbed or their main tombs dug up.

Reading the inscriptions on the gravestones, it was clear that these were the burial sites of generations of Demon Sect Masters. If the graves of these sect leaders were destroyed, Rowan Bloom’s own position as Sect Master would be finished.

Unable to protect the legacy of his ancestors—unable even to safeguard their tombs—how could Rowan Bloom command the respect of his followers?

But...

Even so, Dorian’s Master couldn’t bring himself to disturb the graves of the dead. That was simply too petty.

But Dorian Owen had other ideas: "Master, what’s there to hesitate about? So many Demon Sect members have died, and only the Sect Master gets a proper burial. By doing this, we’re actually doing the Demon Sect Masters a favor—letting them share blessings and hardships with their fallen followers."

Is that really what 'sharing blessings and hardships' means?

Dorian’s Master shot Dorian a reproachful look and felt another pang of regret. Clearly, he hadn’t taught his disciple well enough.

"Don’t you dare!" Rowan Bloom stopped running when he heard Dorian’s words.

"Tch, who do you think you are? Why wouldn’t we dare?" Dorian didn’t hesitate—he kicked a nearby gravestone, snapping it in two, then planted his foot squarely on it and declared arrogantly, "Lord Bean is smashing it today—what can you do about it?"

"You... bastard! Just wait, you’ll be eaten alive by Corpse Worms!" Rowan Bloom’s pale face flushed bright red with rage.

"Don’t try to scare Lord Bean with Corpse Worms. I’m not someone who gets spooked that easily. Only you care about those worms—I don’t give a damn." Dorian Owen puffed up with pride, as if he were some kind of hero immune to Corpse Worms.

Rowan Bloom’s pupils widened in shock, fear flickering in his eyes. "You—you weren’t infected by the Corpse Worms?"

How could that be? The Corpse Worms he’d chosen were not only harmless but so tiny—snow-white, soft, and boneless, hidden in cotton so you couldn’t see or feel them.

"Only now you realize it? You really are an idiot. Didn’t you notice Ninth Royal Uncle didn’t even bother with you, and none of us took you seriously either? You’re the only one who thinks you’re clever, spouting nonsense no one cares about. Rowan Bloom, just accept your fate—Lord Bean is feeling generous, so I’ll even leave your corpse whole." Dorian Owen raised his sword and slashed down into the middle of the graves.

With a loud bang, dust flew everywhere. The middle of the small mound caved in, but fortunately the pit was deep enough that no coffin was visible.

The blow hit Rowan Bloom hard. At this point, he no longer cared about the graves—he staggered back, dazed and lifeless, standing there like a man already dead.

"So... so I really am just a clown. None of you were ever infected by Corpse Worms. And I actually thought I was clever, smugly plotting to threaten you all—only to find out it was all for nothing. You must have been laughing at me, watching me talk to myself and issue threats that meant nothing. Did you think I was pathetic?" The greatest humiliation is believing your schemes have succeeded, only to realize you were being toyed with all along. All his former arrogance now felt like a cruel joke.

"You’re not even worth laughing at." Dorian’s Master didn’t often speak, but when he did, his words cut deep.

Rowan Bloom was vain and arrogant, always convinced of his superiority and consumed by jealousy. Seeing Ninth Royal Uncle’s unmatched aura made him so bitter he wanted to destroy it. Now, being humiliated by Dorian’s Master—how could he possibly endure it?

Rowan Bloom glared coldly at Dorian’s Master, roaring, "How dare you mock me! You all deserve to die!" With his greatest trump card gone, Rowan was on the verge of collapse—now all he wanted was blood.

"Tch, you think you’re someone important? Lord Bean has no time to mess with you." Dorian’s words were even sharper, nearly driving Rowan Bloom mad. But at the critical moment, seeing the approaching Black Riders, Rowan forced himself to calm down.

He had nothing in hand that could threaten Ninth Royal Uncle. He needed to come up with another plan.

Rowan Bloom’s eyes, bloodshot, turned to Zed. He sneered, "You’re just a dog raised by Ninth Royal Uncle. Today, I’ll take your life."

Rowan Bloom could tell at a glance that Dorian Owen was the weakest. He focused his attack on Dorian, trying to take him hostage.

Most people would be furious at those words, but Dorian Owen was a true oddball. He just found it funny and grinned, "A dog? In all my years, no one’s ever called me a dog before—that’s a new one. But so what? Being a dog is still better than someone who isn’t even qualified to be one. Look at you—if you knelt beside Ninth Royal Uncle and tried to lick his boots, he’d still think you’re filthy.

I really can’t tell if you’re truly stupid or just pretending. Ninth Royal Uncle is a prince of Eastlyn, surrounded by talented experts—there’s no way he’d ever fall for your tricks. Even if he did, royal pride would never let him risk his life for a bandit like you.

Where does your confidence come from, daring to ask Ninth Royal Uncle to kneel at your feet and obey your commands? You really are like an old man hanging himself—you just don’t know when to quit.

Don’t you realize those noble royals have nothing but contempt for rough martial artists like you? And as for someone as crooked as you, even if you wanted to be Ninth Royal Uncle’s dog, he’d still turn up his nose. Over the years, the royal families haven’t bothered with you—not because they’re afraid, but because they don’t care." Dorian kept up his barrage as he fought.

And he had a point—whether in academics or martial arts, everyone ultimately wants to serve the imperial family.

If the court extended an offer, most martial heroes would leap at the chance. Wandering life can’t compare to wealth and power, but the court rarely recruits them—so those who want luxury and still claim to be noble are just fooling themselves.

Even someone as scatterbrained as Dorian Owen understood this, but Rowan Bloom never did. He chased power blindly, forgetting his own abilities and limitations.

His ambitions were sky-high, but his fate was as fragile as paper. That’s Rowan Bloom—bullying the weak in his tiny Demon Sect, thinking he could rule the world.

Still, for all his arrogance, Rowan Bloom’s martial skills were no joke. After several exchanges, Dorian Owen began to falter, taking a kick to the back. Rowan pressed the attack, refusing to let up.

"Rowan Bloom, there are things in this world you can’t afford to provoke. Bullying my disciple in front of me—you really have no idea how high the heavens are or how deep the earth." Dorian’s Master stopped watching from the sidelines and rushed forward, blocking Rowan’s attack.

Rowan Bloom’s moves were vicious, but Dorian’s Master fought just as ruthlessly. Neither was a conventional martial artist. Rowan’s eyes flashed with surprise: "Who are you?"

"You don’t even know who I am, yet you dare offend me? I can’t tell if I should praise you for your courage or mock you for your ignorance, Master Rowan."

Smack—taking advantage of Rowan’s distraction, Dorian’s Master hit him with a dirty trick, kicking him hard in the shin.

"Ah—!" Rowan Bloom cried out in pain as his legs buckled, forcing him to kneel.