Sensing the explosive hostility within the courtyard,
After all, a dragon does not dwell with snakes.
By nature, these Grade D martial artists were beneath his notice. Had the rules not dictated otherwise, he would never have shared a roof with such sect-class martial artists.
Circumstances forced his hand, and though he had no wish to be here, he wouldn't reject the situation either.
As for their hostility — could it possibly intimidate
He gave the door a light push with his toe, swinging it open. A glance inside revealed a fairly spacious courtyard.
Four sides of the courtyard held two rooms each — eight in total, clearly meant for eight martial artists, one room per person.
He was about to step inside when a broad figure strode up to block his path, barking: "Who do you think you are? How dare you barge into the martial artists' living quarters?"
The gruff voice belonged to the one they called Brother Hu.
"Deaf, are you? I'm talking to you!" Brother Hu bristled at
The arrogance that sect disciples carried with them flared up as though he had suffered some unfathomable insult. His face flushed with rage.
"And who might you be?"
He smiled faintly, then furrowed his brow slightly and flicked his sleeve as though brushing away an annoying fly, snapping: "Step aside. Don't block my way."
Brother Hu was a hulking, imposing figure. Seeing
But the instant that sleeve swept forward, Brother Hu felt as though a mountain had come crashing down in front of him. His breath hitched, and before he knew it, he had stumbled several steps to the side entirely of his own volition.
The way he shuffled aside looked almost as if he were complying with
Brother Hu's face turned beet red. He let out a gasp before he could finally catch his breath. In that moment, he couldn't even figure out what had just happened.
He roared: "Kid, you stop right there!"
He crossed his arms over his chest and said lightly: "Well then, who calls the shots in this place?"
He could tell that this Brother Hu was nothing more than a hothead — someone egged on by others to play the provocateur. The real leader of this courtyard was certainly not this fellow. A reckless brute with brawn but no brains could never lead.
This one had maintained an indifferent expression throughout, carrying a faint smile and a look of haughty contempt in his eyes. That air of aristocratic pride and superiority was practically the textbook model of a sect disciple.
This man,
Sure enough, when
The young man met
"A mortal-world martial artist who doesn't know his place, daring to look me over like that — truly a country bumpkin with no manners!"
With a light hmph, the young noble spoke in an unhurried tone: "I hear the top ten from the mortal world were assigned to the Mystic Spirit Area. Lucky them. But tell me — did the preliminary examiners not teach you how to behave in the advancement round? Did they not teach you that when facing sect disciples, you ought to tuck your tail between your legs and stay obedient?"
"It seems that during the preliminary rounds, you lords of the mortal world had your little moments in the spotlight. You've carried that sense of superiority right into the advancement round, haven't you?"
The young noble's smile was cold, his gaze sharp as he stared down
"Now, perk up your ears. This young master will give you a proper lesson on behalf of all sect disciples. Mortal-world martial artists are mortal-world martial artists in the end. By fate's design, you were born to wallow in the mundane world. Even if luck brings you into a sect, you'll only ever be at the very bottom — trampled underfoot, used as background scenery, at everyone's beck and call. Remember this: whether here or in a sect, you will always be one rank lower!"
The young noble raised one hand and continued: "Now, I will announce the five rules of this courtyard."
"Rule one — the two of you take those two rooms at the north end. Without our permission, you are never to approach any other part of the courtyard."
"Rule two — from now on, all menial labor in this courtyard falls to the two of you."
"Rule three — your monthly stipends and rewards must all be handed over to me."
"Rule four — here, you are servants. You come when summoned. Fail to show up once, and you kneel in punishment. Fail twice, and you get beaten. Fail three times — you die!"