Wandering Swordsman |

However, just as the tip of the knife was inches from his chest—

Adrian shifted his body slightly, his left hand gripping Leonard's wrist with pincers, while his right hand, with fingers spread like a sword, struck a vital acupoint on the inside of Leonard's elbow joint. Leonard's entire arm went numb instantly, and the short dagger clattered to the ground.

What terrified him even more was that Adrian not only dodged the fatal blow, but even pushed him back three steps with a backhand! The movement was swift and clean, and his inner energy was as steady as a mountain, clearly indicating that he had fully recovered!

"You...you've been faking it all along?!" Leonard's voice trembled, like a snake with its spine removed, his eyes churning with disbelief, terror, and a deeper rage that seemed to burst from his pupils. "You lied to me?! You dare...lie to me?!"

Adrian slowly straightened up. The wound on his shoulder had been properly bandaged by Hua Tianyou, and his black outer robe made him look as tall and straight as a pine tree.

His gaze was like a deep, cold pool, calm on the surface yet turbulent beneath; his voice was low but carried immense power: "Otherwise, how could I have truly seen the venomous snake within you?"

Leonard was struck dumb, staggered backward, and slammed his back against the medicine cabinet behind him.

The wooden frame collapsed with a crash, and dozens of celadon medicine bottles rolled and shattered. Various medicinal herbs, including sophora flavescens, angelica sinensis, and aconite, were scattered all over the ground along with the bloodstains left over from the previous night. The aroma of medicine and the stench of blood intertwined to create a nauseating stench.

He looked at his brother—those eyes no longer held any trace of illness, hesitation, or weakness, only a clear and compassionate gaze that saw through everything.

At that moment, Leonard finally understood: his meticulously planned assassination, poison, and hypocrisy were nothing but a joke of walking into a trap. He was not the hunter, but a caged beast lured into a cage.

"But have you forgotten..." Leonard suddenly hissed with a low laugh, a final flicker of madness in his eyes, "From childhood to adulthood, I've always worked harder than you! Swordsmanship, military strategy, politics—which of these haven't I honed day and night? You can't beat me!"

Before he finished speaking, he pounced forward, his fist flying fiercely, aiming straight for Adrian's face!

However, Adrian merely sidestepped half a step, his right hand darting out like a dragon, deftly seizing Leonard's wrist, while his left palm pressed against Leonard's chest, releasing a slight burst of internal energy. Leonard was struck as if by a heavy hammer, his entire body flying backward, crashing heavily into the corner of the wall, a sweet taste rising in his throat, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

"Reinard," Adrian approached slowly, his voice chillingly calm, "It's not that I'm inferior to you, but I've always concealed my strength and yielded to you out of consideration for your feelings. That's why the outside world thinks you're better than me."

Leonard froze, his pupils suddenly contracting.

It turned out to be like this...

Memories flooded back like a tidal wave—at ten, he narrowly defeated his brother in a sword duel; at fifteen, his father praised his "thorough thinking" in his strategy essay, unaware that Adrian had deliberately misspelled three key points; at twenty, he "precisely" deployed his troops in the drill ground, while Adrian "mistakenly" misjudged a troop of cavalry… It turned out that he was never the stronger one, but rather his brother was yielding! He was making way for him! He was using silent tenderness to weave a false victory for him!

With a "thud," it was as if something inside his chest had shattered completely. It wasn't his bones, nor his heart, but the very foundation upon which all his ambition rested—the belief that "I should have been the heir"—that collapsed with a deafening roar.

Just then, hurried footsteps and shouts from the guards came from outside the door.

"Adrian!" Baron Mason's voice was hoarse and anxious.

The door was flung open. The old count, dressed in a bathrobe, his hair disheveled, still clutching his untied belt, was clearly wide awake from the sudden turn of events. He immediately saw the unconscious assassin on the floor, the shattered medicine cabinet, Leonard coughing up blood in the corner, and Adrian standing in the center, his clothes stained with blood but his posture as straight as a sword.

"What...what's going on?!" His voice trembled as he glanced back and forth between his two sons, his eyes filled with fear and confusion.

Adrian took a deep breath, knelt on one knee, and said in a clear but heavy voice, "Father, I am guilty—I shouldn't have set a trap to test my own brother. But if I hadn't, you would never have believed that Leonard sent assassins to kill me, just to seize my throne!"

He pointed to the assassin on the ground: "This assassin was hired by Leonard. He just confessed that he was ordered by my brother to kill me because I wanted to succeed to the throne ahead of schedule!"

Baron Mason was struck dumb, his face turning deathly pale. He staggered a few steps, grabbing the doorframe to keep from falling, tears streaming down his face. "Reinhard...you...you actually..."

He turned to his second son, his voice suddenly rising, filled with tearing pain: "Tell me! Is it true?!"

Leonard slumped to the ground, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, but suddenly threw his head back and laughed, his laughter chilling: "It's true! It's all true! I hate him! I hate that he can have what I could never have in my entire life without doing anything! If I don't fight for it, am I supposed to kneel and watch him sit on his throne as a baron?!"

Baron Mason trembled violently, the last vestige of kindness in his eyes extinguished. He slowly straightened his hunched back, his voice like cold iron striking the ground:

"From this day forward, you are no longer a son of the Mason family. I strip you of the 'Mason' surname, expel you from the family register, and forbid you from ever setting foot in Silvermane City again! If you dare to return... you will be punished for treason, and executed without mercy!"

Baron Mason trembled violently, as if the backbone that had supported him for half his life had been ripped away. The hands that had once lovingly stroked the heads of his two sons now gripped the door frame tightly, their knuckles white as withered branches.

The last vestige of paternal warmth in his eyes was extinguished completely, like an eternal lamp in a sanctuary suddenly blown out by the wind, leaving only cold ashes. He slowly straightened his back, hunched over with age and worry, his voice low and deliberate, yet each word struck like a shard of cold iron, hitting everyone's heart:

"From this day forward, you are no longer a son of the Mason family. I strip you of the 'Mason' name, expel you from the family register, and forbid you from ever setting foot in Silvermane City again! If you dare to return... you will be punished for treason, and executed without exception!"

Leonard's manic smile froze instantly, like a mask encased in ice. He opened his mouth, as if to roar, to explain, to plead, but his throat felt as if it were being choked by an invisible hand, and he couldn't utter a sound.

Not long after, at Baron Mason's command, four guards clad in heavy silver armor filed in. They were expressionless, but their movements were exceptionally swift. Two of them grabbed Leonard by the arms, while the other two stood on either side, dragging him out of the room like a condemned prisoner.

Leonard didn't struggle; he just hung his head, his blond hair obscuring his empty eyes.

In the corridor, his steps were slow and hesitant, each step feeling like he was treading on his shattered dream, until he finally disappeared into the shadows at the end of the corridor.

Adrian took a deep breath and turned to face the deepest shadow in the corner of the room. His voice was clear and solemn: "Father, if it weren't for the Holy Envoy protecting us tonight, I would have already perished at the hands of the assassins."

He turned slightly to the side, raised his right hand, and pointed to the darkness: "Holy Envoy, please show yourself."