“Qivius, that brat murdered my disciple, are you truly going to shield him?!” Lester roared. “Shield him?” Qivius stroked his beard, sweeping his gaze over the crowd. “Several thousand pairs of eyes witnessed the truth. Jayson conceded, then tried to strike from behind. Jared countered to preserve his own life. In law and in reason, is blameless. It is you, Mr. Lester, who now seeks public vengeance in defiance of Swordmaster City‘s rules.”

Around the edge of the dueling stage, every grand master and elder present found his voice at once, their robes snapping in the mountain wind as they rushed to agree with the verdict.

“Mr. Massey is right. Jayson lost the match and still dared to scheme. He deserves far worse than death.”

“Sacred Sword Manor prides itself on honor, yet It produced so base a cur!”

“Mr. Lester, if you use force today, you pit yourself against every cultivator under heaven.”

The tide of condemnation washed straight toward Lester. Under the weight of so many scorn-filled eyes, and the invisible fingers pointing at his spine, his aging face flushed a violent crimson, as though someone had dashed fresh blood across his cheeks.

“S-So that is the will of the cultivators of the world, is it?” Lester whirled on Jared, his glare cold and venomous, the way a serpent fixes on its prey.