"Please, spare our lives." The leader of the group whimpered, trying to kneel, but unable to move his body. "The prince ordered us to deal with you." He confessed.
A glint crossed through Simon's eyes. "Prince Tristan? Why?" He asked. Except tonight, he had never spoken to that arrogant boy before. What was his deal with him?
"W-we don't know. However, he ordered us to beat you to–" the leader hesitated.
"To what?" Simon prompted.
"To death." He revealed, and hit his head against the ground. "Please, please, spare us." The leader begged. He was already regretting his decision to take on this job, terribly. The prince had assured him that the victim would be a nobody. He'd assured him the boy was at cultivator one realm, and he was a useless person. Recalling how easily this boy had dealt with them just now, almost as if they were pesky flies, he shuddered. If the boy was a nobody, what the hell were they? He wanted to cry. If he got back to the palace, he'd make sure to deal with the prince. That was if this boy didn't kill them in a fit of rage.
"Death?" Simon repeated in astonishment. What great hatred did the prince bear towards him to the point of ordering his death? He pressed his lips tightly.
"Tear off a part of your sleeves." Simon ordered the leader. He obeyed, even though he didn't know what he was up to. "I want each of you to cut your fingers, and allow your blood to drip into this container. It'll serve as my ink." Simon ordered. What he wanted to do was simple. Since the prince wanted to kill him, he was going to send him a warning. But he was going to teach these men a lesson while at it.
He'd never been a good person. In fact, he was scheming and dangerous. But towards anyone who bore him goodwill, he returned the favor. And to anyone who wished him evil? Same.
Soon, he was done writing a single piece of sentence. 'I'm coming for you.' He wrote.
Then, he erased the men's cultivation, crippling their entire strength. To a cultivator, crippling their cultivation was as good as death.
"Take this to the prince. You know what to do." Simon smiled, handing the piece of cloth to the leader of the group, then he went on his way. When he was sure no one was following him, and he was alone, he took out a silver mask from the pocket of his trouser tunic, and wore it over his face. Several men leaped down from the sky above, and bowed.
"Sovereign." One of them stepped forward, and lowered his head respectfully.
"How is it going?" His casual voice and expression was gone. In its place was the disposition of a monarch.
"Reporting to the Sovereign, everything is in place. We are certain you'll regain a fifth of your memories tonight." The man said. He was a middle-aged man, dressed in silver armor. His voice was slightly scratchy, and the true extent of his strength couldn't be seen. Yet, he was respectful towards Simon, not daring to even breathe properly.
"Is that so? Pretending to be a nobody is boring. I need to regain my full memories, and come back to my fortress. Tell me, do the other monarchs still think I'm dead?" Simon asked.
The middle-aged man nodded. "Yes. We've done as you requested."
Simon nodded. "Good. Take me to the ritual ground. I need to be back here before dawn." He instructed.
"Permit me, Sovereign, but we saw some men trying to make a move on you. Do you want us to take care of them?" The man asked. He was Simon's most loyal servant.
Simon shook his head. "They aren't worth it. No one in this village can withstand a bit of your strength. Let's hurry. If I'm not back before dawn, it might cause unnecessary trouble." Simon urged.
The man nodded. "But how long do you intend to pretend?"
Simon looked at nothing in particular. "Until I regain my full memories, and my strength as the Deathless Phoenix, the greatest monarch that ever lived. Keep an eye on the Black Monarch. I believe he had something to do with what happened years ago." Simon instructed, and leaped into the sky. The men followed.
Back at the palace, Tristan was casually mingling with the guests. His heart was light, and he'd drunk considerable cups of wine. He'd even apologized to his father. He winked at Clara, and then went outside. Minutes later, Clara joined him, her gentle feminine fragrance filling the air. His heart leaped at the sight of her. But he placed his arms behind his back, and pretended to be calm.
"How's it going?" She asked sweetly, grabbing at his hands. His skin tingled at the contact, and he relished the feeling.
He flung his sleeves proudly. "He should be dead by now. The men I contacted are experts in this field, and are stronger than even my father. You don't have to worry about anything going wrong." He said confidently.
"Oh, Tristan," Clara purred coquettishly, rubbing her bosom on his arms. "I knew I could trust you. Don't worry, I'm now a disciple of the academy. I'll surely repay you for this."
Tristan almost closed his eyes at the wonderful feeling her touch was igniting in his body. He smiled, trying to act like an expert. "You know I'd do anything for you."
Some figures approached them at that moment.
"Who are those people?" Tristan, who had his back turned towards them, chuckled.
"Those must be the men I sent after your brother." He replied.
"I'm ashamed to call him my brother. But why are those men limping?" Clara asked again.
"Limping? You must be seeing things. Those men are very strong, even if they encounter an expert, they'll surely deal with him without–" Tristan started saying, but his eyes went wide as saucers when he saw the men approaching them. "Ahhh, what the hell happened? Did you get into a fight with an expert?" Tristan frowned.
The leader of the group who'd originally been infuriated by what he just passed through, flew into a full blown rage. "Tristan Zhu, screw your entire family. Why did you tell us that the boy was a nobody?" He growled.
Tristan stared at the men blankly. What was wrong with these men? They'd acted confidently when he'd given them the job. Or did they hit their head against something?
Clara was frowning too. "What are you talking about? My brother is a nobody. He's just at cultivator one realm." She spoke up.
The leader turned his gaze towards her, assessing her from head to toe. "He's your brother? How strong do you think he is?"
"Strong?" Clara burst into laughter. "He's as strong as a rabbit. Not worth any mention at all." She said between bouts of laughter. The men who'd just been beaten stared at her like she was a fool.
"Then how do you explain this?" The leader gestured at himself and his men. "Our cultivation has been crippled by that monster. And he gave us a message for you." He reported, holding himself back from crying. He'd never be able to cultivate again.
"Crippled your cultivation?"
"Monster?"
Clara and Tristan whispered at the same time, and looked at each other in confusion. Were the men talking about someone else?
"Who are you talking about?" Clara frowned.
"The boy you sent us after!" The leader waved his hand in exasperation, but even that small gesture tore at his wounds, and he groaned. He threw down a piece of cloth at Tristan's feet. "He asked us to give this to you." He added. Talking was already a huge chore for him. What he needed at that moment was a physician. He sat down on the ground, and spread his legs pathetically.
Tristan hurriedly took a look at the cloth, and a dark look crossed his face. "What the hell is this?"
"The boy wrote it and asked us–"
"Come off this nonsense, Ben. Do you think making up such a story will make me pay you? If you know that you didn't kill the boy due to your incompetence, just say so. Is there any need to exaggerate things?" Tristan snapped. What the hell was this? There was no way he'd believe that Simon was strong enough to deal with the men.
But Clara, who'd been present when Simon fought with the elder that afternoon during the examination, frowned. She suddenly had a bad premonition. Was her brother actually that powerful? She shook her head. There was no way. If he was really that powerful, she'd know. She was certain he was making use of an artifact. Yes, that had to be the case.
She turned to the men. "Tell us what happened." She requested.
Ben— the leader of the group, took a deep breath, and explained everything that happened. By the time he was done, the duo were sneering.
"And you expect us to believe that this actually happened?" Tristan scoffed. These men were great liars.
"Believe us. Do you think we'll cripple our cultivation just to lie?" Ben said in indignation.
Tristan shrugged. "I wouldn't know."
Ben turned to Clara only to see her looking at him with disgust.
"You had only one job." She said.
"Simon is her brother. Who else would know the extent of his strength better than her? You lots should get out of here, before I make the palace guards arrest you for treason." Tristan threatened.
Seeing that he was serious, and might actually do it, the men hurried away, cursing beneath their breath. When they were gone, Tristan turned to Clara, worry in his eyes.
"Do you believe them?" He asked her.
She narrowed her eyes. "Of course not. But don't worry. He might have escaped this time, but we'd still meet at the Sanctum of Physicians. There, I'd deal with him."
I, Clara Wang has never lost before. Just wait and see how I'd crush you.