The green?haired youth, Mateo, stood alone, surrounded on all sides. Sect disciples, their robes embroidered with the insignia of their mid-level clans, sneered at him with open contempt. Their cultivation auras burned strong—each one already in their late twenties, each standing proudly at the twelfth stage of Qi Condensation. By contrast, the halfling’s qi flared at the eleventh stage, powerful but not enough to match their combined strength. He was hemmed in by their jeers, their hostility pressing down like a suffocating weight.

  “Monster,” one spat, his voice sharp as a blade cutting through the air.

  “Filthy blood,” another girl sneered, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.

  “How dare you crawl into this place? Know your place, beast.”

  “You think you belong among cultivators? You should have stayed in the mud.”

  Mateo’s jaw tightened, his teeth grinding as he endured the barrage. He had long grown used to insults, but the venom in their words still struck deep. He stood rigid, fists clenched, his silence a shield against their scorn. Yet when one young man shoved him, sneering that he should have died like his “whore of a mother who slept with a spirit beast,” his restraint shattered. His green wind qi lashed out like a whip, striking with sudden ferocity.

  The disciples recoiled, then surged forward as one. A brawl erupted, chaotic and brutal. Mateo’s strikes were fast, desperate, and fueled by rage and survival instinct. His fists cracked against ribs, his kicks swept legs from beneath bodies, and his wind qi flared in arcs of shimmering green. For a moment, he carved space around himself, defiance blazing in his eyes. But the disciples pressed in from every side, their numbers overwhelming. Fists and kicks hammered him relentlessly, their combined strength crashing down like waves against a lone rock.

  He staggered under the assault, blood streaking his lip, bruises blooming across his skin. His breath came ragged, each inhale sharp with pain. Yet his eyes refused to dim. They burned with defiance, with a fire that no insult could extinguish. Every strike he threw carried not only qi but the weight of his fury—the fury of one born into scorn, condemned for blood he never chose.

  A girl’s orange flaming palm slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling back against the stone wall. He coughed blood, vision swimming, but forced himself upright. Another disciple’s fist cracked against his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He spat crimson onto the floor, then lunged forward again, refusing to yield. His qi surged, green light spiraling around his fists, striking like claws. One disciple cried out as his ribs cracked, stumbling back in shock. For an instant, Mateo stood tall, his aura blazing defiantly against theirs.

  But the tide was merciless. A kick swept his legs, another blow hammered his shoulder, and he collapsed to one knee. The disciples laughed, circling him like predators savoring the kill. “See? Beast blood makes you savage, but it won’t save you,” one mocked. “You’ll never be more than filth.”

  Mateo’s chest heaved, his body trembling, yet his gaze never faltered. He glared at them through blood?blurred vision, scales shimmering faintly along his jawline. His lips curled into a snarl, defiance etched into every line of his face. Though battered, though beaten, he refused to bow.

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  Even surrounded, even drowning beneath their scorn, he remained unbroken. His blood might mark him as different, and his lineage might condemn him in their eyes, but his spirit blazed brighter than their cruelty. And as long as that fire burned, he would fight—whether against their fists, their insults, or the world itself.

  Nathan’s chest tightened as he watched the halfling stagger under their blows, blood streaking his lip, scales shimmering faintly in defiance. The sight twisted something deep inside him. The chamber itself seemed to pulse with malice, every shadow pressing down, every sneer echoing louder. His fury boiled, silver qi sparking at his fingertips, the oppressive atmosphere feeding the fire in his veins.

  When one disciple lunged, foot arcing in a brutal kick aimed at Mateo’s ribs, Nathan snapped. His rage erupted like a storm breaking through the suffocating chamber. Silver Step blurred him forward, his palm catching the strike mid?air. Bone cracked—the disciple screamed as his leg snapped under the force.

  The chamber fell silent for a heartbeat. The oppressive air seemed to recoil from Nathan’s blazing aura, silver light cutting through the rot and shadow. His voice carried like thunder in the stillness:

  “Enough. You will not lay another hand on him.”

  This action shocked Mateo, but he quickly recovered, returning to his usual cold self.

  “You trash dare get in our way,” a disciple spat, his fist cloaked in lightning as he struck. Nathan not only blocked the blow but also knocked him down with ease. His silver qi flared as he turned to the crowd, eyes sharp.

  “You dare call the prince of the Azure Region’s brother trash? Do you have a death wish?” Uriel stepped forward, his royal emblem gleaming, a clear sign of his noble bloodline.

  The disciple paled. None of them dared risk offending a member of the royal family and bringing calamity upon their sect. One by one, they withdrew, unwilling to challenge further.

  Nathan then turned to Mateo, reaching out to help him up. Mateo shoved his arm away, snarling, “Don’t touch me, you filthy mortal.”

  Nathan ignored the insult. “I see you’re a feisty little brother. I suppose I’ll have to teach you how to respect your big brother.” He forcefully checked Mateo’s injuries.

  “What are you doing? Let me go!” the youth snapped, forming a wind qi blade and stabbing Nathan in the shoulder. His eyes widened in shock when Nathan didn’t dodge.

  “Happy now?” Nathan said calmly, then turned to Uriel. “Give me a healing pill.”

  Uriel took it from his storage pouch and handed one over, and Nathan pressed it into Mateo’s mouth despite his resistance.

  “Why didn’t you dodge?” the youth demanded, stunned. He knew Nathan was stronger than him. “Why are you acting like you care?”

  “Because you’re my little brother from now on,” Nathan replied, ruffling his hair.

  Mateo violently grasped Nathan’s hand, but he didn’t push it away. He just stared into Nathan’s eyes. “Are you an idiot?”

  “Unfortunately, he is,” Uriel muttered. Then he said sternly, “But I’m not. If you dare attack him again, don’t blame me for being impolite.”

  “Alright, no fighting amongst brothers,” Nathan said lightly. Then he turned to Mateo. “Which reminds me—what is little brother’s name?”

  The youth remained silent, lost in thought. Is he being nice just to get close so he can stab me in the back like that wench did? No. I can’t allow anyone to get close. He pushed himself up, preparing to leave.

  “How about you come with us?” Nathan asked. “No one will dare cause you trouble anymore.”

  “I don’t need your help,” Mateo snapped.

  “Well, it’s a good thing it’s not up to you,” Nathan replied calmly.

  “You idiot, you can’t just force someone against their will.” Uriel hit Nathan in the head.

  “Well, if little brother says that, then there’s nothing I can do,” Nathan conceded with a shrug. He turned back to Mateo. “Anytime you’re in trouble again, just come find your big brother. Even if the heavens themselves deny you, I’ll stand beside you.”

  Uriel rolled his eyes but smiled faintly at Nathan’s na?ve sincerity. Afterwards, he and Nathan left the green?haired youth behind in the chamber’s shadows.