Chapter 138: Common Nobody Auntie
Jorge Blue’s piercing stare remained locked on Lordi as he continued his transmission to Rodney, each word heavy with implication. "In the million-year history of our Abyss Pit Sect, those who achieved Perfect Grade Jade Tier Bones? You could count them on one hand - with fingers left over."
His mental voice took on a reverent tone. "Most were either scions of ancient clans with Core Formation ancestors breathing down their necks, or chosen successors personally groomed by Inner Sect elders." A meaningful pause. "Core Formation Stage cultivators... You know exactly what that means. In backwater provinces like my homeland, they’re worshipped as invincible king of all gods by the masses. We have a name for beings at that level—TAA. Stands for ’They-Above-All’. Taste the meaning of that title."
Jorge’s spiritual sense flickered with intensity. "Oh, there have been a handful of exceptions - once nobody who somehow achieved perfection through heaven-defying luck. But tell me, where are those ’humble geniuses’ now? The moment they showed potential, they were dragged into the Inner Sect’s embrace, drowned in resources until their bones gleamed with someone else’s ambition."
He let the silence stretch before delivering his final blow. "So explain to me how this Seventh Layer gutter-trash stands before us with Perfect Grade Jade Tier bones. Without backing from an existence that would make Kinson Wexford piss his robes? Without support from a power that could buy and sell Bloodline Lords like common cabbages? Even a true millennial genius would be stuck at High Grade Skeletal status without those legendary level elixirs—and we both know he didn’t find ten of them just lying around some back-alley apothecary."
Rodney’s jaw locked, his face draining of color—then flushing crimson—as the realization struck him like a physical blow.
His mind churned with the weight of Jorge Blue’s subtle warning, the implications sinking into his consciousness like a blade piercing through layers of pride and rage. Jorge’s counsel was unmistakable: forming a death feud with this unfamiliar junior brother was neither suitable nor wise. Better to sheath the blade, preserve the fragile peace, and avoid the wrath of an overlord whose influence could crush them like ants beneath a divine foot.
Yet, how could Rodney not have already sensed the same anomalies that Jorge had pinpointed? As a peak Ninth Layer Qi Refinement cultivator, his perception was as keen as his senior brother’s. He had noticed the incongruities in this rapist’s prowess. He had seen the vial of pills, their radiant aura confirming their legendary level quality, a fortune no mere Seventh Layer Outer Sect cultivator could possess without a backer of unimaginable wealth. He understood too well, with a clarity that gnawed at his resolve, what Jorge was urging him to do—step back, let the "misunderstanding" dissolve, and avoid a vendetta that could doom them all.
But the wound to his heart was raw, a festering agony that drowned reason in a torrent of fury. This incident hadn’t struck Jorge Blue or his beloved; it had targeted Emma Dawson, the Eighth Layer cultivator whose delicate beauty and open affection for Rodney had long been a whispered truth in the Outer Sect. Emma, with her lithe form barely concealed by a tattered cloak, had been humiliated—groped and nearly defiled, or so the squad’s distorted retelling claimed—in the chaos of battle, her innocence tarnished before Rodney’s eyes.
To Rodney, Emma was more than a junior sister; her adoration had kindled a quiet hope in his battle-hardened heart, a rare warmth in the Abyss Pit Sect’s cold hierarchy. If he let this matter slide, if he spared Lordi despite the perceived sexual assault, how could he maintain his fame as Luther Clan heir in the Outer Sect? How could Emma reclaim her innocence, her chastity, her reputation, all shredded by the scandalous whispers that would surely spread?
The thought of her tear-streaked face, her trust in him shattered, ignited a fresh wave of anger that burned away his sanity, a wildfire consuming the caution Jorge had urged.
Rodney’s jaw clenched, his Ninth Layer aura surging as he gripped his bone chain whip, its links crackling with malevolent spirit energy. Consequences be damned—he could not let this affront stand, not when Emma’s honor and his own pride hung in the balance. His eyes locked onto Lordi, blood-soaked and trembling, the Seventh Layer cultivator’s azure flames dimming, his Blade of Life Hater raised in a desperate defense.