Finn's offhanded retort dropped like a spark into a barrel of powder —the old lanterns hanging in the side hall trembled faintly, casting quivering shadows that rippled over the stone floor.
Tybalt Tenebris's face flushed the color of liver, not pure red but streaked with dark purple veins of fury. His brows twisted together as if by some invisible hand, the creases at his brow sharpened with rage, and the glint in his eyes turned cold and piercing, like blades about to strike. In all his years, no one had ever dared to address him in such a tone. His fingers clenched so tight they turned pale-blue from the pressure.
"Reckless fool!" he barked, voice trembling with suppressed fire. "Kael! Cripple him!"
But Finn moved faster than Tybalt's shout.
He didn't even glance Tybalt's way — his gaze was locked on the trembling traitor, Faelan the Waverer. Finn's fingers twitched slightly, and from within his sleeve, a verdigrised sliver of metal — a Copper Shard — slid silently into his grasp. The cool touch of bronze against his skin was almost refreshing compared to the metallic scent of blood in the air.
No flourish. No warning.
His wrist flicked casually, as if brushing dust from a cuff.
Whsst!
A barely audible hiss cut through the air — light as wind through a window frame. If the hall hadn't fallen so silent, it might have gone unnoticed.
Faelan's sycophantic smile hadn't yet faded when a streak of brass light flashed in the corner of his eye — brightening, swelling, coming too fast to react. A chill surged up his throat, not the coolness of air but the cold of metal piercing flesh. Instinctively he raised a hand to his neck — and felt only warmth. Sticky, wet warmth. The iron scent made his mind reel.
He tried to speak, to beg — but only a gurgling wheeze escaped, like air leaking from a broken bellows. Blood and white foam bubbled between his fingers, dripping down his knuckles to patter on the flagstones, spreading a small, dark pool.
His eyes locked on Finn, wide with disbelief and dawning terror, the light in them fading into regret. His body swayed once, then fell stiffly backward. His legs twitched twice on the ground — and stilled forever.
No one had expected it. A simple Copper Shard, plain as a coin, had slit his throat with surgical precision — clean, effortless, final.
Silence crashed over the courtyard. Even the distant murmuring of the bandits died out, leaving only the wind moaning through the gate.
The old man beside Tybalt — Kael "The Shadow" — opened his murky eyes a fraction wider. A strange light gleamed there: part curiosity, part excitement. His gaze fixed on Finn's hand, as though to unravel the secret behind that casual motion.
"The Dance of a Thousand Cuts?" Kael rasped, his voice rough as grinding stone, every word scraped and dry. "Didn't think I'd see that ancient throwing art in this gods-forsaken wasteland."
Finn ignored the surprise in his tone. His eyes turned to Tybalt, calm and cold."So the so-called 'friends from the South' backing the Direwolf Clan… were your House Tenebris all along?"
Kael's expression darkened further. His knuckles tightened; his aura tensed.
Just then, the side door creaked open.
Lady Isolde Vance stepped out, guarded by Cassian Vex. The panic that had clouded her face earlier was gone — what remained was composure, edged with loathing and desperate resolve. Her gaze swept over Tybalt, filled with undisguised contempt. She lifted the cup of frost-patterned ale from the table as she passed, though she didn't drink — only gripped the rim so tightly her knuckles turned white.
"Lord Adler," she called, her clear voice cutting through the tension like glass, "don't believe a word he says! He didn't come here to rescue me — he's after a token I carry. This!" She lifted the pendant at her neck, a faintly glowing star-shaped gem. "With this Starstone Pendant, he can unlock my mother's vault. What lies within is worth at least a hundred thousand gold coins!"
A hundred thousand!
The number struck like thunder. Every bandit drew a sharp breath. Even the one clutching a wine jug froze mid-drink — the jug tilted, spilling ale down his tunic unnoticed.
Seeing their reaction, Isolde pressed on, her voice urgent."If you drive him away and protect me, I'll pay you five thousand gold up front! And once it's done, you'll get twenty percent of the vault's treasure!"
Tybalt's face darkened to near black, worse than before — humiliated and enraged."You wretched bitch!" he roared. "How dare you—!"
Finn's expression shifted at last — not with excitement, but mild interest, as though he'd just discovered something worthwhile. His gaze slid to Tybalt, assessing him the way one might eye a walking treasury. The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.
The deal, it seemed, was sealed.
"Kael!" Tybalt's voice cracked, half-mad with fury. "Kill that bastard! Take the woman! Now!"
"As you command, my lord."
Kael's figure blurred. Not vanished — just so fast it seemed like smoke twisting through air. He drifted past Finn, a flicker of darkness aimed straight at Isolde.
Clang!
Cassian moved instantly, his sword flashing up to block. The Windswift Blade he practiced lived up to its name — light as a gust, swift as thought. Sparks leapt between steel and claw as he barely managed to deflect the first strike.
But Kael's cultivation dwarfed his. His hands curved into talons, a thin haze of black energy — his Aura — shimmering around his fingertips. He met Cassian's sword barehanded.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
A flurry of harsh metallic shrieks split the air, sharp enough to make teeth ache. Kael's Eagle Claw Art was savage and precise — every strike left deep gouges along Cassian's blade, as though bitten by some beast. Within moments—
Crack!
Cassian's sword snapped in two.
Kael didn't pause. His next strike lunged for Cassian's throat, too fast to dodge.
But before the blow landed, a shadow moved between them — steady, unhurried.
Finn.
He hadn't even drawn his weapon. He simply raised his palm, meeting the talons head-on — the motion calm, almost casual, yet carrying an immovable weight.
"Courting death!" Kael hissed, cruel delight flashing in his eyes, already imagining torn flesh and splintered bone.
Instead—
BOOM!
The impact resounded like a hammer on an anvil.
Kael's grin vanished. His right arm flared with heat — searing, unbearable. The force that surged back up his limb numbed his shoulder and rattled his chest. He staggered three steps back, nearly losing his footing, the taste of blood rising in his throat. His right hand trembled violently, fingers limp and senseless.
Impossible.
Decades of hardened strength, overturned in a single clash.
He stared at Finn's hand in disbelief — an ordinary palm, calloused, unmarked. No wound. No bruise. Nothing.
How—how could that be?!
Before he could recover, Finn stepped forward. Slowly. Each stride deliberate, heavy with an authority that made the air itself feel dense.
Kael roared, unleashing his full Aura, his body shrouded in pale light. Both claws struck out, leaving dark afterimages as they raked across Finn's chest and shoulders.
The attacks tore his coarse outer tunic to ribbons — yet beneath, his pale undershirt and skin remained almost untouched, bearing only faint white lines that faded like windblown dust.
The Aegis of the Unbreakable Vow held firm.
For the first time, fear flickered in Kael's eyes — creeping up his spine like ivy.
Finn's eyes stayed calm, unreadable. His right palm rose again, power gathering within. Inner Force condensed there, the air compressing until it popped with a muted crack, pressure rolling outward like thunder held in a cage.
The Thunderbolt Palm.
The strike looked plain — no glow, no spectacle — yet carried the weight of a falling sky.
Kael lifted both arms to block, every muscle taut, Aura thickening around his forearms like armor.
Crack!
The sound of bones snapping cut through the air, crisp and horrifying.
Kael's arms broke under the force. He flew backward like a rag doll, blood spraying in a red arc before crashing to the ground dozens of feet away. He didn't even groan — simply went limp.
A Mortal Rank 7 expert — felled with a single palm.
The entire courtyard froze. Even the wind forgot to blow.
Every bandit, every black-armored guard, even Lady Isolde herself — all stared in stunned disbelief, as though witnessing a god descend among men.
The cup slipped from Isolde's hand, shattering against the stone. The ale seeped silently into the cracks.
Finn lowered his hand. The heat of power still hummed faintly in his fingertips. He walked forward, each step echoing in the hush, and stopped beside the fallen Kael. Then, without a word, he pressed his heel down.
Crack.
A soft sound — final, absolute. Kael The Shadow moved no more.
Only then did Finn turn, his gaze cold as winter steel, fixing on the pale, trembling heir of House Tenebris.
"Now…" His voice was quiet, almost gentle, yet sent a chill through everyone present."Let's talk about your family's little plan."