Roger's Plot

Balak Kingdom, Viscount Mansion.

Ron Barkley sat in his study, with the letter his son had sent spread out before him. He had read it three times already, and after each reading, the gloom on his face deepened. As an old noble who had spent more than twenty years navigating official circles, he had weathered countless storms, yet this letter made the veins at his temples throb uncontrollably.

The first half of the letter described everything that had happened at the academy gates in detail. His son, Roger, had been forced to his knees before half the academy's students by the sheer aura of a newly transferred student, unable to rise. He had not even had room to resist. The heir Ron had spent over a decade painstakingly cultivating, the standout of Thunder Academy's Advanced Class, had been crushed into an ant by a twelve-year-old child.

Ron turned the letter to its second page, where the intelligence Roger had sent people to gather was written. Yu Tianlin, twelve years old, Soul Power level thirty, two thousand-year soul rings, a mutated martial soul, a collateral descendant of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan, and directly connected to Yu Yuanzhen of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. The maid traveling with him was twelve years old, with Soul Power level twenty-four and a thousand-year second soul ring. Even one of his attendants had level twenty-one Soul Power and two hundred-year soul rings.

The moment Ron saw that intelligence, his first reaction was a chill down his spine.

It was not as though he had never seen geniuses. Every year, thousands upon thousands of children in the Balak Kingdom awakened martial souls, and there were plenty with innate Soul Power of seven or eight. But a twelve-year-old at level thirty with two thousand-year soul rings, plus a maid with only slightly inferior qualities—this was not the kind of setup an ordinary genius should have. This was a core successor built up through the full resources of a sect.

What made him even more wary was the name Yu Yuanzhen. Thunder Douluo, a level ninety-six Title Douluo, sect master of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. There were only a handful of Title Douluo across the entire continent, while the strongest person in the Balak Kingdom was merely a level eighty-two Soul Douluo. Yet his son had provoked a child who could speak directly with Yu Yuanzhen. The matter itself was a bomb that could explode at any moment.

Ron set down the letter and raised the wineglass on the table, gulping down a mouthful. The cold liquor slid down his throat. It did not extinguish the fire in his heart; instead, it made him even clearer-headed. He decided to swallow this insult for now. So what if Yu Tianlin was a genius? Geniuses still had to grow, and they could still suffer accidents when traveling outside. His son Roger might not be able to defeat him now, but that did not mean he would never have the chance to regain his dignity. Provoking the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan over a conflict at the academy gates was not worth it no matter how he calculated it. He would wait until the attention died down. Then, in some place where no one could see, a mere Soul Elder would be entirely at his mercy.

He turned to the last page, preparing to fold the letter and put it back into the envelope. His fingers had barely moved when his eyes swept over the end of the letter.

There was a line there, written separately by Roger in heavy strokes. The handwriting was messier than the main text. Clearly, Roger had hesitated for a long time before adding it after finishing the letter, for the pen had paused several times, leaving three ink spots on the paper. Ron stared at that line for the time it took half an incense stick to burn.

The candlelight in the study flickered twice. A night wind passed through the corridor outside, making the door curtain sway faintly. Ron's gaze remained nailed to that line, while his fingers unconsciously tightened, creasing the edge of the letter with five folds. All his earlier thoughts of weighing gains and losses, of preserving himself wisely, crumbled completely before that single line.

He slowly placed the letter on the table and smoothed the creases with his fingertips. Then he opened a drawer and took out two black tokens. The tokens were not large. An eye carved in a closed state was on the front, while the back was blank. These were Death Servant Tokens passed down through the Barkley Family since his grandfather's generation. Each token corresponded to a death servant raised by the family from childhood. They had no names, no identities, and Soul Power at the Soul King level. The Barkley Family had raised them for twenty years, waiting for the moment they were needed.

Ron placed the two tokens on the table and remained silent for a long time. Then he picked up the candlestick from the table, walked to a hidden door in the corner of the study, and pushed open the stone door.

There were no unnecessary furnishings in the secret chamber, only a table, two chairs, and a bronze mirror. He walked before the mirror and knocked on its surface three times in a particular rhythm. Ripples like water spread across the bronze mirror. A moment later, two figures clad in black cloaks appeared within the secret chamber.

Their faces were indistinct, and they wore no items that could reveal their identities. Their breathing was steady, and they exuded the cold aura of people who had long walked the edge between life and death. Their Soul King-level Soul Power fluctuations were well concealed. They were practically made for assassination.

Ron handed Roger's letter to them. The two took the paper and quickly read through it without asking a single question. They were death servants. Since childhood, they had been instilled with only one creed: their master's orders were everything.

"You will depart tonight and infiltrate the outskirts of Thunder Academy to await orders. Without my command, you are not to act on your own." Ron kept his voice low. "Once you arrive, follow Roger's arrangements."

The two death servants nodded at the same time. Their figures flashed, and they vanished from the secret chamber. Ron stood alone before the bronze mirror, lightly brushing the mirror's icy surface with the pad of his finger. Then he turned and left the chamber, returned to his desk, spread out a fresh sheet of paper, picked up his brush, and began writing a reply to his son.

He did not write at length. The entire letter contained only two sentences. After writing the final character, he folded the letter, placed it in an envelope, and notified the contact on his son's side.

The next morning, Thunder Academy, Advanced Class dormitory.

Roger sat by the window and opened the reply his father had sent overnight. The handwriting on the letter was his father's own, containing only two sentences. The strokes were sharp, like blades carved into stone. After reading it, he held the paper to the candle flame and burned it to ashes, then scattered the ashes through the gap in the window. The wind dispersed them, mixing them with the morning mist until they could no longer be distinguished.

After doing all this, he sat back on the bed and looked at the purplish bruises on his knees that were slowly fading. He exhaled a turbid breath and began to think.

Father has sent two Soul King-level death servants to assist me. The problem now is how to lure Yu Tianlin out of the academy. Acting inside the academy would be courting death. Thunder Academy was jointly funded by the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan and the Thunder Clan. Assassinating a core successor of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan within the academy would be like raising a blade beneath Yu Yuanzhen's very eyes. Even if we succeeded, the entire Barkley Family would be buried with us. Only outside the academy, somewhere beyond everyone's control, could it possibly be done without leaving a trace.

Roger stood before the window, his gaze passing over the formation of new students conducting morning drills on the field before settling on the flag embroidered with Thunder Academy's emblem. A faint, cold smile slowly appeared on his face. Then he picked up the paper and brush on the table and wrote down a name.