The air in the hotel lobby was thick with the smell of cheap perfume and cheaper ambition. It was a place for fleeting deals and fleeting sleep, and right now, it was a stage for a prince's tantrum.
" What? You don't dare to face me?"
The voice was a lash of cold contempt, and it came from the blond man, Dai Mubai. Prince of the Star Luo Empire, Arthev's mind supplied, filing the title away with detached interest. The prince was staring at the motionless back of Zhu Zhuqing, the girl Arthev had just met. Their history was a tangled mess, an engagement made in the womb, a prince who fled his duty, a fiancée he remembered only as a shadow.
But the possessiveness burning in his eyes was real and ugly. His neglected property was being touched by another man, Arthev deduced, and a 'wretched-looking' one at that. How dare I.
To his credit, and likely to Dai Mubai's surprise, Zhu Zhuqing did turn around.
Arthev watched the prince's face. A jolt of shock, swiftly overrun by raw attraction. She was young, but her Youming Clan heritage had gifted her a figure and a beauty that outpaced her years. Her eyes, though… they were the real weapon. Watery pools of grievance and a dark, captivating allure that could steal a weaker man's soul. Arthev saw Dai Mubai's resolve waver for a fraction of a second, captivated.
Then those same eyes iced over, filling with a disdain so pure it could flay skin. The prince visibly flinched.
Zhu Zhuqing had tried for dignity, but the hypocrisy was too much. He carouses with twins one night and has the gall to confront her? A wave of bitter grievance washed over her, and she finally gritted out a single, venomous word: "Disgusting!"
The word shattered the spell. Disgusting? Dai Mubai's fury, a tempest held in check, surged. Arthev could see it in the tightening of his shoulders, the clenching of his jaw. He was a moment from violence.
But Arthev's own hand was already there, his grip closing around the prince's wrist like a manacle. The flesh beneath his fingers was corded with muscle, thrumming with soul power, but it was nothing he couldn't handle.
"Arthev, let's go," Zhu Zhuqing said, her voice flat. She turned to leave, dismissing the prince entirely.
A clean exit. Good. Arthev gave a simple nod and released the wrist. He turned his back, a calculated risk. He'd taken three steps when the air behind him split with a sharp, violent whistle. Dai Mubai's fist, fueled by humiliation and the White Tiger's pride, was flying toward the back of his head.
Predictable.
Arthev's hand shot up, his palm neatly intercepting the fist mid-air. The impact was a solid thwack that sent a tremor up his arm, but no more.
"You!" A flicker of genuine frustration ignited in Arthev's chest. He'd been ready to walk away. But being provoked like this, from behind… it chipped away at his patience.
His irritation, however, was quickly overshadowed by a shift in the air. A shimmering, ferocious tiger phantom enveloped the blond man. Three soul rings ,two yellow, one purple,rose from his feet, and his aura intensified dramatically, pressing down on the lobby. A Three-Ring Soul Elder. Good quality rings, too.
"None of you are leaving today!" Dai Mubai roared. The plan was clear in his enraged eyes: tear the ruffian to pieces, then drag his fiancée away to be 'taught a lesson'.
Zhu Zhuqing's brow furrowed with real concern. "Arthev..." she began, her voice tight. She feared they couldn't win, even together. The White Tiger had always suppressed her Youming Spirit Clan. It was the natural order of things in Xingluo.
"Zhuqing, stay back!" Arthev reminded her firmly. If a fight was inevitable, he needed space. He couldn't be worrying about her safety.
Dai Mubai sneered. "You think you're qualified to give orders? Crushing someone with soul power as weak as yours is like crushing an ant."
"An ant can carry fifty times its weight," Arthev retorted, his voice calm. "It's often the unassuming things that bring down the proud."
"Enough talk!" Dai Mubai spat. "You defend her so fiercely. Tell me, street rat, what is she to you?"
Arthev's gaze didn't waver. "A person who wishes to be left alone. Something you seem incapable of understanding."
Weak? Arthev almost smiled. He'd learned long ago how to dampen his aura, to feel like nothing in a world obsessed with everything.
It was a useful trick. Faced with such arrogance, his initial itch to fight was now warring with a more pragmatic thought. His eyes fell upon Dai Mubai's obviously luxurious attire, the fine silk and tailored cut. A prince. A rich prince.
"How about we make a bet?" Arthev proposed, his voice cutting through the prince's bluster. "If I win, the room you reserved will be mine. How about that?"
Dai Mubai burst into laughter, a sound so mocking it prompted a nervous chorus from the onlookers. The suggestion was absurd to them. Of course. They see his rings and my plain clothes. They see a god and a beggar.
"Impossible!" Dai Mubai declared. "But I'll humor you. If I lose, you can live in that room for a hundred years! But when you lose, I'll break every bone in your body before you crawl out of here!"
"Those are steep terms," Arthev said, a cold smile finally touching his lips. "I accept. But a word of advice ..... you should have taken the chance to walk away."
Well, that escalated. Originally, Arthev had just wanted a free room. Now, the prince's venom had truly ignited his fighting spirit. A lesson was in order.
"Arthev!" Zhu Zhuqing called again, a plea to just run.
He simply raised a hand, a calm, final signal. Stay out of it.
He settled into a solid stance, one fist pressed against the small of his back a grounding, centering pose while the other hand extended forward, palm open. He waited. He didn't summon soul rings. He didn't flare his aura. Let him be overconfident. Let him make the first, mistake.
The blatant disregard infuriated Dai Mubai further. Convinced Arthev had a death wish, the prince didn't even bother with soul skills.
He relied purely on the enhanced physical power of his White Tiger Spirit, lunging forward in a brutal, straightforward charge. A furious hook punch aimed to cave in Arthev's temple, the force behind it whistling through the air.
So slow… Arthev watched the aggressive prince, his mind a cool, analytical engine. He'd expected more from someone who carried himself like a top-tier expert. The onlookers gasped, certain the blow would be fatal. To Arthev, it was a telegraphed, clumsy attack, all brute force and no finesse.
Too slow.
With a motion almost too casual to comprehend, Arthev raised his hand, effortlessly deflecting the punch aside. The move was so simple it left Dai Mubai's guard wide open, his entire center exposed. In that same fluid instant, Arthev's other hand was already moving, his open palm pressing against the prince's abdomen.
No need for grand displays. Just efficiency.
Shhrrrrk!
A blue, high-speed rotating sphere materialized in his hand, the soul power condensing in an instant. It wasn't a soul skill; it was something else entirely, a vortex of pure, grinding force.
"Rasengan."
It wasn't a shout, just a flat, precise statement of fact. The sphere slammed into Dai Mubai's stomach. The soul power tore into him like a thousand grinding drills, the rotational force lifting him from his feet and contorting his body mid-air. He wasn't just thrown; he was hurled, a puppet with its strings cut by a tornado.
He crashed into a heavy cabinet with a sickening crunch of wood and splintering glass. A deep, spiral pattern was carved into the shattered wood where the force had concentrated.
To the stunned crowd, it was a blur. A gust of wind, a flash of impossible blue light, and then the invincible Young Master Dai was embedded in the ruins of the furniture. The lobby fell into a dead silence, broken only by the tinkle of falling glass.
Arthev lowered his hands. "Did I hit him too hard?"
He glanced at Zhu Zhuqing, who was frozen solid. Her sharp eyes had caught the movements, but her mind was struggling to process them. The sheer, brutal efficiency defied all the rules she knew.
"No... it's not that..." she stammered, utterly lost for words. The implications were staggering. To suppress one's aura so completely… he would have to be at least two major realms stronger. The thought was terrifying.
Arthev walked over to the wreckage and looked down at the dazed prince. Dai Mubai gaped like a fish out of water, but no sound emerged. The clothing over his abdomen was torn away in a perfect, frayed circle.
"Friend," Arthev said, his voice still calm. "In that case, your room belongs to me now, right?"
Dai Mubai struggled weakly, but his limbs were jelly, his body wracked with the deep, resonating pain of the Rasengan.
"Although it's not really my habit," Arthev continued, his tone almost conversational, "you did say I could stay for a hundred years." His eyes dropped to the prince's hip.
"Since you're… indisposed, I'll help myself." He plucked the bulging, high-quality wallet from Dai Mubai's pocket. It was satisfyingly heavy. "Remember to top up the rest of the money later!"
With a final, dry smile that didn't reach his eyes, Arthev turned away. All Dai Mubai could manage were guttural, impotent sounds of rage, the fury of a king deposed by a commoner.
Now that he had funds, Arthev had no intention of actually staying in the prince's room. Judging from Zhu Zhuqing's behavior and their history, it would be incredibly tactless, not to mention distasteful.
"Let's go," he said, arriving at her side.
Zhu Zhuqing took a deep, steadying breath, the ice in her eyes momentarily replaced by a dazed awe. She nodded, and together they walked out of the hotel under the collective, awestruck gaze of the crowd.
Stuck in the cabinet, Dai Mubai could only watch them leave. A wave of pure, unadulterated humiliation washed over him, more painful than any physical wound. His face turned a shade of furious green, and with a final, choked gasp, his mind surrendered, and he fainted on the spot.
To be continued....