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Chapter 6 - The Savage Rowan

Brightvale, the capital of the Dawn Empire and one of the ten great cities of the realm, stood proud and bustling.

Within its walls, beyond the royal family, countless noble houses thrived, with the Miles family reigning as one of the mightiest, their power unmatched.

In the depths of winter, snow fell in thick sheets, yet Brightvale's streets remained largely clear—thanks to the ceaseless efforts of its people to sweep the drifts away.

Rowan Miles wore a coat he'd picked up along the way—not exactly stolen, for he'd left a few coins as payment, considering it fairly bought.

"Miles House!"

Gazing at the bold, imposing characters carved above the gates, Rowan's face twisted with a mix of emotions. The moment Liam had kicked him off Sky Pillar Peak, he'd truly believed his life was over.

Yet, against all odds, he hadn't died. Instead, he'd transformed from a waste who couldn't cultivate into a true martial artist.

Originally, Rowan had no intention of returning to the Miles family. He had nothing now—not even a proper martial technique to train with. And with winter's bite, he had nowhere else to go. In the end, he chose to come back.

"Rowan, you lowly servant, where have you been these past three days?"

As Rowan stepped into the Miles compound, a venomous voice cut through the air from ahead.

A cold, murderous glint flashed in Rowan's eyes, quickly masked as he looked up. There, not far ahead, a youth of about eighteen approached with a sinister grin.

"Three days?" Rowan suddenly realized, then froze. Only three days had passed? He'd spent six days inside the Star Codex's realm! Confusion swirled in his mind, but his silence only fueled the other's rage.

"You mongrel, I'm talking to you! Are you deaf or mute?" Anson Miles exploded, storming up to Rowan. He raised his right leg and kicked viciously toward Rowan's chest.

Anson was fuming. Like Rowan, he was a servant in the Miles household, tasked with tending the mounts. But over the past three days, Rowan had vanished without a trace.

Their workforce was already stretched thin, and with winter's chill, Rowan's absence had doubled their workload. Resentment burned in Anson's heart.

Today, he'd finally earned a day off, eager to visit a brothel to vent his frustrations. By chance, he'd spotted Rowan—missing for days—at the gates.

Seeing Rowan ignited Anson's fury. He unleashed a string of vicious curses and charged, aiming a brutal kick.

Such treatment was routine for Rowan. In the Miles family, he was more than just a waste—he was a punching bag, a target for anyone's scorn, even a lowly servant like Anson.

Though a branch member of the Miles, Rowan was fair game for bullying, especially by Anson, a Acquired first-level martial artist.

In this world, cultivators reigned supreme over those who couldn't harness inner energy.

Hearing Anson call him a "mongrel" again, Rowan's eyes turned blood-red! No one had ever shown him kindness—except his parents.

Though they'd died when he was young, they were his untouchable core. The world could insult Rowan, but never his parents! As a waste, he'd endured being called mongrel, bastard, and worse, swallowing his rage.

He'd fought back before, but resistance only brought harsher beatings. Since his parents' death at age five, he'd become a target for all.

At first, he'd lash out recklessly when called names, but the result was always the same: savage beatings, sometimes leaving him half-dead, once bedridden for six months.

After that, Rowan chose to endure.

He bided his time, memorizing every face that wronged him. They would pay—someday.

Now, Rowan was no longer a waste. He was a martial artist! Hearing Anson's venomous insults and seeing the incoming kick, years of suppressed hatred erupted.

His eyes blazed red, his face twisted with ferocity as he glared at Anson, teeth gritted, looking ready to tear him apart. Anson flinched, instinctively pulling back his kick.

But he quickly recovered. "Just a waste—why fear him?"

"Damn it, scared by this trash?" Anson's anger flared hotter. He powered his leg and aimed a savage kick at Rowan's chest.

Above Anson's head, a faint lesser dragon phantom materialized—proof of his Acquired first-level power.

This was no mere scuffle; Anson meant to kill! Rowan's face grew even more savage.

"Die!"

With a sudden roar, Rowan clenched his right fist and smashed it down on Anson's incoming leg.

Anson sneered inwardly. A waste challenging a martial artist? Ridiculous.

In his mind, he already saw Rowan flying back, chest caved in, coughing blood.

A cruel smile curled his lips—until it froze.

"Two dragons' force! Impossible!" Anson bellowed. Above Rowan's head, two nearly solid black lesser dragon phantoms hovered.

Bang!

As Anson shouted, Rowan's fist, brimming with terrifying power, crashed into Anson's leg.

Two dragons' force versus one—a crushing disparity.

Crack!

A sharp snap echoed as Anson's leg bone broke, followed by a piercing scream.

Bang!

The force sent Anson flying, crashing into the snow some distance away. His pig-like shrieks echoed through the compound.

"What's happening?" Nearby servants, hearing the cries, rushed over.

Knocking Anson back didn't calm Rowan. Years of buried resentment exploded.

His eyes blood-red, radiating killing intent, he stalked toward Anson step by step.

Seeing Rowan's terrifying demeanor, Anson panicked. Clutching his broken leg, he snarled, "You mongrel, how dare you break my leg? You're dead! I'll kill you!"

Like a rabid dog, Anson spewed venomous curses.

"Waste!"

Rowan approached slowly, his face icy, murder flashing in his eyes. He stomped down.

Crack!

Another bone snapped, accompanied by Anson's wail—his other leg broken under Rowan's heel.

"Enjoyed bullying me, didn't you?" Rowan snarled, driving a kick into Anson's waist. The force lifted Anson into the air.

With both legs shattered and his waist struck, the pain forced a gush of blood from Anson's mouth. He passed out like a beaten cur.

Thud!

Anson hit the ground, the impact jolting him awake. Another round of screams followed.

"Help me! Save me! Rowan's gone mad!"

By now, a crowd of Miles servants had gathered. Witnessing Rowan's brutal assault, their jaws dropped.

Wasn't Rowan the pushover waste? Why was he so ferocious now?

For a moment, they stood stunned, staring in disbelief.

Hearing Anson's venomous cries despite the beating, a flicker of malice crossed Rowan's eyes. He charged forward and stomped on Anson's mouth.

Crack…

The sound of breaking bone carried far, sending a shiver through the onlookers. Anson's curses stopped abruptly—his jaw shattered, he'd fainted again.

Unappeased, Rowan stomped twice more, snapping both of Anson's arms.

Utterly savage.

Anson woke from the pain, only to pass out again.

With that, Rowan's rage subsided. His face returned to its usual calm as he swept a cold glance over the dozen stunned servants. Then, he walked away leisurely.

Seeing Rowan's ferocity, the servants were cowed. As he approached, they parted in fear, heads bowed.

This world was that ruthless. As a waste, Rowan might've faced a mob piling on to kick him while he was down.

But when he proved fiercer and stronger, they shrank back, silent, trembling in awe.

Not a word was spoken. Only after Rowan's figure vanished did the servants dare to whisper among themselves…

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