The Weight of a Name
Vita forced a respectful bow.
"Senior Walton… it was my fault just now. I lacked consideration. Please don't blame me."
The words sounded calm, controlled—exactly the tone expected in front of someone of Cavir Walton's standing.
But the tension in his body betrayed the truth.
His jaw was clenched so tightly it felt like it might crack under the pressure. The muscles in his neck strained as he held the posture of respect, every second of it scraping against his pride.
Across the room, Cavir Walton slowly swept his gaze around.
His eyes moved from one face to another.
He saw everything.
The stiff shoulders.
The forced silence.
The hostility hanging thick in the air.
Suppressed killing intent.
Bruised pride.
A room full of young cultivators pretending to be calm while quietly seething.
A faint sneer tugged at the corner of Cavir Walton's mouth.
"Humph."
The dismissive sound cut through the tension like a slap.
