It truly was like wearing mourning clothes and a hemp headband. No matter how much people praised the Gusu Lan Clan’s school uniform as the most beautiful, or acclaimed William Clark as a once-in-a-century, peerlessly handsome man, it couldn’t make up for the look on his face—like a man who had just lost his wife, full of bitterness and deep resentment.

Misfortune never comes alone, and enemies are bound to cross paths. Blessings never come in pairs, but disasters never come singly.

William Clark stood silently, eyes straight ahead, quietly facing Charles Foster. Charles Foster was already considered exceptionally handsome, but standing face to face with him, he seemed a bit inferior, a bit more restless. Raising one eyebrow, he said, “Hanguang-jun really lives up to his reputation of ‘appearing whenever chaos arises.’ How come you have time to come to this remote mountain forest today?”

Clan leaders of their status usually disdained dealing with low-level evil spirits, but William Clark was an exception. He never picked and chose his night-hunt targets, nor would he refuse to come just because a demon or ghost wasn’t fierce enough or wouldn’t bring him fame. As long as someone asked for help, he would come—he had always been this way since he was young. Thus, “appearing whenever chaos arises” was the world’s evaluation of Hanguang-jun’s night hunts, and also praise for his character. The way Charles Foster said it now was hardly polite. A group of juniors from the Lan Clan following behind William Clark all felt uncomfortable hearing this. Brian Clark, always quick to speak his mind, said, “Sect Leader Jiang, aren’t you here as well?”

Charles Foster replied coldly, “Tsk, do you have the right to interrupt when your elders are speaking? The Gusu Lan Clan prides itself on being the most courteous among the cultivation sects—so this is how you teach your juniors?”

William Clark seemed unwilling to converse with him. He glanced at Ryan Clark, who understood immediately—let the juniors talk among themselves. He stepped forward and said to Lucas King, “Young Master Jin, night hunts have always been fair competition among the clans, but you’ve set traps all over Dafan Mountain, making it difficult for other cultivators to move for fear of falling into them. Isn’t that already against the rules of the night hunt?”

Lucas King’s cold expression was a perfect copy of his uncle’s: “If they’re stupid enough to step into the traps, what can I do? Whatever it is, wait until I catch my prey before talking.”

William Clark frowned. Lucas King was about to speak again when he suddenly found himself unable to open his mouth—no sound came from his throat, and he was instantly alarmed. Charles Foster saw that Lucas King’s upper and lower lips seemed glued together and couldn’t be separated, his face showing a thin layer of anger. The barely maintained courtesy from before was gone: “Lan! What do you mean by this? Lucas King is not yours to discipline—undo it now!”

This silencing spell was used by the Lan Clan to punish juniors who made mistakes. Ethan Sullivan had suffered from this little trick more than once. Though it wasn’t a complicated or profound spell, only Lan Clan members knew how to undo it. If one tried to force their mouth open, their lips would be torn and bleed, or their throat would be hoarse for days—they had to keep quiet and reflect until the punishment was over. Ryan Clark said, “Sect Leader Jiang, there’s no need to be angry. As long as he doesn’t try to break the spell by force, it will be undone automatically after the time it takes for one incense stick to burn.”

Before Charles Foster could reply, a man in purple, dressed in Jiang Clan attire, came running through the forest, calling, “Sect Leader!” Upon seeing William Clark standing there, he hesitated. Charles Foster sneered, “Go on, what bad news do you have for me this time?”

The guest cultivator said in a low voice, “Not long ago, a blue flying sword destroyed the Binding Immortal Nets you set up.”

Charles Foster shot William Clark a glare, his displeasure written all over his face. “How many were destroyed?”

The guest cultivator answered cautiously, “…All of them…”

More than four hundred!

Charles Foster was furious.

He really hadn’t expected things to go so badly this time. He had originally come to support Lucas King. This year, Lucas King was sixteen, the age to make his debut and compete with the other clans’ juniors. Charles Foster had carefully selected Dafan Mountain as the hunting ground for him, set traps everywhere, and intimidated the other clans’ cultivators, making it hard for them to move and forcing them to back off—all to ensure Lucas King would take first place, so no one could compete with him. Over four hundred Binding Immortal Nets, though nearly priceless, were nothing to the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. But the loss of the nets was minor; the loss of face was major. With William Clark acting like this, Charles Foster felt a surge of anger rising higher and higher in his chest. He narrowed his eyes, and his left hand unconsciously stroked the ring on the index finger of his right hand.

This was a dangerous gesture.

Everyone knew that ring was a deadly, powerful artifact. Once the head of the Jiang Clan started touching it, it meant he had killing intent.

Chapter 8 Pride, Part 3

However, after stroking it for a while, Charles Foster forced himself to suppress his hostility.

Though he was very unhappy, as the head of a clan, he had more to consider and couldn’t be as impulsive as someone like Lucas King. Ever since the decline of the Qinghe Nie Clan, among the three great clans, the Lanling Jin Clan and the Gusu Lan Clan had always been close due to the strong personal friendship between their leaders. He alone held up the Yunmeng Jiang Clan, making it isolated among the three. Hanguang-jun William Clark was a highly respected cultivator, and his elder brother, Zewu-jun James Clark, was the head of the Gusu Lan Clan. The two brothers had always been harmonious. If things could be kept civil, it was best not to tear things apart.