Unlike the independent courtyards of the personally taught disciples, the outer sect disciples lived three to a room. This directly resulted in Henry Clark suffering unrestrained bullying from his roommates for a long time.

He came from a truly poor background, growing up in a small village with very limited experience. What’s more, Henry Clark harbored demonic energy within him—he was the child of a demonic cultivator, and bloodline discrimination existed in the cultivation world as well.

They mocked him as a filthy half-breed, often beating and kicking him. As for Henry Clark standing out in today’s competition...

It was currently the time of the evening banquet, so most people weren’t in the dormitory. Grace Carter had been standing at the door earlier, faintly hearing voices coming from inside.

“Speak up! What underhanded tricks did you use? You’re just a useless loser—how could you possibly improve so much overnight?”

“Let’s search his clothes. I bet we’ll find some low-grade stuff!”

“The brat dared to hit me? Watch me kill you!”

After that, the voices grew quieter, and she could no longer make out the words, only barely recognizing the rustling sounds of punches and kicks.

Seeing that things had quieted down inside, Grace Carter worried the protagonist might have been beaten half to death. Without thinking too much, she immediately pressed her palm against the door and gently pushed it open.

With a creak, a flood of crimson from outside poured in, truly resembling a tide of blood. In the dim candlelight and the broken shadows of the setting sun, she saw the scene inside the room.

There were three people in total.

A disciple in white stood with his back to her, trembling violently for some reason. When he turned around, his eyes were full of terror, as if he’d seen a man-eating monster.

A black-haired, black-clothed youth stood with a sword, its tip pointed directly at another person’s throat. As she entered, Grace Carter happened to catch the tail end of his words, chilling to the bone: “…I don’t mind killing you.”

After speaking, he pursed his lips and turned his head, his pitch-black eyes full of hostility, unable to hide his murderous intent.

The one with the sword at his throat was slumped in the corner, clearly just beaten up, his right cheek swollen high, clothes and hair in complete disarray.

He seemed to be in great pain, letting out a few hoarse, trembling gasps from his throat.

There were three people living in the disciple room, and the other two did often gang up to bully Henry Clark.

She knew one of them, named Brian Cooper, liked to wear white, so the one holding the sword must be the other villainous extra, Adam Sullivan. As for the pitiful guy in the corner—

So even the protagonist could end up this miserable.

So.

Grace Carter thought, as a proper vicious female supporting character, what should she say now?

Should I insist on joining your group activity?

Let go of that protagonist, let me do it?

She had more or less gotten used to her character by now, so when the three of them turned to look at her, she didn’t panic. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and smiled with feigned composure: “Why’d you stop? Go on.”

That look of disdain, that condescending tone.

Perfect!

Grace Carter had entered the sect the same year as them, and as a personal disciple of Tian Xianzi, she was immediately recognized by Brian Cooper: “You’re Elder Tian Xian’s…”

How strange, why did he look so scared, as if a hungry wolf was chasing him?

Could it be that he was embarrassed because his bullying was caught by a fellow disciple?

But the sword-wielding Adam Sullivan looked as calm as ever, frowning as he glanced over, his eyes full of menace: “What are you doing here?”

So arrogant, so cold—definitely the local delinquent leader.

Actually, this guy was quite good-looking, with sharp features and a straight nose, just a bit fierce.

Grace Carter met his gaze, pointed at the protagonist lying on the ground, and said, “I’m here for him.”

Sensing his momentary daze, she walked briskly over to the protagonist’s side.

That face, rumored to be stunning, was now bruised and swollen, its original appearance unrecognizable. She sighed inwardly, seriously wondering:

How did the original Grace Carter speak in the novel?

“Wow, you really got beaten up badly.”

“You know perfectly well why I’m here. Look at your status—an outer sect disciple, and you dare provoke me?”

“We’re both from the Xuanxu Sect, yet you do such things to harm your fellow disciples. If not for the fact that we share the same sect, I’d kill you today for your ill intentions.”

“Be honest—what tricks did you use?”

The original character didn’t believe she could be defeated by an outer sect disciple, so she naturally assumed Henry Clark had used dirty tricks and cheated to gain the strength to fight her.

Grace Carter only picked the least hurtful lines from her dialogue, omitting all the “useless,” “half-breed,” and other inexplicable insults—she found them too distasteful to say.

She recited her lines in one go, and, staying in character, gave a cold snort, lifting her fair chin slightly and glancing at the black-clothed Adam Sullivan beside her: “Your turn.”

Grace Carter’s trash talk was just for fun; when it came to true viciousness, this villainous guy was the real deal.

But maybe she acted a little too convincingly.

Before the black-clothed youth could even open his mouth, the protagonist slumped in the corner let out a heart-wrenching wail, tears streaming from his swollen, squinting eyes: “It’s… it’s all my fault! Please, spare me!”

Grace Carter: Slowly types a question mark.

Wait a minute.