"Uncle Fugui!"

Staring in shock, Mark Thompson let out a heart-wrenching roar, overwhelmed by grief—he had lost yet another family member.

The head steward and second steward of the Thompson Manor were not originally surnamed Li, nor were their real names George and Charles. They were two old brothers who had followed his father, David Thompson, through his years of wandering the martial world. Even in the most difficult and dangerous times, neither of them ever betrayed him.

When David Thompson finally washed his hands of the martial world and retired, the two, still in their prime, followed him to Xiyan Town, changed their names, and took up the roles of head and second steward.

For over twenty years, no one knew that the two shrewd and sharp-tongued stewards of the wealthy The Thompson Family were actually martial arts masters.

Although the three young masters of the The Thompson Family were unaware of the glorious pasts of head steward George Thompson and second steward Charles Thompson, they never treated them as mere servants, but respected them as elders.

"My old brothers!"

Men rarely shed tears, but losing two brothers in a single day left David Thompson in utter agony.

"Mere mortals are just mortals! Die!"

Having failed to kill his target with a single sword strike and instead hitting the wrong person, the junior disciple from Zhaixing Pavilion felt not the slightest guilt. Instead, his killing intent grew even stronger. He urged his sword light to shoot at Mark Thompson once more, intending to stab him through and through.

Just as the sword light accelerated, Mark Thompson, eyes bloodshot, raised his right hand crackling with electricity and roared, "Burn my life! Five Thunders Righ—"

Boom!~ A bolt of lightning as thick as a bucket shot from his hand.

"Watch out!"

Seeing the talisman in Mark Thompson's hand and the sudden arcs of electricity, the senior disciple from Zhaixing Pavilion sensed danger. He quickly split his focus, sending his sword light at Mark Thompson while casting a defensive spell to protect his unprepared junior.

Thunder erupted from the ground, the deafening blast leaving everyone within several hundred meters nearly deaf.

Yet the violent lightning not only instantly vaporized the senior's defensive spell, but also swallowed the unprepared junior without resistance.

The purple-blue lightning flashed and vanished, leaving a strange burnt smell lingering in the air.

A faint wisp of smoke was quickly blown away by a gust of wind.

"Junior! Junior!"

The senior disciple from Zhaixing Pavilion searched in disbelief where his junior had just stood. All that remained were charred scraps of cloth, the small black flag taken from the evil sorcerer tossed haphazardly on the ground, and some unrecognizable metal fragments.

Several shops along the street had been reduced to ruins. Amidst the debris, a charred, barely human corpse could be seen, its arm still reflexively reaching forward as if trying to grasp something, a testament to the overwhelming power of the spell unleashed by the talisman.

"Heh... haha... hahahaha!"

Mark Thompson's laughter grew louder and louder. The three-foot-long sword he had never let go slipped from his hand, clattering harshly to the ground. Two flying swords were embedded in his shoulders, one on each side.

The sword in his left shoulder let out a whimper, its glow quickly fading.

With its master obliterated by the Five Thunders spell, the sword's spirit was nearly extinguished.

But the most shocking sight was Mark Thompson's hair, turning white at a speed visible to the naked eye, even thinning and falling out. His left hand, which had held the talisman, was charred and cracked.

"When the Son of Heaven is enraged, blood flows like rivers; when a commoner is enraged, blood splatters within five paces; when a mortal is enraged, even immortals meet their end!"

Until now, he had always thought the so-called ancestral Five Thunders talisman given to him by a sickly wandering sorcerer (a conman) he once saved was a fake.

Now it seemed he had stumbled upon a great fortune. Not only did it work, but it had actually killed a genuine sorcerer.

……

Chapter 8 Old Thompson's Throwing Knife

To forcibly cast a spell with a mortal body comes at a great price—Mark Thompson's very life force.

That fleeting brilliance bought with his life force was a mortal's cry of defiance against the immortals.

Look up and see—does Heaven spare anyone?

In just a few moments, the eldest son of the The Thompson Family seemed to have aged decades. His hair turned white, his skin wrinkled, his body hunched, and the two flying swords in his shoulders became an unbearable burden.

Yet Mark Thompson still smiled with satisfaction. He had dragged someone down with him, and to kill a sorcerer with his own hands—his life was worth it.

The reason he hadn't died on the spot after forcibly activating a talisman no mortal should be able to use, and could still stand here, was likely due to years of various cultivation attempts and searching for rare treasures that could enhance or alter his constitution.

Though most so-called rare treasures were just ordinary things with limited benefit, and his talent was lacking so that cultivation methods always eluded him, most of his efforts had been in vain. Still, they had given him some foundation.

Compared to ordinary people, he at least had abundant energy and was free from illness.

Using up the last of his strength, he barely managed to swallow several black pills. After these actions, Mark Thompson was so weak he couldn't even lift a finger.

Yet even now, he was still sneering.

A mortal's sneer!