Charles still did not believe that the prophecy on that stele would come true, and even if it did, he would be happy to see it—one could even say he was quite looking forward to it.

As long as he could repair his martial meridians and step once more onto the path of martial arts, no matter what price he had to pay, Charles felt he could bear it.

Yet today, Charles had a vague sense of foreboding, feeling a chill in his heart as he left home. He had always trusted his instincts, and thinking that something unexpected might happen while he was out, and that obtaining the Evil Emperor’s true legacy would likely involve some twists and turns, Charles felt it would be safer to bring more guards along.

Outside Cuiyi Garden was a broad training ground; the Ying clan of Wuyang was a family of military lineage. Years ago, when Samuel Foster built this Duke’s residence, he left a vast open space comparable to a military drill ground, as a place for himself and his private troops to practice martial arts.

But today, there were not many people here. In the center of the training ground stood only a single youth, practicing spear techniques. The flickering shadows of the spear coiled and danced like a great serpent, stirring the wind and clouds, leaving no gap for even a needle to slip through, nor water to seep in.

Charles glanced over and couldn’t help but twitch the corner of his mouth. He thought to himself that after just a few days apart, this fellow had already reached the sixth rank of Martial Master—such rapid progress.

That was his cousin Andrew Foster, the eldest son of his uncle, General Huaihua William Foster. If Charles could not inherit the Star-Plucking Divine Armor, then this Duke’s residence would most likely fall into his cousin’s hands.

“That’s the Ying clan’s inherited Coiling Dragon Spear—”

Matthew Bolton also took a careful look, then praised, “Second Young Master’s martial talent is truly astonishing. He has already cultivated this spear technique to the point where form and spirit are both present, nearly reaching perfection. He’s not even fourteen, yet has such mastery.”

Charles snorted disdainfully and strode forward, unwilling to spare even a glance at that person. Matthew Bolton knew well the knot in his master’s heart, and immediately cursed himself inwardly for his stupidity—why couldn’t he keep his mouth shut? He hurried to follow closely behind Charles.

Although Charles did not wish to pay attention to his cousin, as he took a detour around the training ground and was only halfway across, he suddenly felt a sharp spear intent lock tightly onto him.

Charles stopped in his tracks and glanced sideways. At once, he saw the shadows of the spear sweeping toward him from not far away. The fierce gusts instantly enveloped him on all sides, and the air around his ears was filled with the whistling of energy blades.

If that were all, it would be tolerable, but Charles could also sense the overwhelming killing intent from the owner of that spear, completely unrestrained. Through the layers of spear shadows, Charles met Andrew Foster’s gaze and saw in those eyes a beast-like fury and resentment.

At this moment, not only did Charles frown, but even Matthew Bolton beside him wore an angry expression. This Second Young Master was going too far! Knowing full well that the heir’s martial meridians were ruined and he could no longer practice martial arts, yet still trying to oppress him with spear force.

Even knowing that this person dared not truly harm anyone, Matthew Bolton still couldn’t help but clench his fists. If Andrew Foster made even the slightest wrong move, he would surely step in and teach him a lesson!

But then, Charles did not get angry—instead, he laughed, eyes wide open, not even blinking, facing the surging spear blades head-on and suddenly stepping forward. It was as if he was offering his own forehead, his own life, to the tip of that spear.

This move not only caught Matthew Bolton off guard, but also greatly surprised Andrew Foster, who hurriedly withdrew his spear force. But he had already exerted his strength, and now, withdrawing it in haste was like smashing ten thousand pounds of force back onto himself. Not only did the spear shadows scatter, but his chest felt tight, and a trace of blood involuntarily spilled from his lips.

Seeing this, Charles burst into loud, unrestrained laughter, full of contempt both in voice and gaze. Yet this action seemed to completely enrage Andrew Foster, whose fair and handsome face flushed with a strange red. With a furious roar, the spear shadows rose again, a cold gleam shooting straight for Charles’s throat.

Only then was Charles startled, his breath catching, and he instinctively wanted to retreat. He had a keen eye for martial arts and could tell at a glance that this time Andrew Foster was going all out. Who knew what madness had seized him—he truly meant to kill, seriously aiming for Charles’s life.

Matthew Bolton at his side had already moved, ready to intercept in an instant. But at that moment, Charles also felt a surge of anger and boundless hatred. He was furious at his own powerlessness before the overwhelming spear shadows, and hated that, facing this storm of blades, he actually felt a trace of fear and dread. If his martial meridians were not ruined, if he could still cultivate, would he have ended up like this?

Forcing down his instinct to retreat, Charles’s thoughts moved, and his hands in his sleeves immediately pressed the mechanisms for the “Linked Blade Box” and “Sleeve-Fired Beads.”

Countless pellets shot out like a storm, and seven flying knives flashed among them, cold lights flickering and vanishing in an instant.

Seeing this, Andrew Foster was shocked. He saw Matthew Bolton already dart in front of Charles, using his broad, sturdy body to shield him completely. Instead, Andrew Foster himself was now in danger. He could only redirect his spear, the red tassel swirling, unleashing a barrage that covered the sky, shielding his front and sides. In that small space, sparks flew and a series of explosive clangs rang out.