The moon had just begun to sink when Ishan's convoy reached the colossal gates of Lightning Dragon City. The walls rose like mountains, engraved with roaring dragon motifs that shimmered faintly with spiritual energy.
But before they could enter, a shrill voice cut through the air.
A young man on horseback approached, his smug grin twisting his already unpleasant face. Arrogance oozed from his every gesture.
"Ah, look who's returned," he sneered, fixing his leering eyes on Amrita. "The Cloud Piercing Sect's delicate flower, finally back from her little journey."
Ishan's brows furrowed. He'd seen this face before — somewhere in the haze of old memories — but couldn't place it.
Before he could speak, the old man driving Amrita's carriage — Killer X — stepped forward and said coldly,
"Young Master Hariom, our Miss has returned after a long and exhausting journey. She's in no state to entertain anyone right now. I must apologize, but she won't be meeting anyone tonight."
The sneer vanished from Hariom Dwivedi's face, replaced instantly by anger.
"And who the hell are you, old man, to tell me what I can or can't do? Do you even know who I am?"
He didn't recognize Killer X — not with his hooded cloak and worn robes. To Hariom, he looked like nothing more than a common coachman.
The old man's eyes flashed briefly with frost.
"I'm no one worth remembering, Young Master," he said softly. "But if you wish to harass our Miss, remember — you are daring to offend the Cloud Piercing Sect."
"Ho? So now a mere servant dares to threaten me—"
Before his words could finish, the air itself turned sharp.
A killing intent so fierce and suffocating burst forth that even the guards stationed nearby staggered back, clutching their chests. The horses neighed in panic.
Hariom froze mid-sentence, his body trembling. His instincts screamed that a single wrong word could end his life.
That was the killing aura of a Vital Core cultivator — someone far beyond ordinary soldiers. In Lightning Dragon City, there were fewer than a hundred such warriors.
Killer X's voice dropped to a deadly calm.
"I disappear for a few months, and this city forgets my name. Or perhaps its children have simply grown arrogant enough to believe they're untouchable."
That was the tone of the old Killer X — the man who once slew royal heirs without blinking.
Hariom's defiance shattered. He jumped down from his horse and bowed low.
"Forgive me, Uncle X… I–I didn't recognize you. Please forgive my insolence."
Killer X glared.
"'Uncle'? You've no right to call me that. Get out of my way before I change my mind."
The young man stumbled backward, face pale as ash, and quickly cleared the path.
As the convoy passed through, Ishan's memory stirred — the image of that face resurfaced. Hariom Dwivedi — the youngest son of the Dwivedi patriarch. Arrogant. Spoiled. Useless. A man who had tormented Ishan at every chance when they were young.
I'll remember you, Ishan thought silently, his eyes cold. And next time, you won't get to crawl away.
The gates opened, revealing a sight that stole Ishan's breath.
Lightning Dragon City — vast, radiant, alive. The air shimmered faintly with energy currents flowing through towers taller than any he had ever seen. Wide stone avenues bustled with carriages, merchants, and armored guards.
Compared to every city they had passed before, this one was a living empire in itself.
Soon, the convoy halted before a towering structure crowned by swirling clouds of mist. Its silver gates bore bold, glowing letters —
Ishan understood. So this is their destination.
He dismounted as Amrita and her companions stepped down from the carriage. He was preparing to leave when the old man stopped him, handing over a small pouch and a dark golden card.
"The girl asked me to give you this," Killer X said. "Your payment… and something else."
Ishan frowned, examining the card. It wasn't money — it was an invitation, embossed with the mark of the Sect Leader, Rama Raju Pillai.
"An invitation?" he murmured.
Before Killer X could reply, Amrita stepped forward. Her soft pink robe shimmered under the lantern light.
"Yes, Young Master Ishan. It's a personal invitation — for you alone. Our Sect Leader wishes to meet you on his birthday."
Rashi, who had been quiet the entire journey, smiled gently.
"You must come, Young Master. Please don't refuse us."
Ishan nodded faintly. "I'll try."
But his heart was already somewhere else.
He had to go home — to see what had become of his family.
Back in Singhania Manor, dusk painted the walls red.
Outside the grand gate, a thin boy of sixteen knelt in the dust, his face bruised, his eyes pleading.
"Please," he begged the guards, "let me see the Master. The Young Master Ishan must be alive! Please, if you can't search for him — at least allow me to try!"
The guards burst into cruel laughter.
One spat near his feet.
"You dare call that failure our Young Master? Don't you know who holds that title now? Say that name again, and I'll make sure you're thrown out permanently."
Another guard added mockingly,
"Like your useless Young Master, you'll vanish from this house today. Leave, before I decide to break a few bones."
But the boy didn't move. His voice trembled, but his eyes didn't falter.
"If the Grand Elder hears of this, he'll not forgive you. Please, let me through!"
That defiance earned him a brutal slap. He fell to the ground, but even then, he didn't stop begging.
That boy was Rajeev — Ishan's childhood friend and servant. An orphan, raised by Ishan's father himself. The two had grown up like brothers.
But after Ishan's father disappeared, everything changed. Their respect vanished. Their dignity was trampled.
Still, Rajeev never abandoned hope. When Ishan went missing two months ago, he searched relentlessly, risking his life daily.
Now, even as the guards kicked him, he clung to the ground, refusing to leave.
Then —
"How dare you!"
A sudden gust of wind tore through the courtyard. The guards blinked — and Rajeev was gone.
They turned — and froze.
Rajeev was in the arms of a young man, his eyes filled with quiet fury.
The guards scoffed, unaware who they were speaking to.
"Who are you to interfere with our work? That wretch belongs to us!"
The young man didn't answer. His eyes, once calm and patient, now burned like crimson lightning. He gently gave Rajeev a healing pill, whispering something only he could hear.
Then he turned to the guards.
"Seems while I was gone, the dogs of this house forgot their leash.""Perhaps I should remind them — whether by discipline… or by death."
The guards froze as the torchlight revealed his face.
Their blood ran cold.
Ishan.
The lost heir of the Singhania family — the boy they had mocked, beaten, and banished.
But this was not the same fragile youth who left two months ago.
Once, Ishan had been hailed as a prodigy — born with an extraordinary Divine Dantian, capable of absorbing ten times more vitality than others. By the age of twelve, he had already reached the Energy Circulation Level — a record unmatched in the empire.
But envy is sharper than any sword.
His uncle — consumed by jealousy — poisoned him with a slow-acting venom that shattered his Dantian, leaving him crippled, unable to circulate energy again.
And after then he chased him to completely finish him. and through this chasing game Ishan's body arrived before his current master and the story ahead you know it.
Lightning flickered faintly in his eyes.
"You called me useless?" Ishan said softly. "Let me show you what useless truly means."
The ground beneath the guards cracked.A flash of blinding blue light enveloped the courtyard, and the two men were sent crashing backward, their armor melting under invisible pressure.
No one saw him move.
When the dust cleared, Ishan stood still — calm, expressionless, and terrifying.
Rajeev looked up weakly, his voice trembling.
"Young Master… you came back."
Ishan's eyes softened for a brief moment.
"I never left," he whispered. "They just thought I wouldn't return."
As the night wind howled through the broken gates of Singhania Manor, one thing became clear —
The fallen heir had returned.And this time, he would not be mercy itself.