Chapter 145: Choices Made
Liam’s fingers tightened slowly around Fang Xiu’s throat. The young master’s body writhed like a fish dragged from water, his arms flailing uselessly against the unyielding grip.
His bulging eyes reflected pure terror, but Liam’s own face remained calm — unnervingly calm, as if carved from stone.
The crowd stood frozen, breaths caught, their hearts pounding so loudly it seemed to echo across the cobbled street. Everyone, including even the cultivators hidden among them felt their stomachs sink. No one moved and no one spoke.
All they could think was that same one question: "Is this nameless stranger truly going to kill the City Lord’s son in broad daylight?"
Inside, Liam’s mind was in turmoil. His thoughts spun like knives, weighing every pro and con.
Killing him means burning bridges, painting myself as an enemy of authority. Every sect, every clan with ties to Blackstone will put their eyes on him. And yet... letting him live means repeating this farce tomorrow.
I’ve given them chances. Too many.
He wondered if he was ready to shoulder what would come after either decision.
It was then that the familiar voice slipped into his head, the same voice that had spoken to him back in the restaurant.
"Do not kill him."
Liam stiffened, though only slightly. His eyes narrowed, but his grip did not slacken.
The voice continued, "Killing the City Lord’s son here will paint a target on your back far larger than you realize. I can see that you are not afraid of their anger, but I can also see that you have too much to do, to be bogged down by petty vendettas. Since you have spent so much time contemplating it already, you might as well let him go. Mercy, for now, is the sharper blade."
Liam’s jaw tightened, the cords in his neck straining. His inner conflict showed only in the faint tremor of his fingers against Fang Xiu’s skin.
"Mercy?" he murmured in his thoughts, almost amused.
I gave them mercy. I gave them warnings. I let them walk away when they should have died. And yet, here they are again, yapping at my heels like dogs too stupid to recognize the wolf in front of them.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, sighing inwardly. Then, instead of loosening, his grip grew firmer.
The captain’s eyes widened. He had been watching silently, frozen by the oppressive weight of Liam’s presence, but now, realization stabbed into him like cold iron. This stranger was not going to let Fang Xiu live.
"Stop!" the captain roared, his voice cracking under the strain. His aura flared like a torch, his veins bulging as he staggered forward. "If you kill him, you’ll doom yourself! Do you understand? That is the City Lord’s son you hold in your hand! Kill him, and you will suffer a fate worse than death! The Fang family will never let you rest! The City Lord himself will flay your soul and scatter your ashes! Put him down now!"
The crowd gasped, their fear climbing another notch. To invoke the City Lord’s name directly was no light matter.
But Liam only smiled — a cold, humorless curve of his lips that made every onlooker’s stomach turn. His eyes glinted like sharpened steel as he stared at the captain.
"Then bring it on," Liam said softly. His tone was calm, yet it rang like thunder across the silent street. "Let the City Lord come himself. I’ll be waiting."
And with a sharp twist of his wrist, the street echoed with a sickening crack.
Fang Xiu’s body convulsed once, then went slack. His bulging eyes glazed over as life fled from them, the final spark of arrogance and defiance snuffed out in silence.
The crowd recoiled in horror. Some screamed. Others stumbled back. Mothers shielded their children’s eyes, while hardened cultivators sucked in sharp breaths. The air was filled with the metallic tang of fear.
The captain froze for only a second, then rage consumed him. His face twisted into something monstrous, veins crawling up his temples.
"Bastard!" he bellowed, his voice breaking with fury. "Kill him! Avenge Young Master Fang!"
The surviving guards, their eyes bloodshot with grief and fury, let out a chorus of shouts. Halberds were raised and boots thundered against stone, as they charged as one.
But Liam didn’t wait this time and he didn’t restrain himself either. He had already crossed the line. There was no going back.
With a flick of his hand, invisible force erupted outward like a tidal wave. The first two guards were ripped from their feet, their chests caved in as though struck by boulders. They hit the wall with wet crunches and slid down lifeless.
Another swung his halberd, screaming, aiming to split Liam in two. The blade froze mid-swing, trapped in the unseen grip. Liam twisted his fingers.
The guard’s own weapon reversed in his hands, driving clean through his chest. His scream was cut short, replaced by a gurgle as blood poured from his lips.
The rest faltered, fear flashing in their eyes, but rage drove them onward. They closed in, four at once, their halberds stabbing from every angle.
Liam’s hand rose lazily. The weapons shattered before reaching him, splintering into shards that whistled through the air like arrows.
The shards tore into their wielders, ripping armor and flesh alike. The guards staggered, blood pouring from a dozen wounds, before crumpling to the cobblestones.
The captain was the last. His aura flared and he let out a roar and hurled himself forward, pouring everything he had into one final strike.
But Liam had no interest in toying with him, as an invisible force slammed into the captain mid-leap, crushing him to the ground with bone-snapping force.
His body spasmed as Liam’s telekinesis twisted, snapping bones one after another until his armor crumpled like paper.
The man let out a final, strangled scream before his skull cracked against the cobblestones, silencing him forever.
Silence followed. A heavy, suffocating silence that swallowed the street whole.
The silence was suffocating. Even the mist that curled over Blackstone’s streets seemed to retreat from the carnage. Every gaze, every trembling breath of the crowd was locked on Liam.
At the center of it all, he turned slowly, his expression unreadable, his eyes like two pits of cold iron.
His gaze fell on Xuan Yu and his brother who were now conscious. They had been watching everything from the start, as they were the one that sent Fang Xiu after Liam.
The brothers had frozen in place, pale as corpses, their earlier arrogance drained away entirely.
Xuan Yu’s lips quivered soundlessly and his brother’s hand twitched at his side, reaching instinctively for his sword, though fear kept him from drawing it.
Liam’s jaw clenched, and a silent thought crossed his mind like a blade scraping against bone.
This is the cause. The rot at the root. And my own indecision fed it.
Liam’s eyes hardened and without a word, he raised his hand. Two shards of broken halberd — jagged, dripping with fresh blood — lifted from the stones. The fragments floated upward like vultures circling carrion, glinting faintly in the lamplight.
Xuan Yu’s eyes widened in horror as he finally found his voice. "W-wait—!"
The shards shot forward, moving faster than the eye could follow, two streaks of steel that carved the air apart.
Shhhk!
The blades punched clean through the brothers’ throats.
Their eyes bulged, hands clutching desperately at spurting wounds. Choked gurgles filled the street as blood cascaded down their robes, staining the gaudy silks darker than shadow.
Xuan Yu collapsed to his knees, eyes fixed on Liam in disbelief, hatred and despair twisting his last expression into something grotesque. His brother twitched beside him, body convulsing once before both slumped into stillness.
Blood painted the stones. Corpses sprawled in broken heaps and the smell of blood filled the air, thick and choking.
Liam stood at the center, his hands loose at his sides, his breathing calm and steady. His expression remained detached, cold, untouched by the carnage.
The crowd stared, eyes wide and hearts trembling. None dared move or speak. All they could do was watch as Liam turned, dusted his hands lightly — as if brushing away dirt — and walked off without a single glance back.
Every step of his echoed, steady and unhurried. And not once did he falter, or even look over his shoulder.
To Liam, it was finished. The decision had been made, the blade had fallen, and there was no need to dwell further. He had no time to waste on petty vendettas, no matter how bloody the outcome.