Grand Return System-Chapter 75: The Weight of Blood and Name

The Weight of Blood and Name

"Let’s see who can save you today."

Vita Zain’s words still echoed when Harry’s jaw tightened.

His palms were slick with sweat.

His throat felt dry.

But he stepped half a pace forward anyway.

If I retreat now...

Everything before was meaningless.

Behind him, Selena’s fingers subtly brushed the hilt of her sword. A thin frost gathered around her fingertips, almost invisible in daylight. Cold Mana stirred beneath her porcelain skin, quiet but lethal.

Rias’s red silk shifted in the breeze. The gold sash at her waist fluttered faintly as if reacting to her heartbeat. A faint warmth radiated from her body—barely perceptible, like embers hidden beneath ash.

Akeno stood slightly behind, long purple hair cascading over her shoulders. Her expression remained calm, but her eyes had grown darker. Dangerous.

Rias did not refute Vita.

From beginning to end, she showed no fear. No anger. No panic.

As a princess of the Drake Empire, if she trembled in a situation like this, she would be unworthy of the crown she carried in her blood.

Akeno suddenly stepped forward, fury flashing across her face.

"Impudent! Open your shitty eyes and take a look. How dare you speak to my princess like that. Have you eaten the guts of a leopard?"

The street went silent.

"Princess?"

The crowd murmured in disbelief.

"She’s the princess? The princess of the Drake Empire?"

Vita froze.

His pupils contracted as he stared at Rias again.

If she truly was the imperial princess—

Then the Zain household... was nothing before her.

No matter how strong the Zain household was, they were still beneath imperial authority.

Even the City General of Ashford City was not someone they could offend lightly.

Harry blinked.

Princess?

His thoughts exploded.

Gosh! She’s a princess? He nearly laughed out loud from shock. I actually guessed she was extraordinary from the start... I’ve been polite the whole time. I really am a genius.

He stole a glance at Vita.

The man’s expression looked as though he had swallowed something foul.

But Vita’s pride refused to bend.

"No... I don’t believe it!" he snapped. "Hmph... How can you prove you’re a princess?"

Rias smiled faintly.

Elegant. Untouchable.

"Young Master Vita," she said softly, "how would you like me to prove it?"

Her tone was calm, almost teasing.

"At the very least, show a token proving your royal status."

Rias sighed gently.

"Sorry. I can’t show you."

She had left the palace in haste.

There was no royal token in her Storage Space.

Vita’s expression twisted—then brightened with cruel delight.

"Haha! Since you can’t prove it, don’t blame me for being impolite. Your crime is even greater for impersonating a royal princess. Today, I’ll see who can protect you."

Whether she was a princess or not no longer mattered.

She couldn’t prove it.

That was enough.

He could label it impersonation and suppress it later if necessary.

In his heart, a twisted thought bloomed.

Hehe... conquering a princess as beautiful as a celestial fairy... that must feel incredible.

Under that burning desire, he raised his hand.

"Attack!"

"Let’s see who dares to—" Harry instantly stepped forward, playing the hero despite the tremor in his voice.

"Hmph. Take him down too," Vita ordered coldly.

More than ten men surged forward.

Steel flashed.

Mana surged.

Elder Black stepped to the front without hesitation.

His sleeves snapped in the wind as he clashed against the attackers.

Boom!

The impact sent dust rising into the air.

Then—

From the rear of the street, two black-robed elders leaped forward simultaneously.

Both radiated nine-star GrandMaster Realm pressure.

Elder Black’s expression darkened.

As expected.

They had prepared thoroughly.

Even as he blocked three blades at once, his breathing deepened. Pressure mounted.

High above—

On the second floor of Whitelist Restaurant—

Cavir Walton watched silently.

He did not move.

Because he had already sensed something heavier approaching.

A suffocating aura.

"Young Master, I’ll hold them off. Leave quickly!" Elder Black shouted, intercepting another strike. Even facing two nine-star GrandMaster Realm experts at once, he was not immediately losing.

Harry clenched his fists.

Run?

And leave them?

Before he could decide—

A roar tore through the air.

"Haha! You won’t be able to leave!"

A tall, burly middle-aged man strode forward from the far end of the street.

Each step cracked stone.

"Clint Zain!" Elder Black’s heart trembled.

The Clan Lord of the Zain household.

A King Realm expert.

"No one can save you today!" Clint Zain’s voice thundered. "All of you... stay here."

He struck with a palm.

A wave of oppressive force crashed down like a collapsing mountain.

Elder Black raised both arms to block—

Bang!

His body was flung backward.

Blood sprayed from his lips.

He barely remained conscious.

Harry’s eyes widened.

Elder Black—

At that moment—

A voice like rolling thunder echoed down the long street.

"Shameless old man. Let’s see who dares to touch my son today..."

The sunlight dimmed.

The air thickened.

A terrifying pressure descended over Ashford City.

From the end of the street, a middle-aged man walked slowly forward, a massive broadsword resting on his shoulder.

Harrier Taylor.

"Father!" Harry’s voice cracked with relief.

He had never been so grateful to see that figure.

"Don’t be afraid, Harry," Harrier said calmly, though his eyes burned. "I’m here. Let’s see who dares to touch you today."

The killing intent in his gaze locked onto Clint Zain.

To strike his son publicly—

Was humiliation.

Was provocation.

Harrier stepped forward and quickly checked Elder Black’s condition.

His expression darkened further.

"Three against one... how shameless."

Without another word—

He lifted his broadsword.

The blade cleaved through the air in a blazing arc.

Clint Zain met it head-on.

Boom!

The collision shook the street.

Shockwaves rippled outward, forcing bystanders to retreat further.

Both men were King Realm experts of the same generation.

Rivals for decades.

Neither had ever truly surpassed the other.

But today—

Harrier’s fury burned like wildfire.

Steel clashed again and again.

Sparks flew.

Stone shattered.

Clint’s palm techniques collided with the broadsword in a storm of force.

Yet gradually—

Harrier began pressing him back.

Each swing grew heavier.

Each step more aggressive.

Clint’s feet dug grooves into the stone as he retreated half a step.

Then another.

For the first time in years—

Harrier Taylor had the upper hand.