Grand Return System-Chapter 85: The Weight of Pride

The Weight of Pride

The Zain family stood frozen.

A hush held everyone still. Not a single person stirred.

A gasp was all it took when Vita Zain dropped - thrown clear as if wind ripped him from his place. That crack, bone on rock, lingered underfoot, trembling through the cobbles long after.

Gasps spread fast across the faces in front of me. A hush followed, thick and sudden.

Color vanished from their faces. A silence hung, heavy, where speech should have been. Their fingers shook, caught in the weight of what had unfolded before their eyes.

Their young master... defeated.

Not after a long battle.

Not after some desperate struggle.

In a single exchange.

The pride of the Zain family shattered like glass.

Then instinct finally broke through the paralysis.

"Quick! Young Master Vita!"

Several elders rushed forward in panic, dropping to their knees beside the broken stones where Vita lay. One carefully lifted his shoulders while another checked his pulse with shaking fingers.

"He’s breathing... he’s still breathing!"

Relief mixed with fear as they quickly carried him away from the center of the street.

At the same time, a few other clan members hurried toward Clint Zain, forming a protective circle around him. But their formation looked hollow, their confidence gone. Even as they stepped forward, their hands trembled.

Moments ago they had stood proudly as members of one of Ashford City’s great clans.

Now that title felt fragile... almost laughable.

All of it had collapsed beneath the casual wave of a single man.

Leon hadn’t even moved from where he stood.

"You... How dare you hurt my son!"

Clint Zain’s voice cracked as he shouted, the rage in his chest burning hotter than reason.

His eyes were bloodshot. Grief twisted his face into something almost unrecognizable. Thick veins bulged along his neck as his breathing grew heavy and uneven.

Someone behind him tried to speak.

"Patriarch—wait—"

But Clint had already drawn his weapon.

The hammer in his hand flashed under the daylight as he pulled it free without hesitation. The metal head hummed with gathering mana.

"You think you can cripple my son and walk away from this street alive?!"

With a roar, he lunged forward.

Mana surged violently around him, whipping the air into a storm of pressure. The hammer tore through the air with terrifying force, aimed directly at Leon’s chest.

The attack carried the full fury of a father whose pride had been crushed.

But—

Just as before—

Leon merely lifted his hand.

A small movement.

Unhurried.

Almost bored.

It wasn’t even a proper defensive stance.

Just a lazy gesture, as though brushing dust from his sleeve.

The moment Clint’s hammer entered Leon’s invisible range—

It stopped.

Mid-strike.

The weapon froze in the air as if the world itself had grabbed hold of it.

Clint’s eyes widened.

"What—?"

Before the question could leave his lips—

A formless force slammed into his chest.

Boom—

The impact exploded through the street.

Clint’s body lifted off the ground like a broken kite caught in a violent gust. He flew backward helplessly before crashing heavily across the fractured stone road.

Dust burst into the air.

Several Zain clan members staggered back in fear.

Silence followed.

In the face of absolute strength, even the most dazzling techniques were nothing more than clumsy displays before a true master.

"Pfft—"

Clint coughed violently, a mouthful of blood spraying onto the ground.

His hammer slipped from his hand and clattered uselessly across the stone.

For the first time since becoming patriarch, fear crept into his eyes.

Not anger.

Not humiliation.

Fear.

His chest burned where the invisible force had struck him. Even breathing felt like dragging knives through his lungs.

Around him, the clan members looked lost.

Terrified.

No one dared step forward.

One miscalculation.

One moment of arrogance.

That was all it had taken.

And now the Zain family stood at the edge of ruin.

Clint slowly lowered his head, the weight of that realization crushing down on him harder than the attack itself.

For years he had ruled the clan with pride, believing his judgment flawless.

Now that pride felt hollow.

His eyelids closed briefly.

The street was silent except for the faint sound of wind brushing through broken stone.

I... am the sinner of this household.

Leon glanced at him calmly, purple eyes without ripple.

"This is the so-called great clan of Ashford City?"

His tone was mild.

"A frog at the bottom of a well. What a joke."

Each word cut deeper than any blade.

He stepped forward.

Killing intent gathered faintly in the air.

Selena felt it instantly. Her silver-white hair swayed as she inhaled softly, blue eyes steady but silent.

Rias stood beside her, red silk fluttering, fingers tightening slightly at her sash.

They knew that expression.

Their Teacher was about to end this.

Leon raised his hand.

Clint Zain’s pupils shrank.

And then—

"Junior Brother Leon, show mercy."

The voice descended from above like a falling bell.

Leon paused.

"Hmm?"

He lifted his gaze.

A streak of light cut across the sky.

A middle-aged man in traditional robes descended slowly, sleeves fluttering, expression serious.

The crowd murmured.

"Who is this?"

Jadis narrowed his eyes instantly.

"Celestis Academy... Shera."

His tone carried weight.

Fiona turned slightly, teal eyes gleaming. "Shera? The master of Secret Sword Summit? A sage Realm expert?"

Jadis nodded.

"Yes. He is powerful—and his temperament is peculiar. He remembers even the smallest slight."

Fiona absorbed that quietly.

Another sage Realm figure had arrived.

Leon’s brows furrowed slightly as he lowered his hand.

Shera landed beside Leon and Clint Zain.

Clint’s face lit up in desperate relief.

"Master Shera, save me!"

Shera did not smile.

He merely glanced at him coldly, almost with irritation.

At this moment, Shera wanted nothing more than to curse aloud.

Of all people—

Why provoke Leon?

He already did not get along with him within the Seven Divisions. If Leon used this incident to attack him politically later, it would be troublesome.

Yet he had no choice.

The Secret Sword Summit relied heavily on the Zain family’s commercial networks. Resources, spirit herbs, wealth—these families sustained the Divisions.

Except Amethyst Summit Division, of course. Leon’s division had barely any students. They consumed almost nothing.

Shera took a slow breath.

"Junior Brother Leon," he said in a measured tone, "this man has been my good friend for many years. I wonder how he offended you."

He paused deliberately.

"Why not spare his life—for my sake?"

Silence followed.

Leon looked at him.

Calm.

Unreadable.

For years, Shera had regarded Leon as the weakest among the Seven Division leaders. A peak master without foundation. A man with little influence.

But today—

Watching from the sky earlier, observing that single sword that crushed three sage Realm cultivators—

Shera felt something cold slide down his spine.

Leon was already his equal.

No—

Perhaps even slightly beyond.

And no one in Celestis Academy had realized.

Shera’s heart grew heavy.

The balance within the Seven Divisions... had quietly shifted.