The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 386 – Cultivator

He glanced at Hardy with an icy glare, then turned toward John.

"I'm sorry," Hugo said through clenched teeth.

He told himself what he had just experienced must have been an illusion. That John was bluffing. So he forced himself to act.

Then, with sudden motion, Hugo placed a hand firmly on John's shoulder.

They were less than two meters apart. In the blink of an eye, Hugo's five fingers clamped down with precision. John made no effort to dodge.

He didn't even flinch.

"Shatter!"

Hugo let out a fierce shout, unleashing his full strength in an attempt to crush John's shoulder blade.

He didn't hold back.

This was a matter of pride now. John was a Robust master—sure—but Hugo was the Venerable Man, and this was about saving face.

He poured all his power into that one grip.

But...

John didn't move.

Not even a twitch. Instead, he smiled—mocking, amused. Like he didn't take Hugo seriously at all.

The full-force attack of the Venerable Man was nothing more than a light scratch to him.

Hugo froze.

His fingers met resistance—something solid, unyielding. Like gripping unbreakable stone.

He tried again.

This time, his internal force surged. His fingertips glowed with power, transforming into five sharp energy blades.

Still, John didn't so much as blink.

How is this possible?

No matter how strong a Robust master's defense was, it shouldn't be this strong.

Shock flooded Hugo's face. His confidence began to crumble.

This wasn't an illusion.

John was truly something else. Deep. Unfathomable. Dangerous.

Suddenly—

Hugo's expression twisted in horror.

It was as if his hand had plunged into an ocean, and an overwhelming tidal wave exploded outward from John's shoulder.

That power surged through his arm with terrifying force.

In an instant—

Hugo's arm went completely numb.

It no longer felt like part of his body.

What the hell is this power?!

Panic gripped him. There was no doubt now.

John wasn't just a Robust master.

He was more like... a cultivator.

Yes. A cultivator.

The force that had invaded Hugo's arm wasn't internal martial energy—it was something purer, far more terrifying.

Vital energy.

Only cultivators possessed it.

Cold sweat broke out on Hugo's forehead. He nearly collapsed on the spot. His voice trembled as he tried to speak.

"Brother John..."

He wanted to beg for mercy.

But at that moment, a deep male voice echoed from behind him.

"Dean Smith, what's going on here?"

Whoosh!

As soon as the voice rang out, the pressure in Hugo's arm dissipated instantly like a tide receding.

His heart skipped.

That kind of energy control... it was terrifying.

Never mess with John!

Hardy turned at the sound and quickly straightened his posture. The rage vanished from his face.

"Dad! You're here?"

The man who had arrived was none other than Robert Tennant, the new Guardian of the Central Martial Arts League—and Hardy's father.

"I was just passing by," Robert said calmly. "I remembered today was Dean Smith's promotion banquet, so I thought I'd drop in."

His sharp gaze swept over the tense scene.

"What's going on?"

Hardy clenched his jaw. "Just a little conflict. This bastard named John hit my man, and Dean Smith was helping me handle it."

"Is that so?"

Robert's expression darkened slightly.

Hardy quickly dragged Lucien forward and pointed at his bloodied mouth. "Look at what he did! How could I just stand by and let that happen?"

Robert cast a glance at Lucien, his expression unreadable. Then he turned to Hugo.

"Dean Smith, you were here the whole time. Tell me the truth."

It was clear he didn't fully believe Hardy's side of the story.

He wanted facts.

Hugo was still rattled from his encounter with John, his thoughts spiraling in chaos. But faced with Robert's demand, he knew he couldn't take sides—not with a man like John standing behind him.

So, with a heavy breath, he recounted everything that had happened.

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No exaggerations. No bias. Just the truth.

Robert listened quietly.

When Hugo finished, Robert looked at John again. This time, his gaze carried something more—curiosity and caution.

"So," he said slowly, "you're the same John who fought the Will family genius to a draw?"

John didn't reply.

Robert didn't seem bothered by the silence. He smiled faintly.

"I've heard a lot about you."

Just a few days ago, news of the bet between John and Bruce Will had spread across Houston. It was said he was a disciple of Master Bertha—an identity that had drawn the attention of many cultivators.

Of course Robert had heard of him.

After a moment of reflection, Robert turned toward his son.

His voice dropped.

"You started this mess. Apologize to John. Now."

"Dad—" Hardy protested.

"I said apologize!"

Robert's voice turned cold and sharp.

Hardy's fists clenched. His face twisted with humiliation, but he had no choice.

He stepped forward, stared at John with hatred burning in his eyes, and forced the words out between clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry."

John looked at him, deadpan. "No need for a fake apology."

His voice was sharp and cutting. "I don't bother arguing with people who weren't raised properly."

Even in front of Robert, John didn't back down.

He called Hardy ill-raised—again.

And just like that, silence descended on the room once more.