The Seven Sisters and Their Hidden King-Chapter 424: Cut in Two Times

As yet another man arrived on the scene,

Nancy let out a furious snort, her face flushed with rage. "Gavin Wenson, does your Ghost Sword Sect also intend to claim Queen Cyan's Holy Fire Tripod?"

"Is there a problem with that?" the old man responded flatly.

This gaunt, hawk-eyed elder was Gavin Wenson, a well-known figure from the Ghost Sword Sect nestled deep in the Alps Mountains.

A sinister grin stretched across his face. "Even the people from Cloud School have shown up. Am I not allowed to observe the excitement for myself?"

With a refined and calculating gaze, Young Master Feather smiled faintly. "Haha, Gavin Wenson, what a coincidence. This just got even more interesting."

Though his appearance was elegant and composed, his voice carried a disturbingly effeminate tone, which added to the strangeness of his persona.

Nancy was seething.

The two newcomers—one from Cloud School and the other from Ghost Sword Sect—had no ties to alchemy like the Cinnabar Sect. The Cinnabar Sect focused almost exclusively on refining elixirs, and a divine tripod such as the Holy Fire Tripod could significantly elevate the quality of their concoctions.

Yet these two men, who had no training in the art of alchemy, dared to show up here. It was clear they weren't after the tripod to use it.

They were here simply to stir trouble.

If they managed to take the tripod back, they'd surely extort a ludicrous sum from the Cinnabar Sect for its return.

Or worse—

They'd use it as nothing more than a decorative trophy, just to deny the Cinnabar Sect access to it.

How could Nancy not be furious?

She was on the verge of bursting from sheer indignation.

But what could she do?

She was powerless in this moment.

Young Master Feather turned to Tracy with a smooth, almost mocking smile. "Miss, I strongly suggest you reconsider my proposal. Gavin Wenson isn't someone you can trust. He'd slice you to pieces without hesitation."

Before Tracy could respond,

John stepped forward, voice calm and cold. "Another piece of shit shows up, huh? What's there to consider? You should leave before you disgust me any further."

Gavin's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing. "Did you just call me shit?"

John tilted his head and gave a half-smile. "Oh no, you misunderstood. I wasn't singling you out. I meant all of you Alps Mountain clowns are shit."

"You insolent bastard!" Gavin bellowed, veins popping on his forehead.

Young Master Feather chuckled sarcastically, folding his fan with an audible snap. "Gavin, you really missed a treat earlier. This young man? Absolutely wild. Nancy here fought him for who knows how many rounds, and she never even got close to landing a decent blow."

Nancy's face turned an even darker shade of red. Humiliation welled up in her chest like a firestorm.

"Don't spout nonsense," she snapped, trembling with rage. "This lunatic cultivates some bizarre technique. It's true I'm no match for him in direct combat, but don't think for a second he won't die in the end."

She was confident that if she took the taboo pill, she could annihilate John. But the cost to her cultivation base would be significant. It wasn't a worthy trade.

Still, she couldn't let Young Master Feather smear her name without protest.

"Oh?" Young Master Feather smirked. "So you need a pill to deal with this guy? Sounds like he was right—you really are just a pile of shit."

Gavin laughed harshly. "Shit is shit. Don't use cultivation excuses to cover up your incompetence."

"You—!"

Nancy trembled with indignation.

But she couldn't argue.

Compared to the martial prowess of the Cloud School or Ghost Sword Sect, the Cinnabar Sect's specialty in alchemy made them weaker in combat. Her abilities couldn't match Gavin's or Young Master Feather's, and everyone knew it.

Then John's voice cut through the air again.

"Apologies, but let me correct your understanding. Perhaps you misheard earlier—I wasn't just talking about her. I meant all of you are garbage."

His tone was unflinching. Cold. Honest.

"What's the point of you trash hating on each other?" John thought, eyes scanning the so-called elites before him. "You're all the same. Rotten, arrogant, and useless."

Silence followed.

The weight of John's contempt filled the space like a suffocating mist.

Then—

"Shut your damn mouth!" Gavin bellowed, his killing intent bursting forth like a tsunami. "Who the hell do you think you are, butting into a conversation among real cultivators?"

He was truly incensed now.

Initially, Gavin hadn't even planned to deal with John. His focus was on the Holy Fire Tripod. But John's repeated provocations? His unapologetic disrespect?

It had crossed a line.

This was the second time John had called them shit.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Young Master Feather's face twitched. His carefully maintained smile faltered, becoming distorted by suppressed rage.

He, too, had reached his limit.

Who was this guy?

No name, no affiliation. Just some rogue cultivator from outside the Alps.

And yet, he dared to insult them like this?

Once might have been overlooked. But twice?

Unforgivable.

Even Nancy, who moments ago had been the target of their mockery, now looked at John with thinly veiled scorn. Her lips curled into a sneer, her eyes full of contempt.

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She didn't see John as powerful—only strange. His victory over her meant nothing; she hadn't used her full strength.

The real reason she lost was her reluctance to take the taboo pill. If she had, John would be a corpse by now.

Besides, everyone knew the Cinnabar Sect was the weakest among the major sects in the Alps. Their strength lay in elixirs, not fighting.

"You two," Nancy hissed, "instead of standing around mocking me, maybe you should get rid of this lunatic. Otherwise, he's going to keep treating you like fools."

Her voice was sharp, laced with venom.

She hated the interlopers for coming to steal the tripod. But at this moment, her greater hatred was for John—the madman who humiliated her.

She wanted him dead.

Dead and forgotten.

Gavin scoffed. "Don't order me around. I'll kill him if I want to. One strike is all it'll take to reduce him to dust."

Young Master Feather played with his fan again, his smile turning ice-cold. "Oh? Well then, he's all yours. I doubt it'll take more than two seconds, anyway."

His voice was like a dagger wrapped in silk.

Two seconds.

That was all Gavin thought he'd need.

And he wasn't concerned about Young Master Feather stealing the tripod while he fought. Why would he be?

From Gavin's perspective, John was nothing more than a warm-up.

A walking corpse waiting to be split in two.