Seeing this, Hardy grinned.
It wasn't just a smile—it was a sneer laced with self-satisfaction.
Everything had unfolded exactly as he planned.
And disturbingly, everything had gone too smoothly.
John, the brainless fool, had played his part perfectly. Hardy had orchestrated every step—asking Brooke to suggest the Zephyr Wolf-hunting Ground to John, baiting him into a light-hearted competition, and finally luring him into a trap where he'd be accused of murder and theft.
John had walked right into it—almost eagerly.
It was so flawless, even Hardy had to suppress his disbelief.
Wasn't this brat always posturing, acting high and mighty?
Turned out he was just a puffed-up idiot. Reckless. Arrogant. Predictable.
All Hardy had to do now was wait.
Once Ryan tortured John half to death, Sophia would inevitably beg for mercy on his behalf. That moment—when she pleaded—was when Hardy would seize the initiative. She'd owe him. She'd be in his hands.
And that moment was drawing near.
Already, Ryan had made his move. A fierce gust of spiritual wind swept across the clearing, tossing Sophia like a delicate willow caught in a tempest. She staggered backward, her slender frame trembling, barely keeping her balance.
Just as she gathered her courage to fight beside John, his calm, composed voice cut through the storm.
"Miss Long, you don't need to do anything. Just watch."
Sophia froze. She turned, eyes wide.
John's face remained unshaken—his handsome features serene, untouched by fear.
That calm… That confidence…
It wasn't fake.
Ryan was in the middle stage of the Venerable Realm—a level far beyond her grandfather. In the Venerable Realm, each advancement in stage widened the power gap exponentially. A master in the middle stage could obliterate ten masters in the early stage with ease.
How… how could John be so composed?
And yet… come to think of it, he'd always been like this.
Back when the Long Family encountered that mysterious Venerable Realm expert, John hadn't shown a single trace of fear. Not even then.
Was it possible… that John had been hiding his true strength all along?
The thought sent a jolt through her heart.
Could she finally be about to witness his real power?
Hope surged inside her, replacing the fear.
She believed—no, she knew—that John Lopez had something hidden. Something that even Ryan Wodehouse might come to regret underestimating.
Obediently, she backed out of the storm's reach, her voice soft with concern. "Mr. Lopez… please be careful."
John gave her a slight nod, never taking his eyes off Ryan.
Now Ryan advanced, his aura dark and suffocating. The very air seemed to collapse inward, pressing against the lungs of everyone present. Breaths caught. Hearts stuttered.
"John," Ryan said coldly, "in your next life… learn to open your damn eyes."
He was absolutely sure of his victory.
But before he could strike, Hardy called out sharply, "Mr. Wodehouse! I need him alive!"
He had no intention of letting John die so easily—not yet. He wanted leverage. He wanted to use John to shatter Sophia's defenses.
Ryan nodded silently, suppressing some of his killing intent.
John noticed.
And smiled—a slow, devilish smile.
"You old bastard," he said coolly. "You look down on me too much. Since you're so sure I'm nothing, let me show you what a real man looks like."
Reaching to the ground, John grabbed the Wintry Moon Sword. His fingers brushed along the blade, his gaze mocking.
"This trash?" he sneered. "You call this a treasure?"
And then, with a flick of his fingers—crack!
A shuddering, metallic sound rang out as a long fracture split down the center of the blade. From the hilt to the tip, the sword cracked like glass under pressure.
Hardy's so-called treasure was breaking—inch by inch—right in John's grip.
"I don't kill people or steal from them for garbage like this," John declared. "It's not worth the damn effort."
With a powerful sweep of his arm, he hurled the fractured weapon aside.
Shatter!
The cracked sword exploded into a flurry of shards, each fragment embedding into the soil with deadly precision. The once-legendary blade was now nothing more than a collection of broken pieces, scattered in the dirt.
Only the hilt remained, rolling to a stop at Hardy's feet.
Silence fell.
Thick, stunned silence.
Every eye widened.
No one could process what they'd just seen.
Even Ryan—middle stage Venerable Realm—looked completely thrown.
The Wintry Moon Sword was a weapon beyond ordinary crafting. Even he couldn't have broken it with sheer force alone.
But John… had shattered it casually. Effortlessly.
How the hell did he do that?