The Cunning Treasure Hunter

Chapter 56 Beneath the Weight of Heaven

Aria found herself standing without realizing it.

They were so young.

Not even past their teenage years, far from their prime.

Yet the Young Lord of Akrest, born with the Heavenly Martial Body, had been defeated?

And by a girl barely past her childhood?

The one hailed as a genius even recognized by the Sword Sovereign himself?

This wasn't just a loss—it was a verdict.

A declaration that the Akrest Clan, the strongest power in the martial world, would not hold its position forever.

Thirty years, at most.

Perhaps even less than ten.

'...The Great Reversal.'

Aria clenched her small fists tightly.

It had been fifty years.

Fifty years since the Sword Sovereign unified the Central Plains under one rule.

The Demonic Cult and the unorthodox sects had been pushed into hiding.

Even the foreign martial forces dared not challenge the Central Plains.

Peace had been achieved—or so they thought.

But this wasn't peace.

Not the peace she desired.

A peace that strangled everyone into silence, forcing compliance while claiming harmony?

She didn't want that.

'I must inform the Heaven Unity.'

The martial world now revolved around the Akrest Clan's order.

The Heavenly Unity Corps roamed unchecked, safeguarding the unity's authoritarian rule.

And when necessary, the Midnight Celestial Pavilion carried out assassinations to maintain this oppressive peace.

Amid this suffocating, fear-driven order, the Everstone Clan secretly supported the Heaven Unity.

And they were not alone.

Like-minded individuals and groups, bound by shared ideals, ensured the unity could not be eradicated, no matter how hard the unity tried.

'...That child must not fall into the hands of the unity.'

In the office of the Sect Leader, known as Scarlet Crown Chamber, the atmosphere was tense.

Gideon gritted his teeth, almost slamming his desk in frustration.

But a knock at the door interrupted him.

"May I enter, Sect Leader?"

It was Ebon's voice.

"Come in, Clan Leader."

The door opened silently, a testament to the craftsmanship of the frame.

Ebon entered the Scarlet Crown Chamber, his expression unreadable.

"Did you sleep well last night?" he asked.

"I didn't sleep a wink," replied Gideon.

"Neither did I."

Ebon closed the door behind him and spread his energy outward, ensuring no sound could escape.

He had something confidential to discuss.

"Are you troubled by that girl as well, Sect Leader?"

"I thought I could break her spirit, make her bow before me. But I failed to break her. She walks around with her head held high, and it gnaws at me every moment I see her."

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A long sigh escaped him—a lamentation laced with frustration.

But both men were fighters who wouldn't give up so easily.

Gideon hadn't risen to the position of sect leader through mere chance.

And Ebon?

He was the eldest son of the Akrest Clan, once considered an afterthought by his father, the Sword Sovereign.

His father had dismissed him at every turn.

"No matter what he does, he'll never even become the greatest swordsman in Bright Peace Province, let alone the Central Plains," his father would say.

The criticism drove him mad—because it was true.

"...I feel the same way," Ebon admitted.

"What do you mean?"

"All my life, I've been called talentless. And now, people say I've failed to properly raise my talented son. They say I've shamed my family's name."

It was always his fault.

The Sword Sovereign blamed every failure of the clan on Ebon's shortcomings.

The only exception was Theron.

His father had once praised him, saying, "At least you produced a worthy son."

But now, even that was turning into an insult.

"It was the Young Lord who lost."

"And they'll still blame his lack of discipline on me. That's why, Sect Leader, we must cut this problem at its root before it grows any further."

"...Do you have a plan?"

"Yes. I have a method."

Under the morning sun, Theron sat cross-legged in the grass.

Dewdrops clung to the tips of his lashes, evidence of a night spent meditating.

The ferocity he had displayed the previous day was gone.

Now, he exuded a calmness, like the clear sky after a storm.

Vera stood nearby, quietly observing him.

Yesterday's duel had left an impression on her, a mix of respect and unease.

Her energy and comprehension of martial arts were profound.

But she had also realized the curse that bound her: her body.

During the final exchange, she had poured an overwhelming surge of energy into a single strike to end it.

'...If Theron had let go of his pride.'

She slowly closed her eyes, then opened them again.

There was no doubt.

Had he been more pragmatic, drawing the fight into a war of attrition, she might have lost miserably.

Her slender frame, her petite stature for her age...

She lacked the robust bones and muscles of the Heavenly Martial Body, nor did she possess the regenerative resilience of those born with the Ten Thousand Demonic Body.

'...Just a small, frail body.'

Her childhood had been spent under oppression in the Storm Clan, her body worn thin by hunger and thirst.

Though her internal energy granted her vitality and strength far beyond ordinary limits, it did not change the reality of her fragile frame.

Changing one's body was impossible.

At this point, reshaping her bone structure into something larger and stronger?

Even with Bone Refining Elixirs or Rebirth Transformation, it was unattainable.

At fourteen, it was too late to alter the foundations of her physique.

Her inherent limitation was clear: she had to rely on internal energy and technique over physical strength.

This also meant she was plagued by a chronic problem: low stamina.

A short, decisive battle was her only option.

It would be a difficult path to walk.

And yet...

"What are you doing there, Vera?"

Theron's casual voice abruptly interrupted her thoughts.

She looked at him as he slowly stood up.

Those who gave their all and still failed shared a common trait: they despaired.

When one poured every ounce of talent and effort into something and still fell short...

People crumbled.

Martial artists called it Heart Demons.

If it festered, twisting one's energy and body, it would lead to the dreaded state of Fire Deviation.

But there wasn't a hint of that in him.

His eyes, playful and glinting, still carried the clear brightness of the sky.

"I was watching you," she replied.

"Heh. You know what happens when you spy on someone's training, don't you?"

With a mock threat, Theron ran his thumb across his throat.

Of course, he was joking. He hadn't even been training—just meditating in a seated position.

"So, what brings our esteemed champion here?"

"...I have a question," she said.

He had once told her, "The sky of the commoners is different from the sky of the emperors."

And Vera had felt it.

His sky was unlike anyone else's.

But it wasn't a matter of comparing commoners and emperors.

It wasn't because he lacked the qualifications to be called an emperor.

It was something fundamental, something about the very nature of his essence.

His sky was free.

Whether it was because he was the Young Lord of Akrest, protected by the Sword Sovereign, she didn't know.

But while everyone else seemed trapped under the yoke of the Akrest Clan's dominion,

he alone appeared untethered.

"...What do you think the world should be like, Young Lord?"

She asked him. It was a question driven by her heart.

Theron's eyes widened in surprise.

"That's an interesting question," he said, a grin spreading across his face.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"What the world should be like, huh..."

He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"You're not expecting some answer about people living by their station or role, are you?"

"I want to hear what you think, Young Lord."

"A world where no one's bound by status or rank," he said with a sly grin.

There was something reflected in his eyes—something missing.

A lack of freedom.

Seeing that, Vera tilted her head slightly.

"Curious why I'd say something like that?"

"You're the most promising figure in this martial world, aren't you?"

"Yeah, sure... But I can't do anything else."

The Young Lord of Akrest.

The Akrest Clan's genius.

The Sword Sovereign's successor.

The future clan leader.

Too many titles clung to him like shackles.

Theron was not just Theron.

He could never simply be himself.

He was the least free of them all.

"...I think I understand," Vera said softly.

She thought of his carefree demeanor and the way he acted on a whim. It all made sense now.

He was rebelling.

Against the bloodline of the Akrest Clan, the title of Young Lord, the expectations of being the Sword Sovereign's grandson...

He was screaming, "I'm just Theron!"

Looking down at her, lost in thought, Theron spoke.

"People think the higher you go, the freer you get."

"Isn't that true?"

"No. The higher up you go, the narrower it gets. There's nowhere to roam."

At seventeen, Theron was a prized ornament.

A well-born son, the heir to a reliable family, a jewel of a genius tied to an illustrious lineage.

He understood his position better than anyone.

And over time, he had made a silent deal.

He would fulfill the role of an ornament, but he would decide what kind of ornament he would be.

He would not be confined by the solemn, silent, and enigmatic title of Young Lord.

Having resolved her thoughts, Vera looked up at Theron and extended her small, pale hand.

"Heh?"

"I no longer dislike you."

"You know, I'm still going to come for you one day, right?"

"You're welcome to try anytime."

With a chuckle, Theron clasped her hand in his.