Vonjo’s knuckles cracked once again—louder this time, like fireworks in a tight hallway—as he took a breath, already grinning with that same amused look that drove many to rage.

“Hehe, all of them are just for breakfast.”

Eugene, who stood beside him with quiet unease, tilted his head slightly as his eyes darted to the far end of the corridor.

That was when they noticed it.

More guards.

Twice the number from earlier, and each one dressed in slightly more refined combat gear, lined with obsidian accents and embroidered crests that marked them as personal subordinates of someone far higher up in the chain of command of the House of Sutterfouse.

Vonjo’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, it grew crueler. He rolled his shoulders like a man preparing for his morning exercise and said, “Looks like some of you came back for seconds.” His voice dropped to a near-whisper, laced with mockery, “Or maybe… you brought friends for a group discount on beatings.”

He stepped forward, casually, with the kind of arrogance that only someone utterly untouchable could wear so naturally. His presence alone drew a low growl from several of the guards, but they didn’t move yet.

Just then, a voice rang out—calm but sharp and full of authority. “Who goes there?”

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

Every guard straightened like trained dogs sensing the arrival of their master.

They parted down the middle, their boots scraping the ground as they instinctively formed a path.

From the shadows emerged a man with an aura of quiet, commanding pressure.

His robes were minimalist, but the golden threads shimmered faintly with curse enchantments.

He moved with the elegance of someone used to being obeyed, and his face—sharpened by angular cheekbones and a permanent frown of superiority—tilted ever so slightly when he laid eyes on Vonjo.

“What…” the man muttered, squinting slightly. “You…”

Vonjo narrowed his eyes.

Recognition flickered between them.

But then, a sudden shift.

One of the guards to the right stepped forward and without hesitation entered a stance that reeked of power.

“Let me take care of this intruder sir,” he said with valid confidence.

Immediately, his shoulders hunched, his hands twisted into crooked claws as a swirling mass of black-red energy began to dance around his form.

The ground beneath his feet cracked as the spiraling torrent of ‘Fallen Curse Energy’ burst from him—its twisted patterns marking him clearly as a Fallen Curse Sorcerer. A strong one too.

Several others moved to follow his lead, forming sigils in the air as their violent curses erupted from bodies.

However, before they could fully explode—

Bang!

A violent shockwave shattered their very moment.

The first guard, who was leading them, slammed into the far wall like a ragdoll. His body twisted in mid-air from the sheer force.

When he hit the concrete, it wasn’t a thud—it was an explosion.

Kabam!

The wall crumbled around him, his face caved in with a sickening crunch. Blood splattered in unnatural arcs and dust billowed like smoke.

Gasps erupted.

The rest of the guards froze, mid-incantation.

Even the man with the aura of authority took an involuntary half-step back.

Only Vonjo remained perfectly still, wearing a wide, amused grin.

“Long time no see, older brother,” said a new voice—playful, smug, and laced with an undercurrent of danger.

Footsteps echoed from behind the wreckage, and a figure emerged.

The man had long, flowing dark violet hair, strands of it tied behind his head while the rest framed his sharp jawline.

His white polo shirt strained slightly against his sculpted torso, hinting at a muscular physique refined by battle rather than luxury. His eyes, an unnatural shade of red-violet, shimmered like embers in twilight.

Vonjo exhaled like he’d just remembered a childhood song. “Vance.”

Vance laughed, the sound smooth and casual. “Yes, it’s me, older brother. Miss me?”

But mid-stride, Vance paused. His eyes scanned the ground.

The dozens of guards littering the battlefield—unconscious, some twitching, others foaming at the mouth—were unmistakably defeated.

They weren’t average soldiers.

They had used their Fallen Curse Energy.

And yet… Vonjo stood without so much as a tear in his shirt. Not even a smudge of dirt. His aura barely flared, but the pressure it radiated was monstrous.

Dangerous.

Vance instinctively tried to measure it—Danger Level… seventeen?

His mind reeled. Seventeen?

When Vonjo had been banished from the House of Sutterfouse seven years ago, he was barely at Danger Level ten. That was already formidable, but this… this was something else.

Vance’s mind whirled, processing impossible scenarios.

How did he reach this danger level without the help of the House of Sutterfouse?

Did he find an ancient cursed artifact?

Did he fall into a secret tomb and train with the soul of a dead sage?

Did he devour other sorcerers?

Maybe a forgotten sect took him in?

Or a reincarnation technique… no, wait—don’t tell me, someone from the House helped him secretly? But Vance would shake his head; it’s impossible!

He knew the personalities of all the members of his House, even Vonjo’s mother. But he couldn’t think of anything.

Nothing fit. The rise was too fast. Too clean. Too insane.

“It seems you’ve been training a lot since getting kicked out,” Vance finally muttered, his voice now laced with an edge of respect and unease.

But behind that courteous expression was something far darker.

I planned to kill you today, he thought, just for fun. But now…

His lips curved into a bloodthirsty grin.

Now it looks like this’ll be fun in a different way.

Vonjo, seemingly unfazed by the tension in the air, yawned and flexed his fingers.

“I have my ways,” he said cryptically. Inwardly, he thought, Reincarnation has its perks. All I needed was knowledge. I didn’t have my family’s resources, but I had memory. Ten ways to increase curse capacity. Fourteen forbidden breathing methods to resist backlash. A hundred ways to manipulate energy flow with minimum loss. Ten thousand silent meditations. Daily discipline. And hatred…

He didn’t say any of this aloud. No need to let a clown like Vance know his secrets.

Vonjo’s gaze narrowed, and he asked, “Why’d you summon me, young brother Vance?”

Gasps rang from the crowd of onlookers.

They weren’t even sure if they were allowed to breathe during this conversation.

Bullet comments in his vision flashed across his system screen:

[CursedWanderer69]: HOLY CRAP THAT’S HIS BROTHER??

[VoidEye77]: No way this isn’t gonna be a boss fight this fast. There should be tension first!

[ToiletGoddess]: Vance looks hot tho ngl.

[UndeadWaifu]: Bro they’re both insane. Family reunion with fists?

[CrimsonBan]: I’d PAY to see this battle.

[DogEatsHeaven]: WAIT WAIT IS THIS A BATTLE OF HALF BROTHERS!?

Vance let the question hang for a moment.

He was about to answer Vonjo but then, he froze.

A chill slid down his spine, almost instinctively.

He frowned.

Where…

Where were Colves and Mauricio?

He had sent them to fetch Vonjo. They were supposed to keep tabs on him, ensuring no incidents happened until he personally arrived. But neither of them were here. Neither responded to his mental pings.

His crimson eyes flicked to Vonjo once more, squinting.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

And Vance didn’t like not knowing.

He said nothing. But in his mind, unease bloomed like a slow-moving poison.

Did something happen to Colves? Mauricio?

Vonjo tilted his head slightly, catching the brief flicker of confusion in his younger brother’s face. And he smiled.

“What’s the matter, little brother?”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep