Rhys's words, though reckless, struck a chord with many in the hall. A subtle shift in the atmosphere was palpable. While most wouldn't dare to openly support such blatant disrespect towards Tristan, a flicker of agreement shone in their eyes.

  They had all witnessed Tristan's dismissive attitude, his arrogant disregard for Rhys's challenge. To them, Rhys's accusation, however impertinent, held a grain of truth.

  Even some of the Elders, who had initially condemned Rhys's outburst, now looked at Tristan with a newfound scrutiny. They had expected him to accept the challenge, to prove his strength and silence his detractor.

  But instead, he had chosen to hide behind his Blood Warrior, using his subordinate's power to suppress Rhys. It was not a good look for a Young Master who aspired to rule.

  A flicker of righteous anger sparked in Tristan's eyes. "A slave?" he scoffed while giving his ring a penertrating glance. "You dare accuse me of such a thing while you yourself rely on deceitful means to bolster your strength?"

  His voice resonated with a righteous indignation that surprised even himself.

  Rhys's face paled, and he instinctively tried to hide his hand behind his back. Caught off guard by the accusation, he stammered, "I-I don't know what you're talking about! This is just a normal ring!" His denial was weak, his eyes darting nervously as he tried to hide his hand.

  Tristan gestured towards Rhys's hand, where the faint outline of the ring was barely visible. "That ring on your finger," Tristan continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that nonetheless carried throughout the hall, "it's quite the remarkable artifact, isn't it? I've heard about such treasures, capable of amplifying one's strength, allowing even a weakling to challenge those far above their level."

  He didn't know the exact nature of the ring's power, but his words hit their mark. The seed of doubt had been planted, and it was already taking root.

  "An artifact!"

  "Is he telling the truth?"

  Tristan's words also had an unintended effect on the audience. Eyes, filled with a mixture of greed and envy, turned towards Rhys's hand. The whispers intensified, fueled by speculation and desire.

  "No wonder he's so arrogant!"

  "Imagine having such a treasure…"

  An artifact capable of bridging the gap between levels was a treasure beyond measure, and many in the hall were now looking at Rhys with a newfound avarice.

  Tristan smirked inwardly. He had achieved his goal. He had not only exposed Rhys's hypo Chrisy but also turned the crowd against him. Diverting the initial fight to the City Lord's son, and the follow up fight by exposing him.

  The young scion, who had moments ago been basking in the admiration of his peers, was now facing a different kind of scrutiny, one that was far more dangerous.

  Having a treasure is a crime in itself, Tristan thought, a cynical twist to his lips. He knew the world he lived in. Possessing something valuable, especially something that granted power, made one a target.

  Rhys, in his arrogance, had flaunted his secret, and now he would have to face the consequences.

  The City Lord, witnessing the raw power emanating from Tristan's Blood Warrior, practically prostrated himself in admiration. "Such unimaginable strength, Young Master Tristan!" he gushed, his voice dripping with sycophantic praise. "Your brilliance and might truly know no bounds! To have such a formidable protector at your command... it is a testament to your destined greatness!"

  He shot a quick, almost apologetic glance towards his daughter, whose face had now drained of all color. A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a calculating gleam.

  Her attempt to manipulate the situation, to use Rhys as a pawn in her game, had backfired spectacularly. She had underestimated Tristan, and now, the her father had to further ingratiate himself with the Young Master by distancing himself from his daughter's blunder.

  Tristan caught the subtle shift in the City Lord's demeanor. He inclined his head with a hint of amusement. "The City Lord is too kind," he said, his voice dripping with faux humility. "This one's strength is nothing to boast about."

  He gestured dismissively towards his Blood Warrior, who stood impassively behind him. "He is merely a tool, a weapon to be wielded when necessary."

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  Despite his seemingly callous words, Tristan's tone and posture exuded an undeniable arrogance, a subtle reminder of his superior position.

  He really didn't care about those remarks but he had to create his Young Master persona. He was simply that powerful, so how could he be compared to some random strays?

  Even if he wanted to eliminate Rhys, who was so desperately trying to slap everyone in the face, all he could do was disable the ring.

  He had already instructed his Blood Warrior to subtly pressure Rhys's ring, disrupting its function.

  Everything had progressed according to his expectations, which solidifying his suspicion that the artifact housed some remnant soul or a "Master Grandpa" guiding the young hero.

  Tristan's face remained impassive, but inwardly, he was laughing. The arrogant young hero, the scheming heroine, the fawning sycophants... it was all so tiresome.

  "I am ashamed to make Young Master Tristan personally deal with this matter," Chris Ellsworth interjected, his expression contrite.

  Tristan offered the young man a comforting smile. "Young Master Chris needn't take this matter to heart. Since everything started because of me, it's only natural for me to take care of it."

  "Young Master is generous," Chris replied, his admiration for Tristan growing with every word.

  As Tristan expected, his words only served to elevate his status and respect in the eyes of those present. The onlookers, particularly the Elders, were once again showering him with praise and admiration.

  This Young Master was not only powerful but also magnanimous and tolerant - truly an exceptional individual. He was both unpredictable and elusive!

  Being a villain is cool, Tristan thought to himself, a smirk playing on his lips. People fall over themselves and flatter you like obedient pups. And unlike the Protagonists, you don't even have to suffer the mockery of the world.

  He savored the irony. In his past life, he had strived to be the hero, only to be betrayed and ridiculed. Now, embracing the role of the villain, he found himself surrounded by admirers and sycophants.

  "Rhys publicly challenged the City's laws and even insulted Young Master Tristan…" a booming voice declared. "Guards! Throw him in jail and let the Young Master decide his fate."

  The speaker was the invited Chief Police Officer of Cinderbrook, Aron Helter. A burly man with a square jaw and an intimidating presence, he commanded both fear and respect throughout the city.

  Tristan remembered him as a man of principle, known for his fairness and impartiality. However, he also knew that Aron was a pragmatist, a man who understood the importance of bending the rules when necessary.

  Aron understood that Rhys had crossed a line, offending someone he shouldn't have. Between a newly awakened commoner and a potential disaster that could wipe their city off the map, the choice was clear.

  Tristan nodded subtly, acknowledging the Chief Officer's subservient gaze. He returned to beside Regina, his expression once again impassive and unreadable. Letting him dictate Rhys's fate was not an unwelcome outcome.

  He had simply not expected someone with such an upright reputation to be so quick to suggest such a thing.

  As Tristan settled back, Regina approached, offering him a glass of wine. He accepted it with a gracious nod, his eyes meeting hers for a fleeting moment. A spark of defiance flickered in her gaze, but it was quickly masked by a carefully constructed facade of composure.

  The glint of steel caught Tristan's eye. He turned to see Rhys being escorted out, hands manacled together. His eyes, dark and burning, locked on Regina.

  Tristan watched as Rhys’s expression shifted, the initial hopeful expression morphing into something darker, more wounded.

  Regina’s gaze dropped to her hands, now twisting the fabric of her dress. She wouldn't, couldn't, meet Rhys’s eyes. The air crackled with unspoken accusations.

  Perfect. Tristan thought. He saw the misunderstanding, the widening chasm between them, Rhys’s pain, Regina’s trapped silence.

  The expressions of the two were in full view for him to see, so how would he let go of such a great opportunity? He immediately put on a gentle smile on his handsome and unblemished face as he spoke.

  Tristan turned to Regina, a wretched smile playing on his lips. "Miss Regina," he said, his voice smooth as silk, "I heard Cinderbrook entertainment tonight is quite… stimulating. Perhaps you'd care to join me in verifying those rumors?"

  Regina, momentarily stunned by his unexpected invitation, blushed slightly. But her composure quickly returned, and she recognized the underlying intentions and trembled as her complexion paled.

  Around them, conversations faltered. A few heads turned, drawn by the exchange. Lord Ellsworth's lips twitched in what might have been anger. They looked at Tristan with envy, while Chris Ellsworth, his heart bursting with glee, gave his sibling a desperate wink, urging her to accept.

  "Tristan, you despicable and shameless bastard!" Rhys roared, his voice cracking with rage. "Do you only know how to bully the weak using your status and authority? I swear I will kill you one day, you scum!"

  Rhys, his eyes now crimson with fury, seemed to have lost all reason. But Tristan remained unfazed. He simply lowered his gaze, taking a sip of his wine, as if Rhys were nothing more than an insignificant insect buzzing around his head.

  Puff! Unable to bear the humiliation any longer, Rhys coughed up a mouthful of blood and fainted.

  Regina’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. A flicker of something – annoyance? Disgust? – crossed her face before she schooled her features into polite neutrality. "Thank you for the invitation, Young Master," she replied, her voice cool and measured. "However, I have already made other arrangements for the evening."

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