C82 Devon

Devon secretly exerted his strength, but to Westley, it seemed somewhat unrefined.

How could he put it?

Westley felt like a professional basketball player observing so-called streetball experts.

Sure, these amateurs had plenty of flashy moves.

But play one game against the pros, and the difference becomes clear: why pros are pros and amateurs are amateurs.

A pro's systematic training molds them into dispassionate scoring machines, with scientific data backing every shot percentage from any angle.

They operate within a tactical framework—something beyond the reach of any amateur.

They're simply not on the same level!

Devon hadn't fully ascended to the rank of Half-Step Grandmaster; he was merely skirting its threshold, so his power was just a notch above the average person's.

So, Westley merely offered a slight smile.

With an impassive face, he stepped forward, unleashing his Sky Breaking Energy once more.

His fist's force erupted again, driving Devon's fist backward as a chorus of bones compressing echoed.

Devon's face turned ashen.

He stared at Westley in horror.

Why?

Why hadn't Westley been repelled by his power, but instead stepped even closer?

Could Westley be a Half-Step Grandmaster?

He didn't seem the part!

Half-Step Grandmasters were rare in Lindzac City, and he'd never heard of one so young.

Rollen, observing from the side, was unaware of Devon's inner turmoil but found himself puzzled.

Why were they measuring the strength of their punches?

Westley remained stoic, yet steadily overpowered Devon.

He advanced incrementally.

Devon, overwhelmed, stumbled back, the stone slab beneath his feet shattering.

This formidable force left him defenseless, his expression sour.

I am Devon, the Freeman family's expert!

He refused to be demeaned by someone younger.

With this thought, he let out a fierce roar, his body quivering as if electrified.

Witnessing this, Westley scoffed.

Was Devon ready to fight to the death?

Westley quietly braced himself, ready for the fray—a habit of his, never to wait for danger to seek him out.

"Please stop."

An unexpected voice halted the sudden escalation of the situation. It was Carl, returning unexpectedly. He hadn't anticipated a fight between Westley and Devon, so he spoke up immediately to intervene. In truth, he and Devon were uncle and nephew.

Upon hearing his nephew's plea, Devon swiftly retracted his fist. However, he was hit by a terrifying recoil that spread towards his heart and lungs. Blood surged up his throat, his face flushed red, and he stumbled backward.

Westley, without a moment's hesitation, reached out and caught Devon's fist, pulling him aside. The pent-up energy found its release, erupting wildly.

Westley stood firm, while his other hand subtly rotated outward. The fearsome force slammed into the old locust tree in the courtyard, causing it to shake and shed a few leaves. A hush fell over the entire yard.

Devon experienced an indescribable sense of relief. After a moment's reflection, he understood Westley's intention. "Thank you!" he said.

"No need," Westley replied, his expression serene.

Carl, witnessing their exchange, thought they were merely playing around. He approached with a smile and said, "Uncle, the grandmaster wants to see Mr. Jimenez."

The news caught not only Devon off guard but also Rollen. Why did his grandfather want to see Westley?

"Mr. Jimenez, I apologize. I was unaware you were the grandmaster's guest. Forgive the interruption," Devon said, bowing respectfully.

"Ignorance is not a sin," Westley responded with a smile and a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Mr. Jimenez, the grandmaster is waiting for you inside. Since it's a private meeting, I'll not intrude," Carl said, pointing the way.

Westley nodded and headed in the indicated direction. But after a few steps, he paused and turned back to Devon. He spoke deliberately, "You need to remain calm and not chase success blindly. Focus and keep your spirit steady—that's the key to a breakthrough."

With those words, Westley continued on towards the deeper part of the courtyard. Devon stood frozen for a moment, pondering the advice. Then, clarity dawned upon him, and his eyes brightened with understanding.

His thoughts crystallized!

He promptly bowed in the direction Westley had left and called out with clarity, "Thank you for your guidance. Your kindness is something I'll never forget."

Carl wore a look of bewilderment.

Who was Devon?

He was the Freeman family's top martial artist!

Devon was usually distant and haughty. Rarely did he show any warmth towards Carl, despite being his uncle.

Within the Freeman Mansion, only the patriarch and Reeve were exceptions; others would steer clear of him.

Yet now, Devon, who was unbearably arrogant, was actually expressing gratitude to Westley?

And with such deep respect!

Rollen sneered from the side, "Uncle Devon, don't let him deceive you. He's nothing but a boastful thug."

"Silence!" Devon snapped, turning sharply.

Rollen jumped at the outburst.

He had never witnessed Devon this enraged.

He wondered, "But what side is Devon on? Why is he defending Westley, an outsider, against me?"

"I'm the legitimate heir of the Freeman family!"

"Hmph! I'm better off relying on myself than on any of you."

Rollen left the courtyard, his face dark with anger.

Seeing Rollen's fury, Carl asked in confusion, "Uncle, why is the young master so upset?"

"It seems there's some bad blood between him and Mr. Jimenez," Devon sighed.

"Then the young master might be in for a disappointment. Mr. Jimenez is the Freeman family patriarch's lifesaver. We've been searching for him for two days, and only just found him."

Carl, sitting on a rock, remarked, "Given the patriarch's nature, he's sure to treat Mr. Jimenez as an honored guest."

"Exactly!"

Devon's face remained impassive.

"Uncle, did you just have a fight with Mr. Jimenez?" Carl inquired, curious.

"Yes!"

"And the outcome?"

"I lost."

Devon shook his head.

This time, there was no trace of dejection at the loss. Instead, he wore a slight smile.

Carl was taken aback, his eyes wide with shock.

His uncle, the undefeated, had actually been bested by Mr. Jimenez?

"How can you be even slightly pleased after a defeat?" Carl was utterly perplexed.

Devon remained silent but pointed to the ancient locust tree, suggesting, "Think it over. I'm confident you'll soon grasp the reason."