An Understated Dominance Novel (Dahlia & Dustin) by Marina Vittori updated 2025-26 - An Understated Dominance Chapter 2657

Chapter 2657

The smile on Logan’s lips lingered as his fingers brushed the cloud-patterns etched into his scabbard. His voice, clear and flowing like the lake beside them, cut softly through the still air.

“Since you’ve awakened from your slumber,” he said, “why turn your wrath on mortals?”

His gaze drifted over the white light sheathing the man above him. In Logan’s eyes the glint of stars seemed to move, as if he were peering straight through time’s dust to the truth behind the other man’s face.

Sunlight pooled on the long sword resting on the stone table. The turquoise set into the scabbard’s edge glimmered faintly in the shifting light, and a trace of fresh plant-fragrance curled from it—a warm counterpoint to the ancient chill radiating from the man floating above.

The white-robed figure in the air hesitated. Surprise flickered again in his eyes.

He had been awake only days. Other than the sudden clash of sword-energy a moment ago, no one had approached him; yet with a single question this man in white had pierced his “sleep.” That insight forced him to reassess.

“You… know me?” His voice, still cold, carried a thread of uncertainty. The halo of light around him tightened, hardening from flowing mist into white jade edged with glints of ice. Even the surrounding air picked up a brittle chill.

“I don’t,” Logan replied, placing the polished sword flat on the stone table, “but I’ve heard the rumors.”

Rumors of an immortal sleeping on Fairyharbor Island. If fortune favored you, you might gain medicine from him. If not, you would be snuffed out like an ant.

The man above gave a thin, humorless smile. “You’re well-informed. But let’s see how many moves you can take from me.”

The sky dimmed as he spoke. Air pressure dropped, reeds along the bank bowing as if under invisible weight. He drifted higher, robes whispering in the currents. His long black hair snapped free of its band and streamed around him. Oppression rolled from him like a tide.

The smile vanished from Logan’s eyes. He did not rise. He only sat, still as stone—yet an unseen ripple spread from him. The tea in the cup beside him shivered. Tent-curtains trembled as if brushed by a silent wind.

Up above, the white-robed man also came to a stop. His eyes lowered, half-closed, as though slipping into a waking dream. Only the white light breathing around him moved, rising and falling like his chest.

Outside the tents, the guards noticed. One lowered his whetstone.

“Who is that?” he whispered. “Why’s he dressed like someone from a legend?”

“Floating like that—he’s at least a Grandmaster.”

“No…” another muttered, paling. “That pressure—he’s far beyond a Grandmaster.”

They stared upward, murmurs rippling through their ranks.

The tent-flap lifted. Grace stepped out in a lavender dress, her hair caught by the lake breeze. She felt it at once: not a clash of spiritual power but something deeper, heavier, making each breath feel thick.

Beside her, a female guard’s hand slid to the dagger at her waist, knuckles whitening around the grooved hilt.

Seeing the two men unmoving, the guard started forward.

“Don’t!” Grace caught her wrist, grip firm, her usually gentle face now edged with gravity. “Stay back.”

“Miss… what is it?”

“Their realms are far beyond you,” Grace said, voice low but absolute. “They haven’t even struck, and already they’re crossing wills. Step closer and you’ll die.”

The guard froze, eyes widening. She backed away, awe and fear mingling as she looked again at the two figures.

Even the air there seemed different. Sunlight warped, like heat haze rising off stone; the lakeside’s light and shadow blurred.

A flicker of motion drew the guard’s eye: an egret gliding low over the water, wings flashing white in the sun. It skimmed the lake, droplets arcing behind it, and flew straight toward Logan and the man above—innocent of danger, chirping brightly.

It crossed into a ten-meter ring around them—

—and without sound, without warning, the bird convulsed as if caught in an invisible fist. Its graceful form twisted, white wings bursting. A heartbeat later it became a drifting blood-mist, tiny feathers and red spray scattering through the air, dissolving before it could even cry.