Chapter 2094: Playing with Someone’s Feelings Chapter 2094: Playing with Someone’s Feelings Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation Braydon Neal’s words lingered in the air, resonating in everyone’s ears for a long time.
At that moment, they couldn’t help but feel a bit envious of Wilma Nilles.
After all, there was a man like Braydon who had fallen in love at first sight.
Wilma smiled sweetly, though a touch of embarrassment crossed her face as she addressed the others.
“Uncle-Masters, I’m truly sorry.
This is their own decision.
I really can’t force them.” With those words, she ignored the displeased expressions around her and left with Braydon.
When they reached the Ninth Peak, Wilma turned to him.
“You want to live there?
There are plenty of empty houses at the foot of the mountain, but the higher you go, the fewer houses there are.
To live in one, you’ll have to challenge the current owner.” Braydon remained silent for a moment before his thin lips parted.
“That place is closest to you, Elder Wilma?” Wilma met his calm gaze, her interest in him growing further.
“As an elder, I live at the peak of the mountain.
There is a house nearby, but it’s already occupied.
He’s been in the sect for years, always in seclusion.
Even Locke Macadam might not be a match for him.” Braydon said nothing, but a cold light flickered in his eyes, a faint sneer tugging at his lips.
Without a word, he pulled out a black flute from his waist.
He intended to add another layer to his persona: an obsession with Wilma.
In doing so, he could quickly help her gain entry to the inner sect and follow her closely.
The truth he sought would not remain hidden for long.
Dark clouds loomed on the horizon, and crows circled him, casting an ominous aura.
He stood there, like…
The King of the Night.
Wilma led him to the peak, pointing at a distant pavilion.
“Yes, that one.
My residence is here, a few hundred meters away.
It’s relatively close.” Braydon nodded and, in an instant, appeared before the pavilion.
A cold voice rang out, clear and commanding.
“Come and fight.” A surge of energy erupted from the pavilion, signaling the presence of a seasoned peak master.
Wilma observed calmly, curious to see the limits of Braydon’s strength.
“You’re courting death!” A figure dashed out, its fist glowing with red steam as it hurtled toward Braydon.
With a slight tilt of his head, Braydon evaded the attack effortlessly.
In a flash, he was behind his opponent.
The ground where he had just stood shattered from the force of the missed strike.
“Burning Blood Technique,” Braydon remarked, his tone flat as he observed the figure.
The technique, true to its name, burned one’s blood essence to unleash immense power.
For this person to have mastered it to such a degree was commendable.
“Impressive speed.
Seventh level of the Burning Blood Technique—activate!” The red steam around the figure grew even more intense, and in an instant, they reappeared in front of Braydon.
The punch connected, but instead of triumph, the figure’s expression turned to shock.
It was like striking an unyielding rock.
“Weak.
Far too weak,” Braydon said, his tone cold.
He grabbed the attacker’s fist with one hand.
A sickening crack echoed as the bones shattered, accompanied by a pained wail.
Without a hint of emotion, Braydon released his grip and sent the figure flying down the mountain with a single kick.
“Elder Wilma, I’m your neighbor now,” he stated coolly, turning to her.
Wilma gave a small nod before retreating into her residence.
Braydon entered his new quarters, a spacious space adorned with fine furnishings.
A disciple in humble attire was cleaning the room and greeted him respectfully.
“Hello, Senior Brother.
I am the cleaning disciple for this pavilion.” “Leave and return in a few days,” Braydon replied with a nod.
He walked into the bedroom, already contemplating his next move.
Wilma was proving to be an ideal stepping stone, her apparent affection providing a convenient path to his goals.
The next morning, Braydon arrived at Wilma’s residence with a bamboo box.
“Elder Wilma,” he called out simply, his tone as restrained as ever.
The door opened, and Wilma, dressed in her elder’s robes, stepped out.
“What is it?” “Breakfast,” Braydon said, handing her the bamboo box.
“I’ve been fasting for a long time,” she replied.
“I made it myself.” Though she hesitated, Wilma eventually accepted the box, reasoning to herself, “Just to give him face.” Opening it, the fragrant aroma caught her attention.
“It looks quite good,” she admitted.
For ten days, Braydon brought her breakfast each morning.
Initially, she came to the door to receive it, but over time, she began leaving the door open, allowing him to bring it inside himself.
One afternoon, Braydon arrived unexpectedly.
Wilma, deep in cultivation, was surprised by the interruption but went to see him.
“What’s wrong, Braydon?” “Lunch,” he replied, waiting by the door.
“You want me to come to your place?” At his silent nod, she hesitated before following.
Despite fasting, she couldn’t deny her anticipation of Braydon’s cooking.
His quarters were simple, filled with the faint scent of incense.
Braydon set an earthen jar on the table and handed her a bowl.
“Heavenly Spirit Golden Chicken.
Freshly caught today.” “..Thank you,” she said softly, accepting the meal.