Grand Return System-Chapter 77: A Father’s Edge

A Father’s Edge

Harrier pointed his broadsword toward him.

"Clint—"

His voice cut through the dust-filled street like a blade.

He smirked faintly, chest rising in a slow, controlled breath despite the grit and the metallic scent of blood hanging in the air.

"It’s been decades. Is this all you’ve got?"

Clint Zain’s jaw tightened.

Steel rang as their weapons met again. The clash echoed down the ruined street, sharp and violent, like thunder cracking against stone. Sparks burst where hammer and blade collided.

Harrier didn’t give him a moment.

He stepped forward, boots grinding shattered brick and broken glass beneath his weight. His broadsword came down with brutal force, the muscles of his arm tightening, veins standing out beneath his sleeve as he pushed harder.

Clint grunted as the pressure surged through his arms.

With one powerful shove, Harrier forced Clint Zain’s massive hammer downward, the impact sending a dull tremor through the ground. The force drove Clint backward, straight through the half-collapsed remains of a storefront. Rotten beams snapped and dust exploded into the air as his back slammed against the broken wall.

The entire street shook.

Although the Taylor household’s foundation could not compare to the vast resources of the Zain family, they still had Harrier.

And Harrier was enough.

Everyone in Ashford City knew that.

Harrier Taylor was not the sort of man who feared stronger opponents. Quite the opposite.

Danger excited him.

The more terrifying the enemy standing before him, the brighter the fire in his veins burned. His fighting spirit thrived under pressure, growing sharper, fiercer, more relentless the longer a battle dragged on.

Years ago, when two King Realm experts had cornered him in Ashford City, people had already begun preparing his funeral.

Instead, Harrier walked away from that battle with blood on his blade and both enemies lying broken behind him.

Unbowed.

Unbroken.

That story had spread through the city like wildfire.

And ever since then, the Taylor household had stood tall—supported by that legend alone.

A groan escaped as Clint rose through splintered planks, dust shaking loose with each movement. His back creaked into upright position, fragments tumbling from his arms like shed bark.

A smear of red showed on his thumb after he dragged it across his lip. Staring hard, his gaze locked onto the figure still as stone in the dusty air.

A slight shake ran through the hammer he was holding.

Not from weakness.

A jolt raced through his arms, sharp and sudden, as their blades crashed together.

A heavy pause followed his gaze toward the gun. His eyes returned to Harrier, shadowed, unblinking.

Fine, then - those whispers turned out to be real," he said quietly.

Fingers trailing along the blade’s edge, Harrier let his arm swing loose. The broadsword leaned on his shoulder like a sleeping thing. Heavy weight meant no strain.

"You’re getting slow, Clint," he said calmly. "Or maybe you just spent too many years bullying weaker people."

Clint’s brow twitched.

"Hmph."

A weight dropped when he slammed the hammer into the earth, its metal crown biting dirt. Forward he moved once more, energy swelling behind him - wild, untamed, building like clouds before lightning splits the sky. Between them, space bent, warped by force no eye could see yet every nerve felt.

"Harrier," Clint growled, retreating half a step as their auras collided in midair, "are you truly willing to turn against my Zain family... for three girls?"

Out of the silence came his voice, thick like frost. Not merely asking - more like a threat hanging in the air.

Funny how plans shift when you step into a room. He meant to twist the fight to his advantage - just another move dressed up as necessity. Politeness, often just a sheath for sharper things. Yet here, in the Taylor home, where silence usually speaks louder than words, teeth showed without warning.

The numbers refused to make sense.

Out of Harrier’s mouth flew the reply, sharp and ready.

"What a joke." His eyes flashed. "My son was bullied in the open street. As his father, do you expect me to swallow that insult?"

The broadsword descended again.

A thunderous strike.

Clint was blasted from the air and slammed into the ground below, carving a crater into the stone road. Dust and fragments rose like smoke around him. Harrier hovered above, robes snapping violently in the shockwaves, looking every bit the war-god descended upon mortal soil.

Clint coughed, blood splattering against broken stone.

His pride burned more fiercely than the pain.

Without a word, he crushed a transmission talisman between his fingers. Mana rippled outward in invisible threads.

Moments later—

Shadows.

Figures flickered across rooftops, alleyways, shattered balconies. In less than a breath, the entire street was encircled. The Zain family’s elite had arrived.

Harrier’s gaze sharpened.

So that was it.

A trap layered beneath arrogance.

Clint rose slowly, hammer resting against his shoulder. His expression cooled into something far more dangerous than anger.

"Harrier," he said evenly, "I will give you one final opportunity."

The street had fallen silent. Even the wind seemed to hold back.

"Leave now. Hand over those three girls to my Zain family. I will consider today’s matter forgotten."

Behind him, the Zain experts stood in rigid formation, Mana circulating in disciplined waves.

Clint’s eyes flicked briefly toward Selena and Rias.

He had sensed it the moment he arrived.

Divine Ice Bones.

Divine Fire Bone.

Rare physiques. Exceptional potential.

Two treasures walking in human form.

If he could extract and transplant those bones into his own bloodline...

The thought had taken root immediately. That was the true reason he stood here—not pride. Not revenge. Ambition.

But with Harrier present, seizing them directly would be costly.

Better to take what he could today. There would be time later to settle accounts with the Taylors.

Harrier’s expression darkened slightly.

He was not a fool.

He understood what it meant for the Zain family to mobilize like this. He also understood the weight of protecting these two young women.

Were they merely ordinary students of Leon?

Or something far more important?

If they were insignificant... risking the entire Taylor household might be madness.

But if they were precious to Leon—

A faint chill traced down his spine.

He had seen Leon once. Only once.

That man did not look like someone who tolerated harm to his own.

Harrier’s grip tightened around his broadsword.

Behind him, Harry stood pale but unyielding, refusing to step back.

Selena’s silver-white hair drifted in the dust-laden wind. Her blue eyes were calm, but frost condensed faintly around her fingertips. Cold Mana pulsed beneath porcelain skin, restrained yet lethal.

Rias adjusted the fold of her crimson silk, expression unreadable. Heat shimmered subtly around her, like hidden embers awaiting oxygen. Her red eyes held neither fear nor panic—only sharp calculation.

Akeno remained silent, gaze lowered slightly, but darkness gathered faintly around her presence, like a shadow stretching long before sunset.

The air was tight enough to snap.

Clint’s voice cut through it again.

"Well? Make your choice."

Harrier’s jaw flexed.

For a fleeting second, doubt flickered.

Then—

Soft footsteps.

Rias stepped forward.

The movement was unhurried. Controlled.

The crowd’s attention shifted toward her instinctively.

She stopped a short distance from Harrier and inclined her head slightly.

"Uncle Harrier," she began, voice smooth yet clear, carrying just enough authority to still the murmurs around them.

The tension shifted—not vanished, but transformed.

Clint’s eyes narrowed.

Harrier glanced back at her briefly.

The battlefield had not cooled.

But something had changed.