CHAPTER 220: THE WEIGHT OF RESOLVE

The cold night air now pressed down upon the Darlington estate, thick with tension and the faint scent of gun oil.

Red and blue lights still danced across the marble columns, painting the once-proud home of the Darlington family in a rhythm of dread.

The lead FBI agent, still recovering from the strange, heavy aura that had rolled off Hutton some time ago, finally gave a curt order.

"Cuff him. We’re taking him back to D.C. for questioning."

A pair of federal officers stepped forward, cautiously approaching Hutton with steel cuffs glinting in their hands.

’No, I can’t accept this.’

Robert Darlington’s expression hardened instantly. And suddenly, he moved between them and Hutton, his arm spread out protectively.

"Hold it right there," he barked, his commanding voice halting the agents mid-step. "You can’t just walk into my estate and haul off my guest like some common criminal. He’s done nothing illegal on my property."

The chief of police grimaced. "Mr. Darlington, with all due respect, there’s a federal warrant out on this man. His presence here puts your entire household under investigation—"

Robert snapped back, "Then investigate me all you want! But until you have a conviction, not a single one of you is laying a hand on him."

His words rang through the air like a hammer striking iron.

Rebecca who has already gotten out of the sedan car flinched at her brother’s fury, standing close behind Hutton, her heart pounding. She could feel his calmness like a steady current against the chaos surrounding them.

One of the FBI agents stepped forward, more confident than the rest. "You’re obstructing federal law, Mr. Darlington. This isn’t about your family’s status anymore. This man is linked to high-level fatalities, classified incidents, and the possible possession of something that could destabilize the national balance—"

Robert’s jaw tightened. "I don’t care what wild story you’ve cooked up to justify your witch hunt." He took another step forward, his eyes blazing. "You think I will just allow you lot wrongfully take the man who once risked his life to help me secure a business alliance that elevated our family from second class to first? Without him, the Darlington name wouldn’t even be here for you to threaten."

The words drew murmurs from the crowd of officers and agents, but Hutton only sighed softly.

"Robert," he said, his tone calm but firm. "It’s alright."

Robert turned sharply. "Don’t you dare tell me that, Hutton! They’ll tear you apart in D.C.! You think they’ll just ’question’ you and let you walk free? They want a scapegoat. And they’ve chosen you."

Hutton gave a faint smile, the kind that carried the weight of too many battlefields and near-deaths.

"You might have not known me much, but I was once in the military. I’ve faced entire armies before, Robert. I’ve even lived through wars that reshaped the world. You think I’m scared of a few men in suits?"

His voice carried an unspoken authority—steady, grounded, certain.

Rebecca, who had been gripping the side of her dress nervously, finally found her voice. "Hutton... you don’t have to do this. You could hide again, at least until this blows over. Please..."

Her eyes glistened as she looked up at him.

But Hutton merely placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. His palm was warm, grounding. "Welk I just discovered that hiding won’t solve anything. The longer I run, the more danger I put you and your brother and others that are close to me in. This isn’t about just me anymore."

Her lips trembled. "But they’ll—"

"I’ll come back," he interrupted softly. "I promise."

There was a quiet strength in his words, the kind that made her heart ache even more.

Little Clyde, who had been peeking out from behind one of the mansion’s pillars, suddenly ran toward Hutton, his small shoes echoing against the marble floor. "Mister Hutton!"

The agents turned, startled, but stopped when they saw it was just a child.

Clyde threw himself against Hutton’s leg, clinging tightly. "You can’t go! They’re bad people! Rebecca says people who come in big black cars are bad!"

Despite the grave situation, a soft chuckle escaped Hutton’s lips. He crouched down, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

"I’ve dealt with worse than bad people before, kid."

Clyde shook his head furiously, tears forming. "But you’ll get hurt!"

For a moment, Hutton was silent—then he leaned closer and whispered, "Sometimes we have to face the storm to find peace again. You understand?"

Clyde sniffled, nodding weakly, though his little hands still refused to let go.

Hutton gently pried them off, rising to his feet. His calm eyes flicked toward the lead agent.

"Alright. You wanted me in D.C., right? Let’s go."

The agent blinked, as if he hadn’t expected compliance after all the resistance. "You’re... cooperating?"

"I’m not running from shadows," Hutton said simply. "But I’m walking on my own terms."

Robert’s fists clenched. "Hutton—don’t do this. You’re not their pawn."

"I’m not," Hutton replied with a faint grin. "I’m the one who moves first."

Rebecca bit her lip so hard it nearly drew blood. "Then I’m coming with you."

Hutton turned to her, his expression softening but firm. "No, Rebecca. Stay here. Your brother and your family need stability. Don’t throw that away because of me."

She glared, her voice breaking. "But I can’t just stand here and—"

He silenced her by gently brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. "You already did more for me than you realize."

Then he stepped forward, his eyes briefly meeting Robert’s one last time.

"Protect her," he said quietly.

Robert swallowed hard. "I will. Just make damn sure you come out of this alive and in one piece."

Hutton smiled faintly, then turned to face the agents.

"I’m ready."

They moved to cuff him again, but this time, he didn’t resist. The metallic click of the cuffs echoed through the courtyard like a quiet drumbeat of fate.

The agents led him toward the black SUV waiting by the gate. The red and blue lights reflected off his calm face, painting him in shades of defiance and resolve.

Rebecca stood frozen where she was, her heart pounding painfully.

Robert’s arm wrapped around her shoulder as he whispered, "He’ll be fine. That man... he’s survived worse."

But as the SUVs drove off into the night, Clyde’s small voice broke the silence.

"Becca... is he coming back?"

Rebecca’s lips trembled as she stared into the dark road ahead, where the convoy’s taillights vanished like dying embers.

"...He promised," she whispered.

-----

The low hum of the van’s engine filled the tense silence inside. Handcuffs glinted faintly under the dull light of the vehicle’s interior, binding Hutton’s wrists in front of him. He sat calm and collected, his light brown hair catching a weak gleam as the van rolled along the moonlit highway leading toward the capital.

Two federal agents sat opposite him, one on each side of the sliding door, both visibly uncomfortable despite their authority. The faint metallic aura that radiated from Hutton’s body unsettled them, though they couldn’t explain why.

But the true pressure didn’t come from Hutton—it came from the man seated in the front row beside the driver.

He wore a sleek black suit with faint silver lining and a crest stitched on the cuff — the Dorne Family insignia. His hair was black, streaked faintly with white, and his eyes glowed like embers of lightning restrained behind calm composure. His name was Elias, a World Class cultivator — and the personal enforcer sent by Aurelian Dorne himself.

Throughout the journey, he hadn’t said a single word. His aura, though restrained, was enough to make the entire van feel like it was driving through the heart of a thunderstorm.

Hutton’s gaze flicked up, meeting the rearview mirror. Their eyes met briefly — and for the first time, Elias spoke.

"You’re surprisingly composed for someone who’s about to be handed to the Dorne Family."

His voice was deep and gravelly, like someone who’d spent decades breathing battlefield smoke.

Hutton smirked faintly. "And you’re surprisingly talkative for someone who’s pretending not to recognize me."

That made the driver flinch slightly, his eyes darting toward Elias. The World Class cultivator’s brow twitched, but his composure remained.

"You think too highly of yourself," Elias replied coolly. "I don’t concern myself with fugitives."

Hutton leaned back, eyes narrowing. His tone was soft, yet carried a weight that seemed to stir the air in the van.

"Really? Then tell me this—how many fugitives have you personally watched die on a battlefield, left to rot because their loyal subordinates which you influenced betrayed them?"

Elias’s gaze sharpened like drawn steel. The two agents shifted uneasily, feeling the sudden tension press down like gravity itself.

The driver’s grip on the wheel tightened. "Hey, what are they talking ab—"

He froze as Elias lifted a single finger. The entire van went silent again.

"You’re reaching, boy," Elias said slowly. "But I’ll humor your delusion. Who do you think I am?"

Hutton’s expression darkened. Memories clawed their way back — the blinding explosions of World War III, the betrayal that ended his life as General Taylor. The moment Timothy’s actually said the forbidden words. The cold laughter in the background before and even after the betrayal was executed.

But the laughter wasn’t the only thing Taylor heard before he gave up the ghost. He also heard a voice.

The same voice that he heard just now in the van.

"You were the one behind Timothy’s betrayal back at World War 3," Hutton said flatly, his words cutting through the air like a blade. "The one who promised him the means to be powerful if he sold me out."

For the first time, Elias’s expression flickered — a brief moment of recognition.

Then, slowly, a cold smile crept across his face.

"So you remember that much..." he murmured. "I thought the reincarnation process was merely a myth or folklore. Seems like I haven’t seen it all yet huh?"

The two federal agents looked at each other in shock, completely lost. "Reincarnation?" one whispered under his breath.

Hutton’s eyes glowed faintly with suppressed fury. "So it was you," he muttered. "You turned the battlefield into my grave, just to please your ’World Class Master’."

Elias chuckled, low and unbothered, his gaze turning toward the window. "War was nothing but a chessboard. You were simply a piece that refused to move the way we wanted. I corrected that error."

The air crackled. For an instant, the faint glimmer of Hutton’s Nascent Soul energy pulsed through the van, distorting the atmosphere. The handcuffs rattled violently.

The agents panicked. "Hey, stop that! You’re under custody, don’t—"

But the moment the agent reached out to grab him, his wrist froze midair. The entire van’s temperature plummeted.

Elias turned his head slowly, a faint smirk tugging his lips.

"Don’t provoke him," he said. "He’s finally remembering who he really is."

Then he looked back at Hutton — eyes gleaming with faint amusement and killing intent intertwined.

"I’ll enjoy killing you twice."

Hutton’s response was a quiet, dangerous smile. "You can try."

Before either of them could move, the van suddenly jerked — a tire exploding with a thunderous bang. The driver swore, trying to keep control, but the vehicle veered off the road.

The lights flickered. The agents screamed.

And as the van began to tumble down the sloped side of the road, Elias’s calm expression finally faltered.

But Hutton, amidst the chaos, sat eerily still — his eyes glowing faintly gold as a mysterious surge of energy flickered beneath his skin.