Rowan inhaled sharply.
"That aura… it's the Patriarch."
He turned toward Garran immediately.
"Did you notify him?"
"Yes," Garran replied calmly. "This isn't something we can hide."
Rowan fell silent.
Everyone present knew the reputation of the Drakebane Patriarch. He was rational and measured, until his family was involved. Once that line was crossed, reason ceased to exist.
The doors opened.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
A tall man entered.
He wore his age openly. A thick, well-kept beard framed a stern face carved by decades of authority. Strands of silver ran through his dark hair, loosely tied behind his head. His eyes were deep and steady, like an abyss that had long since learned patience.
Victor Drakebane.
The Patriarch.
He did not release his aura, yet the moment he stepped inside, the room itself seemed to shrink.
"I heard my son is in critical condition," Victor said, his voice low and even.
"Is that true?"
"Yes, Patriarch," Garran replied, stepping aside. "Young Master Lucas is here."
Victor walked forward.
The instant his eyes fell upon Lucas, his steps came to a halt.
This was not the usual sight of injuries. Bruises and broken bones were commonplace, things he had witnessed countless times before.
But this…
Lucas lay motionless. Dark veins crept faintly beneath his skin, pulsing with an unfamiliar hue. His breathing was so weak it was barely perceptible.
For a brief moment, the room felt as though it were sinking.
A black-violet light flickered within Victor's eyes.
Pressure descended.
Not explosive.
Not violent.
Just heavy enough to make every instinct in the room scream danger.
"Who did this," Victor asked quietly.
No anger.
No shouting.
Just a question, one that carried the weight of annihilation.
"Patriarch," Garran said immediately, maintaining his posture, "please allow me to explain. This wasn't caused by an enemy."
Victor did not take his eyes off Lucas.
"Speak."
Garran explained everything.
The shattered mana core.
Its impossible restoration.
The confrontation with the Abyssal Dominion.
The descent into the Abyss.
The demonic essence.
The rapid breakthroughs.
And finally…
This outcome.
When Garran finished, silence engulfed the hall.
Victor closed his eyes for a brief moment.
Then he exhaled.
"So it was his own choice," he said softly. "Not an enemy's hand."
His gaze softened, only slightly before hardening once more.
"At eighteen," he continued, "reaching the Spirit Realm… unheard of."
He turned toward Elder Julius.
"What do you think, Elder Julius?" he asked.
"This condition is extremely complex," Elder Julius replied gravely. "Lucas's soul is barely present due to the overwhelming demonic energy. It's like two souls fighting over a single body. To resolve this, we need pure mana, the purer, the better."
Victor stroked his beard thoughtfully.
"Pure mana… such energy is exceedingly rare. We do not possess it."
"More importantly, Patriarch," Elder Julius added, forcing Victor to turn back toward him, "given Lucas's condition, I fear we would need a massive quantity. Possibly an entire pool. With such an amount, I'm not confident anyone within our territory has it."
Victor fell silent.
Then he spoke.
"The Golden Land Order."
Elder Julius's eyes widened.
"Patriarch, that's impossible. Are you planning to make a move against them?"
Victor replied casually,
"They've clashed with us for decades. Several of our crystal mines border their territory. We have justification."
No one spoke.
Everyone understood exactly what Victor meant.
"Summon the council. Tonight, we march to the Golden Land Order."
"Yes, Patriarch."
Elder Julius turned and left immediately.
---
The grand council hall was flooded with sunlight, yet not a trace of warmth lingered within it.
Nearly twenty figures stood gathered inside. Most bore white beards and aged faces, but none appeared frail. Their bodies were honed, dense with power, like ancient beasts that had survived countless storms.
These were the elders of the Drakebane family.
Victor Drakebane sat at the head of the hall.
He did not move.
He did not speak.
Yet his presence alone ruled the space.
Though his aura was restrained, the invisible pressure of a Heavenly Realm peak Magus settled over the hall like an unseen mountain. Breathing became heavier. Even the elders sat straighter, their expressions solemn.
"You have all seen my son's condition," Victor finally said.
His voice was calm, too calm.
"And you already know the solution."
Silence followed his words.
Victor's fingers tapped once against the armrest.
"We will go to the Golden Land Order," he continued. "Few are aware of this, but within their territory lies a spring from a sacred mountain, one that contains pure mana, the cure of my son's condition."
His gaze swept across the elders, sharp and unyielding.
"This decision is not coincidence. Their order has clashed with us for decades. We have lost territory, resources, and blood, yet we responded with restraint."
His eyes hardened.
"Today, that restraint ends."
"We will offer a negotiation for the spring. If they agree, the matter ends peacefully."
A pause.
"If they refuse, then we take it."
The hall fell deathly silent.
An elderly elder finally spoke, his voice cautious.
"So… what is your plan, Patriarch?"
"We do not move with our full force," Victor replied immediately. "I will take only thirty, our strongest."
A faint sneer tugged at his lips.
"The Golden Land Order prides itself on so-called righteousness. I have no illusions that this will end without blood."
Before the hall could respond, another elder stood.
"This is about the future of our family," he said firmly. "Lucas has already proven that his talent surpasses all expectations. He is the key to our long-term dominance."
He clenched his fist.
"Now he stands between life and death, between two worlds. I fully support the Patriarch."
Victor inclined his head once.
Around the hall, voices followed, low, resolute, unified.
Agreement echoed.
Garran remained seated, his expression unreadable.
He understood what this meant.
There would be blood.
There would be corpses.
But for Lucas…
Even the destruction of a great order was a price worth paying.
"Good," Victor said. "The decision is made."
As the matter seemed settled, another elder spoke, hesitating only briefly.
"Patriarch… it may be wise to summon Lord Magnus."
The hall froze.
Magnus Drakebane.
Victor's father.
Lucas's grandfather.
A figure whispered to have stepped into the Transcendent Realm, a realm that existed only in legends.
Victor raised one hand.
The room fell silent instantly.
"Your concern is noted," he said coldly. "But my father will not be summoned."
He rose from his seat.
The pressure in the hall spiked, just for a moment.
"I will lead this operation myself."
Shock flickered across several faces.
Victor rarely involved himself directly in warfare.
But no one dared object.
This was his son.
Lucas Drakebane was the core of the family's future.
To harm him was to declare war on the Drakebane name itself.
"That is all," Victor said, turning away.
"Make your preparations."
"Tonight—"
His voice sharpened.
"—we march."
One by one, the elders departed, their expressions grim and resolute.
War was coming.