“Looks like you still failed to evolve. Honestly, I think it’s best you do everyone a favor and just disappear. Someone like you shouldn’t even be here.”
The other individuals seated at the table sent a glance in Khana’s direction but said nothing. While others simply chose to ignore Malakai’s existence altogether, Khana had somehow made it her goal to oppress him however she saw fit.
However, despite her rude remarks, Malakai didn’t respond. He didn’t look at her, didn’t even flinch. Both his hands were on his lap as he sat with his crimson gaze fixed forward.
Khana’s brows furrowed, a frown appearing on her face. That blatant disregard, she hated it.
Her voice grew.
“What did we expect? You’re a product of that wretched whore. Your uselessness was bound to be—”
“Khana.”
A stern voice interrupted sharply, silencing her. She turned to her husband, one of the Pulses, who gave her a sharp look of warning.
But before she could say something to defend herself, Malakai finally spoke:
“If you want someone to listen to your whining, find another bed to crawl into,” he said, his voice icy. “That is what you’re best at, isn’t it?”
Malakai could endure the insults. He could withstand the scorn, the disregard, the sneering whispers. None of it mattered.
But his parents? That was a line no one should dare to cross.
His voice had been cold, but his gaze as he stared at Khana was even colder.
The room seemed to freeze. Many eyes turned to Malakai. He usually ignored whatever anyone said, and the fact that he spoke now was shocking.
Color drained from Khana’s face, then rushed back in furious crimson.
That bastard!
Her lips trembled as she tried to muster a response.
“You—”
However, as she was about to speak, the entire room froze as everyone heard a sound.
Step.
It was a single, subtle step, but there was no one in the entirety of the main building who didn’t hear it.
And as they did, their hearts trembled.
At the table, every single individual, from Pulses to Veins to the wives and husbands, shot up from their seats as one, their heads bowed in deference.
Step.
Step.
Step.
The sound echoed through the vast halls of the main building. It sounded simple and yet heavy, like the slow, deliberate beat of war drums.
Every step sent shivers down the spines of those within.
BAM!
The guards and maids lined against the walls dropped to their knees, their foreheads almost touching the polished floor, unflinching.
The steps grew louder. Each one felt like a hammer to their chests. Their heartbeats quickened.
Creak.
The massive door to the dining hall creaked open. A figure entered, and the very air seemed to still.
What Malakai and everyone in the room felt could be summed up in one word:
Power.
It was crushing. Immense. Overwhelming.
Without exception, every head lowered further as though an invisible hand had pressed down on their shoulders.
Malakai’s teeth clenched hard, his fists tight at his sides.
Among the people in the room, Malakai could be considered the weakest, and yet, somehow, the crushing aura seemed to affect them all the same way.
This was the power he strived for, an overwhelming power.
The power of a Zenith.
The bright lights above cast their glow on the man who had entered the room.
Crimson hair that was almost black under the light, blood-red eyes that blazed like twin infernos, a compact build that seemed to brim with uncontained power, and a cold smile that didn’t bother to reach his eyes.
This was the Blood Sovereign of the Sanguine Clan, Othric Von Sanguine.
His steps were unhurried. Each one felt like judgment itself, an executioner’s march, indifferent and unrelenting.
His gaze swept the room, cold and sharp. No one dared to meet it. No one dared to breathe loudly.
Othric reached the head of the table and lowered himself into his chair.
The silence stretched endlessly, suffocating. Not a word was spoken. No head lifted.
“Sit,” he said, his voice like gravel.
The descendants and their spouses sat down in unison, not wasting even a single moment.
The room remained silent except for the faint rustle of fabric as hands rested on laps, eyes fixed downward.
“Serve the food,” Othric commanded.
The maids moved swiftly, placing plates in front of the descendants, then retreating to their kneeling positions.
The Pulses were people of importance, already leaders of many parts of the western region. However, every three months, they were reminded of who truly held the power in the Sanguine Clan.
‘A show of power, huh.’ This was the only thought in Malakai’s head. It felt like the most likely reason for this dinner. Out there, they held power and authority. But here, they were nothing more than obedient puppets.
This was the result of absolute power.
Even after a few seconds of the maids serving the food, they sat still. Not a single fork moved to eat. Even as the Blood Sovereign began eating calmly, no one dared to follow him.
However, after a minute passed;
“Eat.”
The word was an order, abrupt and final.
Immediately, hands moved, and forks clattered against plates. The quiet sounds of chewing filled the room, and yet, no one dared lift their eyes.
Just like that, dinner went by in utter silence. Every single one of them had restrained movements, and only the Blood Sovereign himself could be said to be moving freely.
Finally, Othric placed his utensils down, and the movements of those at the table froze. He took a napkin and wiped his mouth gently.
“It was delicious.”
BAM!
As those words dropped, every maid lowered their heads to the floor, their voices sounding in unison.
“Thank you for the honor, Sovereign.”
With that, Othric stood, the napkin falling carelessly onto the table.
Malakai and the others at the table shot up from their seats with their heads bowed while the guards and maids lowered their bows.
Without a single word, Othric turned and moved toward the door, his footsteps echoing loudly. As the door shut behind him, the oppressive aura blanketing the room instantly lifted.
But despite that, everyone remained still. It was only after more than a minute had passed that they let out a collective exhale.
Malakai’s breathing was ragged, and his whole body was drenched in sweat as though he had just run a marathon.
The Blood Sovereign had walked in, said only a few words, eaten, and left. And yet, it felt like the entire room had been turned inside out.
To Malakai, it was a reminder. Every single time he met Othric, he was reminded of his goal.
What he must achieve, no matter what.
Malakai clenched his fists, regaining his composure, and without so much as a single word, he turned and left the dining room, ignoring the death stare he was getting from Khana.
