The Patriarch

The Great Hall of the Zemof family was a testament to their legacy and mastery of steel magic and swordsmanship. Towering columns of polished steel lined the walls, each engraved with intricate runes that glowed faintly with enchanted light.

The ceiling arched high above, adorned with a mural depicting the clan's storied history, scenes of battle and craftsmanship interwoven with depictions of their revered ancestors. The floor was a mosaic of steel and stone, crafted with such precision that it seemed to shimmer underfoot, reflecting the flickering light of the enchanted torches that lined the room.

At the heart of the hall stood the conference chamber, an imposing space dominated by a grand table of gleaming steel, its surface etched with the sigils and symbols of the Zemof family.

The table was arranged in a half-moon formation, allowing all clan members to face the patriarch, Lord Horace Zemof, who sat in a massive chair at its apex.

Lord Horace, a formidable figure with a stern countenance and eyes that seemed to pierce through steel itself, exuded an aura of authority and strength. His presence commanded respect and instilled a somber mood throughout the hall.

The clan members, each a master of their craft, sat in silence, their expressions mirroring the grave atmosphere. Warriors clad in gleaming armor, mages with robes interwoven with threads of enchanted steel, and smiths with hands calloused from years of forging, all bore the mark of their lineage.

The emblem of the Zemof family was proudly displayed on their attire—a trio of swords crossed in a formidable display. The first sword, upright and shining, represented the pride of a sharp blade; the second, weathered but unbroken, symbolized the resilience of steel; and the third, ever-changing in its form, embodied the adaptability of magic-infused steel.

This emblem was not just a symbol but a creed that each member of the clan lived by - their lives devoted to the perfection of their art and the honor of their family name.

"Lord Zemof, we found the location of the supply raiders in the river of Ainsel. Ten members died in the encounter, and only two members were able to return safely. One of them is in critical condition. We have determined that it wasn't the fairies nor the sprites. It was the demons and their organization that was thwarting the supplies."

"What about the report of a demon having the innate talent to remove my connection to my puppets? It seemed like there was a leak in the information of sending my personal puppets in that raid. I specifically said in our last meeting that I wouldn't send steel puppets as a distraction. In your opinion, who do you think is the most likely to leak our information?"

Horace looked at the boy who was reporting to him. It was Lars Zemof, the fifteen-year-old prodigy from the Elden house of Zemof. He was the same teenager who was chewed out in the last Zemof conference and has the same name as the head butler of the Zemof Estate, Mister Lars. He asked a simple question that could be answered by anyone, but he released vast quantities of mana to pressure the boy in an attempt to break him under the scrutiny of the clan as punishment from his past hubris.

"Lord Zemof, the aether scouts and devices have confirmed that a demon specializing in Electric magic and has the ability of suppressing your steel puppets along with her innate talent to sever your connection with them. As for the information leak, it would be unlikely since they must have planned it without spies due to knowing of your esteemed abilities and specialties."

Lars did not pay attention to the enormous mana filling the hall, and he continued to finish his report without mistakes. It seemed like his parents wanted him to give him a chance to redeem himself by acquainting himself with the patriarch of the family.

As of now, he was doing a good job in relaying the information. His parents gave a thumbs up at the smooth reporting he did, and Lars puffed up his chest in satisfaction as he did not break under pressure.

"Hear my decree," Lord Horace Zemof's voice resonated through the Great Hall, a deep, commanding timbre that silenced the murmur of the assembled clan. "As the patriarch of the Zemof family, I, Horace Zemof, shall destroy these demons and end this debacle. I know that most of you do not specialize in combat. I shall not blame you for the failure of defending the supply. After all, our family excels in magitech and pushing the boundaries of innovation. Therefore, I shall personally go out and exterminate these scourges."

The mana that now surged from Horace was unlike anything the clan had ever felt before.

It was as if the very air itself was transmuted into steel, the atmosphere charged with an intense, metallic sharpness. Every breath they took was infused with the essence of cutting blades, and the slightest movement seemed capable of slicing through flesh.

The steel table and chairs they sat upon no longer felt like furniture, but instruments of war, ready to spring into lethal action at his command.

Yet, despite the overwhelming display of power, there was no malice directed at his people.

This was merely a fraction of Horace's true capabilities, a glimpse of the might he held in reserve. The clan members knew that, should he choose, he could annihilate them all with a mere thought.

Only another Rank 7 Saint could hope to stand against him in battle. But here, within the sacred halls of their family, they were safe from his wrath.

The manifestation of his power was a reminder of his strength and his unwavering commitment to protect and lead the Zemof family through any threat, no matter how dire.