Anger(III)

Amon was yet again transported into another room, without his consent, but at this point, he didn't even feel like complaining.

He and unsolicited portals had a long and complicated relationship.

***

He found himself sitting on a sofa, facing a man who held his head in his hands, endlessly murmuring.

'Ah…'

The man suddenly sat straight and grabbed one of the glasses before him, downing its contents before serving himself another shot.

Eventually, he threw the glass away and began drinking from the bottle.

"You've truly fucked me over, young man." The man sighed. "My wives will put me through things you can't imagine…."

Seeing the man on the verge of tears, Amon didn't know whether he should feel bad or laugh.

Just like him, the man had long white hair, as white as his skin, and his pupils were a pure and popping emerald color.

His body was toned and refined, his height standing at a towering six foot eleven.

He truly looked like one of Amon's ancestors.

This was the Patriarch and leader of the Undead, Salvatin Deon.

'Poor guy…'

After having displayed his bloodline purity for all to see, Amon had unknowingly started a storm that had been brewing for ages.

Rumors immediately spread, and figures in the shadows instantly took this opportunity to shatter Salvatin's unshakable reputation and status.

In just a few hours, word of the Patriarch's bastard son had spread to all corners of the capital, going beyond even the section of the Undead and Liches.

But Salvatin didn't care about any of this. His power was supreme, and he was untouchable. Regardless of what the people thought, the throne was his.

What he did care about, though…was the fury of his wives.

While he could've killed Amon and directly used his corpse as proof that he truly had no strings attached to him, he knew it wouldn't work.

Firstly because he knew his wives. They'd stop him before he even got the chance to, and secondly, from Amon's gaze, he could tell this was all going according to plan, and something told him he had a way of escaping if he found himself in any danger.

It was a losing battle he was thrust into with his pants down.

He took another swig and downed the bottle.

He sat back, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath in.

"What do you want, kid?"

He exhaled and slowly opened his eyes, his gaze carrying an edge that left Amon's spine tingling.

"I simply want a roya-"

"Why?" he asked, cutting Amon's words short as he suddenly sat up and leaned forward, his fingers interlocked and his gaze unreadable.

"I need…resources."

"And protection," added the Patriarch.

To this, Amon remained still, not denying or confirming.

"Listen, kid, personally, I couldn't care less what you do. In fact, if you made the lives of the other nobles harder, you'd be doing me a favor. They're too used to the sights at the top." He spoke, his tone relaxed yet sharp.

"But you must know that they'll give you an opponent they believe you cannot defeat." He began caressing his chin. "From what I can sense, you're a peak awakener who hasn't awakened any of his affinities."

"From your aether, I can tell you must've formed a high-grade mark, but from your usage of it, I can tell that though you have the knowledge, you're as untrained in the arts as one can be."

He looked at the gloves Amon wore.

"Decent toy you got there, but it still won't be enough. The top ten seat holders are all forces to be reckoned with. The weakest of them is at least ten times stronger than you. Do you still dare take this step and challenge them?"

Hearing this, Amon grinned.

"Yeah."

***

[Somewhere in the Undead Section of the Royal Capital.]

In a cold and empty room, a man sat cross-legged in the air.

He was bald, his entire head covered in snaking tribal tattoos of dragons and clouds.

He was short and had a petite frame, and yet, through his black robes, his refined and compact muscles were evident for all to see.

Around his body, dozens of swords could be seen, all covered in strange grayish-white aether.

Suddenly, the air rippled, and a man veiled in robes of black appeared in front of him.

Slowly, he opened his eyes, revealing their burning scarlet depths.

The man, upon meeting this gaze, froze for a second but soon calmed down.

"The elders have told me to come and hand you this challenge. A few days ago…"

The more the man heard, the colder the room became—not figuratively, but literally—the world was freezing over, and yet, the flame within his eyes only seemed to burn brighter and brighter, seemingly on the verge of exploding.

"I see."

His voice, akin to the scraping sound of metal, echoed and shook the aether around.

"Tell the elders I will be accepting this challenge. Tell them I will also be killing the boy."

He closed his eyes once again.

'A mere awakener…challenging not only the noble but us seat holders…a top ten at that…'

He tried calming down, but something within refused to do so, and immediately, a blue flame burst off his body, coating and covering him as he reopened his eyes. This time, they'd become a clashing field of blue and red.

His hands trembled in rage and indignation as he remembered the words that had just been uttered to him.

The reason why he was so angry and why almost everyone had seemed to overreact to Amon's challenge was simple.

Within the Undead-Lich sector, an event would soon be happening. An event that only happened once every generation.

The Undead Ascension Trials.

And now he, a dignified seat holder, had to stop his cultivation to not only waste his time and deal with a willful bastard child but also expose himself to the other members of the top ten.

By just publicly appearing, the lackeys of the other seat holders would be able to tell how much he'd improved and go report it to the others, allowing them to further prepare against him.

To say he was currently mad was an understatement. In fact, it wasn't just him; his entire family was.

'I'll tear him apart…'