The Patriarch

After an entire week went by, Lucas finally manifested his sword.

An ethereal blade with yellow flames emanating from the hilt. One swing of this weapon, and Lucas could easily injure grade threes. With one more week until the semester started, he was assured that he could breakthrough to the next grade. There was a severely low chance of that succeeding.

And if he failed, he'd have to spend a lot more time regaining all that spirit energy he'd built up over the course of five years. Lucas wasn't going to take that chance by himself; he was going to use his sect to help.

Within each sect, there were unique artifacts that could help nurture their members. Artifacts, depending on which category they fell into, could do things like heal injuries. The rarer artifacts that were nearly impossible to find were the ones that could grant a higher success rate when achieving the next grade level. Most sects would sell half their resources just to obtain that artifact.

Lucas wasn't entirely sure whether the Barcelona sect even carried such an artifact. He was going to find out today. For today was the day the patriarch was returning. And the last thing he was expecting was his youngest grandson waiting for him.

The same day, after exercising his muscles in the exercise room, Lucas dropped a pair of five hundred-pound dumbbells on the ground. They were light. His only reason for training with light weights was because he needed to tone his muscles rather than build them. Once his body was drenched in sweat, he washed himself in the third mansion before entering the room.

Since he was going to meet the patriarch abruptly, he had to come pay his respects by wearing something formal. One wrong move, and he could get locked back in his room.

It didn't take long for Lucas to reenter the first mansion and pass through the foyer. The moment he opened the door, there were many people walking about the throne room. The patriarch wasn't even present. Lucas kept a straight face as he walked past the many adults.

Many of them were servants, while some were sect members looking to make a formal request that only the patriarch could approve. Lucas felt their spirit, identifying the highest-ranked person here as an Eparchy.

Once he made it to the front of the seat, he waited by the steps patiently. The people were so busy shuffling in and out of the room that they didn't even notice him. Maids themselves were cleaning around the chair without paying him any attention. As long as Lucas remained at the bottom of the steps, no one cared for him being there.

Closing his eyes, he waited.

Not a moment too soon, two squires came in to sound a horn next to the entrance. Lucas understood what this meant. As such, he walked sideways like everyone else to ensure a path leading from the door to the throne was cleared. Walking in with an open, green and silver vest, a gray beard that descended down to his chest, and a black coat was the patriarch.

Lucas looked straight ahead until he passed by. By the time he reached the stairs, he had taken one step to reach the top. The patriarch didn't leap or jump; he didn't need to since he was seven feet eleven! What was even more menacing about him was that, at seventy-three years of age, he still had the build of a bodybuilder in his prime.

The patriarch of the Barcelona Sect, one of the fewest grade sevens in the world. He had single-handedly managed to create this sect from scratch, staying faithful to one wife despite bearing him only daughters. There wasn't a bone in his body that didn't know the meaning of war. In terms of how he managed to stabilize a group of high-spirited individuals, it was through pure might.

His name: Hieronymus Maximillian Chang the Third.

Once Hieronymus sat down, his eyes were kept shut as he rested his elbows on the armchair and his chin on his fist. Lucas paid close attention to how he didn't remove his coat. That signified he wasn't going to stay sitting for long. If Lucas needed to grab his attention, now was the time.

"I would like an artifact from the sect," a loud voice announced.

Hieronymus slowly opened his eyes to see Lucas kneeling with his head down by the steps. People began to murmur at the sudden interruption before their patriarch could address anyone. When they recognized that the child who spoke was Lucas Chang, a descendant, they each whispered nasty rumours to one another. A squire came immediately and walked behind Lucas to escort him out of the room.

Lucas didn't hesitate to lift his head to stare into Hieronymus's eyes. He was neither afraid nor willing to move, even if one of his servants tried to make him.

The instant the squire touched Lucas on the shoulder, a chilling breeze like no other blew through the man's hair. People immediately began to see frost forming on his skin. Lucas and the others couldn't feel any cold sensation, yet the squire looked like he was in danger of suffocating from something. It was Hieronymus's sub-zero aura being slightly released.

"When did I say you could lay hands on a descendant of mine?"

Hieronymus's voice was booming. His tone was crackly and so low-pitched that it made others shutter. The servant struggled to say, "Forgive… this lowly squire… Honourable lord patriarch."

It was like he was trying to talk through a blizzard that only he could feel. Once his plea for forgiveness was heard, the frost began to melt. The servant let out a loud sigh of relief, as if he had woken from a coma. Throughout the whole moment, Lucas never once turned his gaze from his grandfather.

"Speak, seventh grandchild of mine," Hieronymus commanded. "What sort of artifact do you have your sights on?"

"One that could increase my grade level."

Hieronymus slowly stood up from his throne, saying, "You dare approach my throne to ask for a farcical request?"

Hieronymus then slowly began approaching Lucas, leaving behind a trail of ice with each step he took.

"I didn't come asking for this freely," he answered with an expressionless gaze facing forward.

Hieronymus did not stop his pace toward Lucas. So he said, "Allow me to earn the artifact in battle against any fighter of your choosing…"

Hieronymus stopped right in front of Lucas, and a chilling breeze was felt. Lucas looked up at the towering man, saying, "Regardless of their grade."

The two stared at one another for what seemed like an endless amount of time. Many onlookers were drenched in cold sweat, awaiting to hear their patriarch's response. They were all stunned to see what Hieronymus did next. He turned around to return to his throne.

"How amusing," he announced, sitting down. "I was under the impression the youngest descendant was a frail boy who had no interest in the sect. Am I wrong to have believed this? Answer me…!"

"No, honourable lord patriarch," Lucas responded, eyes closed and head down.

Based on Hieronymus silence, it was clear he, like the spectators, were expecting Lucas to say more on the matter. Perhaps something like how his duties were to the sect and to the patriarch. Lucas, however, didn't continue. For he only came here to have a chance at obtaining the artifact.

Even if the patriarch denied him, there were other ways to achieve the next grade level. Though they were unethical ways, Lucas would only need to take that risk by leaving the sect to do so.

"Hmph… Right then…" Hieronymus agreed. "Being that you are a direct descendant of my late daughter, I would like to see how you've fostered. Amuse me; prove to the sect that you are worthy of attaining my artifact. Fail me, and I will send you to the Nigerian Sect for ten years."

Lucas heard whispers of people stating how the Nigerian Sect was the sect most overrun with devils. Due to having been stationed in Africa, the devils there were so strong that the death ratio outnumbered the birth ratio.

"I accept…"

No hesitation came from Lucas. This caused Hieronymus to give a light smirk. Dismissing him from his presence, Lucas casually walked out as if he had just had a normal conversation with his only grandfather. It was their first conversation, and he was not at all discouraged by the outcome.

Recalling what Hieronymus said, it was that he had a chance to obtain an artifact, not the artifact of his choice. His punishment for losing hadn't mattered to him because he knew he wouldn't lose the fight. What he cared about was whether the patriarch would cheat him out of the artifact after he won. As such, Lucas departed for the grave of his late mother.