As he reached the top of the stairs, Malakai’s breath came in gasps, desperate and ragged.
His chest rose and fell violently. Sweat dripped from his chin, soaking the floor beneath him. His legs quivered as though currents of lightning were surging through them.
It felt as though his entire body was burning, like fire was eating him alive from the inside. Regardless…
‘It’s not over.’
His crimson eyes flared brighter. The stairs were behind him, but the distance to the Sovereign still remained.
And the closer he got to the Sovereign, the more the aura intensified.
It slammed onto him like a truck. His skin prickled. His bones groaned, and each breath he took felt like swallowing fire.
But he still clenched his fists, steeled his body, and walked.
Each movement felt like he was shouldering the weight of the world, like dragging his body through hell.
But inch by inch, he closed the distance.
Until finally…
He stood a few meters from the throne and raised his head.
The Blood Sovereign sat unmoving on the massive throne. That calm smile still lingered on his face. But it was his gaze… that unblinking, ancient gaze…
It bore down on Malakai like a god peering down at a mortal.
And suddenly, the weight intensified once more, like the Sovereign dared him to take one more step.
At this point, all around the hall, the expressions of the powers had darkened. Their stares sharpened. No one had expected this. None of them.
Who would think he of all people would actually reach the top…
Malakai sucked in a deep, trembling breath. He was now at the highest point in the hall. Above even the Pulses. Above the Veins.
Only the Sovereign stood before him.
Then, in front of everyone watching in shock, Malakai dropped to both knees before bowing his head.
His voice was calm, but it cut through the silence.
“All blood flows to you, Sovereign. May your will shape the veins of the world.”
At his words, the smile on the Sovereign’s lips stretched slightly. He didn’t speak. Not immediately. Instead, silence descended across the hall.
The Pulses and Highbloods fixed their cold gazes on Malakai’s bowing figure, and the tension in the hall swelled to a staggering level.
Varek, who was still kneeling at the base of the stairs, sucked in a cold breath, trying, and failing, to stop the tremble that ran through his limbs.
‘H-He’s insane.’
What Malakai had just done… it was madness. It was a direct challenge to the Pulses and Highbloods that didn’t require words.
Varek was more stunned by the why than the how. Because he could feel it, every hint of the hate aimed at Malakai from the Pulses, the Veins, and the Highbloods.
With that single action, Malakai had sent a message to all of them.
He was beneath no one but one here.
Not the Highbloods.
Not the Pulses.
Only the Sovereign.
And they wanted nothing more than to rip him apart for it. An unevolved trash…
But unlike the Veins, who had their Pulses to mitigate the effect of the hall’s oppressive air, Varek had nothing. He was the only Blood Champion in this hall, and he bore the full weight of the oppressive power.
Nyx, meanwhile, hadn’t moved an inch. But her clenched hands spoke volumes to how she was currently feeling. She could feel every ounce of Malakai’s suffering… and it was clearly getting to her.
Still, the focus of the entire hall remained on one boy.
Malakai.
He waited for a response.
And then, finally, the Sovereign’s voice broke the silence.
“Malakai.”
Instantly, everyone in the hall straightened like puppets pulled by invisible strings. All radiated nothing but respect.
Malakai bowed lower.
“Yes, Sovereign.”
“You arrived late. Why?”
Even though they had flown on Equiladors directly instead of using carriages, they had still arrived later than expected.
Malakai paused for a second before responding.
“Yes, Sovereign. After spending the night at Ironhold… we were ambushed. By the Maugrim.”
A shift ran through the hall. The atmosphere turned cold. Some of the powers narrowed their eyes; others stayed still entirely.
He might be trash to them, the weakest Vein in the history of the clan, but he was still a direct descendant.
The Maugrim… had dared to attack one of them?
“Is this the truth?”
The voice wasn’t the Sovereign’s.
It didn’t need to be.
Only a high-ranking Highblood or a Pulse could speak without permission in a setting like this.
All heads turned and landed on the figure who had just spoken.
Drennos Von Sanguine.
He was the firstborn of Othric, the Blood Sovereign. And currently, he was the one closest to succeeding the throne.
Drennos was tall, broad-shouldered, his posture stiff. He had a sharp jaw, high cheekbones, deep red hair that fell straight behind his back, and calm, unreadable crimson eyes.
His expression never shifted even for a second. Composed. Regal.
But Malakai didn’t respond. He didn’t even turn to look at him. The major reason for this was that the question hadn’t been directed at him.
Instantly, Varek felt the stare, one of a Pulse.
Sharp. Piercing.
He flinched visibly, then clenched his hands to steady himself.
“Y-Yes, First Pulse,” Varek said, as respectfully as he could. “The Maugrim attacked us on our way to the clan.”
Gasps rippled as the expressions of many morphed into anger.
Murmurs broke out through the hall.
“Have we gone soft?”
“Do the Sanguine look like a joke to them?”
“They’ve forgotten who rules the West.”
“We should wipe them out.”
The powers in the hall seethed with rage. Every mutter came with threats aimed at the Maugrim.
During this, another voice suddenly rang out.
“Do you know why they attacked you?”
It wasn’t loud, not cold either. It sounded soft, not what one would expect from the one who had just spoken it.
As the heads of people turned, their gazes landed on another Pulse.
Varnel Von Sanguine.
The third Pulse of the Sanguine Clan.
He was of average height, with a lean, sharp build. His blood-red hair was shorter on the sides and swept back neatly, styled with care.
His crimson eyes had a softness that didn’t match the air in the hall, and his smile, perfectly shaped, felt robotic, as if practiced over and over again in front of a mirror.