Chương 18: To Sit the Throne, To Bear the Scar

The Council Hall wasn't what most imagined. It lacked the overwhelming grandeur of the library, looking dilapidated even. Instead, it opted for a solemn style with its light blue marble columns. But maybe this modest style was the reason behind its tranquil aura of a sanctuary. Fit for a council, Ren shook his head slightly. The Ancestors of the sect had an unnatural obsession with symbolism.

"Wait for me to come out," he muttered to Liuxue, but his gaze focused on the two elders.

"If somebody bothers you, just give a punch, no need for formalities."

"Such sage wisdom, darling. Truly, the sect's finest role model," Elder Jia smirked sweetly, which gave Ren goosebumps. Since when could mockery wear such a pleasant disguise? This woman… she could make millions with a flick of her finger in showbiz.

"You're flattering me," he said, waving his hand slightly.

"It's just the best way to greet ignorant pricks."

"Insolent brat," Elder Ye spat through clenched teeth. He strode ahead alone, in a hurry to stop breathing the same air as Ren. Though Ren's lips curled up at the sight.

"Wingless chicken," he snickered, mimicking his grumpy voice. The hunched man shuddered after a few steps, looking like he was using all his will just to stop himself.

"Ah, I really like your venomous tongue, darling. I'm sure it has a super sweet taste," Elder Jia muttered, fanning herself slightly. She stepped between them right before Elder Ye turned around, tapping her cane in the ground.

"But if you continue like this, you're gonna make him go bald early. That's not good."

"Heh, an upgrade to vulture, then," Ren said, then leaned forward, whispering with a devilish glint in his eye, "Pity— that's the best he can manage. Still a long way to eagle, never mind the bald one." Elder Ye's face turned crimson and his nostrils flaring, then he let out a deep, audible exhale. Seeing that, Elder Ji simply dragged him through the shimmering rift that served as the door.

"Idiots," Ren muttered, then focused on Liuxue.

"But don't underestimate them; they are more sly than they appear, especially Elder Ye. That bastard knows the best way to provoke someone. Do not show any weakness, but don't act if possible. We don't wanna give them any leeway. Understand?" Liuxue lifted one brow.

"What happens if I beat them into a pulp?" Ren remained silent, staring deep into her eyes. Only when she nodded did he let out a sigh and go ahead. Yet right before he stepped through the rift, he muttered, "Leave the mess to me, if so." A moment later, he sensed the space stretching, and he appeared in a throne room. At its heart stood a massive U-shaped table of obsidian-black stone.

Its closed end faced the room's entrance, while the open end faced a towering dragon-throne— belonging to the supreme insignia carriers. Flanking the table, four scale-carved, throne-like seats were embedded in its curve, reserved for the Great Elders, each exuding the weight of centuries. Behind them, seated at a slightly lower elevation, came the twelve mountain-shaped chairs for the Peak Masters and Masters, each etched with its symbol.

And farther out still, forming the wings of the hall, were rows of simpler elder seats, too many to count. The Council Hall was actually bigger than it looked, thanks to some shenanigans with spatial runes. Otherwise, such a small building couldn't house a hundred-plus elders. Ren couldn't help but remember how many hours his soul brother spent in this grand room with high vaulted ceilings that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, adorned with intricate carvings.

He liked to watch the celestial battles and scenes of divine judgment they depicted when he was a child, daydreaming all the time while his master talked about boring things. His gaze wandered around, those memories gaining life and color. Massive pillars of polished black stone lined the hall, each carved with spiraling runes the child liked to poke. Flying crystal orbs, which he used to chase around regularly, patrolled the hall like diligent soldiers, their light soft and ethereal.

And the familiar honeybone incense, crafted from Soul Transformation Honeyloving Bears' bone marrow, filled the air. His stiff shoulders relaxed in a second. This place was his play zone Ren lifted his head, a strange gleam in his eyes. He saw the throne. It was carved from black jade, its polished surface absorbing light rather than reflecting it. Its arms curled into roaring dragon heads, fangs bared. The dragons' gazes locked on the center of the hall.

Even the legs of the throne bore claw-shaped engravings, clutching the floor like prey. And of course, it towered above the other seats. Behind it hung an enormous tapestry, depicting a menacing, roaring purple dragon. Surrounded by thunderous clouds, it was the legendary Guardian Beast of the Supreme Judgment Sect. Ren stared at it. Nothing had changed in the room. But everything else had.

"Young Ren." He felt Master Gao's pat on his shoulder. They exchanged a look, then Ren stepped forward, following the faint shadow of an innocent child running eagerly. Ren paused at the foot of the throne. The time had come… at last, he lowered his head, fists clenched and trembling at his sides. Not later. Not when I feel ready. Now. Readiness was a luxury he'd never had. [Please protect and cherish, Ren.] The words reminded themselves. Embrace the reality, and take a step of faith… was it?

Ren let out a deep sigh. He took off his robe, folded it, and, with his careful fingers lingering on its soft fabric, tucked it into his dimensional ring. He pulled out a long, dark coat— collar high, sleeves tight, hem split at the sides. The fabric felt dense, coarse even, and slightly worn at the edges, with faint crease lines running down the arms. He shrugged it on without ceremony as it fit close to the body. He had worn this on his first mission, against a perfect Body Tempering spiritual beast.

Mortal-Winged Tiger. Memories flashed past his eyes, like a montaged film reel. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. He had returned them on the day he took the throne, saying: "If I ever forget my position, let these old clothes be a reminder." Reaching deep into the bond buried within his heart, Ren took a deep breath and called the only keepsake still intact from his soul brother. The half-armor felt colder than he remembered.

Forged from gloomsteel, it had once been the symbol of pride. Carried the dignity of a king, a quiet carrier of triumph. But now, it wore the scars—cracks along the pauldron, scorched runes half-erased on the chestplate, and a long fracture that ran from the edge of the left shoulder, snaking down across the armplate all the way to the back of his hand. It had split through the center of the Judgment Sect's insignia. He hadn't mended it. He didn't even have the face to see the Guardian Elder.

Even if I go, I wouldn't ask for repairs. He could never. To repair it would be to bury the mysterious end of his soul brother, to pretend that person never lived at all. So he let it remain, even when he had to give away his prized divine sword—ruined just like the rest of his belongings— as collateral. With a breath held in reverence, he pulled it over his left shoulder.

The claps clicked into place on their own with a faint metallic protest, and the armplate closed over his arm as his fingers slipped into the soft glove. Green runes shimmered on its surface once, twice, and then, with a hiss like a steam engine releasing compressed air, it locked into place. It no longer hugged his arm like it once had, too loose at the forearm, too tight across the wrist. Yet the weight… the weight was exactly right. As if reuniting with an old friend… Fine armor.

With steady steps, but shaky breaths, Ren ascended the stairs rising to the throne. Every footfall echoed, loud in the hush, striking the floor like distant war drums. He let the noise ring out, declaring his return. Don't worry, brother. I won't let you or your inheritance down. One day, I'll prove that I'll pay back my debt. His heart throbbed in his ears as he lowered himself onto the black jade.

He sat with his back straight, shoulders level, chin lifted just enough to meet every gaze that would enter through those doors. The throne welcomed him with silence, the cold biting into his back through the damaged armor, helping him to calm his nerves. He couldn't call it comfortable, no. Far from that. But this was only right for the weight and responsibility of sitting on it. Elders started to filter through the spatial rift across the room.

Robes in shades of gray, red, black, and pale blue rustled with every motion. Muted footsteps, muted breaths, before they paused— Their gazes locked onto Ren. A few faces stiffened at the sight of his ruined armor, eyes narrowing with unreadable calculation. Others stared as if seeing a ghost. Some bowed faintly before taking their seat, most of them old supporters of his. One old woman wiped at a corner of her eye and sat up straighter. Whispers bloomed in seconds.

And in the midst of it all, Ren leaned forward slightly, resting one elbow against the throne's arm, his armored finger tapping. The somber meetings he had with the investors passed through his mind, and looking at the Council from this perspective, he remembered why such meetings made his blood boil even after all this time. Their desire to question, even if you did a perfect job. Their endless doubts. And the sense of superiority.

The first time he faced this, he felt a deep urge to break free, but their shackles in the form of power over your lifeline— money— had held him back. Then came the second, the oppression heightened, his desire burning his being, but he found the chains still strong. The third came with a smile. Not his— theirs. A pat on the back, fake praise, a veiled threat tucked in a compliment. Tap. Tap. He had tried his very best, used every trick in the book, and fought back just to tear their dirty claws off his back.

Yet he had lost everything he held dear in this quest. That day in the alley had already fucked up his very world, and when he had thought he had hit rock bottom, he had learned there was underground. Then, the girl he loved— Tap. Tap. Tap… Let the past stay as the past. Stop obsessing over it. A shaky breath left Ren's mouth, his eyes sweeping the hall. Most of the bigshots hadn't arrived and likely had no interest in attending.

Only one dragon-seat was occupied: Second Elder had arrived at one point without him noticing. Of course, he came. The sly bastard loves petty plots. He turned to mountain-seats. Master Gao gave him a strict nod, a hint of pride written on his face. Beside him, a burly man waved with a grin stretched ear to ear— nearly bursting out of his oversized clothes at the same time. Ren blinked slowly as a greeting and stared at the other master attending: a frosty-faced madam.

Lady Dimitra from Icecold Palace, Beauty of the Judgment. A rare smile parted her lips. Tap. Though not seeing the ones he expected was… a little confusing. The famous Xue Tian from Heavenly Master Peak. The man had tons of different names like the Lightning Incarnate, the Man who Shapes the Storms, and so on. Yet the one which gave his soul brother constant headaches was something less… flashier: Slayer of Hopes. Even the thought of his nickname gave Ren an impending headache.

Could that man really give up a chance to chew on him? I don't think so, he thought, while he greeted Lady Dimitri with a graceful nod. He wouldn't miss such a golden chance. Of course, even if he got involved, Ren had an ace in his sleeve. A way to flip the table, if the push came. Maybe that way things will get interesting.

"Let the Council Assembly begin," Master Gao's voice boomed, silencing the hall. A ripple of spiritual presence surged across the room as the rift closed, marking the start. The Second Elder rose. His robe was a patchwork of river silks and sun-dyed brocades, worn with aged dignity. Or mockery, perhaps. That seemed to be more fitting for him. He tapped his wooden cane once.

"Brothers, sisters. Honored members of the Council," he began, his voice soaked in reverent intonation.

"Today we gather not for condemnation, nor for accusation, but for enlightenment. A beloved name has returned to a seat, fortunately, before it got chilled." He faced Ren now and offered a bow that somehow felt both honoring and mocking. Tap. Tap.

"Our Eldest Brother," he paused, his lips folding into gentle wrinkles oh-so slightly, "our dear young master, decided to step forward, embracing responsibility and—" Tap, tap, tap, tap…

"…reawakening the death-tinged specter of a forbidden method." He turned once more to the room.

"Shall we ask, then, what he seeks? Or simply watch… and see what fate he chooses to carve with his own hands, like he always did?" Then, finally, he looked Ren in the eyes.

"With your grace, Eldest Brother Ren… the Council would like to hear your… so-called justification." And just like that, the chamber fell silent. All eyes returned to the throne, waiting. Tap… tap… tap…

"So, young master," said Elder Jia, puffing out her chest as she yawned lazily. Some elders couldn't help but steal glances at her generous cleavage.

"Don't leave us dangling on a cliff, now."

"Since when has the Council been your playground, Elder Jia?" uttered Lady Dimitra, her voice as sharp as a knife.

"Tch." Elder Jia pressed her lips into a flat line.

"I was just trying to lighten the mood; no need to be all riled up. Since you gave birth to that little devil, you lost your sense of fun, Demi."

"I warned you not to call me that." Lady Dimitra hissed through clenched teeth as her ice-cold aura seeped out of her body, stealing the breath from Elder Jia's throat.

"Don't go too far, Lady Dimitra."

"We're in the Council, my lady, remember."

"Lady Dimitra!" A group of elders, led by Elder Ye, rose to their feet as their combined auras clashed against hers. Tap… TAK!

"Enough! What do you think you're doing?" Second Elder hit the table with his cane, while Master Gao released his own aura and shouted. The chaos froze, while Ren watched with amusement. Truth be told… they look more pathetic than I could ever have guessed. How flustered they must be to see me back in this throne, back with this broken armor? Tap, tap, tap— Ren suddenly turned to the closed rift, his finger frozen halfway. Of course— Of course, he comes at the last second, showoff.

He snorted as a lightning-covered hand ripped out an opening in the Rift's seal.

"I hope you're not bullying my elders in my absence, Lady Dimitra." His voice came, smooth as whiskey, sharp as a blade tinged with blood. Everyone blinked, and there he was, sitting across the table from Lady Dimitra, his pristine golden robe still crackling with lightning. Gasps were heard; shivers rippled. However, he barely had time to savor his epic entrance when a wild laugh crashed the scene.

"Well, well, throwing a party without me? That's just rude!" A silver sword stabbed through the seal. Already struggling to recover, it trembled, and the rip widened. A young man clad in white robes stepped through and appeared right before Ren. Tap.

"Seems like these old farts can't sit still without disturbing you, little brother." TAP! Slapping the armrest with his armored palm, Ren slowly rose, a wide smirk playing on his lips. Opening his arms, he finally broke his silence.

"What can I say, same shit, different day."