The words were cold, icy, and sinister.
Priya urgently called out, “What about my sister?”
“Go back. I’m busy right now,” Kayden replied curtly before vanishing into the bustling streets.
Watching Kayden’s figure fade into the distance, Priya stomped her foot angrily and yelled, “My sister loves you so much! She’s pinned all her hopes on you, and yet you leave so irresponsibly?”
“Men! Ugh, despicable men!”
She cursed under her breath before storming off, her frustration palpable.
—
At this moment, within the Golden Threshold Society.
The Golden Threshold Society was merely a branch of the larger Elysium Gate, one of the four major sects of Seclela. Over the years, however, the society had grown increasingly powerful, shedding its dependence on Elysium Gate while still publicly carrying its name. But in truth, its actions had long since strayed beyond Elysium Gate’s oversight.
The Golden Threshold Society was focused on business ventures, spreading its influence into the wealthiest districts, extending its dominance to every corner. However, its reputation was abysmal. Most of its dealings revolved around arson, murder, and plunder. Their motto: “Submit and prosper, defy and perish.”
Despite widespread opposition to their existence, no one could challenge them. Their strength was unparalleled-they were like wolves among sheep. Rumors said just one of their members could take on dozens of opponents single-handedly.
And yet, their methods were nothing short of monstrous.
—
Inside a solemn conference room of the Golden Threshold Society, their leader, Hawthorne Eastwood, presided over a meeting.
The room was unique. Instead of a table, the centerpiece was a massive slab of marble. Lying atop it was a blood-soaked corpse, Tiger Clarkson-one of the society’s four Great Veterans.
Tiger Clarkson was dead, already dressed in burial robes, though his body had yet to be placed in a coffin. They were waiting for something: a severed head.
Tiger Clarkson had held an esteemed position in the Golden Threshold Society, and his death was nothing short of an insult. The society was not one to resort to underhanded tactics. They faced problems head-on, ensuring swift and brutal retribution.
Revenge was their way. This was the Golden Threshold Society’s creed.
Everyone in the room awaited the return of the three remaining Great Veterans, sent to claim Kayden’s head.
Hawthorne Eastwood stood dressed in a gray suit. His stark white hair contrasted sharply with his youthful features. He had the look of a man both old and young-a striking blend of wisdom and vitality.
Standing before Tiger Clarkson’s lifeless body, Hawthorne’s expression was grim, his eyes fierce, like a predator poised to strike.
This was the greatest humiliation the Golden Threshold Society had faced since its rise to power. A few disciples dying in skirmishes was one thing, but losing a Great Veteran? That was a disgrace.
In Hawthorne’s mind, no one dared challenge the Golden Threshold Society. They were the ultimate authority-the sky itself.
Now someone dared defy the heavens. He would ensure they learned how powerful the sky could be.
—
The room held more than just Hawthorne. Seated with him were five elders, all with long hair. Some had streaks of white, others were entirely gray.
Beyond the four Great Veterans, the society also had five Sovereigns-elders of immense authority and power. These five rarely emerged from their seclusion. The dirty work-the arson, looting, and killing-was left to the Great Veterans.
The Great Veterans had grown accustomed to taking whatever they wanted. When they went to Diomidis Stevens for medicine, they simply sought to seize it. To them, anything they desired was theirs-be it wealth or lives.
But this time, they had crossed paths with Kayden. And now, they faced their end.
—
“Master, shouldn’t the three Great Veterans be back by now?” one of the Sovereigns asked, his tone heavy with concern.
Hawthorne Eastwood narrowed his eyes, grinding his teeth. “They should be returning soon. Once we’ve claimed that man’s head, we’ll bury Tiger Clarkson with full honors. And kill a hundred eighteen-year-old girls to accompany him.”
His words were calm, as though ordering the deaths of a hundred people was no more unusual than brushing dust off his coat.
“Understood,” one of the Sovereigns replied indifferently. Their faces betrayed no emotion.
Killing was as natural to them as breathing.
—
Half an hour passed. The three Great Veterans still hadn’t returned.
One of the Sovereigns eventually picked up a phone and called Emberwing, one of the three Great Veterans. The line rang only a few seconds before it connected.
There was no voice on the other end. The Sovereign, growing impatient, spoke first. “Emberwing, where are you? How can killing one man take so long? We’re all waiting for the head to bury Tiger Clarkson!”
Still, there was silence. An eerie, suffocating quiet.
“Hello? Are you listening? Where are you?” The Sovereign’s tone shifted, unease creeping into his voice.
At last, a voice answered.
“At the door.”
The words were soft, cold, and menacing.
The Sovereign froze. This wasn’t Emberwing’s voice. Nor was it the voice of any of the other Great Veterans. It was unfamiliar. He didn’t even have time to process the situation when a loud crash echoed from the door.
The conference room’s door was kicked open.
Standing in the doorway was a young man, his face shadowed with a cold, deadly expression.
Everyone in the room turned to look. Their brows furrowed in unison as they scrutinized the intruder.
The Sovereign who had made the call shot to his feet.
“Guards! Guards! How did this stranger get in here? Bring me someone, now!”
As the Sovereign barked orders, the others also rose to their feet, glaring at the young man with predatory intensity. But the hall behind him remained silent.
The young man stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Don’t bother calling them. They’re all dead.”
“What?”
His words struck like a freezing wind, chilling everyone in the room to their core. A cold sweat formed on the backs of the Sovereigns as their expressions darkened.
This building had thirteen floors, each one more secure than the last. Since the Golden Threshold Society’s founding, no one had dared infiltrate it-let alone reach the top floor.
Yet here stood this man, having killed everyone below.
What kind of monster was he? How had he done it?
—
“Who are you?” one of the Sovereigns demanded, staring intently at the stranger.
Kayden pointed to the corpse on the marble slab.
“I’m the one who killed him. I’m the man you’re looking for.”
He stepped further into the room, his voice steady. “Well, I’m here now. So, tell me-how do you want to settle this?”
His gaze fell on Hawthorne Eastwood, seated at the head of the room.
Hawthorne remained calm, his composure unshaken, as though he had anticipated this moment all along.
It was this unflinching calm that made Kayden pause and study him a moment longer.
“What happened to our three Great Veterans? How do you have Emberwing’s phone?” one of the Sovereigns asked.
Kayden smirked coldly. “Such a stupid question. I have no interest in answering it. Instead, tell me-who gave you permission to wreak havoc in this thriving city?”
“Filthy brat! Who do you think you are?” one of the Sovereigns bellowed, his rage boiling over as he lunged forward like a mountain descending.
Kayden drew a broken blade from his side, slashing it through the air.
“Annoying.”