Damon smirked as he lazily swirled a drop of blood atop his palm. The group was staring at him with their eyes red and their jaws practically hanging open.
Of course they would.
Because the drop of blood he was playing with was none other than the ancestor's blood.
The very same drop that had been guarded for centuries. The sacred relic that every noble in the clan dreamed of inheriting. The power that could reshape the fate of the entire world.
The crimson droplet floated just above his palm, rotating slowly. Each time it turned, faint waves of terrifying pressure spread across the chamber. The ancient runes carved into the throne room pulsed in response, glowing brighter as if acknowledging the authority of the blood.
Several nobles staggered back.
"That… that's impossible!"
"How did he!"
"The ancestor's blood should only awaken for the chosen heir! He has already been rejected! He shouldn't be able to touch that blood!"
Samarishit's face had turned completely pale.
