Click.
Click.
Click.
The sharp rhythm of heels against marble echoed through the Great Hall, cutting through the silence like a metronome counting down to an execution.
Elizabeth marched forward, her gaze sweeping over the Elders. Just days ago, these old fossils had forcibly confined her.
Looking at them now, the urge to strangle them with her bare hands was nearly overwhelming.
Intellectually, she knew they had acted for her sake. The incident was a catastrophe that even her husband, the strongest man in the family had barely survived.
For her to go there would have been nothing short of suicide.
But knowing the truth and accepting it were two different things.
Elizabeth offered them no face.
"Hmph!"
She shot a glare of absolute zero at Elder Crowe, snorting coldly as she swept past him toward her seat.
Trailing a few steps behind her, Theron wore a wry, helpless smile.
He looked like a man who had crawled out of hell, yet walked as if he were strolling through a garden.
His right arm was encased in heavy bandages, wrapped so tightly they resembled a cast.
Strange, pulsating runic symbols crawled across the fabric, glowing faintly as they struggled to seal whatever lay beneath.
His abdomen was similarly bound. His steps were slow, but carried the unshakeable weight of a mountain.
"Haha! Elder Crowe, Elder Magnus. It warms my heart to see you both as lively as ever," Theron chuckled, his voice raspy but light.
"Don't mind Elizabeth. She's just irritable because she missed me too much."
"Hah..."
The surrounding Elders exchanged awkward, wry smiles.
Even with mysterious enemies lurking on all sides and his body broken, their Patriarch's charisma remained blinding.
"Patriarch, you jest,"
Elder Crowe sighed, stroking his long white beard as he watched Theron ascend the dais to the throne.
"If anything, we are the ones who should be relieved. Looking at the state you arrived in... the other Elders and I estimated you would be bedridden for another week."
Crowe narrowed his eyes slightly. " The house doctor mentioned your cellular regeneration was abnormal. But this... isn't this healing speed a bit too fast?"
"Indeed," Elder Magnus chimed in, his voice booming with suppressed rage.
"But your health is secondary to the cause. Patriarch, explain to us what happened. We are on the precipice of a decision, do we wage war on the Empire or not?"
Magnus slammed his fist on the table.
"I know serving them for generations makes treason a bitter pill to swallow. But if necessary, we must remind them that the Shadow of the Voss Family is capable of devouring their Light!"
The room fell silent. All eyes, Elders and Elizabeth alike fixed on Theron.
Only he could make this call. This was the decision that would either forge their legacy or extinguish their bloodline.
However, to everyone's anticipation, Theron neither agreed nor disagreed.
He sat on the throne, his smile slowly fading. He thought back to the battlefield. The blood. The darkness.
Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted.
Vmmmm—
An invisible, unstoppable pressure expanded from the throne.
Theron's pupils dilated until his eyes were pitch-black voids. The sclera vanished, replaced by a swirling, chaotic abyss.
A hint of ancient, uncontrolled evil leaked into the air.
Cr-crack.
Spiderweb fractures raced across the marble floor. The heavy stone walls groaned. A Ming vase in the corner shattered into dust, unable to withstand the sudden density of the mana.
The Elders' shoulders slumped as if gravity had increased tenfold. It was suffocating. Terrifying.
Looking at that face, devoid of humanity, it was hard to believe this was the same man who had been laughing seconds ago.
"Ugh..."
Theron's gaze fell on Elizabeth. She was trembling, her fists clenched white, her head bowed low to hide the pain on her face as she resisted the crushing aura.
The sight struck his heart like a dagger.
Damn it! What are you doing? Calm down, Theron! Calm down!
He gritted his teeth, fighting the chaotic noise in his mind. His chest heaved, breath hitching as he forced the darkness back.
Slowly, the black tide receded from his eyes. The pressure vanished.
"Sorry... everyone," Theron gasped, wiping a bead of cold sweat from his forehead.
"Haha... it seems my situation is a bit trickier than I thought."
He raised his sealed right arm, pointing the bandaged limb at the stunned assembly.
"Before I tell you about the war, you need to understand one thing. That pressure just now? That wasn't me."
The room was deadly silent.
"As I was retreating from the battlefield, that bastard, the Void Demon God, used his followers to try and infect my body."
Theron spoke casually, as if discussing a bad weather forecast rather than a cosmic horror.
"I managed to seal the entry point on my hand before it spread fully. But... the seal isn't perfect." He frowned, inspecting the glowing runes on his bandages.
"If my emotions fluctuate even a little, the Void immediately tries to erode my rationality."
"As expected of a Demon God," he mused, a dark admiration in his tone.
"Even without descending, his means are beyond what mortals like us can predict. I'm sure even chopping this arm off wouldn't stop the spread now. So, I have to live with it."
Theron leaned back, letting out a long sigh.
"Hah~! Funny, isn't it? The 'World's Strongest Man' forced into a corner like a frightened dog. I hope the Gods in heaven at least kicked that bastard's ass for me."
"Theron!"
Elizabeth slammed her hands on the table, unable to sit still any longer.
"What Gods? What seal?! What the hell happened on that battlefield?" Her eyes were wide, pupils trembling.
Gods? Demon Gods? Infection?
In this land, divine beings were myths—concepts impossible for humans to interfere with.
Yet her husband spoke of encountering one as if he'd run into an old acquaintance at a tavern.
The more she heard, the more she realized that his survival wasn't skill. It was a miracle.
She looked deep into his eyes, desperate for the truth.
Even the hawkish Elder Magnus fell silent. He realized this wasn't as simple as political revenge against the Empire. They were stepping into a realm of monsters.
Theron saw the fear and confusion. He knew he couldn't hide it anymore.
He waved his good hand. Mana surged, coating the walls in an inky, impenetrable film.
[Voss Secret Art: Silent Room]
Sensing that the barrier was secure and no spies could pry into their conversation, Theron's expression turned solemn.
"Alright. Where do I start?"
He tapped his chin, looking at the ceiling.
"Do I start with the ambush by the two Eighth Order knights?"
He looked back at them, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.
"Or should I start with the moment I became Immortal?"