Grand Dad Is The Pervert God
Chapter 174: The Dungeon Is Ruled.

Chapter 174: The Dungeon Is Ruled.

Luke stood up, a courteous smile stretched across his face—warm, unthreatening, but clearly crafted to create a good impression.

His robe fluttered slightly as he adjusted it and raised his hands in a calming gesture.

"We shouldn’t be fighting," he said, his voice light, amiable. "Ladies, gentlemen—we’ve gathered here for a greater cause. The Yellow Anchor Stone. The dungeon. That’s where our minds should be."

His words were sincere on the surface, and seemed like plea for unity. But those seated around the table understood the undertone immediately.

After all nobles always spoke in a manner that hid intentions.

Luke was not of noble blood. His seat at this gathering was only made possible by marriage. If it had been William who said these words, they would’ve been received as the natural voice of leadership. But Luke? Speaking now was akin to stepping out of line.

And worse still, it seemed he was defending Jan.

Jan, despite dressing in monk’s garb, was still born of a noble house. Entering the tent after Christiana was already perceived as a gross show of disrespect—and Luke, knowingly or not, was trying to smooth that over. To many nobles present, it meant one thing: Luke was aligning himself with the Ministry of Heavenly Judgement.

Even though no one said a word, the air shifted.

Factions within the gathering quietly realigned. Cold glances met Luke’s words with forced smiles.

Christiana turned her head slightly toward Luke, her golden lashes low. Her expression didn’t change, but a wave of soul pressure lanced toward him like a whisper of thunder.

Luke blinked—once.

A bead of cold sweat broke at his temple. His smile didn’t fade, but it became rigid, waxen. He forced a short breath through his nose and sat back down.

Only William noticed the exchange. His eyes narrowed in faint amusement.

He knew that this was Christiana’s warning. ’Speak again, and you will regret it."

And Luke got the message.

He had tried to blend in. To rise. But instead, he’d drawn attention, and not the kind he wanted.

It wasn’t until he was seated again that the humiliation hit fully. His lips twitched in an awkward grin as he picked up a goblet of wine he didn’t drink from.

Christiana suddenly waved her hand in the air with a calmness that contrasted her earlier show of power.

"I don’t mind," she said, voice airy. "Let Master Jan be seated. The heavens bless us all, do they not?"

Jan bowed low, hands clasped, voice soft. "Amitabha."

He moved past her with poise and joined the other monks at the front row, their prayer beads clicking rhythmically as they resumed their silent meditations.

From the side, Violet rolled her eyes so hard it nearly echoed. She leaned into her seat, arms crossed, legs parted slightly like a soldier on the edge of battle.

"Tch," she muttered, half to herself. "I half expected a fight. You’re not living up to the legend, Golden Hunter."

Violet’s voice wasn’t loud, but it carried well enough for a few to catch it.

She was known for her penchant for violence. A woman who treated war like a lover and boredom like a crime.

It was no wonder she was heir to the grandduke heir of her family.

Even at this moment, her eyes darted about the tent, clearly sizing up the room for a suitable sparring partner. They lingered on William more than once.

Violet, as crazy as she was had whispered the idea of a duel to him before.

William’s reply had been blunt and filled with ego: "Only if you best me in bed first."

That offer was, to Violet, more offensive than intriguing. It was a no—a definite one.

Christiana, ignoring the background tension, lifted a hand again. One of her war maidens stepped forward.

She was dark-skinned, broad-shouldered and graceful in movement. Her armor bore scratches and notches, and through the small breaks in her plates, old scars peeked like whispers of horror survived. Her head was clean-shaven, the sheen of it catching a glint from the hanging lanterns. The woman’s face was hard—stone tempered by fire.

On seeing her, Eros shook his head. Not that he had never had bald women in his bed before.

But there was little room to be kinky with their kind, as he could never pull back the hair to get that perfect arc.

The dark skinned maiden bowed once and spoke with a clear, authoritative voice.

"I am Serra of Blackmark. After interrogating the lone survivor of the dungeon, we have constructed a crude map of its interior. Further more, before passing away, the last survivor claimed to have seen the Yellow Anchor Stone."

A murmur ran through the nobles. It was of curiosity, hope, the gleam of ambition in their eyes. The whispers were hushed but pleased.

But Serra did not smile. She turned to face them fully and added, "But that... is exactly the problem."

Luke, ever eager to contribute again, leaned forward. "And... why is that bad news?"

William rolled his eyes and sneered, "You can’t deduce even that? You must truly be a useless inheritor."

There was a ripple of laughter from a few corners, some trying to hide it behind wine cups.

Luke frowned. But held it in.

Eros, unseen among them all, sighed quietly from the shadows.

’He’s not wrong’, he thought bitterly.

Violet cut through the conversation, tone sharp and annoyed. "What she means," she said, "is that no one as weak as that group should’ve made it out alive. The dungeon should’ve eaten them alive. The only reason they escaped... is because they were allowed to."

Serra of Blackmark nodded solemnly.

Christiana’s voice followed, measured and grim. "We suspect they were bait. Allowed to go free... so that more may enter. So that we may enter."

William nodded, "anything or anyone capable of standing guard against an anchor stone and even use it as bait will not be an easy foe."

Christiana nodded, "that is exactly the reason we have called for this meeting. We will need to put our hands together to get this done."

"...hmmm, your plan is not bad," Violet spoke up, "but there is a problem with that. How do we share the spoils. I mean, who will take the Yellow anchor stone at the end of the day. Surely, you and..." she turned go the maidens following Christiana "...Your tasty women?"

Even Eros was interested in this matter. After all, if she said yes, a fallout will happen right here and now.

Everyone here wanted the power of the yellow anchor stone for their families.

(Author’s note: I had truly given up on this book. It never pushed when I had passion for it. And the pay was even sadder. But someone encouraged me. The very first super gift. I ever got. I want to say Thank you. I’ll release more Chapters for you. Also, if you guys want to send me gifts, as much as its great here, NovelFire collects half of it

Please send it to my patron. Link below.

/Dere_Isaac)