Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 120: Harvest of Karma (1)

Chapter 120: Harvest of Karma (1)

As Nyxara walked across the blood-stained marble floor carrying Alex, the silence between them was pierced only by the sound of distant groans and flickering torches. Then Nyxara spoke, her voice low but firm.

The silence between them lingered like a held breath until Nyxara broke it, her voice low but firm, threaded with lingering worry.

"Alex, I still think you should’ve killed him."

Alex didn’t answer at once. His gaze was unfocused, as though staring through the walls ahead and into something only he could see. "Don’t worry, Nyxara," he finally said, his tone calm, but a faint edge rippled beneath it like steel beneath silk. "He won’t be a problem anymore."

Nyxara’s ears twitched. "You’re too calm about this."

"I had three goals when I told him the truth about his father," Alex replied, ignoring her skepticism. His voice grew colder, more analytical. "First, I wanted to stir the storm already brewing in his head. He was teetering the moment he saw his father’s severed head. He did well to hide it, I’ll admit—but his mind isn’t nearly as composed as he wants the world to believe."

Nyxara glanced over her shoulder. Her tail gave a single irritated flick. She didn’t like games she couldn’t predict.

"Second," Alex continued, "I planted a seed—one that redirects his fury. He may still want revenge, but now it’s muddled. He’ll question who truly deserves it. That doubt... that’s what I needed."

"And the third?" she asked warily.

Alex’s eyes narrowed slightly, his voice lowering to a murmur laced with quiet resolve. "I’ll harness his rage. Nova’s scan confirmed it—he was never close to the rest of his family. His bond was only with his mother. She was his anchor... and now she’s gone. He has nothing left to fight for. Just like me."

Nyxara blinked, the confusion on her face growing. "You think you and he are the same?"

"In a way," Alex said cryptically. "You’ll understand soon enough."

Their destination loomed ahead—the grand hall, once a place of power and pride, now stained in ruin. Scorch marks laced the high columns. Shattered artifacts lay in pieces along the cracked floor. And in the center of it all, the last survivors of the Earth Clan knelt—bloodied, exhausted, and trembling.

Nyxara gently lowered Alex, then retracted her mana, the suffocating pressure around the prisoners dissipating like smoke. Several gasped, coughing violently. One vomited. Others remained completely still, broken beyond the need to resist.

Alex stepped forward, boots crunching against broken tile and bone fragments. He stood in front of them with a stillness that felt heavier than any roar.

His eyes, once burning with vengeance, now shimmered with something colder.

"To be honest," he said, his voice quiet, even conversational, "I don’t even hate you anymore."

A few of the kneeling warriors looked up, confusion battling with fear in their dirt-streaked faces.

"That part of me died a few days after you took everything from me. What I feel now..." he paused, studying them like one might an insect beneath glass, "...isn’t hate. It’s inevitability."

Several flinched. One choked back a sob.

"But that doesn’t mean I’ll let you go," Alex said.

He let the silence settle again, letting them stew in their terror. The only sound was the soft dripping of blood from a shattered emblem above.

"There’s a saying," he continued, tone heavier now, weighted like a guillotine blade, "’Sow a thought, reap an action.’ Karma, they call it."

He took one step closer. His shadow stretched over the kneeling figures.

"And karma... is standing in front of you."

His fingers curled tightly around the hilt of his blade, the runes along its edge pulsing faintly.

"So—any last words before I begin?"

----

Before a single breath could be taken, before any plea or prayer could form, it was already over.

In the space between a blink and darkness, fifteen-plus heads soared silently through the air, severed so cleanly that some expressions still lingered—shock, fury, disbelief. A single thought echoed through the minds of the elders in their final, flickering moments of life:

He can still move like that... even with that body...

Their vision faded to black before they hit the floor. Grandmasters—respected, feared, revered—reduced to meat and memory in an instant.

The silence that followed was monstrous. Wet thuds rang out in near-synchrony as the heads struck the blood-slick floor, followed by the delayed collapse of their headless bodies. Limbs twitched.

The rest—froze. No one dared to breathe too loudly. A chill spread through the hall like an unseen plague. The air grew heavier, denser, like it resented having to carry the scent of death.

Alex stood still amidst the carnage, the blood on his blade hissing faintly as the runes drank the violence. His expression hadn’t changed—cold, empty, unreadable.

Then he turned.

His gaze locked onto her: Neferura—First Princess of the Earth Clan. Daughter of Khepri. The "battle freak," as they called her in the hushed corridors of the estate. Once proud, now pale with terror.

Her limbs no longer obeyed her. All dignity lost, she dragged herself across the floor, nails scraping against broken stone as she tried to crawl away from him. Tears poured freely, mixing with the blood and dirt on her face. Her breathing was frantic, gasping, pitiful. The once-confident glint in her eyes had been shattered beyond repair.

Alex walked toward her slowly. Not out of mercy. Out of finality.

"I don’t know," he began, voice like a blade sliding from its sheath, "if you were just foolish, or if the nickname people gave you—’battle freak’—made you an idiot."

She whimpered, shaking her head.

"But using my family... as your personal training pigs..." He stopped in front of her, casting a long shadow over her crumpled body. "That was your mistake."

From the side, a voice rose. Lady Nandi—her mother—was already screaming, shrill and furious. Her cries were incoherent, a mix of rage and desperation as she tried to force herself forward, only to be restrained by Nyxara’s aura alone.

Alex ignored her completely. His attention remained on Neferura.

"Maybe in your next life," he said, raising his katana slowly, its blade humming with residual death, "you’ll think twice before joining a war just to satisfy your thirst for violence."

She tried to scream something. Maybe a plea. Maybe denial. But it was too late.

The blade fell.

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