Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 178: Unexpected Visitor (2)

Chapter 178: Unexpected Visitor (2)

The convoy finally crossed the last ridge that separated the Russian heartlands from the Wind Clan’s dominion.

It was late. The night sky had fallen into a blanket of stars—clearer than anywhere else in Europe—and the twin moons cast a pale glow on the rugged, ancient terrain that stretched out before them.

As Lauren and her entourage approached their destination, even the tired silence in the car was replaced with stunned awe.

Before them, nestled in the cradle of distant mountain peaks and surrounded by whispering forests, stood the stronghold of the Wind Clan.

It was no city—at least, not in the traditional sense. It lacked the buzz of economic activity, the flash of merchant lights, or the modern density of tech-run hubs. But what it had... was presence.

The entire region was built with an artistry that belonged to the sky itself.

Tiered structures of smooth, silver-green stone flowed across the landscape like wind-carved cliffs. Towering spires pierced the heavens, their tops wreathed in gentle streams of rotating wind mana.

Suspended bridges hung between them like ribbons of silk, swaying ever so slightly in the eternal breeze that never seemed to stop here.

Wide roads were etched with glowing runes that pulsed rhythmically beneath the wheels of the arriving mana-cars. Even the very air felt different—lighter, clearer, charged with mana and decades of refinement.

As they passed under the arching stone gateway—a beautifully engraved arch bearing the sigil of the Aeolus bloodline—they entered a world that seemed part fortress, part monastery, and part high court of old.

The buildings here didn’t scream wealth. They whispered of legacy.

Vines of wind-kissed ivy crept across marble walls. Lanterns floated gently in midair, flickering with an internal mana flame that never went out.

Along the edges of the high ridges, small gardens of wind-blown flowers bent softly in synchronized movements, as if dancing to an invisible rhythm only the Wind Clan could hear.

Lauren straightened her posture, her gaze sweeping across the lofty walkways that crisscrossed the bustling scene below.

Shadows danced against the warm hues of dusk as figures glided silently through the streets—civilians going about their business in sleek vehicles and on crowded sidewalks.

Interspersed among them were clan knights, their presence commanding, adorned in flowing robes and tunics of shimmering silver, rich green, and soft blue tones, stationed at vigilant posts, watching over the thrumming heart of the city.

The air was alive with the hum of movement, a blend of everyday life and the watchful guardianship of those sworn to protect it.

Not a single one seemed rushed. Everything here moved with elegant precision, like the ticking of a perfect clock.

Even Liam, always calm, narrowed his eyes slightly. "This place..." he muttered under his breath, "feels like it’s breathing."

Lauren nodded silently. It was the kind of place that made you feel watched, not out of suspicion, but because every stone seemed to carry memory.

Like you were walking through a domain that had lived and ruled long before you were born—and would continue long after you were gone.

They passed what appeared to be a plaza, dominated by eight monumental statues of the seven pillars, wind swirling unnaturally around each one as if in reverence.

Finally, the convoy curved along a cobblestone path that led up to an isolated structure at the outskirts of the city.

The manor.

A palace in all but name.

Tall and proud, with enormous emerald-glass windows that reflected the stars. Wide steps stretched before it, and above the entrance floated an enormous wind crystal, slowly rotating with a deep hum that resonated through the bones.

The runes around it constantly shifted, adjusting to the natural currents of mana that flowed through this entire domain.

The cars slowed to a halt. Uniformed attendants were already waiting for them at the base of the steps—silent, composed, and wordless. They bowed in unison as Lauren and Liam stepped out.

Lauren looked up at the towering entrance. She could already feel it in her chest: the pressure of old power, masked in grace but rooted deep in authority.

Liam stepped beside her. "Well," he muttered, "we’re not here for tea."

She gave a slight smirk, but her eyes didn’t move from the manor.

"No... We’re standing in the eye of the storm."

The moment Lauren and Liam stepped through the grand entrance, the temperature shifted—cooler, more refined. Not from magic, but architecture.

The mana-infused stone walls seemed to breathe the wind itself, pulling in fresh air through ancient, silent ducts and releasing it in faint, rhythmic exhales.

The grand foyer stretched before them like a ceremonial hall. High ceilings arched into elegant domes painted with wind motifs—cyclones rendered in shifting ink, floating birds woven in silver thread, and ancient runes that shimmered faintly whenever one moved.

Every surface bore the mark of time well-spent—no excess, no clutter. It was a home of precision, of purpose.

And it was quiet.

Not the silence of emptiness, but the stillness of anticipation.

Servants bowed silently as they passed, their footsteps muted by the polished, rune-glass floor that seemed to absorb sound. The hallway ahead was long, gently curving toward a pair of open doors that led into a smaller chamber lit by floating orbs of pale blue mana-fire.

Lauren and Liam were guided without words, the attendants offering subtle gestures and clear expectations: this was not a place for unnecessary questions.

Liam leaned slightly toward Lauren as they moved. "Not even five minutes in, and I already feel like a feather in a hurricane."

Lauren grunted softly. "We don’t know why they called us here. So keep your balance."

Liam nodded as

Just as they reached the main chamber, the doors opened wider on their own, wind, intelligent and silent, pushing them gently.

A lone figure sat inside.

Tall. Straight-backed. His robes were trimmed in deeper green than the others, laced with sigils and bound by a single silver clasp carved into the symbol of a coiled gust.

His hair was dark, and his eyes, sharp and distant, looked out through a pane of memory.

He turned slowly toward them.

Lauren and Laim froze.

The mana around him, though restrained, echoed with generations of control. It bent the very air around his presence.

Liam took a slow breath and then exhaled. "It appears we have company."

"And an important one," Lauren replied quietly.

"A Pillar."