Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 179: Marc Aeolus

Chapter 179: Marc Aeolus

As Lauren and Liam stepped into the room, their eyes immediately landed on the young man seated casually in the center, one leg crossed over the other, arms draped loosely on the sides of the armrest, posture relaxed but undeniably alert.

Sitting before them, wearing his signature smirk, was Marc Aeolus.

A Pillar.

One of the seven.

And worse—the Joker.

Lauren internally cursed their luck.

Of all the Wind Clan’s elites, why him?

Marc Aeolus—adopted son of the enigmatic Cassius, the Sovereign of the Wind Clan and the revered Knight King—appeared strikingly youthful, a facade that cloaked the considerable legacy his name commanded.

In his early twenties, his boyish features and unrefined appearance often led others to underestimate him, a folly they seldom repeated after encountering the depth of his abilities.

As the youngest among the illustrious Seven Pillars, Marc was acknowledged as second only to Nelson in terms of power—a realization that stirred frustration in several of his elder siblings, most notably Sophie.

She had long held the title of the strongest after Nelson, her confidence unwavering, until the heir selection process upended her long-standing belief and established Marc as a formidable contender.

Though Marc had embarked on his journey into the realm of mana years after his siblings, his rapid ascent had been nothing short of astonishing. His intellectual prowess and mastery of swordsmanship quickly outstripped the expectations set before him, marking him as a force to be reckoned with.

Yet, it wasn’t merely his impressive skills that earned him notoriety; it was the unshakeable composure and quiet confidence he exuded, commanding respect and intrigue wherever he went.

That ever-present smile.

He smiled while talking. Smiled while dueling. Smiled even while killing.

And that unshakable grin earned him his moniker: the Joker.

Only once had the world seen that smile vanish.

The heir selection.

Cassius, in an act of deliberate chaos or calculated fairness, had opened the throne to all seven pillars. What followed was a tournament, televised across all regions in the world. The world watched as siblings clashed, reputations were tested, and the hierarchy shifted before their eyes.

Marc’s battles had shocked them all. Particularly his semi-final match, where he defeated Sophie in a brutal, flawless victory that left her speechless and humiliated.

But it was the final that turned him from an underestimated anomaly to a terrifying prodigy.

Marc vs. Nelson.

Their duel didn’t just break records—it broke terrain. The level of precision, power, and sheer savagery stunned even the other clans. The audience couldn’t believe what they were witnessing.

And through it all, Marc fought with grim determination. No smile. No jokes. Just relentless fury wrapped in terrifying control.

Nelson had ultimately won.

But barely.

Since then, no one has called Marc the weakest of the seven pillars again.

And now, that very same man was seated before them, smile back in place, eyes gleaming with layered amusement as if already in on a joke no one else had heard.

Liam shifted subtly beside Lauren, clearly aware of the gravity in the room. Lauren did her best to maintain her composure, but her mind was already racing.

Marc leaned forward slightly, folding his hands on his knee, and spoke with the easy charm of someone who knew exactly how uncomfortable he was making them.

"Lauren Blackwood. Liam Drake. What an honor."

His voice was calm. Friendly. But beneath the surface, like the wind before a storm, something colder stirred.

Lauren didn’t respond immediately.

Because the truth was painfully clear:

This wasn’t just a diplomatic meeting.

This was a test.

And Marc Aeolus—the Joker—was smiling.

Marc leaned forward just slightly, his smirk never wavering as he extended a hand toward the seats across from him.

A silent invitation.

Lauren and Liam exchanged a glance—brief, quiet, but heavy with understanding. Both could already sense that whatever this meeting was, it wouldn’t follow traditional lines of diplomacy.

They stepped forward without a word, each settling into the plush couch opposite him. The room was vast, but the silence between them made it feel smaller. More intimate. More dangerous.

Marc rested back against his chair like a king receiving guests, hands loosely clasped over his knee, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"I’m sure both of you are wondering why we called you down here," he began, his tone smooth, light—too light. "Especially since you came all the way from Australia for the bounty we created."

His gaze flicked to Lauren, then to Liam. Calculated. Measuring.

"But after a few... enlightening discussions," he continued, his grin curling slightly wider, "we came to a simple conclusion. Since the bounty was already up, and we didn’t want to undercut the Association’s income—and we also don’t want to remove the bounty altogether—we thought, why not leave it there?"

Lauren’s brows drew together slightly. Her posture, while still composed, stiffened.

Marc’s smirk only grew. He leaned forward, eyes glinting.

"But instead of working separately..." he said slowly, each word deliberately chosen, "why don’t we work together?"

He let the sentence hang in the air, as if expecting applause.

"You keep the money," he said with exaggerated generosity, spreading his hands a little. "And you get to use our resources to find him. Sounds like a good deal, doesn’t it?"

His voice dripped with playfulness, like a cat circling a pair of mice, not quite pouncing, but very aware of the power dynamics in the room.

Lauren hesitated, the silence growing thick around her as she processed the moment.

Her fingers were intertwined in her lap, yet one thumb moved gently back and forth across her knuckle—an unconscious gesture that revealed the simmering tension within her.

Though her face maintained a mask of calm, betraying no emotion, her piercing gaze held a steely intensity, fixated on Marc as if she were a hawk poised to strike its prey, ready to unravel the complexities of his silence with a single, calculated word.

Liam, meanwhile, shifted in his seat. His jaw clenched ever so slightly. The diplomat in him wanted to respond, but the warrior was already suspicious.

Marc was smiling too much.

He always smiled.

And that was exactly why it didn’t feel like a proposal.

It felt like a trap.

Lauren stared at Marc.

The young man lounged comfortably in his seat like this was his home—which it wasn’t since the place was meant for guest—but his demeanor carried the unmistakable air of a performer who already knew how the show would end.

That smile—the infamous smirk—sat on his lips like a mask he never removed, yet Lauren could tell he meant every word behind it.

What stunned her wasn’t just what he said, but how brazenly casual he had said it.

It sounded like an offer, generous even. Let the Association keep the bounty. Combine their efforts. Use Wind Clan resources.

But Lauren wasn’t naïve.

This wasn’t an alliance.

It was a quiet coup.

A methodical insertion of the Wind Clan into the very heart of the investigation—into the information pipeline, the ground teams, the field reports, and even the credit. From there, they will control all reports the association had on the bounty.

The genius of it, however, was in how unapologetic it was.

Marc didn’t lie.

He didn’t hide behind protocol or politics.

He simply smiled and told them what they must do, while making it sound like a choice.

Lauren’s gaze sharpened as she sat straighter, her fingers pressing together beneath her folded arms.

She gave him nothing—no emotion, no visible reaction, but inside, she admired the audacity. It was the kind of move only someone truly dangerous could make. Not because of power alone, but because of how confidently it was wielded.

And that confidence, she knew, came from truth.

Marc was dangerous.

Next to her, Liam remained quiet, though his eyes flicked toward Marc with growing caution. His posture had changed subtly, his usual ease replaced with an alert tension—shoulders squared slightly, heel of one foot ready to pivot.

Lauren’s eyes locked with Marc’s.

The room felt like it shrank around them, the atmosphere tightening—twin winds of calculation clashing in silence.

For a long breath, neither of them said a word. The smile on Marc’s face didn’t waver.

Then, in a voice steady and cold as a mountain stream, Lauren asked, "And what if I say no?"

The question floated in the air like a stone dropped into still water.

Marc blinked once.

Then his smirk widened into a full, tooth-baring grin.

And he laughed.

It started with a chuckle—a low ripple in his throat—but within seconds it rose, full-bodied and uninhibited. His head fell back against the couch, one hand placed casually over his chest as if to keep his heart from escaping. It was the kind of laughter that wasn’t aimed to mock, but to express pure, delighted amusement.

As if she’d asked a question so absurd, it genuinely caught him off guard.

Even after a minute, the echo of his laughter still lingered in the room, soft and eerie.

Then Marc leaned forward.

His elbows rested on his knees, his emerald eyes now half-lidded but glowing with an intensity that contrasted starkly with the smile that still stretched across his face.

He stared at her for a moment—no longer playful, but focused.

Like a predator that had stopped circling and finally chosen to speak.

"Ohh..." he said, voice smooth and low.

"You won’t like the repercussions, princess."

He didn’t raise his tone.

He didn’t need to.

The weight behind those words was felt—not spoken.

And for the first time since entering the manor, the room felt colder.

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