Revenge: A Path of Destruction
Chapter 49: Thutmose Geb (1)

Chapter 49: Thutmose Geb (1)

The grand hall of the Earth Clan stronghold stretched endlessly, its towering stone pillars standing like ancient sentinels. The braziers, placed at precise intervals along the walls, burned with a steady, golden light, yet their glow barely reached the edges of the vast chamber. Shadows pooled in the corners, thick and unmoving, as if they belonged to something more than mere architecture.

The air carried a weight, an unspoken gravity that pressed upon all who entered. This was not merely a room—it was a testament to the legacy of power that had ruled for decades. Every stone bore the imprint of history, battles fought and won, dominance asserted and never relinquished.

And at the far end of it all, his father sat upon his throne.

Not a throne of gold or jewel-encrusted vanity, but one carved from the very bedrock of the Earth Clan’s foundation—a statement of permanence, of dominance. A seat befitting the Patrician of the Earth Clan, a man who did not rule by birthright, but by power alone.

His presence was suffocating.

Not in the way of an overbearing father, nor the weight of familial obligation. No—his father’s presence was a force of nature, a mountain given human form, ancient and immovable. The closer his son drew, the heavier the air became, until it felt like the very stone beneath him was sinking, dragging him into the depths of the earth itself.

Still, he walked forward.

Each step was measured. Each breath was controlled.

When he reached the foot of the throne, he lowered himself onto one knee, bowing his head—not in submission, but in acknowledgment.

"Father."

The moment his knee touched the polished stone floor, the pressure intensified—a force unseen yet undeniable. It pressed against his ribs, and settled into his bones—a silent display of dominance.

A test.

It always was.

He forced himself to remain still, to show no outward struggle. He regulated his breathing, and kept his expression neutral. This was a game they had played countless times before. His father reminded him of the distance between them, and he bore it in silence, unyielding.

He thought this weight would not keep me on my knees one day.

A flicker of irritation threatened to surface, but he buried it deep. His emotions were already frayed from the battle, the aftermath, and the whispers that had followed in its wake. The Earth Clan was licking its wounds, but so was he.

Yet, the hall remained silent.

Not a word exchanged between them. Only the distant murmurs of the activities beyond the grand doors.

But before the thought could take root, his father finally spoke.

"What is your opinion on the beast’s tide?"

A simple question.

But not really.

Not from him.

It was a probe, a weighing of words, the way one measured the worth of metal before forging it into something more significant.

He lifted his gaze slightly, meeting his father’s eyes.

"We were slow to react," he answered, his voice level, devoid of hesitation. "No one foresaw the emergence of a new Legend-rank beast within the Thunder Wolf’s domain. Their battle for dominance escalated beyond all predictions. It triggered the beast tide, forcing us to divert forces in an unprepared way."

He could have said more.

The Earth Clan’s defenses had been breached for the first time in decades, and millions had perished—warriors, civilians, and entire settlements wiped from existence. That the whispers of the outside world had already begun to shift, casting doubt upon the Earth Clan’s strength.

But his father knew all of this already.

There was no need to state the obvious.

Instead, he held his gaze steady. Waiting.

Because this conversation was only beginning.

The Patrician remained silent once more, his piercing gaze unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he continued, "I will be leaving for some time."

The young man’s head lifted slightly in surprise, though he quickly masked it. His father never left the clan unattended.

"You will oversee the administration and command of the clan in my absence."

His heart pounded once in his chest, though his expression remained calm. This was... unexpected. "I understand," he said, his voice even. "May I ask where you are going?"

The Patrician leaned back in his throne, eyes narrowing slightly. "I will be taking the Horus Swift and a team of our best technical minds to track the Legend-rank beasts that have gone off our radar."

The Horus Swift. The fastest and most potent mana-powered ship the clan had in its possession. It seemed like—this was a mission of absolute priority.

Perhaps a flicker of something passed through his father’s eyes—approval? Or just contemplation? It was impossible to tell.

The young man knew better than to ask anything more. Instead, he bowed his head again and said, "I will not fail in your absence."

The Patrician studied him long before finally saying, "See that you don’t."

The Patrician stood up. His movement was slow yet absolute. There was no sound—no rustle of fabric, no creak of the throne—only an overwhelming sense of something vast shifting beyond mortal comprehension. And then, in the next breath, he was gone.

The throne room fell into an eerie silence.

The young man remained kneeling, muscles taut, hands clenched into fists against his knee. His father was gone—or at least, that’s what anyone else would believe. But he knew better. That lingering weight, the sensation of being watched, judged, and having his soul measured and dissected, was still there. The Patrician’s presence did not simply disappear because his physical body left.

He’s still watching.

The young man did not dare to move immediately. Instead, he focused on his breathing, forcing each inhale to be slow and measured. His heartbeat, which had spiked when his father addressed him, gradually steadied. But the cold sweat at the back of his neck remained.

Only when he was sure that the pressure had lifted—at least to a bearable degree—did he move. Slowly, he shifted his weight and pushed himself up from one knee, standing to his full height.

The grand throne room stretched before him, vast and suffocatingly empty. Its towering pillars and intricate stonework now felt oppressive rather than majestic. He exhaled a barely perceptible sigh through his nose before turning on his heel.

The doors to the throne room loomed ahead, massive and imposing. As he walked toward them, the heavy silence followed him, stretching unnaturally, as though the room was reluctant to let him go. He forced himself to walk, keeping his back straight, even as the feeling of unseen eyes lingered on his shoulders.

Reaching the grand doors, he paused briefly. He could still feel it—that haunting awareness that his father’s presence had never truly left. It made the back of his neck itch, but he did not look back.

The doors groaned open, revealing the dimly lit corridor beyond. The guards outside remained statuesque, their gazes forward, but he knew they had heard everything. They always did.

As he stepped past them, the suffocating weight of the throne room finally released its grip. He exhaled, loosening his shoulders as he walked deeper into the halls of the Earth Clan’s stronghold.

The burden placed on him was suffocating. The command of the Earth Clan—the entire domain—was now on his shoulders. And his father, the Patrician, was gone.

For now.