Chapter 110: Preponderance of Evidence

  The early morning sun cast a golden glow over the streets of Nireen as Thalron and Sylven made their way toward the grand council hall. The city bustled with life, but there was an undercurrent of tension in the air. It wasn’t just the duel that had shaken the elven nobility—it was the realization that House Kelcrest was no longer a forgotten name.

  Thalron walked with a renewed sense of purpose, his boots striking the pavement with quiet confidence. The weight of what was to come pressed against his chest, but he welcomed it. Today wasn’t just about House Kelcrest reclaiming its place—it was about reshaping the very foundation of Nireen’s noble structure.

  Sylven strode beside him, his expression unreadable as always. The man carried himself with an effortless authority that made even seasoned lords wary. He wasn’t just an upstart noble—he was a man who knew how to win battles before they even began.

  "You seem tense," Sylven noted, his voice smooth but sharp.

  Thalron exhaled, flexing his fingers slightly. "Because I don’t like the idea of warning House Ulthar before we have all the proof. If we put them on notice, they’ll start covering their tracks."

  Sylven smirked, his gaze flickering toward Thalron as they walked. "Exactly. And in their desperation to erase any traces of wrongdoing, they’ll only expose themselves further. When people scramble to hide their secrets, they leave trails behind."

  Thalron frowned but didn’t argue. Sylven was a strategist, and if he believed this was the best approach, then Thalron had to trust him—for now. Still, the idea of giving House Ulthar even a moment to prepare made his stomach churn.

  Before long, they reached the council hall. The building was massive, its grand marble pillars stretching toward the sky, a symbol of the power and authority held within. The entrance was flanked by two guards in polished silver armor, their expressions blank but their eyes watchful.

  As Sylven and Thalron approached, one of the guards stepped forward, raising a hand.

  "House Faelwyn’s meetings are not to be interrupted—"

  Sylven unleashed his aura.

  The air shuddered as raw, unfiltered Ki surged outward. It wasn’t just a wave of power—it was a force of will made manifest.

  Thalron felt it immediately, the weight pressing against his skin, sending a sharp chill down his spine. Even though the aura wasn’t directed at him, it was suffocating. He could barely imagine what the guards must have felt.

  Both elves staggered backward, their faces draining of color. One even dropped his spear, his hands trembling uncontrollably.

  Sylven’s expression remained cool and detached. "Move."

  They moved.

  Thalron shook his head slightly, trying to refocus. He had expected Sylven to be strong, but this? This was on another level.

  Before he could say anything, Sylven stepped forward and raised his fist.

  With nothing more than a half-hearted punch, he struck the grand doors.

  The entire hall trembled. The heavy double doors exploded inward, slamming against the marble walls with a deafening BOOM. The impact sent a gust of wind surging through the room, causing robes to flutter and papers to scatter.

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  The council chamber erupted in fury.

  The seven noble leaders seated at the grand table turned, their faces twisting with anger.

  "Insolent wretch!"

  "Is this how you intend to gain favor? By breaking into a sacred council meeting?"

  "Your house has no future if this is how you behave!"

  The insults came like a storm, the nobles’ voices rising with indignation, but Sylven didn’t so much as blink. He let them rage. Let them throw their tantrums.

  Then, when the shouting finally subsided, he spoke.

  "House Maevren," he said, his voice calm but cutting through the air like a blade. "Let’s talk about your failures."

  The shift in the room was immediate. The nobles tensed, their eyes flickering toward the Maevren delegation. Lord Aerion Maevren, an older elf with sharp cheekbones and a once-proud stature, visibly stiffened.

  Sylven continued, stepping forward.

  "For decades, House Maevren has neglected its duties. The lower districts of Nireen have fallen into poverty under your watch, while you sit comfortably in your estates, pretending the filth at your city’s borders doesn’t exist."

  A murmur spread through the room. The other noble leaders exchanged glances of thinly veiled disgust.

  Lord Vaelar, a minor noble with ambitions beyond his means, tapped his fingers against the table, his lips curling ever so slightly at the sight of Aerion Maevren’s pale face. Others, like Lady Lirien, scowled, not out of sympathy, but at the disruption to the established order. Even victories had consequences.

  The truth was, none of them cared about the poor. But now that it was being presented as a formal issue, they couldn’t ignore it.

  Aerion straightened, his voice clipped. "A baseless accusation. Do you have proof?"

  Sylven’s smirk deepened. "Of course."

  He produced a thick dossier, bound in black leather, and tossed it onto the council table. The impact echoed.

  "Details of missing funds, neglected city projects, falsified reports—all conveniently benefiting House Maevren while the common folk suffer."

  The noble leaders didn’t even look at Aerion. They didn’t need to. The moment the accusations were given weight, he was finished.

  One of the council members, a woman with dark auburn hair, sighed. "This will be addressed."

  It was a dismissal. A warning.

  It meant Maevren was done.

  Sylven smiled slightly. He had won this battle without lifting a sword.

  Then, he turned to Thalron.

  Understanding the unspoken command, Thalron stepped forward.

  His eyes locked onto the leader of House Ulthar, a man with cold silver eyes and a presence that carried quiet menace.

  "Now, let’s talk about House Ulthar," Thalron said, his tone smooth.

  The council members frowned. "And what accusation do you bring forth?"

  "Your house failed to step in and aid Xenor's Thane during their war against the orc stronghold."

  The noble’s expression didn’t change, but Thalron caught the subtle flicker in his gaze—the slightest tension in his fingers.

  "A baseless accusation!"

  Lord Ulthar’s cold silver eyes locked onto Thalron’s, his lips pressing into a thin line. ‘A child playing at politics,’ he mused, voice smooth but edged with something darker. ‘You assume much, boy. Do you truly believe the council would entertain such baseless slander?’ Yet, as he spoke, his fingers clenched slightly against the wood of the table—a sign.

  A tell. Thalron had him on edge.

  Thalron smirked.

  "I just want House Ulthar to know that I know."

  Silence.

  Then—the room erupted into whispers.

  Ulthar’s leader narrowed his eyes, but there was something in his expression—a flicker of unease. That was all Thalron needed. He knew the noble was already thinking about how to cover his tracks.

  And that?

  That was the trap.

  The room was a light with, murmures and accusatory glances.

  One of the nobles began to speak.

  But, Before the tension could settle—

  A subtle tremor passed through the chamber—not enough to shake the foundations, but enough to make the council members stiffen. The chandelier above swayed slightly. Somewhere in the distance, a faint but sharp scream cut through the air. One of the guards near the door shifted uneasily, his grip tightening on his halberd.

  A crash resounded from outside. Not the slam of a misplaced weapon, but something heavier—something unnatural. The sound of splintering wood followed, then the unmistakable cry of a man being torn apart. The guards at the door exchanged uncertain glances.

  One of the nobles rose sharply from their seat. "What was—" The words barely left his lips before the doors were thrown open with violent force. A shadowed figure stumbled through—Marcus, panting, wild-eyed. His breath came in ragged gasps, his usual relaxed demeanor replaced by sheer urgency

  "Monsters," he gasped. "The city is under attack!"

  A beat of stunned silence.

  Chaos was coming...