Chapter 266 – Floor 56: Part 1

  Essence Command: Tier 2 – Authority (Amalgamation with Aura - Majesty)

  The user’s presence becomes an undeniable force, their words resonating with such weight that the target feels compelled to obey. With a single, commanding utterance, the user imposes their will upon the target, forcing them to carry out an order without hesitation. Requires the user to overpower the target’s resistance.

  Floor 56 – Web of Deceit

  The Highborn orchestrated the theft of the Sacred Vessel, weaving a scheme to frame the Ashen Pact for breaking its seal while secretly claiming the rewards for himself. His treachery runs deep, but it ends here.

  Bring his eternal life to its conclusion and seize his power for your own.

  Reward: Two (2) essence upgrades of your choice and One (1) new Essence from those in the possession of the Highborn.

  The Steward glided through the shadowed halls of the mansion, his every step deliberate and unhurried, as though time itself was of no concern to him. His tall frame loomed over the faint light from wall scones; the pale glow of the lightbulbs reflected off his marble-like skin.

  His face, normally expressionless, revealed a hint of excitement as his eyes kept flicking to the object in his gloved hands. He carried a large, plain wooden box, its dark surface worn smooth by centuries of careful handling.

  Despite the box’s size, the Steward carried it with ease as his Aether-enhanced body found it to be as light as a feather.

  Barely able to contain himself, the Steward picked up his pace and his white hair, as fine as spun silk, blew out behind him, and a few stray strands caught the light as he passed beneath large, open ceilings whose windowpanes that revealed the night sky above.

  The Steward seemed like a man out of another time, wearing clothing of a bygone era. His meticulously tailored jacket was a deep charcoal that had a white cravat tied high at his throat, and his polished boots echoed softly against the floor.

  Servants, seeing the Steward approaching with the box, opened the door for him and bowed low. In just a few short moments, he was standing in front of the ‘Highborn’ in his private study.

  The room was brightly lit, with an ancient fireplace against one wall that drove away the chill and dampness created by the night’s rain. Heavy velvet drapes hung open on the sides of the large windows that revealed the meticulously maintained lawns and gardens of the mansion.

  The walls were lined with bookshelves, each containing books that were often priceless. The highborn himself sat behind a massive oak desk, impatiently tapping his fingers against the wood. He stood up immediately after seeing his Steward.

  “It’s done?”

  The Highborn was a figure of unnerving perfection; his tall, statuesque frame commanded the attention of everyone who entered his presence. His features were flawless, as if they had been carved by the hands of an obsessive sculptor.

  But now, his handsome face, which was normally calm and pale white, was flushed red with excitement. His eyes were bloodshot and instantly locked onto the box in his Steward’s hands.

  “They have all been dealt with. I have personally seen to their demise. There are no witnesses.” The Steward replied as he carefully walked across the study and placed the box gently on the desk. With a small bow, the Steward stepped back, and the Highborn quickly maneuvered his way around his chair and grasped the container.

  “Has it been opened?” He asked. His hands were shaking slightly as he tried to open the box, only for his fingers to fumble on the latch for a moment.

  “It is still sealed, but the deaths of so many Aether-Bloods have loosened the restrictions. I believe Your Highness will be able to pry the Sacred Vessel apart and seize the blood inside.” The Steward confirmed from behind him.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The Highborn’s plan was a masterpiece of manipulation, a scheme woven with threads of deceit and cunning. He had long desired the power locked within the Sacred Vessel, but even his considerable powers couldn’t undo the magical seals on the container.

  With no other option, he had turned to a more nefarious approach. He orchestrated the theft of the Sacred Vessel and placed it into the hands of the Ashen Pact, a barely controlled and ambitious group that would do whatever it took to gain power.

  He had let slip to them that the Sacred Vessel could be opened if enough mana were channelled into it, but the truth was that the restrictions on the container were sustained by the life force within the drop of blood itself.

  To weaken those protections, the Highborn needed a massacre. He counted on the Ashen Pact’s greed to steal the Sacred Vessel, and commit all of their considerable resources to opening it. Then, with his Red Edict coming into effect, the clans would send their masses against them.

  Each death would chip away at the wards like a hammer striking stone. And finally, he had succeeded. Thankfully, his Steward interceded before anyone could actually open the Sacred Vessel and steal the prize within.

  With a final ‘click,’ the box opened and revealed the Sacred Vessel. With shaking hands, the Highborn reached inside and pulled out the container.

  “What is this!?” He hissed as the Vessel was shown in the light.

  The glass container, surrounded by black metal engraved with runes and glyphs, showed signs of having been chipped and hammered. The glass was scorched in places, and the metal had several dents that hadn’t been there before.

  But what drew his attention was the interior. The lid of the container was still sealed tightly, although he couldn’t feel the enchantments preventing it from being opened. The drop of blood that had been hanging suspended for hundreds of years was now missing.

  In a fit of rage, the Highborn seized the container with both hands, his knuckles whitening against the dark, intricate carvings on its surface. His perfect features contorted into a snarl, and his bloodshot eyes blazed with fury.

  With a roar that echoed through the mansion’s halls, he hurled the vessel against the wall. It struck with a thunderous crack; the force of the impact splintered the plaster and left a crater in the stone beneath. The bookshelves rattled, and several books fell onto the ground.

  Spinning around, he was about to confront his Steward when he felt cold, sharp pain lance through his side and pierced his ribs. The air escaped his lips in a strangled gasp, and he staggered forward, his hands grasping at the wound.

  There was magic at work from the weapon; he could feel the corrosive mana entering the injury and wreaking havoc on his organs. Using his own considerable powers to counteract it, the Highborn shot forward and grabbed the traitorous Steward by the neck.

  There was a loud clatter as the weapon, a dagger with a silver edge and adorned with a snarling wolf, struck the floor.

  The Steward’s eyes widened with terror, and his composure fractured into confusion and fear. His hands, pale and trembling, reached up futilely to claw at the Highborn’s vice-like grip. His breath came out in desperate gasps.

  “You thought to betray me?! Where is it?! Did you absorb it!?” The Highborn howled, and flecks of spit covered the Steward’s face. The Highborn’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into Steward’s neck with enough force that it would have snapped the bones of a lesser creature.

  The Steward, desperate to survive, struck the Highborn in the ribs with his hand in an attempt to drive him back. Hitting the wound, the Highborn’s gasped in pain but refused to release him. In a fit of rage at the continued defiance, he slammed the Steward’s head against the wall repeatedly before throwing him to the ground.

  “I will have the truth from you! Where is it!?”

  “He doesn’t have it.” A strange voice sounded out as a young man walked into the room.

  The Highborn’s head whipped around at the sudden interruption. The strange voice was confident and unafraid despite seeing the situation.

  A young man stood in the doorway; his presence was almost unsettling in its calmness. He was strikingly handsome, with dark hair that fell almost to his shoulders. He wore casual clothing that seemed at odds with the formal attire of the Steward and the highborn.

  The stranger had a dagger in his hand, and the Highborn recognized it as the companion blade to the one that had just pierced his side. The silver blade had a hawk engraved on the side and had been enchanted for swiftness.

  “You…Exaltis?” The Highborn said as he noticed the signature, tell-tale traits of the clan on the young man’s face. The incredible appearance and the eyes that seemed to glow. The young man shrugged in response to his words.

  “It’s not his fault; I didn’t give him a choice. He was actually pretty easy to Command.” Mathew said as his eyes flicked from the Steward on the ground to the Highborn standing in front of him.

  “Command… This was you?” The Highborn said, indicating the broken vessel and the Steward.

  “I needed a way in, and you are a bit too much for me to handle on my own. Now…you’re manageable.” Mathew said as he hefted the dagger in his hand and dashed forward. The dagger made a shrill cry, like a hawk diving on its prey, as it stabbed toward the Highborn.

  Weakened by his injury, the Highborn fought back but was soon overwhelmed. When it was over, and Mathew was walking out of the Mansion, he heard the sound of the notification ringing out.

  Another Floor Down.