Chapter 9: Return of the Seventh Young Master
The large door opened loudly, producing a loud sound that drew the attention of everyone present.
Murmurs filled the great hall.
"Who dares to be so arrogant as to open the door when Father is present?" muttered the first young master angrily, clenching his fists.
"Someone has just sealed his fate. To show such insolence is to ask for a ticket straight to hell," added another in an icy voice, as his eyes flashed with dangerous intensity.
"Why does Father remain silent?" whispered a third, casting a nervous glance toward the towering figure at the front of the room.
Then they saw him. The patriarch, motionless, smiled lightly for the first time, and that was enough to make their blood run cold.
"So he didn’t die..." Zephyr muttered in a calm tone.
These words echoed through the hall, and all turned their attention to the great door.
There, standing under the threshold, was a boy of fourteen. Short black hair. Eyes like the abyss. The lower half of his face was covered by a mask of gold coins bound together with red thread. On his back, a sword made of the same material, and at his waist, he carried a brown pouch.
And it was dragging something.
A corpse.