Chapter 638: Alston Family Elder Council II
CH638 Alston Family Elder Council II
***
Raven Horn did not respond. He remained perfectly still, maintaining his bowed, half-kneeling posture.
"That’s enough, Sixth Elder. Admon is merely fulfilling the role we assigned to him."
The Grand Elder’s voice carried quiet authority.
"Tsk."
The Sixth Elder clicked his tongue, though he said nothing further.
The Grand Elder shifted his attention back to Raven Horn.
"How does the Legatee intend to handle this situation?"
Raven Horn answered without hesitation.
"He expressed understanding—and even sympathy—for Brock Peyton’s loss. Rather than resorting to arms immediately, he wishes to pursue dialogue first.
"He intends to meet with Peyton and explore the possibility of resolving this conflict through negotiation rather than violence."
"What?"
This time, it was the Seventh Elder who reacted.
"Is this Legatee a fool? Does he truly believe a bandit leader in the Wildlands cares about grief or familial bonds?"
His tone sharpened with disdain.
"This is clearly about restoring lost prestige. One of Peyton’s units—and his own brother—were killed. Unless the Legatee is prepared to make concessions that restore that man’s honour, he can forget about any peaceful resolution."
"And what of the message this sends to his followers?" The Sixth Elder spoke again, seizing the moment.
"Can such a man be trusted? Negotiating with an enemy who has already attacked him—rather than retaliating?"
"Now, now... let us not rush to conclusions." The Third Elder finally interjected, his tone calm, almost amused.
"What ’rushing’? The facts are plain, Third Elder. Surely, even you can see that." The Sixth Elder argued.
"Is that so?" A soft chuckle escaped the Third Elder’s lips.
Then, he turned his attention to Raven Horn.
"Admon, answer me this— Did the Legatee possess any prior knowledge of Brock Peyton and his forces before today?"
He continued, each question deliberate.
"How large is Peyton’s organisation? What influence does he wield? What backing supports him?
"And most importantly... what is the true size and power scale of the Legatee’s own party?"
"The Legatee had no prior knowledge of Peyton or his forces until I informed him," Raven Horn replied.
"Due to his connection with Drumvale, Peyton has cultivated a strong network within the lower to mid tiers of BloodIron’s City Administration. While his influence is far from absolute, it is sufficient to hinder and frustrate the Legatee and his party."
He continued evenly.
"As for his strength—Peyton himself is believed to be a Combat Master. Under his command, he also has six—now five—other Combat Masters, largely due to Drumvale’s backing."
"His total force is uncertain, but estimates place it at around a thousand personnel—excluding the expendable slave fighters he employs as cannon fodder."
"In contrast, the Legatee’s core followers are estimated to range from Gold Rank to Combat Master level... but their number remains limited—only a handful."
A brief silence followed.
Then, the Third Elder spoke.
"Faced with such disparity—an opponent with superior numbers, resources, and unknown connections—would you, personally, rush headlong into battle?"
His question was directed squarely at the Sixth and Seventh Elders.
"You claim he does not care for his men," he continued calmly. "Yet to me, his actions suggest the opposite.
"That he values them enough not to recklessly throw them into a battle they are ill-prepared for—a battle they may very well lose before it even begins."
He gestured lightly.
"They are outnumbered. Outmatched in resources. Outclassed in influence. And as we speak, a significant portion of his forces are likely still recovering from injuries sustained mere hours ago during the ambush."
His tone remained measured, but firm.
"To me, this is not cowardice. It is restraint. The Legatee appears to be a careful, deliberate leader—one not ruled by impulse."
"Is that truly a trait to be condemned? Especially for someone we may one day stand beneath?"
"Seeking vengeance is understandable," he went on. "But should it come at the cost of even more lives—in a battle one already knows is unfavourable?"
A faint smile touched his lips as he glanced toward the others.
"And besides... he is only attempting negotiation. Who said that implies he has abandoned the option of reprisal?"
"That," he concluded lightly, "...is why I say you are jumping to conclusions."
The Sixth and Seventh Elders clenched their fists discreetly.
At best, the Third Elder’s tone resembled that of a senior instructing juniors.
At worst... it carried a hint of condescension—bordering on disdain.
While it was true that the Third Elder was older and more experienced, they were, in principle, equals—all members of the Elder Council.
At least, on paper.
The atmosphere in the chamber grew heavy and tense.
"Cough."
The Grand Elder’s deliberate cough shattered the silence, diffusing the mounting tension.
"What request has the Legatee made?" he asked, steering the discussion back to its purpose.
Raven Horn responded immediately.
"He has requested that the Black Scar Syndicate utilise its influence to facilitate and mediate the negotiations."
He added, "He also asked that I provide him with all available information regarding Brock Peyton."
"He did not request information regarding Drumvale... or its representative in the Wildlands?" The Grand Elder’s tone changed slightly.
"I offered it afterwards," Raven Horn replied. "However, he declined—after some hesitation."
"Good lad." The Grand Elder laughed openly, much to the surprise of several elders present.
The Third Elder joined in with a quiet chuckle.
"He wishes to avoid becoming overly reliant on us—or indebting himself too deeply?" He tilted his head slightly.
"Or perhaps... he simply does not wish to trouble us. After all, investigating one of the wealthiest merchant powers in the world is no small undertaking."
The Grand Elder gave a slow nod of agreement.
"Admon."
"Yes, Grand Elder."
"For this matter... you will have full authority to act within BloodIron."
The declaration fell heavily.
"You are not required to report to us before making decisions."
A ripple of shock spread through the chamber.
"Grand Elder!"
The Fourth, Sixth, and Seventh Elders spoke almost in unison, greatly alarmed.
"That’s enough."
The Grand Elder raised a hand, silencing the others.
"I understand your concerns. You fear that history may repeat itself—that we may once again misplace our trust in an outsider."
His gaze swept across the chamber.
"However, this individual is not like those who came before. He is the one chosen by the Ancestor.
"In that case... it is only right that we fulfil our role in ensuring he has the opportunity to achieve his purpose."
His tone grew measured.
"Like you, I remain sceptical. But we cannot afford to distance ourselves completely—not until he has proven himself.
"This... is the balance we must maintain."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"If he fails to resolve this matter—even with the support we are providing—then we will have our answer."
"But if he succeeds..." His lips curved faintly. "Then we may begin to extend further opportunities—gradually, and on our terms—until he either proves his worth beyond doubt... or reveals his limits."
"But should he rise to the very top— need I say more?"
"The Grand Elder is wise." The other elders spoke almost in unison, their agreement swift—whether born of conviction... or prudence.
In truth, though the neo-Alston family was now governed by an Elder Council following the fall of the Alston Imperial lineage, everyone present understood where true authority lay.
It did not rest in consensus like most outside this chamber believed.
It rested in the will of the Grand Elder.
This was a council in name alone. In reality, it was something closer to a patriarchy— with the Grand Elder at the top of the hierarchy.
And with his decision made, there was little room left for opposition.
Thus, the matter was settled, and the meeting drew to a close.
Not a moment too soon.
The berserk stones had dimmed significantly, and the energy accumulated within the talismanic field itself was nearing exhaustion.
One by one, the silhouettes faded—until the chamber returned to silence and darkness.
Raven Horn finally exhaled.
A quiet, relieved sigh.
’I truly despise reporting to these scheming old men...’
He straightened, stretching his stiffened limbs before turning toward the exit.
Moments later, he left the chamber— and then the villa, through the concealed passage.
Now armed with newfound authority, he moved to set events into motion.
***