Only after Rhine's figure disappeared through the doorway did the suffocating pressure in the council hall ease—just a fraction. Then, all at once, agitation erupted like a wave.
"Patriarch! Wh-what in the world just happened? Young Master Rhine, he—"
The family steward for internal affairs wore a face carved with worry; even his voice shook. "That assassin… the Church… What are we supposed to do now?"
"That's right, Patriarch—Young Master Rhine has stirred up a catastrophe. We need to act at once and beg the Church for mercy—"
"Beg for mercy?" a frigid voice cut him off.
It was the Grand Steward, who had been silent from the start.
He lifted his head slowly. Though age weighed his features, his gaze remained razor keen. It swept across every elder present, and finally settled on Rhett.
Rhett met his eyes—this was the cousin he had clashed with the most in daily governance.
"Grand Steward, what do you propose?" Rhett asked.
He had already braced himself for the stance of the family's most unwavering opposition. If he had to flee north with Rhine, so be it; he would never hand his son over—even if that son had disappointed him a thousand times over.
The Grand Steward drew a long breath, his voice heavy yet clear. "Patriarch. Elders."
"In the past I did indeed disagree with the Patriarch, often and openly. I opposed many of his decisions. But none of it was for the sake of grasping power."
His eyes blazed. "To speak plainly—I truly did disapprove of passing the position of heir to Rhine."
"I believed, as many of you did, that an heir unable to awaken a mana core, one who indulged in reckless living, would lead the family into an abyss. My opposition was for the future of the House."
His tone shifted, becoming complicated—yet firm. "But today, as you all witnessed, we saw the Church's brute arrogance and the humiliation they sought to inflict. And while everyone else chose silence, preparing to swallow that humiliation, we saw in Young Master Rhine a depth we cannot fathom—and courage."
"I must admit it: I misjudged him."
A ripple of shock spread at once through the hall.
The Grand Steward's faction had arrived ready to deliver a fierce denunciation, to press Rhett hard and seize the initiative. None of them had imagined that, at this critical moment, their own standard-bearer would pivot so sharply—and in a direction that upended their plans.
The Grand Steward took in their faces, then raised his voice like a hammerfall.
"As for our enmity with the Church—are we to endure in silence while our House's thousand years of merit are trampled, while they attempt to tear us up by the roots?"
"Is there truly anyone here foolish enough to believe the Church oppressed us because of the beast tide… or because of Young Master Rhine?"
"Idiocy! When one wishes to condemn, any pretext will do!"
"Young Master Rhine has done what we did not dare to do. I, Cain Oberon, swear by our bloodline and the spirits of our ancestors: whatever the future brings, I will give my full support to the House. I will live and die with House Oberon!"
His words struck every elder like a mallet to the heart.
As the leader of the opposition, he had stood up first—declaring absolute support, putting the family's honor above all else. With that, he blocked the mouths of any who still wished to weaponize the phrase "offending the Church" to complain, to hedge, or to scheme.
When even the opposition's banner chose loyalty, what more could the others say? Whatever private designs they harbored had to be pressed down, at least for now.
Rhett stared at the Grand Steward in surprise, a flicker of warmth and complexity passing through his eyes.
He knew his cousin's original intention had always been the good of the family. And he himself—yes, he could admit it—had protected his son too fiercely, and ruled too decisively, at times.
"Cain, I understand your heart," Rhett said at last. "Let us leave the past in the past."
"What matters most now is guarding the honor House Oberon has upheld for a thousand years."
His gaze sharpened as it swept the room. The aura of a City-Buster rank powerhouse unfurled again, steadying wavering hearts. "From this moment, House Oberon enters First-Grade War Readiness."
"Activate the family's defensive formation. All guards will take shifts on watch. Centralize resource allocation. Prepare to meet every challenge. Everything else will be decided when Rhine returns."
"Yes, Patriarch!"
The elders' spirits steadied, and they answered as one.
Fear still lurked—but the blood-born grit of the humiliated, and a fragile thread of unity, began to knit itself together.
…
Obsidian City.
One of the three great bulwark cities of the northern frontier, Obsidian City had stood for a millennium beneath House Oberon's protection. Beast tides had never ceased, yet the city endured—prosperous in commerce, its people well-fed and secure. Its wealth could rival even Newman City, the principal city of the North.
As a strategic hub, Obsidian City's forces were intertwined like a meticulously woven web.
Aside from the Church—aloof, representing the state religion of the Serestan Empire, and unfathomable in strength—the city's power and interests were chiefly held in the hands of four families: House Oberon, House Green, House Howard, and the Campbell family.
Among them, House Oberon had long been the undisputed ruler and protector.
For a thousand years, they had stood like the city's obsidian walls themselves, commanding the city's defense forces and administrative authority, winning the loyalty of its people.
They also controlled the largest share of the obsidian lodes, vast fiefs, agrarian estates, and weapon forges.
In recent years, it was true, their prestige had dimmed—thanks to the heir Rhine's reputation as a "good-for-nothing," the losses suffered during the beast tide three years prior, and the Church's calculated suppression. Yet their roots ran deep.
House Green, meanwhile, was the most ambitious challenger.
On the strength of several decades of explosive commercial expansion and their deliberate proximity to the Church, their wealth and influence had swelled. Their ambitions were naked: to supplant House Oberon.
Their style, however, was ostentatious—at times overbearing. Traditional nobles like House Oberon and the Campbells looked down on them. Yet among the merchant class, and among certain minor nobles hungry for change, House Green enjoyed no small esteem.
House Howard was different: an ancient lineage of scholars and mages whose history could rival even that of House Oberon. They remained steadfastly neutral, focusing on knowledge, arcane research, and education. Their influence was subtle, yet profound.
As for the Campbell family, they were pragmatic local power-brokers rooted in Obsidian City and its surrounding countryside. Their influence reached to the very grassroots, with mastery over numerous industries tied to the people's livelihood.
Beyond the four houses, key civil organizations played vital roles in the city's growth—such as the Obsidian Craftsmen's Consortium, the Northern Mercenary and Adventurers' Guild, and the Nightshade Guild.
These houses and factions balanced and contested one another, collectively forming the intricate ecology of power that was Obsidian City.
House Oberon's authority had once been unassailable.
But today, a startling piece of news spread from House Green like wildfire, igniting the entire upper crust.
"Have you heard? Father Solas of the Church personally went to House Oberon today—demanding they surrender all their assets and the guardianship of Obsidian City to House Green!"
In a private room at an elite club, sons and daughters of various families had gathered, whispering behind raised goblets.
"By the goddess! Is that true?"
"House Oberon is a millennial house—their service in guarding the North is beyond measure!"
One of them blurted the words out, wide-eyed.
"Service?" another snorted, sipping red wine. "Before absolute power, what is service worth? In this land, the Church's will sometimes carries more force than His Majesty's decrees."
"If you ask me, House Oberon brought this upon themselves. Failing to hold the beast tide three years ago was bad enough, but choosing that wastrel Rhine as heir—how could the Church possibly entrust Obsidian City's future to someone like that? The Oberons are done for."
"Do you think House Oberon will dare resist?"
"Resist? Hah! Unless they're fools, who would oppose the Church? Are their family foundations so mighty they're eager to see them smashed?"
Laughter broke out around the room.
Within Obsidian City, House Oberon might be the strongest mortal authority—but measured against the Church, they were an ant beneath a boot.
"We'll see how they make a dignified compromise," a third said with a sigh—though the tone carried schadenfreude and the thrill of looming upheaval. "After all, who would choose to resist the Church—and choose annihilation?"
The foolish watched and gossiped.
The clever had already begun to act.
…