CHAPTER 46: BLOOD FOR BLOOD

Far off in the towering structure that marked the headquarters of the Starlight Guild, the air hummed with energy. The massive building — one of the largest, most modern architectural marvels in the entire world — stood like a symbol of pride and power. Its sleek glass panels reflected the city’s skyline, and the glowing insignia of the Starlight Guild shimmered across the night sky.

Every second, dozens of workers, guards, and Talent Awakened humans streamed in and out through its grand automatic doors. The guild was always alive — like a breathing, conscious entity that pulsed with purpose and ambition.

The Starlight Guild was no ordinary organization. It was one of humanity’s greatest establishments, a symbol of dominance and prestige, led by the infamous Sovereign Starlight himself. To be accepted as a member was a dream few ever achieved.

Most young awakened humans saw it as the ultimate destination after their academy years — the pinnacle of success and recognition. However, the guild’s standards were near impossible. Only those who possessed a minimum rank of B-class Awakening were even considered. Anyone below that threshold was instantly dismissed without question.

Because of this, the guild boasted one of the lowest member counts among the top-tier organizations. Yet, paradoxically, its strength was unmatched. For while it lacked numbers, it compensated with pure power. The Starlight Guild had produced legends — some of the strongest humans ever recorded in history.

High above the bustling lower floors, on the topmost level of the building, was an office unlike any other. It was vast — more a personal domain than a workspace — a luxurious compartment that merged the elegance of an executive office with the comfort of a lavish living room. A transparent wall of reinforced glass overlooked the glittering city below, while a small pool stretched along the far side, its water still and faintly glowing under dim blue lights.

At the center, behind an enormous black marble desk, sat one of the world’s greatest powers — Frey Starlight.

Frey was a man well into his fifties, yet his appearance defied his age. His short grey hair glistened under the soft ceiling lights, and though time had painted streaks of silver across his temples, his body was that of a seasoned warrior. His shoulders were broad, his chest massive, his arms corded with muscle that strained against his shirt as though his clothes barely dared to contain him. His face bore scars that told of countless battles, each one a story, each one a victory.

His daily routine was simple but unbending — arrive early, oversee the guild’s daily operations, settle disputes, review missions, and ensure every department ran like a well-oiled machine. This took him about four relentless hours each morning. Afterward, he usually granted himself freedom — to train, drink, or rest as he pleased.

But today... today was different.

Instead of his usual hours of peace, Frey found himself trapped behind his desk, face hardened and mind unsettled. The matter before him was personal — and it refused to let him rest.

The silence was broken when the double doors of his office swung open with force, the hinges groaning from the impact. A tall, menacing figure stepped through.

The man was built like a tank — dressed in a tight white singlet that revealed the rippling muscle beneath, paired with military-patterned trousers and rugged green boots. His steps were deliberate and heavy, each one echoing across the marble floor. He walked slowly, exuding a controlled fury that filled the room long before he reached the desk.

Without asking permission, he pulled a chair forward and sat down, the wood creaking under his weight.

"Father, have you heard?"

Frey didn’t look surprised. He gave a slow nod. "Yes, Jared. Kresha was murdered."

The air tensed instantly. Jared’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching until the veins stood out on his arms. His expression, already grim, darkened further at his father’s calm acknowledgment. Then, in one violent motion, he slammed his fist down on the desk.

The impact was explosive. Papers flew off, scattering across the polished floor like startled birds.

"Then why hasn’t the guild done anything about it yet?" he thundered. "My brother was killed — and his murderer still walks free!"

Frey leaned back in his chair and released a deep sigh, the sound weary but laced with disdain.

"Taking matters irrationally," he said slowly, "will only end in loss for us all."

He chuckled, almost amused. "Imagine, the mighty Starlight Guild reduced to running through the streets, hunting for a single criminal — shouting vengeance like common fools."

Jared’s teeth ground together, his fury barely contained. "That’s not what I meant."

"I see," Frey replied, arching a brow. "Then tell me, what do you expect me to do? You and that boy chose the military path — to make a name for yourselves. Where is that name now? Use it. Find his killer if you can."

His tone hardened, like iron striking stone. "Or have you realized how foolish that choice was?"

Jared said nothing. The silence between father and son thickened. He wanted to retort, but the words died before reaching his lips.

Frey continued coldly, "I’ve done my research. It was a Blade who killed him — and her master was a masked man. The same masked man you personally ordered to be imprisoned if he ever came out of the Crater."

Jared’s eyes went wide. "What?!"

"Oh," Frey grinned, his eyes gleaming with cruel delight, "you didn’t know? He was freed — by one of your own. By Stoick. And now, no one knows where he is. You’ve lost all your leads."

Jared’s breathing quickened. Anger rippled through him like heat from a forge. With another violent motion, he slammed his fist down again, this time with such ferocity that the thick desk split in half, collapsing into two shattered pieces.

Frey stared at the destruction, his face curling into disgust.

"Look at you," he spat. "The great Jared Starlight. The man who killed the Drakon’s firstborn. The man meant to inherit my legacy — and yet look at you now. Weak. The military’s tamed you like a dog."

He rose slightly from his chair, nostrils flaring, then suddenly spat at Jared. The glob landed squarely on his son’s cheek.

"At this rate," Frey sneered, "the Drakon boy will come for your head himself. Maybe I should name Rumar as my successor instead."

Jared wiped his face slowly, his body trembling with restrained rage.

"I hope you die a miserable death," he muttered under his breath, his tone low but venomous.

He turned to leave, but before he could take a step, Frey’s hand snapped forward, gripping Jared’s wrist like a vice. The sound of bones shifting — perhaps even cracking — filled the air.

Frey’s voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "I won’t die until the Drakons are wiped out. And you won’t either. If that boy grows any stronger — if he ever becomes what his brother once was — he’ll come for us both."

He released his grip slightly, his eyes burning with ruthless intent. "Take Rumar. Train him. Before this year ends, I want that Drakon brat buried beside his brother."

Jared stood still for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. He pried his wrist free from Frey’s grasp, the pain ignored.

For all the hatred he carried toward his father, there was one thing they could finally agree upon — the extermination of the Drakons.

As he walked toward the exit, a memory flickered in his mind — the face of the Drakon brother he had slain, the horror in the boy’s eyes before the end came. Jared’s lips curled into a monstrous grin.