Bloody Odyssey

Chapter 80 80: Elders Meeting.

The courtyard of the Ancestor was old.

Stone worn smooth by centuries of footsteps. White lions lined the path—frozen mid-roar, their marble manes catching the afternoon light like snow on a mountaintop, at their center, ten elders sat in a crescent of carved obsidian.

And before them, Dax sat alone.

He had chosen a simple wooden chair—unadorned, unremarkable, placed deliberately. Behind him, Madeka stood to his right, her dark hair spilling like oil over the crimson gems at her throat. Nadia stood to his left, golden eyes fixed forward, her posture carrying the stillness of a blade waiting to be drawn.

The elders watched as Dax watched them back with cold eyes.

His eyes had changed. Not in color—they remained that deep, endless red—but in depth. The Origin Eyes saw through flesh and bone, through aura and facade, down to the screaming truth of what laid beneath.

Their strength seams to be in the thresholds of rank 8. His gaze turned to the 1st elder, he is different his aura is almost comparable to that as Micah but not as refined.

He catalogued them silently. The First Elder was a mountain pretending to be a man—Rank Eight, no his strength is well hidden. The Fourth Elder was weaker, his foundation cracked, his aura thin in places where it should have been solid.

Interesting. Very interesting.

The Seventh Elder's serpentine eyes met his gaze holding it Unflinching.

Rank Eight as well but careful he's careful and watching in a calculated manner.

He is more like a snake if I was to say.

Dax's lips curved slightly.

His attention shifted to the far end of the crescent, where a young lady sat among the elders. She could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen her frame was small but, her robes hung loosely on that petite frame, but her eyes were old.

She watched him with the stillness.

---

The silence stretched.

The elders poured their presence into the space between them, their auras pressing down like a weight meant to make men kneel.

Dax shook it off like it was nothing.

He did not shift, nor sweat.

Behind him, Madeka's fingers tightened almost imperceptibly on his chair.

Nadia's gaze remained set, eyes never leaving the elders.

Finally, The Seventh Elder broke.

His voice was dry, brittle—the sound of old bones shifting in a shallow grave.

"Why are strangers in our clan meeting?"

His gaze crawled over Madeka. Over Nadia. Over the space they occupied, as if their presence soiled the air he breathed.

"Strangers," the Fourth Elder echoed, her voice old but carrying an undeniably weight. "This is a matter for Godfalls. Not for—"

She did not finish.

Madeka moved.

Not physically, she did not take a single step, but the room changed, the light dimmed and the shadows deepened. A wave of pure, absolute death rolled from her body like mist from a frozen lake.

Nadia didn't d the same.

Heat bloomed from her skin—gentle at first, almost tender, then building into something that pressed against the elders' bodies like a second sun. Her golden glow washed across the courtyard, catching on the white lions.

The elders stiffened.

The Seventh Elder's breath caught in his throat. The Fourth Elder's hand gripped her chair so tightly the obsidian began to crack.

Even the First Elder's mask of neutrality cracked—just for a moment—as the weight of two women pressed down on them all.

Madeka's voice turned cold.

"How dare you talk to my man such way?"

She stepped forward, One step was enough to let her shadow fall across the elders crescent.

"If you spoke to me that way, I would not have minded." Her eyes glinted—crimson stones catching light that did not exist. "But you spoke to my man in such a manner."

Her eyes were cold turning her to beauty forged from darkness. It was the last thing many men had seen before the darkness took them.

"How dare you."

Nadia's voice followed—cool, measured, cutting.

The Seventh Elder's chair scraped back. He staggered, catching himself on the armrest, his serpentine eyes wide for the first time since the meeting began.

---

The Ancestor waved his hand.

Shifting his aura like a banner in a storm wind.

It washed across the courtyard, canceling out their auras.

Madeka's eyes narrowed.

Nadia's glow dimmed.

In that moment they understood, that the old man at the center of the crescent was not like the others.

He smiled at them—warm, grandfatherly, entirely unafraid.

"We may begin the meeting."

---

The Seventh Elder found his voice first.

"How dare you."

His serpentine eyes fixed on Madeka. On Nadia. On the space they had dared to fill.

"You may be powerful," he said, each word sharpening as he spoke. "You may be stronger than us here but you dare you come to our clan—to our home—and threaten us? We are Godfall. We do not bow to—"

He did not finish.

Dax raised his hand.

It was a casual motion. Almost lazy. The same gesture a man might use to wave away an irritating fly.

The Seventh Elder's words stopped.

His hands flew to his throat, clawing at something that was not there. His eyes bulged. He grit his teeth trying to summon his power—Rank Eight strength, but nothing came. His body had become caged.

The elders moved.

The First Elder half-rose from his chair. The sixth Elder's hands clenched into fists. A dozen voices rose at once—release him, weapons drawn at Dax.

Dax did not look at them.

Facing the Seventh Elder, dangling at the end of an invisible tether. He watched the man struggle, watched the fear creeping into those serpentine eyes, watched the understanding dawn that there was nothing he could do.

Then he let go.

The Seventh Elder dropped landing directly on his feet in refusal to show weakness, for a moment he simply stood there—rubbing his throat, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.

Dax smiled.

It was not a kind smile.

---

The child at the end of the crescent tilted her head.

Her smile had not changed throughout the entire exchange. If anything, it had grown. She watched Dax with the bright, curious gaze of a scholar examining something new and terribly interesting.

---

The Ancestor's voice broke the silence.

"We were the blade of the empire."

He spoke without preamble, without introduction. His voice was old, but it carried. It filled the courtyard.

"I and the founding fathers of this clan served the empire as killing machines. We were a stained, bloody blade, and we were proud of it."

His eyes drifted. Seeing something none of them could see.

"But during our time of need, the empire could not even lend a single of their force. They left us to quench. Year after year, we dwindled. Our numbers fell. Those we had bled for, died for, built with our own hands—turned their backs."

His voice hardened.

"Not a single one."

He paused. His gaze settled on Dax.

"We have come to an era where we must become our own blade. Nobody is coming to save us. We can only save ourselves."

He coughed a dry, rattling sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs.

"I will not involve my friend's clan. The Endo clan. He did what he could. He tried." He paused. "That is enough."

His voice rose, filling the courtyard, filling the sky.

"We are our own blade. We are going to paint the land in blood. The blood river will become a river of blood."

He turned to Dax his smile fierce and proud.

"And with my grandson's help, reaching this goal will not be a problem."

Silence.

Dax clapped.

It was slow. Measured. The applause of a man who had heard something he approved of and saw no reason to hide it. Behind him, Madeka joined—her hands meeting with the sharp, precise sound of knives sheathing. Nadia followed a moment later, her claps softer, more reserved.

The elders stared.

Some with reverence. Some with perplexity. Some with something that might have been fear or might have been wonder.

The seventh Elder's gaze lingered on Madeka and Nadia, his eyes tracing their forms with something that was not respect. Beside him, the Third Elder shifted, her expression hardening.

But the female elders at the far end of the crescent—the ones who had felt Madeka's death and Nadia's heat and understood what they meant—nodded in approval.

---

The Sixth Elder stood.

He was a small man. Unremarkable. The kind of man who faded into the background of every room he entered. But when he spoke, his voice carried weight.

"Just as you said, Ancestor. Over the years, we have dwindled to a minuscule number."

He bowed slightly—to the Ancestor, not to Dax.

"Your grandson has no feats."

The words landed like stones in still water.

"He was appointed captain of the Wyvern Squad, yes. But he has no accomplishments within our clan. No name in the outside world." His voice did not waver. "Why should we put our trust in him? I do not understand this dream."

He bowed deeper.

"We have seen his display of power. It was impressive. But it was just a display. There are no feats behind it. No victories. No blood spilled in the name of Godfall."

He straightened. His eyes met Dax's for the first time.

"I mean no disrespect to the Ancestor's blood. But I ask—what has he done?"

Dax nodded deliberately.

He nodded as if the Sixth Elder had just made an excellent point. As if he had been waiting for someone to ask the right question.