Ancestral Lineage-Chapter 185: Grandma Is Twelve Years Old?!

"Seraphina..." Vlad whispered, his breath hitching as he stared at the woman before him—the woman he had loved for so long. His crimson eyes flickered with a storm of emotions, unable to tear away from her gaze. Though she looked different, though her presence now carried an overwhelming power that dwarfed even his own, he knew. He knew it was her.

Their bond ran deeper than love, deeper than passion—it was something unshakable, something eternal.

"Vlad..." Seraphina breathed, her glowing white eyes softening with warmth as she looked upon her beloved.

The world seemed to fade for a moment, the chaos of war and duty drowned out by the silent conversation between husband and wife.

A cough interrupted them.

’Hello, guys. This is Seraphina Quinne Smith. My grandmother,’ Ethan introduced her casually, scratching his cheek with an awkward expression. Inside, however, he was dreading what was about to come.

And as the saying goes, Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear.

"Woah! Grandma is twelve years old?!" Trevor blurted out, his face a mixture of exaggerated shock and amusement.

Seraphina’s expression darkened instantly, her eyes narrowing.

"Is that your little brother?" she asked, her tone taking a very dangerous edge.

’Yes.’

What happened next left everyone speechless.

Trevor dangled upside down in midair, his limbs flailing helplessly as a massive black spike spun menacingly just inches away from his very vulnerable butthole.

The usually mischievous vampire prince had gone completely still, his face pale, his voice lost in his throat.

Ethan rubbed his temples. ’I knew this would happen...’

Meanwhile, Vlad let out a deep, exhausted sigh. "She hasn’t changed..."

Lamair watched with mild amusement. "Should we save him?"

Lusamine shook her head. "He should learn to pick his words carefully."

And Trevor? He was too terrified to even squeak.

How the mighty had fallen.

’Enough, Grandma...’ Ethan commanded, his voice firm but not unkind.

Seraphina huffed in reluctance but finally released Trevor. Not gently, though.

BOOM!

Trevor crashed into the ground with a loud impact, creating a small crater. Dust and debris settled around him as he lay there groaning, utterly humiliated.

Ethan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. ’Can we get to the crux of the matter now? We have a war on our hands. Every moment wasted is another life lost.’ His voice grew colder, and a suffocating aura burst forth from him, pressing against the air.

Vlad nodded, his expression turning serious. "Let’s head inside the Hall. You’ll need to take the Patriarch seat first." Without another word, he turned and walked toward the massive building. The others followed, their faces now set with determination.

Then—

"I don’t like this appearance," Seraphina suddenly declared.

Ethan groaned. ’Come on, Grandma...’

"People won’t take me seriously when they see me like this. And worse, my love will be seen as a pedophile. Would you want that for your wives?" She crossed her arms, looking up at him expectantly.

Ethan opened his mouth to argue… then closed it.

’...Fair argument.’ He sighed and turned toward her. He knelt to meet her gaze, but even then, she was too short.

’I’m going to use my racial influence on you, but you’ll need to use mana to maintain the transformation. I won’t change your features, just your age and height. You okay with that?’

"That’s more than enough for me."

’And the mana?’

"I have more than enough, plus I have my ways."

’Okay.’

Ethan’s horns turned crystalline like Seraphina’s, glowing with a golden light. His golden eyes blazed, and the streaks of silver and white in his hair shimmered with ethereal brilliance. His hair briefly transformed into something otherworldly—flowing energy rather than mere strands. He took Seraphina’s hands, and the transformation began.

A serene yet immense energy flowed into her. In front of everyone, Seraphina’s body matured in an instant. She didn’t just grow taller—her physique became more refined, exuding an aura of authority. Power radiated from her now, her presence commanding rather than adorable.

She stood at an impressive 6.5 feet, now fully embodying the dignity of a true matriarch.

’How is it?’ Ethan asked.

"Better."

’Mm.’

"Thank you."

’You’re welcome.’

Seraphina nodded in satisfaction, then practically skipped toward Vlad, who had been watching in stunned silence.

The moment she reached him, the vampire king’s expression contorted—his eyes widened, his lips trembled, and then—

Drip.

Blood trickled from his nose.

’Gramps?’ Ethan blinked.

The man looked utterly lovestruck, staring at his now-matured wife with an expression of pure devotion. If one looked closely, his pupils were even slightly dilated.

Seraphina grinned mischievously and jumped into his arms. "Honey, how do I look?"

Vlad barely caught her, his mind seemingly short-circuiting.

"I’m in love," he breathed out, completely smitten.

Three voices spoke at once.

""" Ewww!"""

Trevor, Madeleine, and Lamair gagged in unison, their faces contorted in exaggerated disgust.

Ethan merely sighed.

...

The grand hall of the Smith Clan was a massive structure carved from dark obsidian stone, its towering pillars lined with glowing blue veins of mana. Ancestral banners hung from the high ceiling, each embroidered with the insignia of the clan—symbolizing both the might and lineage of their bloodline.

A long obsidian table stretched across the center, where the highest-ranking members of the clan sat, their eyes burning with curiosity, skepticism, and in some cases, veiled hostility.

Seated on one side were the dwarf nobles, their red horns curled elegantly back like crowns of bone, symbolizing their status. Their beards, woven with golden threads, showed their vast wealth and deep ties to the clan’s legacy.

Beside them sat the earth dwarves, their golden-brown horns shorter but thick, resembling the ore they so diligently mined. Their muscular frames and stoic expressions were a stark contrast to the noble dwarves’ regal demeanor.

And then, there were the vampires—powerful figures with glowing crimson eyes, draped in fine robes of deep black and dark crimson, their presence exuding both elegance and danger.

At the head of the hall stood Vlad Smith, the former Patriarch, watching with an unreadable expression as his grandson, Ethan Smith, prepared to take his rightful place.

Ethan stood at the bottom of a set of onyx stairs, his posture straight, his golden eyes scanning the gathered assembly. He could feel the weight of their stares, the tension in the room thick enough to be cut with a blade.

Then, the first voice of opposition rose.

"This is absurd!"

A dwarf noble, Lord Baelrick, slammed his palm onto the table, his red horns glinting in the torchlight. "How can a half-blood be our Patriarch? A boy with draconic influence ruling over the Smith Clan? That is not our way!"

Several dwarves and even a few vampires murmured in agreement. The tension in the hall escalated, the very air seeming to tremble.

Ethan remained still, his gaze impassive.

Another elder, a vampire woman named Lady Veyna, narrowed her blood-red eyes. "While I acknowledge the boy’s strength, he has yet to prove himself as a ruler. Strength alone is not enough to lead."

A chorus of murmurs followed. The opposition was growing, their voices swelling.

Then—

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BOOM!

The entire hall trembled as Ethan unleashed his aura.

A suffocating golden light erupted from him, crackling like celestial fire. The ground beneath him split with fine cracks, and the very air twisted under the sheer magnitude of his racial influence.

Dwarves gasped as an unseen force pushed them into their seats. Even the vampire elders felt their throats tighten as Ethan’s so-called draconic which was actually dwarven and vampiric essence flooded the room, pressing down on them with an invisible weight.

His golden eyes blazed like miniature suns.

"Enough," Ethan’s voice was cold, absolute. "You speak of my blood as if it is a weakness. Yet here you sit, unable to withstand my presence."

Silence fell.

The opposition struggled against his aura, but it was a losing battle. The dwarf nobles, who had scoffed at his lineage, now gritted their teeth in submission. The vampires who had questioned his authority averted their eyes, acknowledging his strength.

Only Vlad and Seraphina remained unaffected, watching in approval.

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Ethan took a step forward, and the weight of his presence grew stronger.

"I am not asking for approval," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "I am your Patriarch, whether you accept it now or later is irrelevant."

The opposition crumbled.

One by one, the clan members bowed their heads, their defiance shattered. The ritual was complete.

Ethan Smith had become the Patriarch of the Smith Clan.

...

Far from the grand hall, deep in a ruined section of the Blade Clan’s territory, Jerry and Reginald stood amidst the devastation, their bodies tensed, their gazes locked onto the monstrous figure before them.

The Sanguine Harpy had finally revealed itself in full.

A grotesque yet terrifyingly majestic creature, the harpy had crimson-black wings, each feather shimmering like liquid blood. Her humanoid torso was pale yet veined with dark red lines, pulsating like arteries pumping raw power through her monstrous form. Her talons—longer than swords—gleamed with a deadly edge, dripping with corrosive blood.

Her eyes... they were the worst. Deep pools of black void, rimmed with scarlet fire as if gazing into her very being would devour one’s soul.

The air reeked of iron and decay as her wings beat once, sending a shockwave through the battlefield.

Jerry spat out blood, his silver tail flicking behind him, the runes glowing fiercely. His mismatched red and silver eyes narrowed.

"Tch. She’s not playing around."

Reginald, still in his massive fox form, growled deeply, flames leaking from his maw. "So we knock her out and send her to the King, right?"

The harpy suddenly vanished.

A blur—

SHRIIIEEEK!

Jerry barely dodged as a razor-sharp talon sliced the air where his throat had been. The force alone sent him tumbling back, his boots skidding across the blood-soaked ground.

Reginald roared and unleashed a stream of spirit fire, but the harpy twisted midair, her wings folding before she vanished again.

Then—

Reginald yelped as a claw pierced his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.

"SHIT!" Jerry dashed forward, his silver tail snapping out like a whip, glowing red with vampiric energy.

But before his attack could land, the harpy opened her mouth.

And sang.

A sickeningly beautiful melody filled the battlefield.

Jerry staggered, his claws twitching. His mind blurred, his consciousness flickering.

Reginald’s flames dimmed, his body trembling.

A Blood Siren’s Song.

The harpy’s lips curled into a twisted smile.

And then—

The scene cut to black.

...

Back in the grand hall, just as Ethan was settling into his role, another complication arose.

A cloaked figure stepped forward and pulled back her hood, revealing Christel—her face expressionless, her amber eyes distant.

An elder vampire, Lord Ivar, stood beside her and bowed slightly.

"Patriarch," he spoke with a smirk, "as per the ruling of the clan elders, Christel has been assigned to you as a concubine."

Ethan’s expression darkened instantly.

’What?’

Christel’s voice was empty as she spoke, her gaze never meeting his. "It is my punishment."

Ethan clenched his fists.

’I refuse.’

Ivar’s smirk widened. "That is not for you to decide. It has already been decreed by the council."

Ethan exhaled sharply, the embers of his earlier rage threatening to reignite.

This was not over.

A suffocating golden-blue radiance erupted from Ethan, flooding the hall like the rising tide of a celestial storm.

His crystalline horns glowed with an ethereal brilliance, a fusion of both dwarven and vampiric lineage, far beyond what any had ever seen. His wings, no longer concealed, expanded with a mesmerizing hum—not feathery, nor leathery, but an intricate web of pure energy, crackling with raw power.

And his height—he now stood a towering 7.3 feet, an overwhelming presence that dwarfed even the most revered elders in the hall.

The air shuddered under his sheer existence.

"It seems you don’t really know who I am," Ethan’s voice resonated, deep and commanding, each word pressing down on their very souls.

He took a slow step forward. The floor beneath him cracked, unable to withstand the density of his power.

"I am not a half-blood as you claim." His gaze swept across the room, pinning each dwarf and vampire to their seats like insects beneath the weight of a mountain.

"I am a perfect hybrid, the culmination of both dwarf and vampire. I am your ancestor, your origin." His golden eyes gleamed with an unshakable authority, an undeniable truth.

"Do you dare defy me?"

A deep silence followed, broken only by the labored breathing of those struggling against the oppressive force of his will.

The dwarves, once prideful, now sat stiffly, their horns dimming, their once unyielding gazes now lowered in instinctual submission.

The vampires, so used to being at the pinnacle, found themselves unable to speak.

Even Vlad—one of the most powerful vampires in existence—looked on, an expression of deep satisfaction mixed with an unreadable emotion.

Ethan’s wings pulsed, sending ripples of power through the room.

"I wanted to play your little games," he continued, his tone colder, "but this is too much." His gaze settled on Lord Ivar, the smug vampire elder who had spoken earlier.

"You cannot force me to marry." Ethan’s voice turned razor-sharp, making Ivar flinch for the first time.

"You cannot order me."

His golden aura flared, and Ivar dropped to his knees, an involuntary reaction from the overwhelming force.

"Do I make myself clear?"