For a moment, nothing could be seen except a violent cloud of red mist hanging in the air. Gasps spread through the gathered nobles, followed by silence.

The scythe faded slowly, its enormous edge dissolving into drifting blood energy. Where Damon had been standing, there was nothing left. There was no body, and no limbs. There was only splattered blood staining the broken stone.

The court members stared in stunned silence. Samarishit slowly lowered his hand. The towering blood avatar behind him dissolved gradually, its massive shape breaking apart into streams of red light that returned to the empty vial floating near his palm.

"It is done," he said calmly. His voice carried across the terrace and echoed through the courtyard below. The heir was dead. The throne would now be free.

Samarishit turned slightly, his expression once again returning to that calm, noble face which he usually wore. "Let the record show," he said with solemn dignity, "that the wastrel heir who betrayed his clan and sacrificed his own people has been executed."

Chaos ensued, and everyone started celebrating. "He's dead!"

"The wastrel heir is finally gone!"

"Serves him right!"

Cheers erupted across the terrace and even down in the courtyard below. Some nobles laughed openly while others clapped their hands in satisfaction. Several guards lowered their weapons with visible relief.

"Good riddance to that disgrace!"

"Poisoning his own clan… what a shameful creature."

"A coward till the end!"

One older noble shook his head with a sneer. "And this pathetic worm dared to call himself a king."

Several nobles bowed respectfully toward Samarishit.

"Lord Samarishit has saved the clan!"

"You should be the one to sit on the throne!"

"Yes! Only someone like you deserves to inherit the ancestor's blood!"

Samarishit did not smile, but the corners of his lips lifted slightly as he accepted the praise. His posture straightened, regal and composed, exactly as a victorious noble should appear.

"Long live the new king!"

"The throne is finally free!"

Samarishit raised his hand. "This is no time for celebrations. A war looms ahead of us. We still have an insurmountable mountain ahead of us."

Another noble quickly added, "Lord Samarishit, you should quickly ascend the throne. The ancestor's blood would acknowledge a worthy heir immediately. Once you inherit its power, those enemies outside will no longer be a threat."

Several others nodded eagerly.

"Yes, you must claim it before the battle begins."

"The throne must not remain empty any longer."

"With the ancestor's blood, victory will be certain!"

Samarishit did not answer immediately. His gaze drifted toward the palace halls behind them, where the throne chamber lay hidden deep within the castle.

For a brief moment, ambition flickered in his eyes, which he quickly hid. "I will oblige your wishes. I will accept the blessings of the ancestor's blood, but only because our entire clan is under threat.

Several nobles nodded approvingly.

"Such humility."

"Lord Samarishit truly carries the bearing of a king."

"The throne has chosen well."

The murmurs of admiration spread quickly through the crowd. Some of the younger nobles looked almost relieved, as if the chaos of the last few minutes had finally settled into something orderly again.

Lysandra said nothing.

Her gaze remained fixed on the shattered stone where Damon had supposedly died. The blood splattered across the terrace was beginning to dry, yet something about it still bothered her.

Samarishit turned toward the palace doors, his cloak flowing behind him as he prepared to leave the terrace and head toward the throne chamber.

"We will secure the throne first," he said calmly. "Once the ancestor's blood acknowledges a new ruler, the castle's defenses will awaken fully. The enemies at our doorstep will regret ever setting foot on our lands."

"Yes, my lord!"

"Escort Lord Samarishit to the throne hall!"

"Clear the corridors!"

The terrace erupted into motion as guards and nobles began organizing themselves around him. The procession moved quickly through the palace corridors. Servants scrambled out of the way while soldiers rushed to clear the route ahead. They used their staffs to clear the air of poison. Several nobles continued whispering excitedly as they followed behind Samarishit.

"Once the ancestor's blood awakens, the castle formations will activate."

"The barrier alone will crush those invaders outside."

"Six ascension candidates or not, they will regret coming here."

Someone laughed softly. "The wastrel heir's only contribution to the clan was dying at the right time." A few others chuckled.

Lysandra walked among them in silence. Her gaze remained distant, her mind replaying the scene on the terrace again and again. Something about Damon's death had felt… wrong.

But the others were already too caught up in their excitement to notice her hesitation. Soon, they reached the massive doors of the throne chamber.

Two elite guards stood outside, both looking strangely pale. Their expressions were stiff, as if they had seen something they did not quite understand.

"Open the doors," Samarishit commanded.

The guards obeyed immediately, and the enormous stone doors slowly swung inward with a deep grinding sound. The nobles stepped inside and then they stopped.

The throne chamber was silent. The ancient black throne stood beneath the vaulted ceiling, exactly where it had stood for centuries.

But it was no longer empty.

Someone was already sitting on it.

The figure leaned back comfortably against the throne, one arm resting casually on the armrest as if he had been waiting there for quite some time.

The room froze. For several seconds, no one moved. Samarishit's confident expression cracked. "That… is impossible," he whispered. Sitting casually in front of them was none other than the same wastrel heir they had only just now vanquished.

Damon looked down at them lazily from the throne.

"You people sure took your time," he said.

A faint crimson glow pulsed beneath the throne, spreading slowly through the cracks of the ancient stone like veins awakening after a long sleep.

And this time, the entire chamber trembled. Runes carved into the walls, floor, and ceiling began to awaken one after another. Ancient symbols that had remained dormant for centuries now blazed with a violent red light, illuminating the throne chamber.