Septimus’s staff cracked against Draven’s skull.

“You idiot! Can’t you be patient even for once? Why in the stars did you charge like a mindless beast?!”

Draven groaned, one hand flying to his head while the other steadied himself against the wall.

“That brute touched Aurelia! What was I supposed to do, sit still?”

His voice carried genuine bewilderment, as if the very suggestion offended him. Behind him, Aurelia’s expression softened slightly at his protective instinct.

“YES!” Septimus barked, raising his staff again. “Sometimes patience keeps us alive, you thick-headed ox!”

Draven muttered curses under his breath, backing away from the inscriber’s reach. His crimson essence still flickered around his knuckles, refusing to fully dissipate.

But Septimus was already spinning on Adrian, his robes whirling dramatically. The staff pointed accusingly at the younger man’s chest.

“And you! Youngsters are too reckless! Why shout Valerius’ death out loud for all to hear? Do you enjoy painting targets on your chest?”

Adrian’s voice remained calm, his parents tensed behind him.

“Even if I hadn’t said it, the Drakenholt clan would have come for us. What’s the use in hiding it?”

Draven crossed his arms and barked his agreement. “He’s right! If war comes, then we tear the whole bloody clan apart!”

Crack!

Septimus smacked Draven again, this time across the shoulder. The warrior stumbled sideways into Lucian, who caught him with obvious irritation.

Draven howled, spinning to face his attacker. “Hey! What was that for now?!”

“You thick-headed ox! This isn’t war! War would be merciful compared to what’s coming!”

The words hit the chamber. Elara’s breath caught audibly, her hand reaching instinctively for Thomas’s arm.

“Worse… than war?” she whispered.

Draven staggered upright, his eyes blazing with confusion and growing anger. “Then what in the void is worse than war?!”

Another crack of the staff, this time against his ribs. Draven doubled over with a grunt of pain.

“Stop beating me when I’m asking questions!” he roared.

Even Aurelia’s brows furrowed as she stepped forward. Concern replaced her earlier relief at Adrian’s display of power.

“Septimus, what are you saying?”

Septimus’ expression hardened, “Even you, Aurelia, after all these centuries, you still haven’t studied the galaxy’s history enough. This isn’t about war. Valerius’ death has set the stage for something far more dangerous.”

He began pacing, his footsteps echoing against the cracked floor. Debris from the earlier fight crunched beneath his boots.

“In normal cases, with proof like Adrian himself gave, the Drakenholt Patriarch would declare clan war. That’s how disputes are settled. But here, we have no clan.”

Kael leaned forward, “What difference does that make?”

Septimus stopped pacing, turning to face them all. “In clan wars, a Patriarch might stall, gather allies, throw pawns forward. Decades can pass before Stellars ever cross blades. This at least bought some time.”

His voice grew grimmer with each word.

“But in our situation, we don’t have a clan. Without a clan, war cannot be declared. But what can be demanded… is a duel.”

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Septimus’ tone dropped to a growl. “By galactic law, if a Stellar had proof and demands it, the Empire can sanction a life-and-death duel. If the accused refuses, they are branded an outlaw and hunted by every empire and clan alike.”

The room chilled.

Thomas clenched his fists until his knuckles went white. Elara’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, her protective instincts warring with helplessness.

Even Draven, reckless as he was, went silent. His earlier bravado crumbled as the reality sank in.

Septimus’s staff trembled more visibly in his grip. “Do you understand now? In clan wars, Stellars delay their fights for decades, gather allies, play politics. But this? This is immediate. Final. If Adrian loses, he dies. And with him, Earth’s one and only Stellar is gone!”

Adrian stood unmoving throughout the explanation. His silence stretched until every eye was on him, waiting for his response.

Finally, he spoke. “Lord Septimus, I killed Valerius that day. Whether I confessed or not, this was always going to come back to me.”

His voice carried no trace of fear or regret. “If we cower every time someone stronger looms over us, Earth’s banner will never rise. Let me deal with this.”

Septimus’ grip tightened on his staff, “You don’t understand, boy. You may have touched a Domain, but the Patriarch of Drakenholt has wielded his for thousands of years. Even his clan is strong, ranked 106th on the Galactic Rankings.”

His voice cracked slightly with emotion. “His domain will be vast, and against that experience, you’ll be nothing but kindling. You cannot stand against him!”

Adrian’s eyes sharpened, white-grey essence flickering briefly in their depths. “Even so, we have no other path. The deed is done. I’ll face it.”

…

Inner Ring of the Hub, Drakenholt Clan Hall

In the Inner Ring of Solvaris, where the clans owned their lands and estates, the Drakenholt stronghold towered in the middle of its territory. Its spires curled like dragon claws raking at the stars.

Inside the hall, survivors of the earlier confrontation knelt on obsidian floors. Their bodies trembled as they prepared to deliver news that would shake the very foundations of their clan.

At the far end, on a throne carved from obsidian and inlaid with dragon bone, sat the Patriarch of the Drakenholt Clan. Tharion Drakenholt’s massive frame filled the seat, his presence alone making the air thick and oppressive.

“My lord,” one stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. “Our young lord….”

Tharion’s eyes opened slowly, “What now?”

The warrior detailed everything, their young lord not returning to the hub, and later, what happened in the outer ring.

“He has a Space Domain. And… he…” The warrior’s throat worked frantically. “He killed the young lord.”

“WHAT?!”

A roar tore from the Patriarch’s chest that shattered every piece of glass in the hall. Crimson essence erupted around him like a living inferno, coiling and writhing as it took the shape of massive dragon claws.

With a single swipe, the warrior’s head separated from his body. It hit the floor with a dull thud, rolling across the obsidian until it came to rest against another survivor’s knee.

The remaining survivors flinched back, faces drained of all color. One retched violently, unable to contain himself at the sight.

The Patriarch of Drakenholt rose from his throne like a living calamity. Scales of crimson essence shimmered across his skin, and his eyes burned with draconic fury.

“My son…” His voice thundered through the hall, each word dripping with hate. “Slaughtered by some nameless wretch without even a clan to his name?!”

His roar shook the pillars supporting the massive dome above. Cracks spider-webbed across the stone as his rage manifested physically.

“I am Tharion Drakenholt! The world breaker!” Claws of pure essence tore open the floor beneath his feet. “And some nameless insect dares touch my bloodline?!”

He surged forward, each step leaving molten footprints in the obsidian. The very air around him began to burn with his fury.

“I will tear that insect apart with my own hands! I will make him beg for death before I grant it!”

But as he stormed toward the entrance, an elder stepped forward. The man’s hands trembled as he barred his lord’s way, knowing full well it could mean his death.

“My lord, wait! You cannot!” The elder’s voice cracked with desperation. “The Hub forbids battles between Stellars within it!”

Tharion’s claws stopped inches from the elder’s throat. Steam rose from where his essence met the old man’s skin.

“If you strike here, the Imperial clan will descend,” the elder continued, sweat beading on his forehead. “Even you cannot withstand their judgment! They have three Stellars in the Inner Ring alone!”

Tharion snarled, “You dare speak law when my son lies dead?!”

The elder did not yield, though his knees shook beneath him. “No, my lord! But there is another way!”

“Speak quickly, before I decide your counsel isn’t worth your life.”

“It’s too risky to attack directly, so let the law serve you instead.” The elder’s words came faster now. “You have proof of the crime. Take it to the Imperial Clan Overseer here in the hub.”

Tharion’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t strike. The elder pressed on.

“Demand a sanctioned duel. Life and death, before all eyes.” His voice grew stronger as he saw his lord listening. “Let the galaxy witness the upstart crushed beneath your might!”

Tharion froze, rage still bleeding from him in waves. But calculation flickered behind his molten eyes as the elder’s words sank in.

“Yes…” His voice dripped venom. “A duel…”

A terrible smile spread across his features, transforming his face into something nightmarish. “Then I will not only kill him, I will humiliate him before the entire Hub!”

He turned, his silhouette monstrous in the crimson glow of his essence. The very shadows seemed to recoil from his presence.

“Prepare the petition immediately.” His voice carried the promise of absolute destruction. “The galaxy will learn what happens when someone touches a Drakenholt.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep