Chapter 24: Heaven’s Mercy
At the edge of the crowd stood a man. He wore a crimson mask shaped like the lower half of a skull, his dark eyes blazing behind it—sharp and unwavering, framed by a face marked with faint red lines.
He wore a black coat that hung broad across his shoulders, layered over tactical straps and muted armor, every detail chosen with purpose. Silent and watchful, he looked less like a man and more like judgment itself.
He bowed and spoke, his voice echoing as if it emerged from a barrel of shadows.
"This is Guren of the Golden Lotus. You can call me Guren, I am the family’s butler."
Kage regarded him with indifference.
’Guren of the Crimson Lotus... ah, this guy...’
Guren straightened.
"I will escort the young lord to his quarters."
He turned and walked left. Kage followed closely behind, studying the enormous pagodas with curved roofs that sprawled far and wide across the compound.
They walked in silence, just the two of them. Eventually, Kage was brought to quarters deep within the compound, somewhere lost among the maze of courtyards.
His yard had its own small compound—a narrow river and a tree with pink blossoms. Despite the night, light posts flooded the place with brightness.
They stopped at the terrace corridor, and Butler Guren bowed once more.
"This will be your quarters henceforth, Young Lord."
Kage nodded and climbed the stairs to the corridor.
Butler Guren watched him, then said:
"Servants will be sent immediately."
Kage looked down at him, his face void of emotion—cold and indifferent.
Butler Guren met his gaze again, this time holding it longer than a second.
"Is there anything you need, Young Lord?"
"Nothing you can provide. You may leave."
Butler Guren lowered his head and turned away.
Kage watched him disappear, then entered his quarters. As he slid open the doors, his expression darkened.
A young woman sat on a floor cushion, legs crossed.
Her hair fell like liquid darkness to the middle of her back, razor-sharp bangs framing narrow, piercing eyes.
As Kage entered, she turned with a slight smile, her voice sweet and soft.
"Little brother. Welcome home."
She tilted her head, concern flickering in her eyes.
"You look terrible."
Kage stood frozen, regarding her with the same indifference he’d shown the butler.
She smiled.
"Right. You don’t know me. I’m Seraphine, your second sister... the seventh child."
Kage’s gaze sharpened.
’Heaven’s Mercy... her scars haven’t arrived yet...’
She rose gracefully and approached him. Her steel-grey eyes fell on his mangled arm, then swept across his face. She raised her hand slightly.
"May I?"
Kage felt awkward but saw no reason to refuse. He nodded like the fifteen-year-old he appeared to be.
She extended two fingers, and her movement became a blur.
Before Kage could react, she struck him four times at the shoulder joint. Just as he began to snarl, soothing relief washed away the pain.
He stared at his hand in amazement. The wound that had been caked with dried blood was now covered with fresh flesh. The pain had vanished completely.
He examined his other hand, then looked at his sister and grinned shamelessly.
"Here too, please."
The corner of her mouth curled as she moved her fingers again.
The moment she finished, the same sensation flooded through him—his burst blood vessels regenerating at incredible speed.
’The rumors were true. Her healing abilities really are divine!’
She studied the hand she’d just healed with a concerned expression, then shifted her gaze to his face.
"Did you get that injury from forcing Qi essence?"
Kage eyed her warily.
’Of course she’d know.’
His lips spread, revealing sharp white teeth in a wide grin.
"This is nothing compared to what’s coming. Don’t worry about me, second sister."
Her concerned expression didn’t waver. She sighed and smiled grimly.
"You’re right. It is nothing compared to what you’ll face."
Silence stretched between them. Then she looked at him with a stern expression.
"Can’t you just leave?"
Kage’s face darkened. He regarded her with open hostility.
"No."
She stared at him blankly, then suddenly laughed.
"Well, since I can’t convince you to run... welcome to this hellhole."
She walked past him toward the door, pausing to glance back.
"You’ll wish you’d never crawled out."
After she left, Kage turned to the door and scoffed.
"Hellhole... born and bred, little sister. Born and bred."
After she left, Kage went straight to his bedroom.
It was an expansive room with cold beige accents. A walk-in wardrobe stood to his left, while his bedding dominated the center. Surrounding the bed were four-cornered steps, allowing him to climb up from any angle. The bed itself was twice the size of his old one at Blacksteel Fortress—he could roll ten times and still remain on it.
The ceiling was adorned with grey overlapping metal panels that seemed frozen mid-fall, radiating silver light that bathed the room in ethereal illumination.
Kage stripped off his clothes and strode into the enormous wardrobe. He selected a long black robe and let his hair down.
Black strands fell to his shoulders, curtaining the side of his face—worn and haggard from pain and exhaustion. Then he made his way to the bathhouse.
As its name suggested, it was an entirely separate building, connected to his bedroom corridor by a long, arching bridge that spanned a pond dotted with pink water lilies.
The servants had already arrived and were bustling about—men and women moving with practiced efficiency.
Kage sank into the warm, soothing bathtub, the flowery fragrance enveloping his weary soul.
He scrubbed away all the blood and grime from his body, then indulged in a lavish meal the servants had prepared while he bathed. Afterward, he allowed himself a much-needed nap.
Through it all, the Sovereign Gods remained silent. Apparently, their grudge ran deeper than Kage had realized.
***
In a vast hall, dark and unglamorous, massive silver columns held the space aloft, radiating light even in the encompassing darkness.
At the center of the hall stood a platform. Upon it sat an enormous anvil. Surrounding the platform flowed a river of broken steel.
Two sets of footsteps approached the man standing before the anvil, striking steel with a great hammer. The sound of his strikes died before they could escape—swallowed by the oppressive silence.
His silver hair swayed with each movement. When the footsteps ceased, he halted and straightened. In an instant, he materialized before them, catching both visitors off guard. They dropped to their knees belatedly, bowing their heads.
"High Patriarch!!"
The man fixed them with his hollow steel gaze.
"How was he?"
The wiry young man extended a neatly folded letter above his head, gripping it with both hands.
The Patriarch seized it with his dirt-stained fingers and tore it open. He scanned the contents in seconds, then looked at both men—the wiry one and the husky Lord Shen.
Then he erupted in laughter.