Rivers of the Night

Chapter 266 266: Games

Seeing Sigil gearing up, Theron actually looked away, his gaze shifting to a dangerous feeling that he was getting not from the man across from him, but instead from another gaze entirely.

Dean Thistle was still locked in battle with General Pennel, but it could be said that over half of his attention was on Theron now. The Marquis might have wanted his son to become the heir, but he didn't want his nephews to die. Such a thing would break apart the family.

Theron's cold, indifferent expression suddenly became a smile. It was a gentle smile, and yet it was the sort of smile that made the Dean shiver from head to toe.

He caught himself at the last moment, wondering why it was he was so scared. But the truth came to light as Theron sheathed his short sword as well, his movements calm as though he didn't care much for Sigil standing across from him at all.

And that was because he didn't. Not even the slightest bit.

Dean Thistle was paying so much attention to him right now not just because he had killed his nephews, but because he was also willing to risk everything, even life and limb, to stop Theron from killing his son. But he had neglected one very important thing…

Why would Theron kill Sigil when he was so much more useful alive?

Theron turned his back to Sigil. With light steps, he had already leapt onto the Alpha's back.

Sigil's hand slowly began to tighten on his whip again, all the relaxation he seemed to have gained vanishing.

"Take this time to run and get away from here," Theron said calmly, looking toward the other geniuses. "If you stay here, you will die. Also," Theron looked up to General Pennel, "I'd probably lay down your pride a bit and force him to protect his son after we're gone."

Once Theron finished saying this, he urged the Alpha forward. It moved in such a blur of speed that they were gone from everyone's sights in a single instant of time.

A shuddering thought came to their minds at that moment. Why was that beast so fast?

Dean Thistle felt like he was going crazy. Theron hadn't said a single word, but that smile said everything that needed to be said.

What was he going to say when he returned to the Clan? All of the Blood Crystal was gone, and the only heirs that were competition to his son were eradicated?

Who would believe that?

Theron had hardly lifted a finger, and his actions today just might send the Thistles into a spiral they could never recover from. And that was all without even considering the fact that the geniuses they had raised up so diligently were now all gone…

Except for Sigil.

As for the threat of Malaya, Theron didn't care to look, didn't care to check in on her, didn't even care to find out if it would even be possible to save her with everyone distracted.

He just left the region, the last shot of his back being a stream of black and a blur of red.

Dean Thistle roared into the air, more furious than his words could express.

**

High in the skies above, two old men sat in silence. Both of them had a head of white hair, but one of them had eyes of such abyssal darkness it seemed to swallow up their whites, while the other had eyes of such a deep green that it felt as though one was staring into the depths of an emerald mine.

"Interesting, interesting." The old man with the blackened eyes spoke, chuckling lightly.

The other didn't respond, looking down with a chilliness in his gaze.

"Don't be so angry, Old Thistle. You played underhanded tricks and wanted to use a child's wife against him. You underestimated that child a bit too much, though, don't you think?"

"… A child like that will ruin your Empire."

"A child like that wouldn't care about my Empire."

"You think so? Even after he finds out you know exactly who wiped out his family? Why don't we tell him and find out."

Old Nightingale chuckled. "You're a sore loser, and have always been a sore loser."

"We will see if you still dare to say those words after I finish my breakthrough."

"You are free to. But I'm sure you know by now that my Nightingale Clan didn't backstab our way to power. We just chose the easier path out of convenience. Don't let that fool you into a false sense of superiority."

Old Thistle didn't reply, the arrogance between his brows still obvious. But toward this, Old Nightingale simply shook his head.

"You really do think too highly of yourself. Why you haven't understood that you've already reached the limit of cultivation in this world is beyond me. There is no breakthrough to be had. It doesn't matter what schemes you concoct—unless you agree to work with me, you will never take that step."

"Just because others have not, doesn't mean that I cannot."

"Delusional fool."

Old Thistle stood, ready to leave.

"Ah, ah, ah. You wait here a little while longer. Can't have you going off as though you're clever to target a little boy."

"As if I would waste my time with such a thing."

"I think we both know you don't have a bottom line, so how about some more tea?"

Old Thistle bristled with anger, but in the end, he just sat down and closed his eyes. He couldn't be bothered to chat any longer.

These two old men hadn't seen the Tribulation. Even they were unable to get close to such a thing without being implicated. In fact, because of the special status of their cultivation, they had to be even further away from it than others, for reasons only those at their level truly understood.

But what was clear was that to them… the games below were exactly that.

Games.

If not for his pride, Old Thistle wouldn't care for the loss of life below.

And if not for his great-granddaughter, Old Nightingale wouldn't even know Theron's name.