ONLINE: Blades of Eternity - Chapter 259

Chapter 259: A VISIT TO THE STORMFELLS
At the eastern part of Valoria kingdom resides a very prominent family known as the Stormfell family.

And at the grand hall of this Stormfell family, it was deathly silent.

Alaric knelt in the center, his head bowed, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Around him, the Stormfell Elders sat in an imposing circular formation, their expressions unreadable.

At the far end of the hall, seated on the grand obsidian throne, was Lord Geralt Stormfell, his gaze heavy and unyielding.

Behind him, seated gracefully, were Alaric’s mother and sister.

His mother’s face held a faint trace of concern, while his sister’s expression was unreadable, her violet eyes locked onto him in quiet observation.

The air was thick with expectation, the tension so palpable that it could suffocate a lesser man.

And then—

Lord Geralt finally spoke.

“Alaric.”

His deep, resonant voice echoed through the throne room like a hammer striking an anvil.

“Why?”

“Why did you disappoint me?”

“Why did you fall before Kent of the Dawning of Magic Academy?”

The weight of the question crashed down on Alaric.

His teeth clenched.

His pride screamed at him, demanding that he protest—that he justify himself.

But what could he say?

That Kent had crushed him mercilessly?

That no matter what he did, it felt like he was nothing but a plaything beneath that monster’s strength?

He felt bitter.

Incredibly bitter.

But in the end—

All that left his mouth was a single, strained whisper.

“…I’m sorry.”

A tense silence filled the Stormfell Throne Room.

But suddenly, Alaric’s mother, Lady Isolde Stormfell, gently raised her head, her voice trembling slightly but firm with resolve.

“My lord… surely there is no need to be so harsh on him. He fought valiantly—”

But before she could finish—

Lord Geralt’s eyes darkened.

A terrifying pressure swept through the room as his cold, merciless voice cut through the air like a blade.

“Enough.”

Isolde’s breath hitched.

She felt it immediately—the weight behind his words.

And then—

A slight, almost imperceptible smile curled on Geralt’s lips as he added in a chilling tone:

“You should remember your place, wife.”

“And so should your daughter.”

The air grew suffocating.

Seated behind Geralt, Alaric’s sister felt her fingers tremble ever so slightly as an unnatural chill ran down her spine.

Lady Isolde, too, paled, her lips pressing together as she instantly fell silent.

She knew what this meant.

A hidden threat.

A reminder of who truly held power in this family.

And worse—a warning.

—

Alaric’s eyes slightly turned red.

He had seen his father’s tyranny all his life.

He had endured it.

He had watched others endure it.

But threatening his mother and sister?

That was too much.

His clenched fists trembled with rage.

His breathing grew heavy.

And then—he snapped.

“Why?” Alaric’s voice rang out, raw and furious.

“Why must you always rule with fear? Is that all you know?”

“Are you so blind to your own cruelty that you would rather tear down your own family than show even a sliver of warmth?”

The elders in the room tensed.

A few cast worried glances at Lord Geralt.

Because they knew—

Alaric had crossed the line.

CRACK!

A sudden, suffocating force filled the throne room.

Lord Geralt had unleashed his aura.

“You dare?”

The throne shook from the sheer weight of his presence.

The elders struggled to breathe.

Lady Isolde’s face paled further.

Alaric felt his bones creak.

His very soul trembled as his father’s power bore down on him like an inescapable abyss.

He gritted his teeth.

Tried to resist.

Tried to stand tall.

But it was impossible.

Lord Geralt’s tyranny was absolute.

His knees buckled.

He was about to fall—

BANG!

Suddenly, the doors burst open.

A messenger stumbled in, gasping for breath.

His voice was urgent—almost frantic.

“My Lord! King Alexandria and the Crown Prince have arrived to pay a visit!”

The throne room froze.

Lord Geralt’s aura vanished in an instant.

Alaric gasped for breath, his body shaking as he barely stopped himself from collapsing.

The elders looked at each other, stunned.

“King Alexandria and the crown prince?”

“What could have made them pay us a visit”

And for the first time that night—

Lord Geralt Stormfell narrowed his eyes.

‘King Alexandria…?’

‘Why now?’

Eventually, Lord Geralt slowly rose from his throne.

The weight of his presence alone made the entire room feel like it had been swallowed by an abyss.

Yet, his face remained indifferent.

Without sparing Alaric or his wife a second glance, he spoke:

“Take your children and leave.”

His tone carried neither warmth nor anger.

Just cold indifference.

As if they were nothing but mere obligations.

Hearing this, Lady Isolde stood still for a moment.

Even after all these years, she still felt a painful sting whenever she was reminded of how easily discardable she and her children were to him.

Yet—

She did not argue.

Because there was no point in arguing with a man like Geralt Stormfell.

She turned to Alaric and his sister, her touch gentle as she urged them forward.

“Come.”

Just as she led them away—

Lord Geralt turned his attention to one of the seated elders.

The oldest among them.

His presence alone commanded the highest authority amongst the Stormfell council—second only to Geralt himself.

“Elder Gareth, you will accompany me.”

“Understood”

The elder nodded solemnly before rising from his seat.

Without another word, the two strode toward the exit.

As they left, Alaric halted in his steps.

His fists clenched tightly.

His jaw locked.

And as he watched his father’s broad back fade into the distance—

A hidden ferocity gleamed in his eyes.

A silent vow.

A silent promise that one day, karma would befall this man.

One day—he would make sure of it.

Lady Isolde noticed.

She saw the fire burning in her son’s gaze.

She felt the raw, undiluted resentment.

And so, she gently reached out, holding his hand.

“It’s enough for now, my son.”

Her voice was loving, soft—yet firm.

Alaric stiffened.

For a moment, his rage wavered.

And after a few seconds, he finally exhaled.

“…I understand, Mother.”

Together, she led him and his sister away, the doors to the Stormfell throne room closing behind them.

Meanwhile, at a secluded corner of the Stormfell estate, beneath the shelter of an elegant open-air manor, the presence of King Alexandria alone suffocated the atmosphere.

Beside him, the crown prince stood tall, his eyes calm yet observant, taking in the competitive tension that filled the residence.

A select few royal knights stood behind them in silence, their hands resting on their sheathed weapons as they subtly scanned their surroundings.

Despite the tranquility of the manor, one thing was certain—

The Stormfell residence was a battlefield.

Every glance, every step, every subtle movement—a silent war for dominance.

This family thrived on power, on status, on proving oneself.

And King Alexandria watched it all with a knowing gaze.

“Up till now, I still haven’t seen a family as competitive as this one, father” Lysander suddenly spoke up with an acknowledged look on his face.

“You’re right, that’s why they will fit perfectly for the project” King Alexandria replied with an amiable smile on his face. But when Lysander heard him, a drop of cold sweat involuntarily dripped down the left side of his face.

Not long after though, the sound of approaching footsteps echoed across the pavilion.

Lord Geralt Stormfell had arrived.

Beside him, the esteemed Elder Gareth followed suit, his expression unreadable.

Yet—what was most noticeable was Geralt’s complete shift in demeanor.

The cold, overbearing Stormfell patriarch had vanished—

And in his place stood a refined, respectable noble who fitted to be the head of a very prestigious family in Valoria.

His face bore a deep yet controlled humility as he placed a hand over his chest and bowed.

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.”

“It is an honor to receive you in this my meager humble home.”

His tone was smooth, perfectly measured, as if sculpted through years of nobility.

King Alexandria, however, merely waved a hand.

His amiable smile never wavered, but his eyes—

They saw through everything.

“There is no need for pleasantries, Lord Geralt.”

“Your household remains as impressive as ever.”

Although Geralt was momentarily stunned by his spontaneous praise, he still responded with measured gratitude.

“You flatter us, Your Majesty. It is but the duty of our bloodline to uphold the strength of the kingdom.”

His voice was humble, yet firm.

As if reminding the King that the Stormfell family was still one of the pillars of Valoria.

A moment of silence followed.

And then—

The atmosphere subtly shifted.

King Alexandria’s smile remained, but his next words carried a deeper weight.

“Lord Geralt.”

“I wonder though—would you be interested in partaking in a particular project I am working on?”

“A project?”

At that moment, the entire conversation changed.

The air grew thicker, heavier.

And for the first time, Geralt’s well-rehearsed composure wavered—if only slightly.

Because he knew—

The King never made empty invitations.