Chapter 534: He Is

Cross Patriarch stepped forward, his brown hair shifting as he moved, his face showing impatience.

"There’s no need to ask him, Brother Kinsley."

His hand rose, fingers extending toward Damian’s head.

"Let’s just search his soul and be done with it."

Time seemed to slow down as Damian watched that hand descend, as space contracted between reaching fingers and his skull.

’Is my identity really about to be revealed?’

The thought came distant and strange.

’So soon?’

His vision tunneled, the crowd fading, the voices becoming white noise.

’Why did they even doubt me? Just because I entered a portal? Just because of my hair and eyes?’

The hand was centimeters away now, close enough that he could feel the Aura radiating from Cross’s palm.

’Is this really how it ends? After all the sacrifices made to protect my ide–’

"Patriarchs, please stop."

The voice cut across the field, calm and absolute.

"I can’t allow you to continue."

WHOOSH

Damian’s body moved without his permission, invisible force yanking him backward with gentleness.

He materialized ten meters away, his knees still on the ground but no longer surrounded.

A figure stood between him and the four Patriarchs, back straight, facing them without visible fear.

Damian’s head lifted, his eyes focusing on the man’s profile.

’M-Marshal Lysander Eckhart?’

Recognition hit with confusion.

’Why would he–’

"Allow?"

Ashford Patriarch’s voice emerged, carrying amusement mixed with something harder.

"My dear nephew, since when did we require your permission for anything?"

Lysander’s posture remained rigid, his hands clasped behind his back.

"As a Marshal of the Federation Military..."

His voice carried clearly despite not raising it.

"Everything that happens within this region requires my permission."

His eyes found each Patriarch in turn, meeting their gazes without flinching.

"And allowing you to soul search him means watching the most talented genius of our younger generation get crippled."

Silence fell again, but this time weighted differently.

People in the crowd shifted, whispers starting to spread.

"The Marshal is protecting him–"

"But he’s an Eckhart, part of the Imperial families–"

"Why would he stand against his own–"

Kinsley’s smile returned, becoming something sharper.

"Have you forgotten who you are, nephew?"

His tone gained edges despite maintaining its light quality.

"Leaving your family and joining the military doesn’t erase the fact that you’re one of us as well. Blood is blood, no matter what uniform you wear."

He took a step forward, his robes shifting.

"And if he really turns out to be Darius Bloodworth’s son..."

The threat sat unspoken but clear, hanging heavy in the air between them.

"I think it’s you who has forgotten, Patriarch Kinsley."

Lysander’s words came cold and sharp.

His entire posture shifted, something dark bleeding into his expression.

"If he was really the son of that hateful man..."

He turned his head, his eyes finding Damian’s face directly.

"I would have been the first one to take his head off."

The statement landed like a physical blow, echoing across the field.

Silence crashed down again as people processed what he’d said, remembering stories about Lysander Eckhart’s hatred of Darius Bloodworth.

How he’d refused to attend any gathering where the man’s name was spoken.

How his hands would shake with rage whenever someone mentioned the Bloodworth family head.

Lysander turned back to face the Patriarchs, his expression hardening.

"He is arrogant and talented, that much is true."

His hand gestured toward Damian without looking.

"But not every crimson-haired man is somehow related to Bloodworths. There are many of them serving in the Military Police as well."

His voice gained strength.

"Hair color and eye color aren’t exactly rare genetic markers. Thousands of people across the Federation share similar features."

Kinsley’s smile never wavered, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper.

"While your hatred for that man is well known, dear nephew, I’m afraid we can’t just take your word for it."

His head tilted slightly.

"Surely you understand our position? The resemblance, the timing, the circumstances..."

He spread his hands in a gesture that might have looked apologetic if not for his expression.

"There are too many coincidences to ignore without proper verification."

Lysander’s voice came out flat and absolute.

"Then call the one whom you trust the most to not lie about this."

Silence fell for three heartbeats.

Kinsley’s smile widened fractionally.

"You mean–"

"There’s no need to call me."

The new voice emerged from empty air, calm and carrying weight that made reality feel thin.

"I’m already here."

WHOOSH

Space folded, reality peeling back as a figure materialized in the center of the gathered Patriarchs.

Purple hair fell past his shoulders, secured with an ornate tie.

A mask covered the upper half of his face, white and featureless, showing only his mouth and jaw.

His robes were different from the others, carrying symbols that seemed to shift when looked at directly.

Silence crashed across the entire field like someone had stolen all sound.

Then whispers exploded, overlapping and building into a roar.

"Is that–"

"The mask–"

"It’s the Sage!"

"Murdock Patriarch himself!"

"Even he’s here–"

"This is getting out of control–"

People at the back of the crowd stood on tiptoes, trying to see over others, cameras zooming in from every angle.

The Sage’s presence carried weight that went beyond simple power, authority that made even the other Patriarchs seem diminished by comparison.

Cross Patriarch stepped forward, his brown eyes tracking across the Sage’s masked face.

"Brother Murdock, please end this farce by revealing the truth to everyone."

His voice carried across the field, ensuring every person could hear.

"Is this child a Bloodworth, or not?"

Silence fell again, absolute and suffocating.

Every eye tracked toward the Sage, thousands of people holding their breath.

Damian looked at the man, his body going rigid.

’So, this is the Sage, the top seer of the Federation.’

The thought came cold and certain.

’He can probably see through anything, read anyone, detect things that no one else could catch.’

His hands clenched on his thighs.

’And he was there that night. He helped kill them all.’

His jaw set, his eyes closing fractionally.

’This is it, then.’

He took a breath, trying to prepare himself for what came next.

The Sage’s masked face turned, his gaze settling on Damian’s kneeling form.

The weight of that attention felt like being pressed beneath mountains, like every secret was being laid bare under scrutiny that missed nothing.

Everyone leaned forward, the tension becoming almost unbearable.

Then the Sage spoke, his voice emerging calm and absolute.

"He is..."

Damian’s eyes closed completely, his breathing stopping.

’Here it comes.’

The Sage’s next word rang across the field with finality.

"...not a Bloodworth."

"..."

Silence stretched impossibly long, the statement hanging in the air like smoke.

Royce Patriarch let out a long breath, his orange eyes tracking between the Sage and Damian.

"Brother Kinsley."

His voice carried something between relief and annoyance.

"I told you from the start. You’re being paranoid, seeing conspiracies where none exist."

His hand waved dismissively toward Damian.

"The boy is just a talented commoner with unfortunate coloring. Nothing more."

Ashford’s grey eyes remained fixed on the Sage, studying his masked face with intensity.

But he said nothing, his expression becoming unreadable.

Cross simply nodded once, his assessment apparently satisfied by the Sage’s declaration.

Kinsley looked at Murdock for a long moment, his blue eyes tracking across the masked features.

Then his smile returned, wider than before, carrying genuine seeming amusement.

"It seems I really was mistaken."

His voice came out light and friendly, all traces of violence vanishing.

"My apologies for the dramatic interrogation, young man." He bowed slightly toward Damian, the gesture almost mocking. "Sometimes an old man sees shadows where there’s only light."

He turned toward the other Patriarchs, his robes swirling with the motion.

"Shall we depart then, brothers? I believe we’ve caused enough disruption for one evening."

Damian remained kneeling, his body trembling, his mind struggling to process what had just happened.

’Why?’

The question burned through everything else.

’Why did he lie? Why did he protect me?’

But he kept his face carefully neutral, showing nothing of the confusion and terror still racing through his system.

Relief began trickling in, cold and cautious, his shoulders starting to lower from their rigid tension.

’I’m safe.’

The thought formed tentatively.

’My identity is still hidden. I can keep–’

"Oh!"

Kinsley’s voice cut through his thoughts, bright and cheerful.

He’d taken three steps toward departure before stopping, his hand coming up to his forehead in exaggerated realization.

"I almost forgot!"

He turned back around, his smile never wavering.

"On my way to the far north, I happened to catch a few criminals who’d been causing trouble for the Federation lately."

His tone stayed conversational, like he was discussing the weather.

"Terrorists, really. Dangerous individuals who needed to be apprehended before they hurt innocent people."

He looked directly at Damian, his smile widening until it showed too many teeth.

"Might as well give them their punishment while I’m still here, don’t you think?"

Before anyone could react, before anyone could even process the words–

His hand waved through the air, casual and dismissive.

WHOOSH WHOOSH WHOOSH

Light flashed across the field as figures materialized one by one.

They hit the ground hard, collapsing onto snow-covered stone, their hands bound behind their backs with glowing restraints.

Five people. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty...

The count kept climbing as more figures appeared, all of them wearing civilian clothes, all of them showing signs of rough treatment.

Damian’s eyes tracked across the materializing forms, confusion giving way to something cold.

Then one face emerged from the spatial distortion, brown hair matted with blood.

’No.’

The thought came distant and hollow.

"B-Brian?"

The whisper escaped before Damian could stop it, his voice cracking on the name.