Talmor, the man in the long green robe, sneered. “Judging by how Thymaleon looks, I’m afraid his core power has likely been damaged. It’s unbelievable. Who else on Elysium Isle could injure him this badly besides us?”
The stunning woman, Valindra, covered her mouth and chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Thymaleon without saying a word.
Only the tall, broad-shouldered man, Malthor, remained expressionless. He slowly sat up and pushed the woman beside him aside.
His cold, piercing stare locked on Thymaleon. When he spoke, his voice was low and carried an edge that made everyone tense
“What happened?” he asked. Thymaleon trembled ever so slightly under the stares of the four people, especially Malthor’s.
Swallowing his humiliation, he stepped forward, dropped to one knee, and lowered his head. He recounted everything that had happened in full detail.
He told them how Tristan and the others had awakened him and how he’d casually slaughtered the mortals nearby. Then Dustin intervened, and their clash of mental energy ended with him at a disadvantage
In the end, he was killed by a lightning strike and was forced to use a secret life-preserving technique to rebuild his body.
As he spoke, the sneers from Lysander, the androgynous man, and Talmor gradually faded. Even Valindra’s smile disappeared and was replaced by a flicker of shock flashing in her eyes. None of them had expected such a troublesome figure to arrive from outside the island.
When Thymaleon finished, Malthor slammed his palm against the armrest of his white recliner.
A thunderous boom shook the entire hall. Ripples spread across the wine pool, and the men and women enjoying themselves froze in terror.
“Useless fool!” Malthor’s furious roar cracked like thunder. “You can’t even handle one outsider, and you were nearly beaten to the point of soul annihilation.
You’ve brought shame on all of us.”
Before he finished speaking, he launched a powerful kick from where he sat. Then, an invisible force slammed toward Thymaleon’s chest.
Thymaleon was too weak to resist. The blow sent him flying, and he crashed hard into a thick stone pillar. He spat out a mouthful of blood before sliding to the ground, battered and gasping
He lay there, coughing violently. His chest burned with pain, but the sting of humiliation cut even deeper. Hatred flickered in his eyes, though he didn’t dare let it show. He struggled back into a kneeling position, and his head bowed even lower.
Even at his peak, he wouldn’t have stood a chance against Malthor, let alone now.
“Calm down, Malthor,” Lysander said softly. “From what Thymaleon described, this person does have some skill and possibly someone on our level.”
Talmor said thoughtfully, “Anyone capable of defeating Thymaleon at his peak isn’t to be underestimated. Seems like our blood ritual attracted a much bigger prize than we expected.”
Malthor’s cold gaze swept over Thymaleon. The fury in his eyes cooled into something far more chilling. After a moment’s silence, he snapped his fingers, and a streak of golden light shot toward Thymaleon.
Thymaleon caught it reflexively. In his hand was a pill the size of a large marble, radiating rich vitality and tremendous spiritual power. The pill was of the highest quality, with faint dragon patterns visible on its surface.
“This is the Dragonblood Renewal Pill. It will restore nearly 80% of your strength,” Malthor said flatly. “Take it and get out of here. Find that man and the pests who disturbed our peace, and wipe them out.”
After a beat, he added coldly, “If you fail again… Don’t bother coming back. Find somewhere to rot and never show yourself again.”
Clutching the still-warm elixir in his hand, Thymaleon could feel the immense energy pulsing inside it. A rush of tangled emotions welled up in his chest. He was relieved to have survived, hungry for strength, and a deep, searing hatred burned inside him for Dustin, Tristan, and the others.
He bowed deeply, his voice hoarse but unwavering. “Got it, Malthor. I will not fail. I will bring that man’s head to you.”
Without daring to linger another moment, he struggled to his feet and quickly left the luxurious yet oppressive hall with his head down.
Valindra watched his retreating figure and spoke softly, her voice laced with honeyed allure. “Malthor, why waste a Dragonblood Pill on him? Let me go instead. Perhaps I can get twice the results with half the effort.”
Malthor leaned back in his recliner and closed his eyes, as if everything that had just happened was merely a trivial interlude.
He said indifferently, “Thymaleon may be useless, but at least he’s familiar with the enemy’s strength. One pill in exchange for a chance to probe the enemy’s capabilities is worth it. If he fails again…”
He scoffed and added, “Then we’ll have to reel in the fish ourselves. For now, keep the music up and let the dancers continue.”
The decadent melody filled the hall again, and the revelry of wine and feasting continued, as if nothing had happened. Beneath the rich aroma of wine and roasted meat, a faint, almost imperceptible trace of blood drifted in from beyond the doors.
