The Cunning Treasure Hunter

Chapter 33 Sovereignty: A Meeting of Titans

Sovereignty: A Meeting of Titans

Ebon looked down arrogantly as he spoke.

Vera quietly lowered her head. She could not afford to draw attention. Not now. It wasn't yet time to unveil her grand plans against the world.

"Yes, I am Marcus, the senior disciple among the third-generation of the Suncrest Sect. It is an honor to meet the leader of the Akrest Clan."

Marcus stepped forward, offering a respectful salute with practiced composure.

Ebon's furrowed brow seemed to ease slightly.

"A child well-versed in manners, I see. Do you know who I am?"

"If someone arrives with a carriage pulled by four horses, there can only be one such person from the Akrest Clan."

"You're sharp. That's correct. I am Ebon, the leader."

"It is an honor to meet you."

His calm tone conveyed polite but distant reverence, a formal courtesy appropriate for the encounter.

However, Theron, the leader's son, showed no interest in such niceties.

Instead, his gaze shifted to Vera, who stood quietly behind Marcus, her head lowered as if trying to avoid attention.

To an outsider, she seemed like nothing more than an ordinary third-generation disciple of Suncrest, a small, frail girl of little consequence.

But to Theron, she was anything but ordinary.

There was nothing to see—only a void.

'...What is this?'

It was the first time he had encountered such a thing.

It wasn't a simple matter of differences in cultivation level obscuring his vision.

No, this girl was like an endless abyss, cold and dark, as if standing at the heart of hell itself, where even flames had been extinguished.

"This is my son, Theron. Greet them," Ebon said.

Despite his father's words, Theron's gaze remained fixed on Vera, unable to look away.

Overwhelming curiosity ignited within him—a feeling he had never experienced in his sixteen years.

"Theron."

"Ah, yes. My name is Theron. Pleased to meet you."

He extended a hand, and Marcus reached out to shake it, though he quickly noticed that Theron's eyes were not on him.

They were locked on Vera, who stood behind him.

A warning rang instinctively in Marcus's mind.

"...It seems you're interested in my junior sister," he remarked pointedly.

It was not a question but a warning to let go of his interest.

Only then did Theron's gaze shift to Marcus. A smile spread across his face, but arrogance lingered at the corners of his mouth.

"Yes, I am interested."

"My junior sister is a disciple of Suncrest."

Vera blinked quietly from behind. Since Marcus was speaking, it was not her place to interject.

However, she understood the situation clearly.

Even so, there was no opportunity for her to step in, as Ebon's attention was now on her.

"There is talent within Suncrest," the leader said.

As the leader of the Akrest Clan, direct descendant of the Sword Sovereign, his acknowledgment of another sect's disciple carried significant weight.

His praise, rare as it was, signified that the talent before him was genuine.

Until now, he had only ever referred to one person as a talent—his son, Theron. Considering Theron's status as a genius born with the Heavenly Martial Constitution, this standard was incredibly high.

"Is that so, Father?"

"Yes. You will spar with this one."

At the mention of sparring, Vera tilted her head slightly, confused.

"You've only recently joined Suncrest, have you not?"

"Yes, I have," she replied, her gaze lowered.

Theron could not suppress the laugh that escaped his lips.

Marcus hesitated, unsure of what to say, but Vera answered calmly, "He appears strict."

"You're polite, aren't you?"

"I wouldn't speak ill of someone's father to their face," Vera replied without hesitation.

Theron's smile deepened, amusement gleaming in his eyes.

Interesting. He was beginning to think staying had been the right choice.

"Well then, since I'm the intruder here, I'll cover all expenses. Where shall we eat?"

* * *

"It has been a long time, Sect Leader."

"Welcome, leader. Do you prefer tea or wine?"

They were in the Scarlet Crown Chamber, the Sect Leader's personal quarters and office.

Ebon, leader of the Akrest Clan, had reached the pavilion shortly after ascending the mountain—a testament to his extraordinary movement techniques.

"Wine would be fine."

"Of course. Why not?"

Gideon, the Sect Leader, laughed heartily as he opened a cabinet.

Inside was a porcelain bottle sealed with a tightly bound cork.

As he unsealed it, a crisp and fragrant aroma filled the room.

"...'Golden Southern Spring Wine,' is it?"

"Indeed."

This was a famous wine, the first to ever be presented to the imperial court of Ravenhold. Even the Immortal Poet had sung its praises. A rare and precious treasure.

"Is it truly all right to serve such a fine wine?"

"Are we not of the same mind?"

"Heh... True, that we are."

The rigid expression on Ebon's face finally softened. He chuckled lightly, as if already tipsy.

"You there, outside the door."

"Yes, Sect Leader?"

"Go and fetch a plate of appetizers from below."

"Right away, sir."

The sound of footsteps quickly faded.

Gideon retrieved jade cups and poured a small measure of the clear liquid into each. Their reflections shimmered faintly on the surface of the wine.

"Let us savor the first cup. We'll wait for the appetizers before the next."

"An excellent idea."

The soft clink of jade cups filled the room.

They each took a sip, allowing the sharp yet refreshing taste to linger in their mouths.

As the warmth spread from their stomachs to their noses, the floral fragrance of the wine bloomed like paradise itself.

"Ahhh..."

"Of all the 'Golden Southern Spring Wine' wines I've tasted, this one is truly the best."

"It is the finest and most carefully crafted bottle I could procure."

"As expected of you, Sect Leader."

Gideon waved off the compliment with a laugh. But his smile soon faded.

Placing his cup down, he lowered his voice.

"How is the Sword Sovereign these days?"

"Regrettably, he remains in good health."

"Regrettably."

Their eyes met, carrying a shared understanding.

What pushes a man into despair is often his own inferiority—twisted emotions born of his inadequacies and shortcomings.

In this regard...

The two of them had much in common, despite the twenty years that separated their ages.