Even away from the port, the air in Wenster remained cold and biting.
Ethan stood beside the halted car, gazing at the silent, expansive manor before him, and for a mont, he felt as though he were staring at a grave.
As one of the five major Mafia families in Wenster, the Bolita family rightfully owned a private manor.
This manor was situated in the eastern suburbs of Wenster, adjacent to the affluent district, and covered an extensive area. It was the legacy of Ethan’s great-grandfather’s generation, and now it was about to change hands.
"Let’s go, young master, Al is waiting for you," Anya finally spoke after standing quietly for a while by his side.
Ethan nodded, stepping into the manor.
The manor was very quiet, as if hardly anyone was left.
Anya walked alongside him, slowly explaining, "Yesterday, after the diation ended, Al instructed to dismiss the household staff."
Ethan’s father, Alberto, had only ever married one woman, Ethan’s birth mother. After her death from complications during Ethan’s birth, Alberto never married again.
So, after his elder brother Leonardo died along with the family’s elite, there really were few people left in the household.
Crossing the long lawn, Ethan entered the sowhat aged family residence.
The house was unlit, appearing gloomy and cold.
Anya picked up an oil lamp and lit it, leading the way ahead.
Eventually, they stopped in front of a room deep on the second floor.
Anya gently knocked on the wooden door and said, "Al, Young Master Ethan is back."
Anya, who had always been indifferent and chanical in tone, was now extrely respectful.
"Co in," a voice called from inside after a mont.
Anya responded by opening the door; the room had lamps lit, but with the curtains tightly closed, only the illuminated areas were visible.
On a velvet-covered bed, a middle-aged man leaned against the pillows, looking at them. The lamp’s glow reflected on his face, making it appear sallow and weak.
Alberto.
Even though he was just over fifty, Ethan detected a scent of exhaustion as if Alberto was nearing the end of his candle.
Anya had quietly left, closing the door behind her.
Now there were only two people in the room.
"Ethan, co here, let have a good look at you."
Despite Alberto’s frail condition, as he spoke, there was still an aura of a commanding lion giving orders.
Ethan had no choice but to comply, slowly moving over to sit at the edge of the bed.
"Listen to , Ethan, the family is ruined, but this has nothing to do with you. You’ve always been a good person, so you don’t need to be afraid. You only need to do two things: one, sign away everything the family owns in Wenster tonight; two, leave Wenster and return to the Royal Capital. I’ve already prepared a ship for you, it departs tonight."
Alberto said everything in one breath, leaving no room for unnecessary words.
Ethan didn’t know how to react; after a long pause, he finally asked, "What about you... father?"
"I’m going to die, my son. Maybe tonight, maybe the next mont."
Alberto laughed, the smile bringing so color to his face, yet making it appear even more bizarre.
Suddenly, he grabbed Ethan’s arm with such force that it hurt.
"Listen, my son, don’t yearn for everything in Wenster. Live out the rest of your life in the Royal Capital well, be an artist, just as your mother hoped. The property I’ve left in the Royal Capital is enough for you."
Ethan looked at the man who was theoretically his father, feelings mixed.
He wasn’t very emotional, but he could still feel the sincerity of the man.
So he nodded.
Alberto released his grip, closed his eyes, and leaned back against the pillow.
Thus ended their conversation.
Ethan rose to leave.
But just as he reached the door, he suddenly heard a crisp sound, as if sothing tallic had fallen to the ground.
Turning back, he saw sothing rolling from the side of the bed, stopping only at his feet.
Under the dim light, he recognized it: a jet-black ring, entwined with indescribable patterns, reminiscent of black mud or thorns.
He realized it was the Bolita Clan leader’s insignia.
Looking back to its source, Alberto’s left hand lay limp on the bed, clearly the ring had slipped from it.
Seeing this, Ethan had a bad premonition. Picking up the ring, he walked to the bed and softly called out to his father, holding Alberto’s hand.
Alberto’s hand was turning cold inch by inch.
There was no need to check his breathing; he was gone.
Just as he himself had said, he was going to die, maybe tonight, maybe the next mont.
Until the last mont, he clutched that ring, his mind focused on the family, yet he said nothing to Ethan.
Because Ethan was a good person, he wanted Ethan to live out his life well.
A deeper sense of sothing enveloped Ethan, the man before him had done his utmost for both family and loved ones.
After holding the ring in silence for a while, Ethan went out to find Anya.
Hearing of Alberto’s death, Anya rely nodded and said, "Young master, your room is ready. You might want to take a bath and rest. I’ll handle everything here."
Her tone remained flat, but her eyes unmistakably betrayed deep grief.
Ethan didn’t know what to say, so he left first.
Arriving at the room deep on the second floor of the standalone house next to the main building, Ethan sat on the bed waiting for the bathtub to fill with hot water.
This day had been filled with countless overwhelming events, and he needed a bath to calm himself.
Subconsciously stroking the insignia entwined with black mud and thorns, he suddenly felt a certain vibration, followed by an intensely bright light surging before him, just as it had been on the ship. Like a living creature, the silvery substance writhed, slowly wrapping around the insignia in his palm.
Soon after, the insignia also emitted so light, which was pitch black and fleeting before being consud by the thing.
Then, as if a voice was telling him, or like a physiological response of breathing or blood flow, he had to do sothing.
Declare your na.
Ethan was taken aback.
It was real, unbelievably real, not an illusion.
Initially on the ship, he thought it was an aftereffect of the crossing, but now he knew it was real—he had really brought the ’True God’s Na’ with him.
And in this world, there were similar things.
The black light from the insignia was proof.
Didn’t that make him invincible?
In that ga, having the ’True God’s Na’ equated to becoming a god, where spoken words beca reality. As long as a na was declared, everything that na encompassed in terms of sovereignty and power would be under control.
Gazing at the writhing, blindingly bright rcury-like entity, Ethan took a deep breath, slowly uttering a word.
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