CHAPTER 313: CHAPTER 313 FAVORITE

"What do you mean?" Alexander asked, his voice unsteady as he stared at the empty cup in his hand.

A strange heat pulsed through his veins, radiating outward like waves of molten energy.

His aching joints no longer throbbed, and his once-weak limbs now felt firm and alive.

For the first time in decades, his heart did not pound with effort but with vigor.

It felt as though the years had melted away, returning him to the prime of his youth.

Riley smiled faintly, his eyes glinting with something his father could not yet understand.

"You’ll know soon enough, Father," he said softly. His tone held no arrogance, only certainty—a certainty that unsettled Alexander more than any confident boast ever could.

"Go on now. I still have work to do."

Before his father could question him further, Riley moved gracefully toward his mother and leaned down, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek.

"I love you, Mom," he whispered, his voice warm and affectionate, as though nothing in the world had changed.

To her, he was still the same loving son, but the reality was far beyond anything she could imagine.

With an easy smile, Riley turned and left the room, his footsteps light, unhurried—yet each step carried the weight of destiny.

He returned to his chambers where a dim glow flickered against the walls, emanating from a cluster of rare herbs and arcane symbols etched into the floor.

His desk was a chaotic blend of ancient scrolls and modern instruments, the remnants of sleepless nights spent decoding forbidden truths.

Little did his parents know that they had crossed a threshold no mortal had ever touched.

The moment they sipped from those cups, their fates were severed from the natural order.

Death could no longer claim them.

If their heads were severed, new ones would bloom upon their shoulders.

If their bodies were burned to ashes, Riley could reach into the depths of hell itself, seize their wandering souls, and breathe life into a freshly forged vessel.

The laws of life and death—concepts worshiped and feared for eons—meant nothing before him now.

Riley had now found myriad ways to break them, rewrite them, and chain them to his will.

The things he had learned from the Immortal Treasure were not merely techniques or spells.

They were truths older than time, knowledge whispered by gods and demons alike.

Arts to bend reality, to weave flesh from nothingness, to command the cycle of rebirth as easily as one might command the tide.

As Riley sat at his desk, his fingers tracing the runes glowing faintly upon the parchment, his eyes burned with an ambition that no mortal language could name.

He would find ways to defeat Sunny in this realm or another.

***

Two more years passed in silence, slipping away like grains of sand through a clenched fist.

Riley was twenty-five now.

In that time, he had become something no one in the mortal realm—or even most immortals—could imagine.

The knowledge within the Immortal Treasure had been an ocean without end, yet he had drained it, mastered it, and bent its secrets to his will.

What others would spend millennia chasing—fragmented truths, scraps of power—he had devoured and perfected in a mere handful of years.

He had grown beyond the petty struggles of men, and even beyond the limits of many so-called gods.

And yet, outwardly, Riley remained the dutiful son, the heir of his clan.

His true nature was a shadow, hidden behind an easy smile.

He had hoped, perhaps naively, that the years to come would grant him peace—a chance to quietly observe the world and shape it at his leisure.

But peace was a myth in places where power reigned supreme. He was a clan heir.

His bloodline was a throne. And a throne never sat empty without drawing blood.

One crisp morning, as sunlight bled through the carved lattice windows of his chamber, a knock came at his door.

Steady, deliberate—bearing the weight of authority.

"Enter," Riley called without lifting his gaze from the scroll in his hands.

Ancient sigils glowed faintly on its surface, pulsing in rhythm with his own heartbeat.

The door opened, and Alexander stepped inside.

Time had etched lines upon his father’s face, but his presence was as commanding as ever.

A patriarch in every sense—broad-shouldered, his aura still sharp enough to slice through silence like a blade.

"I’ve waited long enough, Riley," Alexander said, his voice firm, threaded with something colder—urgency. "It’s time for you to fulfill your obligation."

Riley looked up slowly, his eyes calm pools that revealed nothing.

Setting the scroll aside, he leaned back in his chair, studying his father with quiet amusement.

"If that obligation is to lead the clan, Father," he said lightly, "then I’d bet on the twins instead. They’d be far more thrilled about such an endeavor than I ever would."

The corner of Alexander’s mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite disapproval.

The twins had been born a year ago, a boy and a girl, full of life and promise.

Their arrival had brought joy to the household and whispers among the elders about succession.

But Alexander’s eyes carried no mirth now.

"They’re far too young," he said, his tone heavy, each word measured. "And time... time is something we don’t have."

The weight of that statement did not escape Riley.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, his black robe cascading like liquid shadow, and walked toward the window.

Beyond the carved lattice, the vast expanse of the clan’s territory stretched to the horizon—gardens, courtyards, training fields, all thriving under a fragile peace.

"Then enlighten me, Father," he said softly, his back still turned. "What is it you need me to do?"

He thought little of it at first.

Perhaps a minor quest, a diplomatic errand, some ceremonial rite.

Nothing more than a trivial task.

He was wrong.

"I need you to marry the daughter of the Osprey Clan," Alexander said, his voice cutting through the still air like a drawn blade.

The silence that followed was profound, as though even the wind dared not intrude.

Riley exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the window frame, and turned to face his father.

His expression was unreadable, a calm mask stretched over something vast and unspoken.

A political marriage. Of course. The oldest weapon in the arsenal of power.

He knew the necessity of it. The Rice Clan and the Osprey Clan were two great pillars of equal strength in the region, their uneasy alliance balanced on a knife’s edge.

Without this marriage, that fragile peace would shatter, and when it did, rivers would run red with blood.

Entire cities would burn.

"The Ospreys..." Riley murmured, almost to himself. His mind was already moving, sharp and quick as a blade in the dark.

"I suppose their daughter has no say in this matter either?"

Alexander’s jaw tightened. "This is bigger than either of you. It is for the future of our clans, for the stability of the region."

Riley’s lips curved into something that might have been a smile—or perhaps the ghost of one.

"Stability," he repeated, savoring the word as though testing its weight. "Peace built on a leash and a collar."

His father frowned, but Riley waved a hand dismissively and returned to his desk, the scroll still glowing faintly in the dim light.

"Very well, Father. I’ll meet this daughter of theirs."

Alexander’s stern expression softened with relief, though suspicion flickered briefly in his eyes.

Riley had agreed too easily.

But he said nothing more, only nodding before turning to leave.

When the door shut behind him, the chamber fell into silence once more.

Riley stood there for a long moment, staring at the sigils etched across the scroll, their glow reflected in his eyes like fragments of starlight.

Marriage... an old tool for old men.

To bind him with chains of duty, to tame him with the illusion of responsibility. How quaint.

A low chuckle slipped past his lips.

***

A month later, the announcement shook the region like a sudden storm.

The union between the Rice Clan and the Osprey Clan—two of the most powerful forces in the land—was now official.

Their marriage pact was the talk of every hall and marketplace, from the bustling city streets to the quiet mountain villages.

Whispers spread like wildfire.

Some welcomed the news, praising the promise of peace and stability it would bring.

Others cursed it in hushed tones, fearing what such an alliance might mean for their own ambitions.

The balance of power was shifting, and whenever power moved, blood was never far behind.

But such murmurs held no weight in Riley’s mind.

Let the world gossip and speculate; their voices were nothing more than wind against an unyielding mountain.

What mattered to him was not the clamor of commoners or the schemes of rival clans—it was the simple fact that his bride would soon arrive.

Another month passed before that day finally came.

The gates of the Rice Clan stood open in solemn grandeur, banners fluttering like tongues of crimson and gold as an entourage approached from beyond the horizon.

Riley stood beneath the shadow of the ancestral hall, his posture languid yet commanding, his gaze fixed upon the procession that wound its way through the courtyard like a living serpent.

Today, he would see her for the first time—the daughter of the Osprey Clan.

The woman bound to him by duty, politics, and fate.

And though the world believed this was a union for peace, Riley knew better.

To him, this was nothing more than the opening move in a far greater game.