CHAPTER 116: THE FURY WAY

CH116 The Fury Way

***

"You—!"

Veins bulged on Kurt’s neck, his face twisted in rage.

His hand clenched the armrest of his seat so tightly that the wood creaked, nearly splintering under the pressure.

But Alex didn’t even spare him a glance.

He ignored the still-standing and fuming Viscount Lars as well, focusing entirely on the five seated at the high table. He was waiting for their response—not from fools puffed up by borrowed courage.

A flicker of something passed through Countess Megan’s eyes.

’He’s definitely not the same boy from eight years ago,’ she thought silently, eyes narrowing.

’What an interesting brat you’ve raised, Drake...’ Count Gordon mused, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement.

Count Vincent’s thoughts remained as unreadable as the shroud of gloom that seemed to constantly surround him.

Baron Aiden, however, had a very visible frown creasing his brow. As a man who prided himself on refined nobility, Alex’s blunt disregard for etiquette clearly offended him.

But none of them spoke.

They all understood one thing clearly—

This was theatre.

And the man conducting the entire performance... was Earl Drake Fury.

Finally, the Earl spoke.

"It is as Kurt said. That does give them some leeway to speak. Do you have thoughts to the contrary? What say you?"

Alex gave a soft shrug.

"I have nothing to say," he said plainly, drawing a few surprised glances. "But our forebears do."

He stood slowly, letting the weight of his words settle.

"Virtute Furor... Ex Furore Victoria.

"Fury through strength... From Fury, victory."

His voice echoed clearly across the room.

"These are not empty words. They are carved into our crest. Etched into the bones of our Ancestors. They embody the core values—the very soul—of House Fury."

He turned his gaze to the five at the high table, meeting each of their eyes one by one.

"To be a Fury means to seize everything with power and to rule only by the strength to dominate others. Each of you earned your seats not through consensus or titles... but by overwhelming power that silenced all opposition."

Then, slowly, Alex turned his gaze to Viscount Lars and his supporters.

"But now... you dare invoke the collective voice of the Fury Family?"

"A ’Family Council’ chosen by the masses?"

His voice sharpened.

"You seek to punish me for allegedly misusing the Ancestral Grounds? No. Your very existence—this false council—is what insults the legacy of our Ancestors!"

A tense silence filled the room.

Alex didn’t let up.

"If anyone should be punished... it is you lot. Every last one of you."

Viscount Lars’s face turned ashen. He stepped forward in protest, his voice rising—

"You’ve gone too far, Al—"

"Quiet, old man!"

Alex’s voice thundered through the hall.

"The Family Head has not given you leave to speak. Has your farce of a title as the spokesperson of the Family Council made you forget your place as well?!"

A wave of Regal Dominance—raw, crushing—burst out from Alex.

It slammed into Viscount Lars like a storm wall, locking him in place. The man’s breath caught in his throat as his knees nearly gave out.

’What... such terrifying pressure and Spiritual Force...!’ the old man thought, trembling inwardly.

Alex casually recalled his Aura, then turned toward Earl Drake.

"I have charges to raise against Viscount Lars and the so-called Family Council. May I proceed?"

"You may," Earl Drake replied, the edge of amusement now clearly visible in his usually unreadable eyes.

Alex nodded once and walked from his seat, calm and composed, to the front of the long table—right in front of the seated upper echelon.

"One creed. Three laws," Alex declared. "To be a member of the Fury Family, one must follow them without question. To defy them... is treason."

"Our supreme creed is simple—Power is supreme.

"In this family, everything is earned, taken, and kept through strength."

There was a magnetic pull to Alex’s voice—sharp and commanding. No one dared interrupt, especially with Viscount Lars still locked in place, a living warning of what happened to those who crossed the line.

Alex continued, his tone unrelenting:

"As for the laws of our family... I shouldn’t need to remind you,"

His eyes swept the room—calm, but laced with iron.

"Yet, I will."

"First—All members of the Fury family shall maintain and ensure the continuity of the bloodline."

"Second—There shall be no internal battles or power struggles between the direct forces of family members."

"Third—and most important in this case—The strongest among us shall guard the Ancestral Awakening Grounds... and be recognised as the Head of House Fury."

His voice dropped a fraction, but the weight behind it only grew heavier.

"Nowhere—nowhere—in our laws is there any mention of a ’Family Council’. And certainly not one with the audacity to undermine the power and authority of the Family Head."

Alex turned slightly, locking eyes with Viscount Lars and his gathered supporters.

"Earl Drake is the strongest in the family. His personal legion protects the Ancestral Grounds. It is through this right, and by his power, that I entered the Ancestral Grounds."

He paused.

Then admitted, bluntly:

"Was it fair to other members of the family that I entered the Awakening Grounds for a second time more than a month after my fifteenth birthday?"

He raised an eyebrow.

"No. It wasn’t."

The room stirred with the tension of unspoken words. But before anyone could voice dissent, Alex pressed on:

"And so what?"

The boldness of the statement stunned the room into stillness.

"I am the son of the Family Head. The son of the man who safeguards this land. The son of the most powerful man in House Fury."

"According to the Creed of our family—I had the power.

"So, I took what I wanted."

He gestured broadly across the room.

"If you have the strength to do the same... then you’re welcome to try.

"That is the Fury way."

He let his words linger, thick in the air like smoke after a blast.

Then, still facing the flushed and fuming Viscount Lars and his faction, he resumed:

"Your so-called Family Council, your motion to punish me—it isn’t just foolish.

"It’s heresy."

"You’ve slighted the honour of the main line. You’ve challenged the legitimacy of Earl Drake’s authority."

"For that alone, punishment is due.

"Not from the authority of the family head... no, no. Your judgement will come from our branch itself."

A chill swept through the chamber.

"What? Who are you to decide that? You’ve no right!" Viscount Lars shouted, his voice shrill and defensive—like a cornered beast baring its fangs.

Alex turned calmly to Earl Drake.

The Earl, stone-faced as ever, gave the faintest smirk.

"Carry on. What right do you have to speak of?" he said, fanning the flames with deliberate ease.

Turning to Kurt, Alex smiled.

It was a brilliant, innocent smile.

And it made Kurt’s heart skip. His instincts screamed.

Something terrible was coming.

Then Alex looked back to Viscount Lars, voice disarmingly gentle.

"Relax, Viscount Lars," he said almost kindly.

Then continued, ignoring the earlier protest entirely:

"I’m not saying we should send my father’s elite troops to wipe out the paltry little gathering you call the Council’s ’private force’."

"That would violate the second law of the family: ’There shall be no internal battles or power struggles between the direct forces of family members.’"

He paused again, eyes gleaming.

"Fortunately for you," he said slowly, "I happen to respect family law."

Some members of the so-called Family Council sighed in relief.

But not Viscount Lars.

He stared at Alex with narrowed eyes and a cautious tension that betrayed his fear.

And Alex didn’t disappoint.

"Instead," he declared calmly, "we’ll settle this affront the Fury way... with a duel."

Murmurs swept the hall. Several faces instantly paled.

A duel?

They knew what that meant.

According to Fury tradition, a duel within the bloodline was decided by each line’s representative.

And for Alex’s line, that meant none other than—Earl Drake Fury.

The blood drained from several faces.

They knew they weren’t ready for a clash against that man.

Alex frowned deeply, feigning disappointment as he took in their shaken expressions.

"You call yourselves Furies... yet you flinch before the duel has even begun." He snorted.

"But don’t worry," he added with deliberate nonchalance. "My father, as the Head of the House, must officiate the duel. He won’t be fighting."

Gasps escaped a few lips.

That meant...

"Which also means," Alex continued, "your line’s heads won’t be fighting either."

"This will be a duel between heirs. Your heirs... against the heir of Earl Drake Fury’s line."

Murmurs erupted in the hall once more.

And as if expecting protest, Alex raised a hand and spoke again—firm and final.

"This... is the only way allowed by the laws of our family."

And just like that, he closed off all paths of retreat.

The only one with the authority to stop this now was Earl Drake himself.

All eyes turned to the Mad Earl.

Earl Drake leaned forward slightly on his throne-like seat, the weight of his presence falling on everyone.

"The boy is right," he said with his usual stoic calm.

"This is our way. The Fury way..."

But then he added, with a glint in his eye:

"But you have one problem, boy. I haven’t yet to name my official heir."

His words cut through the room like a blade.

"So, there’s no one to represent my line. And by your own logic... this entire matter becomes a non-issue."

Instantly, the expressions of Viscount Lars and his cohort shifted.

Realisation struck.

’That damned brat... he tricked us!’

’So this was his aim all along—to get the issue dismissed!’

Even the others in the room, including many on the upper seats, reached a similar conclusion.

’Clever. Slippery as expected from a mage,’ thought Count Vincent, the gloom behind his gaze deepening.

’Always been a bright one, that lad...’ mused Countess Megan.

’Not quite the ending I had in mind,’ Count Gordon chuckled to himself, ’but it was entertaining enough.’

’A glib tongue on one from the Drake line... this is dangerous,’ thought Baron Aiden, his frown deepening.

But then—

Alex spoke again.

And shattered their assumptions.

"Oh, that’s not a problem, Family Head," he said casually.

"The duel between our lines will happen. We just need to resolve one thing first—"

He turned, his gaze settling on Kurt.

"—the matter of the heir position."

Kurt stood suddenly. "What are you talking about?"

Alex smiled.

"Oh, nothing much, little brother of mine. Since you’ve been eyeing what should rightfully be mine... we might as well settle it."

He stepped forward, voice rising—measured and sharp like the edge of a blade.

"A Fury duel... to decide the heir."

"Winner takes all."

"And the loser..."

He paused, letting his words hang like a guillotine above the room.

"...loses everything."

**