CHAPTER 133: CHAINS OF BLOOD AND PRIDE.

Kael’s fists clenched tightly at his sides, his fingers digging into his palms. But he said nothing, keeping his silence like a shield.

Erian’s smirk faded almost immediately, replaced by a cold, serious expression. He fixed Kael with a hard look and spoke firmly.

"Stay away from my sister."

Before Cecelia could say anything, Erian’s eyes snapped to her, cutting her off with a sharp glare.

"I said, stay away."

The warning was hung over.

Without warning, Erian’s arm moved—fast, like a striking viper. There was no hesitation, no sign of a warning blow.

His fist cut through the air with a sharp whip sound, the force behind it carrying the weight of someone who had clearly trained for years and years.

Kael barely had time to register what was happening. One moment, he was standing there, breathing steadily. The next, Erian’s knuckles crashed squarely into his stomach.

CRACK!

The impact was brutal. Kael’s head snapped violently to the side, a flash of white exploding in his vision.

The sheer power of the punch lifted his feet off the ground, sending him stumbling backward.

His body hit the dirt several meters away, skidding across the rough cobblestone street until his shoulder slammed against a wooden crate.

A sharp, throbbing pain spread from his jaw to his temple, and his teeth ached from clenching too hard. His breath came out ragged, each inhale burning in his chest.

For a brief second, it felt as if the entire street tilted beneath him.

"Kael!" Cecelia’s voice rang out, sharp and filled with alarm. She rushed forward, her hands clenched tightly into fists, her expression caught between anger and disbelief.

"Erian! Have you lost your mind?!"

Erian stood a few steps away, his cold eyes fixed on Kael as if he were swatting away an insect.

He shook his hand once, flexing his fingers as though the impact hadn’t hurt him in the slightest.

"He’s a nobody," he said with a low, disdainful voice. "The Lia family doesn’t associate with nobodies."

Cecelia’s eyes flared. "That doesn’t give you the right to hit him!"

Erian ignored her, his lips curling into the faintest smirk as he took a step forward.

"If he can’t take a single punch from me, then he doesn’t even deserve to be near you."

Kael groaned, pushing himself up from the ground. His cheek burned, and he could already feel the swelling beginning to form.

He spat a trace of blood onto the cobblestones, his gaze never leaving Erian.

"That... all you got? hahaha" he muttered.

That small defiance only made Erian’s smirk widen.

The Lia family—one of the wealthiest and most influential dynasties in the eastern provinces—was a name that carried both admiration and fear.

Their family crest, a golden lily blooming against a deep black field, was a symbol recognized in every major trade city.

Merchants spoke the name "Lia" with respect, while rivals whispered it with envy.

Their influence stretched far beyond the bustling markets of Elaris. They controlled critical trade routes that connected the eastern provinces to the distant southern kingdoms.

The Lia family’s coin reached deep into merchant guilds, shipping fleets, and even the royal court itself.

Their estate in Elaris was more than just a grand home—it was a fortress. Towering walls surrounded its sprawling gardens and marble halls.

Armed guards patrolled day and night, their polished armor gleaming in the sun. Inside, the estate was filled with wealth from across the world, shimmering silks from desert caravans, rare spices whose scent lingered in the air, gemstones that caught the light like captured stars.

Gold and silver flowed into the Lia coffers as effortlessly as rivers emptying into the sea.

But with all this wealth came arrogance—an arrogance so deeply rooted it had become part of the family’s bloodline.

And no one embodied that more than Cecelia’s elder brother, Erianlia.

To Erian, wealth and status weren’t important.

In his eyes, people like Kael, born without a famous name or fortune, didn’t deserve even a second glance... unless they made the mistake of stepping too close to the Lia family’s golden circle.

Kael, for his part, had never expected this encounter. He remembered and in the events of the novel he knew—Cecelia’s brother had never been mentioned. Not once.

He had no memory, no warning, no image of this man waiting in the shadows. And yet, here Erian was: a force of status, pride, and authority, standing like a wall between Kael and Cecelia.

"You’re disgusting," Cecelia said, her voice trembling with tears in her eyes, but barely contained fury. Her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her knuckles had gone white.

"If Father saw you do this—"

Erian didn’t even let her finish. His voice cut through hers like a blade. "He will throw you out," he said smoothly, each word dripping with confidence and authority.

There wasn’t a trace of shame in his tone—only the certainty that he was untouchable.

"You’ve been too soft, Cecelia," he went on, his eyes narrowing.

"Talking to beggars. Strolling through the streets without guards. And now..." He gestured toward Kael with a flick of his hand, as if pointing to something foul on the ground.

"...walking around with this."

His lip curled, his gaze dripping with disdain.

"It’s beneath you."

Kael slowly straightened, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

The sting in his cheek throbbed, but his eyes were steady as they locked with Erian’s. His voice was calm, but there was steel in it.

"If you’re done talking," Kael said, "excuse me for a moment."

"Not until you swear," Erian replied, his tone dropping into something cold and commanding, "to keep your distance from my sister."

Kael didn’t answer. He didn’t even look at Erian again. Instead, he turned his attention to Rin, crouching to help the boy gather the coins that had been scattered across the cobblestones.

(Though this is the world of a novel, each person living here has their own feelings—raw, complex, and deeply real. They are not merely names on a page or characters acting out a script. ) he thought.

(To them, this land is their reality, their home, and their lives are shaped by laughter, sorrows and ambition)