Chapter 543: The Detonator’s Choice
Everyone froze for a moment.
Williams rushed forward, catching Victor’s collapsing body and pulling him back.
"You’re seeking death..."
Roar!
Markham, who had just been knocked aside by Victor, bellowed with fury. Golden light flared around him, and a dragon-shaped blast of energy surged toward the intruder.
The man facing him raised one hand, a milky-white glow spilling from his palm. He drew a circle through the air, and Markham’s blazing attack veered off course, streaking past and slamming into the stone.
Boom!
The explosion rocked the ground, shards of rock flying as the impact shook the surroundings.
"Veilhand... it’s you... Liam!"
Markham’s voice faltered as recognition struck. His eyes hardened with unease.
Liam— one of the most formidable of the Noble Eight Lineages.
Markham was still counted among the younger generation, but Liam belonged to the one before him, the same era as Markham’s aunt. That gap alone spoke volumes.
---
In the heart of the Hidden Territory, at the Whitmore family estate, a deafening boom echoed through the mountains.
The Chase siblings rushed outside just in time to see Matriarch Whitmore and Aunt Melinda soaring skyward on golden dragons, racing toward the source of the blast at the territory’s entrance.
"What happened?" Ryan shouted.
"I don’t know. Let’s find out!" Leeroy sprinted toward the sound.
Before they could get far, a golden streak shot back toward them. Matriarch Whitmore had returned at impossible speed. Without a word, she seized Evelyn and streaked off again in the same direction.
Leeroy and Ryan exchanged stunned looks. They both knew the Matriarch would never harm Evelyn.
"Hurry, I can smell blood on her!" Leeroy snapped.
Even as he spoke, his body shifted, fur rippling across his skin as he transformed into a massive wolfdog. He bounded forward at top speed.
Ryan slapped a runic parchment against his leg, the sigil flaring as it boosted his stride. On the way, they passed Maria; another parchment shot out to catch her leg, propelling her along with them.
In moments, they reached the entrance.
There, Evelyn was already on her knees, tending desperately to someone. It was Victor, his body pierced by a flying blade.
So that was why the Matriarch had gone back for her.
---
"Liam Silverwood! How dare you bring chaos into the Whitmore family’s Hidden Territory? Do you take me for some feeble old woman?"
Matriarch Whitmore planted herself before everyone, dragon-headed staff gripped tightly in her hands, her gaze unyielding.
"With all due respect, Matriarch, do you really think I would come here unprepared?"
Liam Silverwood gave a faint, unsettling smile. Slowly, he undid the buttons of his shirt.
Every eye locked onto him. The atmosphere tightened.
Beneath his clothes was a coiled mass of explosives, wires and fuses crisscrossing his torso like a deadly net.
The Matriarch’s Dragon Soul Shield flickered instantly to life, shimmering around her, and in a flash Liam was bound within its confines.
"That shield won’t hold me," Liam said smoothly. He drew a leather pouch from his waist, turned it over, and spilled its contents.
Wooden crates tumbled to the ground, piling at his feet. One by one he opened them, revealing more explosives stacked inside.
"I wonder," he mused, his tone almost casual, "what kind of damage five tons of TNT would do to your Whitmore family’s precious Hidden Territory?
And one more thing, Matriarch—don’t think of attacking me. This detonator is tied directly to my heart. The moment it stops beating, it will go off. Boom." He laughed harshly, the sound grating against the silence.
The Matriarch’s grip on her staff tightened. She had been ready to strike, but his words rooted her in place.
No one had foreseen such a twisted move. Even Whitmore herself, usually unshakable, hesitated.
"I’m sorry... this is all my fault," Lyla whispered from behind.
No one replied. Aunt Melinda stepped to her side, clasped her hand, and squeezed firmly, a quiet comfort. Now was not the time for blame.
The crowd fell into uneasy silence. Even Liam stood quietly, a smile fixed on his face, watching them like a predator waiting for its prey to stumble.
---
"No... the blade was poisoned," Evelyn’s strained voice broke through the tension. She had been bent over Victor, her hands glowing faintly as she worked. Her expression was pale, drawn with worry. "It’s the same venom that afflicted the Quinn family’s old patriarch. I can only seal his energy pathways for now to slow the spread, but it won’t last.
I’m afraid... only Ethan can cure this."
"Not even Dr. Aldric?" Aunt Melinda asked sharply, turning toward her.
Evelyn shook her head as she crouched over Victor Grant. He lay limp and pale, and every line of her face was carved with worry. Leo and Williams stood like coiled springs at her sides, fists clenched, eyes hard on Liam Silverwood. If the explosives had not been there, they would have been on him already.
A shriek cut the tense air. Celia had arrived last; as an ordinary person she had been the slowest to notice. By the time she reached the clearing, much of the confrontation had already unfolded. Seeing Victor sprawled on the ground, she gasped and threw herself across him.
"Speak. What are your demands?" Lyla pushed past Matriarch Whitmore and faced Liam.
"Demands?" Liam’s laugh was thin and mirthless. "They are simple. I meant for all of you to die with me. Do you know why I have not yet detonated this?" He let the question hang, then answered it himself. "Because the one who must die has not shown himself. But even if he never appears, leaving him alive while you all burn might be more painful. So I will give him a choice. Either you all die, or he dies. Where is Ethan? Tell him to come out now."
There was no mistaking the cruelty in his voice. Negotiation was a joke. Lyla’s face drained of color. The truth struck her: she had brought them here. If she had not come from Ashwick, perhaps she would have been taken instead, leaving the others safe. Now she had dragged everyone close to Ethan into a trap. Regret flooded her, sharp and hot. On the climb up the mountain Markham and the others had said Ethan was nowhere to be found. Now she had no plan, only fear.
"My patience is limited," Liam said, and his calm began to crack. "Ethan, come out."
Just then a soft voice said, "Are you calling me?"
Relief hit like a tide. Heads turned. There, crouched on the ground, was Ethan. Green light pulsed from his hands as he steered it into Victor’s wound. Black fluid welled and spilled, and a foul stench filled the air. Ethan worked calmly, his fingers moving in precise motions, weaving one skill after another. He did not look at Liam, did not answer his roars.
Slowly, Victor’s color returned. He was still pale, but the worst had passed.
"Celia, do not worry. Victor will live. He will need a few days to recover." Ethan’s voice was steady as he gripped the hilt of the flying blade and tugged. The blade slid free with a spray of blood. Ethan sealed the wound with a healing technique, and the cut knit visibly.
Liam watched, a smirk curling his lips. He bellowed a few times, but Ethan did not so much as glance his way. The smirk sharpened into impatience. Confidence, not fear, showed on his face.
When Ethan rose, his gaze found Lyla. She had not cried until then, but the sight of him steadied something in her. Tears came quick and loud. She ran three steps and flung herself into his arms.
Ethan hesitated, surprised. Then he closed his hands around her. For eight years he had longed for this, and now he held the person he cared for. The scent she wore was familiar, yet the moment felt new. His heart beat faster, a small, private joy.
That fragile quiet lasted only an instant. Liam’s voice cut through it, sharp and furious. "Enough! Do you think I am invisible?"
He raised his right hand for all to see. Clutched in his palm was an active detonator.