Chapter 21: The Cold Blade of the east.(Envy).

  The envoy’s sandals clicked against polished wood as they entered the hall. They had crossed a garden first—stone lanterns glowing, gravel raked with monk-like precision, koi swirling in still ponds. The air itself whispered of a house older than any foreign dynasty, a place where every guest was reminded: you walk on borrowed time here.

  At the far end of the chamber, seated before a low lacquered table, was the Oyabun. His suit was immaculate. Before him lay a single sheathed katana, its quiet presence louder than words. Six lieutenants flanked him in formal posture, colors of their tattoos peeking where silk slipped—dragons, oni, chrysanthemums inked on flesh and scar alike.

  “Welcome,” the Oyabun said, voice quiet, almost kind. He bowed a fraction—enough to mark courtesy, never submission. “You carry words from the Twelve Families.”

  [Name: Ochiru-ryu (The Fallen Dragon)

  Homo Branch: Chimera — Dragon-born

  Ability: Poison

  Title: Head of the Ryūrei-Zoku

  Affiliation: One of the Seven Deadly Sin Families of the Underworld (Envy)]

  The katana before him remained sheathed, yet his presence alone promised death far slower—and far crueler—than steel.

  The envoy leader began, reciting lines practiced countless times: rebels, attacks abroad, the Blood Pendant. In this hall, each syllable felt heavier, as if uttering it were sacrilege.

  When he finished, the Oyabun poured tea. He did not drink. He set the cup down without breaking eye contact.

  “Hm…You ask us to remain outside the hunt,” he said. The stillness in the room made his even tone thunderous. “Such a thing… it does not sound like a request. It is sounds more like an insult. Our forefathers hunted under blood moons before your 12 Families learned to crawl among the stars. To deny us this right is to erase our truth and tradition.”

  He raised one hand. A lieutenant obeyed instantly, dragging in a bound man. The hall remained silent as the wakagashira—his elder brother—slid forward, smiling faintly, and drew his blade. One clean stroke opened the man’s belly. A dishonor paid in red.

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  The envoys did not flinch. The Oyabun’s eyes lingered on them.

  “Tell your masters,” the Oyabun said, voice carrying over the faint patter of blood on wood, “the hunt is not theirs to command. It belongs to those bold and brave, who dare to draw steel beneath the red moon.”

  Only when the corpse was carried out and the floor wiped clean did he lift his teacup, sip once, and set it down. The audience was over.

  ?

  Later, in the garden, the Oyabun stood before the koi pond. Lantern-light flickered across his features, but his eyes remained unreadable. Beside him, his brother crouched, scattering pellets of food into the water. Only… they were not pellets. Small wet lumps—fragments of the executed man—splashed into the pond, sending the koi into a frenzy.

  “So… what do you think?” the Oyabun asked without looking away.

  His brother shrugged, tossing in another piece. “Clear as day. They didn’t even bother to hide the trail. Clumsy bastards.”

  “Mm.” The Oyabun folded his hands behind his back. “A trail towards what?”

  “Towards a trap,” the elder brother said, smiling as though amused. “They parade their failure—the pendant stolen, the rebels emergence —but that’s just bait. Dangle a little secret, let us bite, and finally reel us in.”

  The koi splashed louder. A fat golden one snapped at a floating scrap of flesh.

  “They also revealed their hand,” the brother continued, leaning in conspiratorially. “The Blood Pendant. To say it aloud means they’re either bluffing or desperate. That relic isn’t a prize, brother—it’s poison dressed as wine.”

  The Oyabun’s gaze sharpened. “And You believe it will awaken during the hunt?”

  “Oh, one hundred percent.” The brother chuckled, flashing teeth. “Think about it. Sixty years ago, every relic in the end of the (Relic-War era) fell dead. And yet the blood-moon cycle never stopped. Why? Because something still breathes beneath it. This hunt isn’t just another slaughter—it’s the last one. My gut says so.”

  The Oyabun gave him a sidelong glance. For a moment, his mask cracked—caught off guard by the weight of certainty beneath the lazy grin. “And yet you advise we ignore the pendant.”

  “I said it would awaken. I never said it would be of benefit to us much less guide us to the Legacy.” He flicked an eyeball toward the water. The koi thrashed like starving wolves. “If the pendant truly mattered, those arrogant Families would never have let it slip that the rebels took it, They’re handing us poison in a glass shot. Pretty glass, sure—but poison all the same.”

  The Oyabun chuckled low, releasing a sliver of killing intent. The koi scattered in panic, vanishing into shadowed depths. “They believe we have rotted in this island prison. That we’ve grown primitive. Stupid.”

  “Aw, now look.” His brother pouted at the empty water. “You scared them away.”

  The Oyabun turned, steps measured, presence filling the garden like a storm. “It is time we remind them we are not like those Iron-Fang dogs or those greedy mafia merchants . We do not chase scraps thrown to us nor bargain what is rightfully ours,We will take what is ordained to us by the heavens by force if need be!!.”

  His brother rose, brushing off his hands, grin widening. “Speaking of the cartel… I wonder how they’ll take the 12 Families’ little message.”

  The two men disappeared into the night, leaving the koi pond still rippling with blood.

  End of chapter 21.