Blood of the War Dragon

Chapter 6: Punishment

Emberfall Town – Draven Family Main Hall.

The Draven family’s story began thirty years ago, when Ardyn Draven rode into Emberfall Town with nothing but his sword, his fists, and the kind of stubbornness that either builds kingdoms or gets men killed. He didn’t die. Instead, he carved out a name, bled for it, and raised the family up from nothing. Now, decades later, the Draven family was one of the four great powers in town.

At seventy-five, Ardyn still ruled from the top seat, sharper and harder than men half his age. His cultivation had reached the Tenth Layer of Inner Strength—no one else in the town had touched that level. His word wasn’t just respected. It was the law.

He had five sons. The eldest, Kaelen Draven—father to Kael Draven—was his pride and chosen heir. After him came Serath Draven, Dorian Draven (father to Selene Draven), Valric Draven (father to Elira Draven, Darius Draven, Garrick Draven, and Ronan Draven), and the youngest, Corwin Draven. Of them all, only Kaelen Draven had climbed as high as his father, cementing his right to inherit the patriarch’s mantle.

For most of the year, though, the four brothers—Kaelen, Dorian, Valric, and Corwin —were off in Thundercloud City chasing bigger dreams. The family’s business there demanded nearly all their time. Which meant only Serath Draven stayed behind, keeping the wheels of the household turning.

Ten years earlier, Kael Draven had been the pride of the family—the kind of genius whispered about, pointed at, envied. Grandfather and father alike had walked taller, certain that Kael was their future.

Then came the failure. His attempt to condense the Perpetual Cycle shattered everything. His cultivation collapsed, hope with it. No cure, no fix, no progress. In time, the pride in their eyes turned into disappointment, then indifference. Ardyn hadn’t even looked at him for eight years.

And now? The hall was packed.

At the top, Ardyn Draven sat like a mountain, with Serath Draven at his side. Along the benches, every member of the third generation was present: Alaric Draven, Cedric Draven, Malric Draven, Kael Draven, Elira Draven, Lucian Draven, Theron Draven, Darius Draven, Garrick Draven, Ronan Draven, and Lyra Draven. Twelve in total. Eleven of them had condensed Inner Strength, all at the Fourth Layer or higher. Only Kael Draven had been left behind.

Until now.

All eyes watched the door.

The fallen star. The waste. The boy who, last night, had spat in the face of fate and awakened Inner Strength.

Kael Draven.

He walked in without slowing. Each step was steady, deliberate. A hundred eyes pinned him like knives, but his expression never wavered. He marched straight to the front, stopped before the patriarch, and bowed.

“Grandfather,” he said flatly. “You called for me.”

Ardyn’s brows lifted, just slightly, before he nodded. “I hear you’ve awakened Inner Strength. If that’s true, you’ll join the ghost-hunting mission.”

“Ghost-hunting?” Kael Draven repeated.

“This morning, word came from Thundercloud City. A fugitive—called the Black Ghost—slipped into Emberfall Town. He’s hiding in Emberfall Mountain. The other three great families have already agreed to move. To temper our younger generation, I’ve decided you will all participate in the hunt.”

Kael Draven dipped his head. “As you command.”

But then came the outburst.

“Grandfather, what about us?” Darius Draven shot to his feet, face red with anger. “Seventh Brother ambushed us without honor! He nearly killed us!”

The lack of reprimand from Ardyn set panic in his brothers’ eyes. Darius Draven, Garrick Draven, Ronan Draven—they couldn’t believe their grandfather would let it go.

Elira Draven rose as well, graceful as a blade, bowed low, and said in a voice that cut like frost, “Grandfather, you decreed long ago that no member of the Draven family may raise a hand against their kin. Yet Seventh Brother struck down his own blood. I beg you to uphold your word.”

Murmurs spread. Heads tilted toward Kael Draven. The same question lingered on every face: how had the so-called waste, the boy who had only just condensed Inner Strength, beaten three brothers into swollen-faced wrecks?

An accident? A fluke? No, it had to be a sneak attack. That was the only way.

“Kael Draven.” Ardyn’s voice rumbled, heavy enough to silence the hall. “Explain yourself.”

Even Elira lowered her eyes and sat. Everyone knew: when the patriarch spoke, even the second generation didn’t dare breathe too loudly.

Kael Draven lifted his head. His words were calm, almost bored. “I did nothing more than return to them what they’ve always given me.”

Nothing more, nothing less. But the meaning landed like a hammer. Everyone knew how the three had treated him for the last ten years. Everyone knew no one had stopped them.

Ardyn’s golden eyes lingered on his grandson. Silence stretched, suffocating.

At last, the old man said, “Kael Draven, no matter the reason, you broke the rule. I must show the others that justice is served.”

Darius Draven and his brothers lit up with smug delight. Around the hall, expressions shifted—some amused, some gloating, a few indifferent, and maybe one or two faintly pitying.

“Tonight,” Ardyn declared, “you will clean the Martial Technique Pavilion. The rest of you, go home and rest. At dawn, we leave for Emberfall Mountain.”

“Yes, Grandfather.”

The command ended it. Everyone stood, bowed, and filed out in turn.

Everyone but Darius Draven and his brothers. They stayed frozen, jaws slack, as the truth hit them.

This wasn’t punishment. It was a gift.

The Martial Technique Pavilion wasn’t somewhere you could just stroll into. Even a single step without permission would earn severe punishment. Yet here was Ardyn, handing Kael Draven the key, wrapped neatly as a “penalty.” Cleaning the pavilion meant access. Access meant training. Training meant power.

Their teeth ground with silent rage, but none of them dared defy the patriarch.

Outside the hall, Kael Draven found them waiting, eyes sharp and filled with venom. Elira stood at their front, fury sharpening her beauty into something dangerous.

“Kael Draven,” she hissed, each word dripping venom, “you’ve won this round. But I’ll settle the debt slowly.”

Kael Draven’s gaze was steady, his voice flat. “Anytime.”

Her lips twisted into a sneer. “Don’t be arrogant. In one month, during the family trial, you’ll challenge me. If you refuse, you’ll kneel before my brothers and beg forgiveness. Otherwise, you won’t live to regret it.”

Snickers and sneers rippled through the group. Kael Draven, challenge Elira? Laughable.

“Enough.” Alaric Draven’s voice cracked like a whip. He was the eldest of their generation, and even he looked grim. “We are all family. Don’t make this worse. Disperse.”