The Last Bloodline; The Tale of the Master’s Revenge

CHAPTER 007

He scratched his head, embarrassed, before muttering casually, “I don’t… exactly have a place right now.”

Her brows lifted in surprise, but instead of pity, a small, knowing smile touched her lips. “Is that so?” She gave a light laugh, graceful and soft. “Then hop in. I’ll take care of it.”

Confused, Marcus obeyed, slipping into the leather-backed seat of her sleek car. They drove in silence for a few minutes and then pulled up to the grand entrance of a glittering five-star hotel. The valet rushed forward immediately, bowing slightly as he opened her door. The staff treated her politely, and their greetings were filled with so much respect while they just glanced at him.

She just nodded at them and walked straight to the front desk, her presence commanding attention, and within moments, she had arranged a luxury suite under Marcus’s name. When she handed him the room card, her smile was warm but mischievous.

“This is too much,” Marcus muttered, genuinely overwhelmed. His fingers tightened around the card. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Her eyes softened, then glimmered with something unreadable. “Don’t worry. I only need one small favor in return.”

Marcus turned to her, cautious. “What is it?”

Her lips curved into that same dazzling smile, her voice calm yet laced with intrigue.

“I’ll be coming back this evening to pick you up.”

Immediately she left and he checked into the room, the necklace glimmered faintly in the pale light of Marcus’s room. The room was beautifully furnished, giving a very exclusive feel to it.

He lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind a whirlpool of questions that refused to settle. Sleep had abandoned his eyes, chased away by the voice that whispered at odd hours, half-teasing, half-demanding.

“You’ve only just begun. Your body is being healed, then you can stand by for your next mission.”

That phrase lingered even now, hours after the mission in the alley. Marcus turned the cold metal of the pendant over in his palm, tracing its intricate carvings, its curves, and lines that seemed older than language itself. The more he stared, the more it felt like the patterns shifted, forming shapes within it and feeling the lines warm on his fingers.

At this moment, memories flooded his mind of scenes from his childhood that he could still recollect. His father’s voice, soft and raspy as he told him stories of his family from a youthful age.

He had been ten, curled up beside his father on the back porch while the night hummed with crickets. He had thought it was just one of his dad’s ramblings, bedtime stories that were filled with so much mystery.

Back then, it hadn’t meant anything.

But now he tried to remember what his father told him.

Marcus sat up slowly, his heart thumping. Guardians and burdens and death before their time. These were a few phrases he had heard his father say, but he couldn’t make sense of it now. His father’s words slammed against the reality of the necklace. Was this what he had meant all those years ago?

Then came another thought. His father’s death had always looked shady and suspicious to him.

A car accident. That’s what everyone had called it. He had been fourteen, filled with confusion about what happened, and still too young to question what didn’t make sense. A truck had “lost control” and swerved into his father’s car. The case was just closed, and nobody pressed further. The truck was not found, nor was the supposed car his father was in, and nobody cared to dig deeper.

But the necklace hummed now, as though mocking his naivety. It pulsed and warmed as if ascertaining his concerns, and he whispered gently, “It wasn’t an accident.”

Marcus flinched. “What does that mean then? Does it mean his father once wielded the necklace before handing it to him and died right after?” His voice cracked in the silence of the room.

But the presence in the necklace gave him nothing more. Just silence, thick and suffocating. It was always like this, nudging him toward the truth but not spelling it out for him, like it wanted him to find out himself. The evasiveness gnawed at him, sparking anger beneath his exhaustion. Something was going on, and he didn’t know what that was.

He pressed his palms to his face, trembling. “Was my father one of you? One of these… guardians?”

Marcus’s throat burned, and he racked his brain so much, but one thing he knew was that he hated being strung along like a pawn in someone else’s game.

Marcus sat at the edge of his narrow bed, the necklace resting coldly against his chest. He had tried countless times to take it off. Each time, his fingers faltered, as though some unseen weight pressed them still. It wasn’t just a trinket; it was a chain, and it had stayed with him for many years, but all of a sudden, it then turned into something that would change his life.

Marcus rubbed his temples. He hadn’t thought about his father in years. The memory was like a box buried deep, one he never dared open. His father had been strange, always distant, always burdened, but sometimes, on sleepless nights when Marcus was a child, he would sit at the foot of his bed and tell stories.

Stories about the ancient history of their family and incredible stories of their bloodline.

"Our bloodline is important," his father had said once, his eyes tired but sharp. "You’re born guardians, and when the time is right, you’ll step up to it." He could remember his father saying that to him.

At the time, Marcus had thought it nothing more than the rambling of a man too consumed by his own myths. But now it made sense.

His father’s death came rushing back to him, the twisted wreckage of the car, the police muttering “accident,” the rushed funeral, the silence his mother wrapped herself in afterward. Marcus had been too young, too scared, too obedient to ask questions.