Chapter 436

Chapter 436

The hall was very quiet, but not empty—the atmosphere was so solemn it felt almost solid.

The people lining both sides were so numerous they completely blocked the walls. Unless you looked over their heads, you could barely tell the hall's walls were pale gold, and the intricate patterns painted on the dome had been carved out stroke by stroke.

But every single person here looked like trouble—a pack of beasts fresh from a hunt, the air around them reeking of blood. Few would be rude enough to dare let their eyes drift past them to examine the exquisite, almost artistic decorations.

And Ambrose—he sat at the far end of the path, in the seat at the very top of the steps, looking a little distracted, almost lazily gazing down at this pack of beasts.

At the foot of the steps, closest to Ambrose, stood several Graths who'd come back at some point. They looked far more relaxed. The moment Ye Mo walked in, Yisang shot him a quick look, then turned away with a light snort.

Lika and Caspar stood on the other side. Caspar didn't pay Yisang any mind, while Lika glanced at him when he spoke, his gaze lingering briefly on the bruise still fading on the side of his face. Fiona could be terrifying sometimes, and Yisang never learned his lesson.

As Ye Mo and his group walked in, everyone in the hall naturally turned to look at the newcomers. Walking under all those stares took some guts.

The only sounds in their ears were their own footsteps and breathing.

The pressure was enough to make Elijah, who was trailing behind, grow serious too. He forced down the nausea rising in his throat by sheer willpower. He shouldn't be here—he should be taking those two straight to the interrogation room himself.

Alan and Sadel, held in the middle, both instinctively ducked their heads again. And Karlia—who'd kept up a composed, unyielding demeanor the whole time, which in itself was a provocation in enemy territory—also let his gaze drop to the floor for the first time, and meant it.

Before Ye Mo even reached Ambrose, Ambrose was already reaching out a hand toward him, gesturing for him to come over.

"Have fun, my child?"

Ye Mo stopped mid-step. He paused, only snapping back to attention when Theodore's tail brushed lightly against his ear from his shoulder, and he didn't blurt out the word "Father."

For a moment, Ambrose's figure blurred into Norton's. Norton had reached out to him the same way. His father wouldn't ask him that. Most of the time, Norton just watched him, and when Ye Mo ran into trouble, he wouldn't say anything—he'd just step forward.

That had made Ye Mo uncomfortable for a long time, but he'd gotten used to Norton's gaze, and used to turning around to see Norton there whenever something happened.

So now, he was really uncomfortable.

Ye Mo's slight pause drew the other Graths' attention.

And with it, quiet speculation followed. Alan, in the middle, kept his eyes on the floor but perked up his ears. He felt confused—was the fight between Ye Mo and that other guy just going to be silently glossed over?

In this era of unprecedented information transparency and lightning-fast spread of news, even rulers of highly centralized nations couldn't just pretend a conflict laid out in the open hadn't happened.

Ambrose seemed to wield far more power than Alan had imagined, and his attitude toward Ye Mo was contradictory—indifferent to the attack Ye Mo had suffered, letting his men provoke him, yet doing everything possible to build him up, freely offering his closeness and trust.

Was it a test? This man really didn't seem like someone you'd want to mess with. Ye Mo should be more cautious. Luckily, he seemed to have sensed something was off.

Don't go over. Don't go over, Alan prayed. Sheathe your claws, lower your head, show you're harmless. He chanted silently, feeling tense on Ye Mo's behalf despite himself, hoping Ye Mo would do as he wished. Even if they were father and son, bound by blood, that bond was fragile beyond belief in the face of power—it could even invite greater suspicion.

All eyes were on Ye Mo as he started to move. His boots clicked softly against the steps of rare minerals, a pleasant sound. He walked toward Ambrose, not caring that everyone else stood below the throne. Now, he was the highest person in the room besides Ambrose.

He even kept climbing, as if he really intended to stand beside Ambrose like the man had said.

Alan couldn't help but lift his head, watching Ye Mo walk step by step and place his hand into Ambrose's, which had never been withdrawn.

What reached Ambrose first was Ye Mo's mental force—a mere brush of contact, and Ambrose understood what he meant.

In an instant, they completed the exchange. A mental pressure far greater and more aggressive than before bore down.

Alan nearly froze in place. This was the first time in his life he'd faced a mental force of this magnitude—something monstrous.

Sadel beside him stood just as still.

And Karlia—from the moment he'd been dragged out until now—felt genuine unease for the first time, deep in his gut. A single strong individual and a group of them were entirely different things.

The Graths were even more attuned to this shift.

Yisang furrowed his brow. Lika didn't move, but the sudden tension in his lower back gave him away. Caspar was more direct—he raised his head and looked at Ambrose.

Ye Mo was better, several of them thought at once. Ambrose's mental force was like a flame that never stopped burning; just being near it was irritating.

Ambrose ignored them, watching as Ye Mo quickly let go of his hand and stepped to his side. "Tired from playing?"

Ye Mo shook his head. "Not tired."

Ambrose beckoned, and Ye Mo stepped forward a bit. He hesitated, then lowered his head slightly. Ambrose brushed his hair back, tucking it behind Ye Mo's ear, then lightly ran a finger along the bandage at Ye Mo's waist—the wound Yisang had given him earlier.

Ye Mo straightened up and looked at Ambrose. He was different from usual, Ye Mo thought.

Lika grew even tenser, and Caspar belatedly looked away, also on alert. This was the Ambrose they were far more familiar with.

An excited lion, its bloodlust stirred. In moments like this, even if a companion blocked his line of sight, he'd typically grab them by the throat and tear into them, teaching a harsh lesson with blood and pain.

Ambrose examined Ye Mo bit by bit, his gaze always lingering on the wounds and bruises on Ye Mo's body.

"You're not tired. Of course not—you're a Little Grans. You should have better places to play, to burn off all that excess energy, rather than being caged in a prison your mental force could reach in an instant. Isn't that right, Yisang?"

Yisang said flatly, "Is there something special worth pointing out? Or can you not manage it? Then I'll do it."

He was still nursing his anger over being left behind. Normally, unless he'd lost his head, he wouldn't talk to Ambrose like that—Ambrose was far harsher on them than Fiona ever was.

Ambrose looked at him coldly. He wasn't happy with Yisang's attitude, and his mental force burned even hotter.

"You're being a little too crude."

Yisang was older than Lika and Caspar, more affected by the mental pressure, and more impulsive by nature—easy to provoke. He held his ground against Ambrose for a moment, then finally bowed his head.

Ambrose showed no signs of backing down.

"The way you talk to the other Graths doesn't apply to Little Grans."

"I didn't mean to—I mean, fine. Cyril, my mistake. I went about it wrong. It won't happen again."

Ambrose really would discipline him, and he truly was capable of cutting him off from Ye Mo entirely.

Ambrose thought for a moment, still reluctant to use force in front of Ye Mo, so he said, "Fiona already taught him a lesson."

Ye Mo stayed where he was, watching Ambrose with a mix of surprise and quiet curiosity.

Ambrose gently pressed a hand on his head, avoiding his gaze.

"What do you all think of finding the most beautiful, most livable planet as a playground for my Cyril?"

Everyone in the hall except the Graths answered immediately.

They dropped to one knee as one. "As you command."

Their swords stood at their sides, and the sound was loud enough to make Alan flinch without meaning to. Then he thought, Are their knees made of iron?

And then it hit him, belatedly, that the only ones still standing in the hall were the few below the throne—and Ye Mo, up on the platform.

Then there was him and Sadel, and Karlia—the three of them remained perfectly still, as if by unspoken agreement, even as nearly everyone in the hall showed their loyalty to the one on the throne, with no one guarding them.

Including Karlia, who stood right in front of Allen; Allen could see the stiffness in Karlia's back.

This made Allen sneer to himself—Karlia from Tansan, one of those brash types who wear the blue insignia on their chests, scared stiff like this?

Ambrose's gaze swept across the crowd, then skipped past the few still standing, ignoring them. "Alright, our starship has arrived."

The people in the hall filed out in an orderly manner, leaving only the guards standing along the walls on either side.

Elijah rose to his feet, stepping aside slightly to reveal Karlia behind him, and said, barely able to hide his eagerness, "Look, our insurance policy. If my information isn't outdated, as long as he's here, this planet won't be hit by large-scale weapons for quite some time—at least until other nations convince Tansan to give him up. Though there might be military raids and shows of force."

"See to our guest."

Ambrose waved a hand, and guards escorted Karlia to the side, pulled up a chair, and forcibly pressed him into it before standing behind him.

Karlia, pinned in the corner, couldn't help but let out a quiet sigh of relief—being here, away from facing Ambrose directly, eased his tension considerably.