Speaking some truths

Nael raised his eyes slowly, locking gazes with the patriarch in a calm so piercing it bordered on frigid:

"Nothing but the truth."

His voice carried a serenity that stood in stark contrast to the anger simmering through the room. "But if you wish, I can stop. The next one to have their secrets laid bare would be you."

A ripple of startled murmurs swept through the hall. Unperturbed, Nael leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a glacial smile creeping across his lips.

"So? Does anyone else want to accuse me of meddling where I shouldn't?"

The question lingered, unanswered, as a heavy silence descended like a shroud of lead. The tension crackled in the air, an restless energy pulsing through the space. Every gaze fixed on Nael—some wide with shock, others clouded with unease—yet he sat there, utterly composed, as if his words were mere ripples on a still pond.

Patriarch Yang, his fury barely restrained, bellowed:

"Stop talking!"

Nael's eyes lifted once more, deliberate and unhurried, his voice cutting through the clamor like a blade of ice:

"Since when do I follow orders?"

Duchess Yue surged into the fray, her tone sharp and threaded with exasperation:

"You should show at least a shred of respect for them!"

Nael tilted his head slightly, as though weighing her words for a fleeting moment, then answered in a low, resolute murmur:

"Respect? For whom? For people who are weak, without courage, without anything worth defending? For those who act mighty in front of the younger ones—like me—but shrink when something truly important appears?"

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the table, a silent challenge glinting in his eyes, daring anyone to contradict him. In that instant, the room transformed into a mirror, reflecting the hidden flaws they all sought to bury.

And so, Nael Supremium pressed on, each sentence ringing out like an irrevocable verdict, the fates of those present teetering on the edge between pride and ruin.

"They put on a bold front when facing those who can't fight back," he continued, his voice steady and unrelenting. "They strut like majestic white tigers, but they're nothing more than trembling kittens. When confronted with something real—like a hologram of my mother, a goddess from the Upper Realm—they crumple, retreating behind shells tougher than an ancient divine turtle's."

A cold smile flickered on his face, his words reverberating like an inescapable omen.

"Pathetic. That's what they are."

He let the accusation hang in the thick air, each syllable sinking deep before he turned his piercing stare directly to the patriarch:

"They strike at those who lifted them up."

His tone grew sharper, a honed edge to every word:

"Worse still are the ancestors—old men who had scarcely touched the Upper Saint Domain before my mother raised them to the Emperor Domain. She forged their greatness. And yet, they couldn't honor her single plea: to protect me when I was a child."

A collective gasp rippled through the hall, the revelation striking like a thunderclap. No one had suspected the Yang lineage harbored emperors, much less that their legacy owed everything to a woman from the Upper Realm.

Across the table, Xia Xiang—who moments before had been set on dissolving her engagement—felt a tremor of doubt take root. Nael's words roared in her mind, upending all she thought she knew. Three emperors… A triumph so vast that even the mightiest clans couldn't rival it, and he spoke of it with unshakable certainty, tracing it all back to his mother.

The atmosphere shifted, faces betraying a mix of astonishment and unease too raw to conceal. With every truth Nael unveiled, the lies crumbled, exposing the fragile underbelly of age-old traditions. For Xia Xiang, the world she'd once deemed unshakable began to fracture beneath a cascade of questions.

"You, who boast of a glorious past, now tremble before a truth that cannot be denied," Nael murmured, his eyes roaming the room, almost beckoning someone to rise against him.

In that fragile moment, the destiny of everyone present seemed to dangle by a thread, weaving past and present into a perilous dance of power and revelation that would reshape the Yang House forever.

The silence thickened, heavy with the threat of shattering. Duchess Yue, her features contorted with rage and desperation, could no longer contain herself and cried out:

"Even so, they took all the treasures and resources your mother left for you!"

Her voice, raw with fury and helplessness, echoed through the chamber. Nael let out a soft, mirthless chuckle, resting his chin on one hand. His eyes, icy and unflinching, locked onto the duchess.

"That only proves my point," he said coolly. "They're not just weak—they're greedy. Stealing what was never theirs wasn't enough; they squandered the last scraps of respect they might have claimed."

His words landed with crushing weight, plunging the room into an uneasy hush. Around the table, eighteen pairs of eyes flickered—Duchess Yue, two concubines, nine of the patriarch's offspring, and a handful of elders—all dimmed beside Nael's towering presence, reduced to mere silhouettes in his shadow.

From her corner, Xia Xiang couldn't look away. The boy she once knew had vanished; in his place stood a man like a gathering storm, bearing a vast history and a disdain that scorched the weak.

After a long pause, Patriarch Yang broke the stillness, his voice taut yet straining for control:

"What do you want with these words, Nael? Did you come here just to throw all this in our faces?"

Nael arched an eyebrow, as if the question were absurd, and replied with frigid precision:

"I didn't come for that. I'm here because I was summoned. But since we're speaking, perhaps it's time to ask who in this family truly deserves respect."

He rose slowly, his every motion radiating a strength that dwarfed the others. With a voice laced with irony and defiance, he added:

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I've grown tired of this dinner."

Without awaiting a reply, he turned and strode out, leaving behind a silence laden with doubt, fear, and regret. Each person sat lost in their own thoughts, the duchess's venomous words still lingering in the air.

Nael paused briefly, his cold gaze sweeping over their faces, measuring every reaction. The tension was palpable, the faint sound of breaths slicing through the void.

These weaklings play at being strong, but when faced with something real, they hide like ancient turtles, he thought.

Duchess Yue, teetering on the edge of composure, shouted in a quaking voice:

"Even so, they took all the treasures and resources your mother left for you!"

"And even so, they took all the treasures and resources your mother left for you!" she repeated, her grip tightening on the table, her control slipping.

Nael turned to her at last, his eyes piercing and unwavering, as if they could see through her soul. In a low, resonant tone, he said:

"No, they didn't take them. I gave them."

The room fell into a stunned, suffocating silence. Glances darted between them, grappling for comprehension. Nael leaned forward slightly, his calm chilling as he continued:

"Actually, it wasn't exactly 'giving.'"

A faint, humorless smile curved his lips, slicing through the stillness.

"I used the resources to buy their souls, their dignity… and, in some cases, even the worthless lives they lead."

Unease rippled through the hall; some elders averted their gazes, others furrowed their brows, caught between bewilderment and indignation.

"And their deaths?" he asked, letting the question hover, his voice darkening.

"It was a promise. Someone asked me to give people like them a second chance. I'm trying to honor that… but, frankly, they're not making it easy."

Silence reclaimed the space, only to be shattered by a rasping, boisterous laugh.

"Ka! Ka! Ka!" Old Yang guffawed from the table's center, his energy almost theatrical, as if he'd heard the grandest jest.

"Impressive!" he cried, slamming a hand on the table.

"You're exactly as your mother said: stubborn, rebellious, and someone who doesn't take orders from anyone! That's great! Finally, a true Yang has been born in this family! The Yang blood runs strong in you, boy!"

Nael's eyes narrowed faintly. He leaned back, arms crossed, his face a mask of neutrality tinged with scorn.

"Don't fool yourself, old man," he said, his voice cutting like a whip. "I am a Supremium, not a Yang."

The words struck hard, the impact instantaneous. The room stiffened, the air growing dense. Some elders widened their eyes; others parted their lips to speak, only to be stilled by awe and dread. The duchess faltered, her mouth opening briefly before she relented, words failing her.

"Let's change the subject, shall we?" Aunt Mei interjected from beside the Old Patriarch. Her voice was soft yet firm, a gentle hand seeking to smother the flames. "Tell me, Nael, how is the new generation at the Dao Holy Land?"

Nael regarded her for a moment, sizing her up with care. Then he shrugged, as if the topic held little weight.

"Weak," he replied, his tone dripping with contempt. "The young ones coast on their family names or their inheritances. Few have the guts to carve their own path."

Aunt Mei raised an eyebrow, silently urging him to elaborate.

The hall, still thrumming with tension, seemed to pulse unevenly. Nael's every word rang out like a stern admonition, laying bare the frailties of a family steeped in its own past. In that moment, the Yang House's future hung precariously between faded glory and an undeniable truth.

"I've seen some with potential, but potential without effort is worthless," he added.

His gaze drifted across the table, slow and deliberate, as if seeking evidence of his claim in each face. "Wasted talent is worse than no talent at all."

The Old Patriarch, who had held his silence beneath the burden of years, finally spoke. His voice, deep and worn, rolled through the chamber:

"And you, Nael? What is your plan? Why did you return after so long?"

Nael met his eyes, a spark of irony and defiance glinting in his own.

"My plan?" he echoed, his tone mocking. "Do you really think you deserve to know?"

The tension peaked, taut enough to snap. But before it could, Nael rose, his presence overwhelming, and moved toward the exit with measured, resolute steps.

"Thank you for the dinner," he said curtly, the words a sharp full stop as he crossed the threshold.

A profound silence settled in his wake, a void brimming with unease, doubt, and a quiet dread that clung to every soul. Each pair of eyes traced his departure, as if fearing Nael Supremium might yet return with more unrelenting truths about the family's fate.