The Sinful Young Master

Even when he disappeared, no one cared if he was alive or dead. Now that he came back with strength, which they can use, they are using him.

Within the clan itself, Jolthar was an outcast, branded a bastard—a child born without a legitimate union, fathered by an unknown man.

His mother, Aelina, had never spoken a word about who Jolthar's father was. When she arrived at the clan estate, visibly pregnant with him, tongues wagged, and judgement loomed heavy.

Yet, Aelina's father, who loved her deeply despite the whispers and disapproval of others, couldn't bring himself to abandon her. His devotion shielded her and her unborn child, allowing them to remain within the clan's estate. While this act of compassion provided shelter, it also cemented Jolthar's place as an anomaly—tolerated but never fully accepted, a shadow in the grand tapestry of the clan's lineage.

Jolthar couldn't even remember the face of his mother. She died after giving birth because of her frail complexion; the pregnancy was hard on her, and no one in the clan really paid any attention to her. They even thought that child shouldn't be born and tortured her mentally.

Jolthar, more or less, could guess what his mother faced by giving birth to him.

Aelina, despite the overwhelming resistance from her family, chose to have the child. Her decision revealed the essence of who she was—a woman of quiet but unyielding strength, someone who valued life even when the odds were stacked against her. To her, the child was everything, the one thing that mattered in a world that seemed to have turned its back on her.

But fate was cruel.

Aelina's frailty proved too much for her to endure. She never even got the chance to hold her baby in her arms, to see his face, or whisper a name. She died shortly after giving birth, leaving Jolthar motherless from the very moment of his arrival.

And now, some wimp like Tolian spoke ill about her, making him snap. He may have taken his body; she may not be his real mother, but he knew very well about the love of a mother, which he so yearned for.

Hearing him talk like that snapped something in him.

Jolthar stepped toward Tolian, his gaze locked onto him like a predator sizing up its prey. Orimus stood by, his smirk widening, clearly enjoying the spectacle, but there was a flicker of unease in his eyes.

Jolthar kept walking toward Tolian; he seemed like he would burst into rage at any moment.

Tolian's mocking smirk wavered, replaced by a flicker of fear as he registered the fire blazing in Jolthar's eyes. Jolthar now stood before him.

Before Tolian could react, Jolthar grabbed him by the collar, yanking him close.

"What the hell are you doing?" Tolian stammered, trying to maintain his bravado, but the tremor in his voice betrayed him. Orimus, who was beside him, widened his eyes, completely taken aback by Jolthar's behaviour. He hadn't expected Jolthar would dare react in front of everyone.

Jolthar didn't answer.

His fist clenched tightly, the veins on his forearm prominent as he drew back his arm. The room seemed to hold its breath as Jolthar unleashed his rage. His first punch connected squarely with Tolian's face, the impact reverberating through the air. He didn't use any aura or his power; it was raw strength.

Tolian's head snapped back, blood spurting from his nose as he stumbled. Before he could fall completely, Jolthar's grip on his collar yanked him forward again, holding him upright.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. A few younger members around them instinctively took a step back, their faces a mix of shock and fascination.

"Jolthar!" someone called out, but he didn't register it.

Without hesitation, Jolthar's fist connected again. This time, the crack of bone breaking was unmistakable. Tolian's nose was clearly broken, blood streaming down his face, staining his fine clothes. His vision blurred, and his knees buckled, but Jolthar didn't let him fall.

Tolian barely managed a whimper. "S-stop…"

But Jolthar wasn't done. His anger, long simmering beneath the surface, had erupted like a volcano. All the insults, all the years of being treated like a lesser, all the humiliation—they fuelled his fury.

"What did you say, you dick-sucking slut bastard?!" Jolthar hissed through gritted teeth, his voice low but seething with menace.

He slammed Tolian to the ground, knelt on top of him, and landed another punch, this time to his jaw. The sheer force made Tolian's head snap to the side. Blood dripped onto the polished floor as Tolian's cries grew weaker.

Orimus, who had been watching with an air of amusement, froze in place. The smirk vanished from his lips as he felt the raw intensity radiating from Jolthar. This was no calculated outburst—this was pure, unfiltered rage.

The onlookers were paralysed, too stunned to intervene. Some whispered among themselves, but no one dared step forward.

Jolthar leaned in closer, his face inches from Tolian's bloodied one. His voice was a dangerous whisper, yet everyone nearby could hear it.

"What did you say about my mother? Say it again. I dare you, wimp dog bitch," Jolthar growled, his tone dripping with venom.

Tolian couldn't respond. His swollen lips quivered, his eyes barely able to stay open. Jolthar's knuckles were stained red, but he didn't care.

Clifton, one of the head knights, saw the crowd and approached, "What's happening here?" he barked, his voice commanding as he and Eran rushed toward the scene.

Eran placed a hand on Jolthar's shoulder. "Jolthar, stop! Everyone's watching."

But Jolthar shrugged him off, his gaze still fixed on Tolian. "Do you think you can insult my mother and walk away unscathed? Do you think I'll tolerate being treated like trash forever?"

The murmurs in the hall grew louder, a mixture of shock and intrigue.

"Get up, you coward!" Jolthar roared, grabbing Tolian by his now-tattered collar and shaking him like a rag doll. Tolian's head lolled, his strength utterly drained.

"Jolthar!" Clifton's voice boomed again, this time with more force. He stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Jolthar's shoulder, physically pulling him back.

But he didn't budge and turned to look at Clifton, and the next second, his aura flared up like an inferno, thick as lava and raw as emotions long suppressed. The room fell silent as Jolthar's eyes blazed with a fierce determination, challenging anyone to stand in his way.

His voice, low and dangerous, cut through the tension like a knife. "Back the fuck off." His was like a thunder boom that almost shook the entire hall.

Clifton, who was a tier 7 knight, was pushed back just by his aura. Eran was shocked, and so was everyone present around them. And everyone's attention in the hall turned to them.

The hall remained deathly silent, the tension so thick it was suffocating. All eyes were on Jolthar as he punched Tolian, whose face had now turned into pulp, unrecognisable. His voice was loud enough that everyone in the hall could hear him.

"What did I do, huh? What did I do? Is it my mistake that I didn't have any talent? What's so wrong with being weak? Just because you were stronger than me, you people ruined my childhood, killed me, and destroyed me. What more do you want, you limp-dick sick fucks?"

He stopped punching Tolian and turned to Orimus who was still frozen, now looked visibly unsettled. His carefully constructed facade of control had cracked, and he knew Jolthar was far more dangerous than he had ever imagined.

"You wanted to taunt me, didn't you? Huh, come on, I don't fucking care anymore. If you don't talk now, I will fucking slit you upside down, fat fucking bitch?" Jolthar's words were like venom and the words he spout made everyone wince.

Just then the older woman, the grandmother Johamma, and Maena stepped forward, her expression grim but composed. The older woman, followed close behind, her sharp gaze cutting through the tension like a knife. She surveyed the scene with a piercing intensity, her presence alone commanding respect and silence in the chaotic hall.

One by one, they arrived at the scene. Elowen and Wayde watched Jolthar and Tolian with grim expressions. Discover hidden stories at empire

"Enough!" Maena's voice rang out, clear and firm, slicing through the suffocating atmosphere. Her tone was authoritative, leaving no room for argument. "Stand down, Jolthar. Now."

Jolthar's blazing eyes met hers, his fists still clenched, blood dripping from his knuckles. For a moment, it seemed he might not relent. The fire in him burnt too brightly, fed by years of anguish, humiliation, and anger.

And just then, the guard announced the arrival of the patriarch, and then, a retinue of black-armoured knights first entered the hall.

Patriarch Claleum entered a second later, with Black Knights by his side. The aura turned suppressive, and the air became thick with tension as the patriarch stopped in his tracks, turning his attention towards the crowd.