"Let's focus on the real matter now, Julin. Anything other than that is not—"
"But Father!"
Julin's voice shot up again, like nails on a chalkboard dipped in shrill.
"Aren't you curious about what someone took from the inventory after such a long time? Wouldn't you wanna know what Junior Brother has claimed from the timeless artifacts?"
And just like that, for the second time in as many minutes, she had the gall to interrupt the Patriarch.
The fucking Patriarch. The head honcho.
The man who could, with a flick of his wrist, turn her into a footnote in family history. But no, here she was, clucking away like a rooster in heat.
Artis, standing awkwardly in the middle of the hall, clenched his fists behind his back.
'This fucking bitch.'
He cursed internally, his jaw tightening as he resisted the urge to slap the smug off her face.
The Patriarch's smile reappeared—strained and thin, the kind of smile you'd wear when trying not to throttle your own child in front of witnesses.
His eyes, however, told a different story, practically screaming, Oh my god, why didn't I practice better pull-out techniques?
"It doesn't matter," he said, his voice dangerously calm, each word as sharp as a blade. "What matters is that he earned it. If you earn the right of passage, then of course, you too can claim one of the artifacts, and no one will question it. So until that time comes, focus on the matters at hand."
The room seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief at the sheer authority in his tone, as if the Patriarch had just swatted Julin's bullshit out of the air like a particularly annoying fly.
Artis had to admire the man's patience. Clearly, this wasn't the first time he'd dealt with his daughter's incessant interruptions, and judging by his face, it wouldn't be the last.
'Honestly, if I'd been spoiled like her, I'd probably be twice the pain in the ass she is.' He smirked. 'But at least I wouldn't have that voice.'
"Well, Father—"
"Patriarch. You will address me as Patriarch in this room."
This time, it was the Patriarch who wielded the interruption like a sword, slicing clean through Julin's bullshit with a tone that could turn water to wine—or wine back to vinegar.
Artis's lips curled into a slow, devilish grin, the kind of grin that said, Get her, Patriarch. Put the spoiled brat in her place. He practically wanted to pump his fist in the air.
'Yes, my Patriarch. Shove her arrogance down her throat.'
But then, something changed. Julin's smile shifted, morphing from her usual mischievous, I-own-the-world smirk into something... darker. A knowing smile. A smile that practically oozed, Oh, you think you've got me? Cute.
She turned her head slowly toward her father, her eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and menace. And in that fleeting moment, Artis swore he saw the Patriarch flinch. It wasn't obvious—just a tiny flicker in his stoic demeanor. But it was there.
'Wait, did he just flinch? No, no, maybe I imagined it. Did I?'
"Yes, my Patriarch," Julin purred, her voice dripping with fake humility. "Forgive this fool and please, continue."
Then, like a cobra that had finished playing with its prey, she turned her attention back to Artis. Her eyes locked onto him, gleaming with a predatory intensity that made his skin crawl.
Artis felt the hair on the back of his neck rise.
'Oh, there's definitely something fishy here. Maybe she's got dirt on him. Maybe she's blackmailing him. Maybe... Oh fuck, what if she's got real dirt—like some scandal that would bring the whole family down?'
He kept his gaze neutral, but his thoughts were racing.
'Whatever it is, I need to stay out of this shitstorm. Crazy bitch with a killer body and blackmail material? No thanks. I've already got enough problems.'
Artis adjusted his stance, trying to seem nonchalant, though his insides were screaming, Just don't make eye contact with her again. Ever.
"As I was saying," the Patriarch began, his voice as smooth and commanding as ever, "we have an issue. Well, not so much an issue, more of an... opportunity. Have you heard about the Golden Ginseng of the Lost Kingdom?"
Artis nodded slowly, keeping his expression neutral, though internally, his thoughts were all over the place.
'Oh, I've heard of it, alright. The damn thing is the plot catalyst. How can I not know? It's the shiny carrot the author dangled in front of the protagonist to kick off the "head-chopping villains" arc.'
He kept nodding, buying time as he processed. The Golden Ginseng wasn't just a legendary treasure; it was the reason the hero of this story was already en route to this very kingdom with his ragtag band of overpowered companions.
That was the current story arc. Meanwhile, Artis knew exactly how things were supposed to play out after his untimely demise:
Jin swooping in to NTR him, followed by his family playing the sobbing victims and begging the protagonist for help. Cue dramatic speeches, some righteous fury, and voilà—another arc in the bag.
'So, that's how it was supposed to go, huh? Stupid author. But damn, I can't even be mad. The way he tied all that shit together was... seamless. Respect where it's due, I guess.'
Artis gave a mock applause in his mind, though his feelings about said author were as tangled as a drunkard's attempt at a cultivation mantra.
'On one hand, fuck that guy for shoving me into this mess over a dumb comment. Like, seriously, who does that?...that too for a fucking comment...'
'But on the other hand… holy shit, I'm living the dream. Killer women, insane cultivation potential, and a chance to rewrite the script however I want? Yeah, I'll take that gamble. Thanks, dickhead.'
He smirked to himself. This wasn't the life he'd signed up for, but damn if he wasn't going to milk every opportunity like a horny dairy farmer.