Jinn BLADE-Chapter 160 | Snow Stone Path

Jinn’s boots thudded firm across the frost covered cobblestone roads of the noble district, each step he took created an almost dull echo that mixed with the soft hissing sounds of the falling snow.

Along with the atmosphere, cold mist drifted through the air, turning the distant horizons into somewhat vague low visibility objects, swallowed by the mist created by the cruel weather of Juggernot.

As Jinn walked, snow fell towards Jinn, only to dissipate due to the protective eidra that he continued to manifest—something he had learned from Venedix, an essential skill for a warrior to be prepared at all times.

Jinn’s eye remained forward, yet within its periphery, noble men and women walked along the sidewalks, their faces slightly veiled to protect both their identity and faces from the biting cold of the atmosphere.

Yet even within the haze of cold, their silhouettes are undeniably noble due to the fact that they wore ornate cloaks along with shimmering fabrics.

As Jinn continued to walk among the nobles and their guards, a few of them slowed down the pace of their walking, their gazes subtly following Jinn’s figure. They were unable to ignore his presence no matter how they tried to feign ignorance.

And really, how could they even pretend not to notice a soldier like him?

Across the entire of Zerafhon, Jinn carried a title that few ever reached.

A Scion.

The sole apprentice of Venedix herself, the blade of the empire and one of it’s most feared battlemasters.

And such a connection and title, his name was undeniably spread wide and far through the ears of each soldier, noble, citizen, and even the royalty.

Words of his feats, his almost abnormal growth, the battles he had survived beside General Gaius himself along with his strike squad...

These stories had wrapped around his name, like a shroud, continuously wrapping his name with achievement after achievement.

People whispered about the boy who had come from nothing, a child dragged into the city as a slave, destined to become one of Sorellia’s war slaves.

Yet Jinn refused that destiny, he sliced through just as he did with his current foes.

He rose through blood, training, and sheer will until he became a warrior who could carve the entire battlefield apart with nothing but a sword in his hand—a sword given to him by Venedix no less.

Jinn. A living weapon. A Scion. A prodigy raised in cold steel and even colder discipline.

And because of that, because the Zerafh culture respected struggle, strength, and the harsh climb toward power...

Many within the empire had come to respect Jinn deeply.

Especially the soldiers.

Especially those who fought, bled, and survived long enough to understand exactly what kind of strength a person needed to rise from the bottom—from the dirt itself—and keep surviving in a place as merciless as Zerafhon.

A living weapon. A prodigy raised in cold steel and colder discipline.

"Scion," one well dressed nobleman called out, giving a stiff yet respectful nod as his guards thumped their armour from their chest in formal respect toward Jinn.

"Hail, apprentice of Venedix. Hail, Scion," another voice followed, this time belonging to an older noblewoman whose guards followed the same gesture by thumping their chest, their armors clacking from the force as Jinn passed by them.

As Jinn continued, more and more nobles along the streets acknowledged him in their own ways. Some dipped their heads, some placed a hand briefly over their chest, and a few even stepped aside to give him room, as if afraid to stand in his way.

Yet, at the same time, there were also those who stubbornly refused to bow,

*slave..."

"Lower kind..."

"You are not a true Zerafh..."

Their pride clinging to the old image of what Jinn once was—a war slave who should have never risen so far beyond them, someone who was supposed to grovel upon the ground from their presence.

But none of it mattered.

Not the flowery praises.

Nor the toxicity of disdain.

Jinn had use for either.

Such greetings and reactions were nothing new.

In earlier years, when his name carried fewer accomplishments and his reputation was only beginning to form, the sneers were far more common than the respectful nods he was receiving.

Haagh...

He exhaled, a single mist filled breath escaping his lips due to the cold, drifting upward as the cold wind swept towards him.

Without slowing, he continued down a snow covered cobblestone path, his boots crunching upon it.

Ahead, the mists thinned just enough to reveal the distant silhouette of his destination—the domain of Nytrhael.

And somewhere within those book filled halls, without a doubt, waited his other mentor—

Troy, the prodigy of house Nythrael.

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*From an unknown perspective

"Grandmaster, one of our sensors had detected a significantly powered eidrakai approaching our vicinity... and upon further inspection, the reading shows a composition almost identical to Lady Venedic—power grade B," A hooded eidric stepped forward before placng a pulsating orb upon the grandmaster’s table.

The pulsating orb that was put in the table continued to throb as condensed eidra from within relentlessly swirled, waiting to be activated, releasing a hum that wrapped the whole room.

The grandmaster slowly extended a hand, its color pale yet numerous glowing vein-like strands wrapped around his skin. He then hovered his palm above the pulsating orb as his eidra flowed into the mechanism, activating it with a soft whir.

As soon as it activated, the orb brightened in power before expanding into a clear protection that revealed Jinn striding through the cold streets of the noble district, heading straight towards the direction of House Nythrael.

"Hmm... so the Scion has returned..." the grandmaster murmured, his voice vibrating with an uncanny abnormal resonance, something neither fully synthetic nor fully organic... but something eerily in the middle of both.

"Open the gates," he continued, leaning back as the orb’s light dances across his hooded face.

"A member of House Sorellia approaches... and we, as one of Sorellia’s closest allies, would be fools to deny entry to the boy who earned Venedix’s personal mentorship."

"At once, Elder." The hooded eidric bowed deeply as the edges of his long cloak brushed against the polished floor before swiftly turning to carry out the order—to prepare the gates and grant the Scion safe passage.

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The grandmaster lingered in silence, his gaze fixed on the orb as Jinn’s figure continued its steady progression across the street... finally nearing their location.

"The tides... will shift once more..." he whispered,

*cough!

A faint yet frail cough escaping his throat, weak, yet the air around him vibrated with power.

"And the royal assembly... will become the staging ground."