Chapter 47: The Grand Children

Chapter 47: The Grand ChildrenA sudden, frantic knocking cut Jethru off mid-sentence. The sharp, hurried raps shattered the stillness of the house, their urgency undeniable. Everyone froze. Jethru’s muscles tensed like coiled steel. Beside him, Lara’s fingers twitched toward the dagger strapped to her waist. Reya and Sandoz exchanged wary glances, while even little Omega, mid-bite, sat frozen, her wide eyes darting to the door. A gust of wind rattled the wooden shutters, the house groaning in protest. Then—another round of pounding. More forceful this time. Whoever was outside wasn’t just knocking. They were demanding entry. Lara moved first, her footsteps soundless as she approached the door. The hinges groaned as she wrenched it open just in time—any later, and it would have splintered under the assault. Standing before her was a rotund, potbellied man, his round face slick with sweat. His beady eyes widened in astonishment as they traveled up her imposing form. Though not particularly tall by a man’s standards, Lara loomed over him like a shadow, making him seem smaller and weaker. The man’s attire—a rich fabric tunic and polished boots—stood in stark contrast to the dilapidated state of the house behind her. He looked as out of place as a king in a beggar’s den. His gaze flickered past Lara, scanning the dim room. His eyes landed on Alpha, who shifted uneasily in the corner. The moment stretched, thick with tension, before the man’s voice rang out, sharp and indignant. "Where’s the payment for the house? You promised me yesterday that today would be the day! You’ve been saying that for the past month!" Lara arched a brow, her eyes sweeping over the crumbling walls, the shattered windows, the sagging roof that barely held together. This was what he was demanding payment for? The place looked abandoned—unfit for even the desperate. It reminded her of the makeshift homes of ’squatters’ in the underbellies of cities during the modern era. "Uncle," Alpha’s voice was small, barely above a whisper. "Can you give us one more day? The auntie at the market asked us to help sell her wares tomorrow and we will get paid." The potbellied man scoffed, his expression hardening. "No more extensions. I’ve been patient long enough. If you can’t pay today, you must move out." "Then they will move out," Lara said flatly, irritation bleeding into her tone. "Who in their right mind would stay in this hellhole?" The man’s gaze flickered with something—hesitation, perhaps even unease. He studied her again, his posture shifting. His eyes darted toward the frail figure on the bed. His voice lost some of its bite. "That’s not what I meant. If you have anything—any fraction of the rent—" "But I meant what I said," Lara cut him off, her tone unwavering. "They’re leaving. Today." His face darkened, his mouth twisting into a scowl. "You cannot leave without paying the rent!" he barked. Lara folded her arms across her chest, sizing him up. His fine clothes, his entitled air—he had the stench of a conman. "Can you prove you own this... this house?" she asked, deliberately dragging her arm in a circle as if to emphasize the state of disrepair. Then she rolled her eyes. The man stiffened. His jaw worked, but no words came. Of course, there was no deed. The land belonged to the temple. The house—if it could even be called that—had been built by the old man long ago. But this area was under his so-called "jurisdiction." "The rent," he finally muttered, "is protection money. This area is under my protection." "Protection?" Lara’s eyes gleamed dangerously. "From what, exactly?" The words were out before he could stop them. "From thugs who would steal from them. From bad people." Lara tilted her head, a slow, mocking smirk curling at her lips. "Ah. So you’re protecting them from yourself, then?" The man’s mouth opened, but no sound came. "They are barely surviving, and you still have the audacity to extort them?" Lara’s voice turned cold. "Leave. While you still can." The shift was immediate. The potbellied man paled as an invisible pressure filled the air. Lara had not moved, but something in her stance, her presence, sent alarm bells ringing in his head. Panic overtook him, and without another word, he turned on his heel and fled, scrambling through the doorway like a rat abandoning a sinking ship. A chuckle came from behind her. "You gave him quite a scare. Well done, my disciple," Jethru mused, seated at the edge of Samuel’s bed, his gaze full of amusement. Searᴄh the Nôvel(F)ire.ηet website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. Lara exhaled, then turned to him. "Let’s leave this place, Grandpa. Samuel will recover faster in a better environment." With that, she hired a bull cart. Jethru lifted his frail old master with gentleness. A memory flashed across his mind. His master had also carried him similarly long ago when he was just seven years old. Fifteen minutes later, they arrived at a modest thatched house nestled behind an inn. Compared to their previous dwelling, it was a palace. The house had two small rooms, a living space, a dining area, and a kitchen. Though cramped, it was warm, solid, and safe—a hundred times better than the crumbling ruin they had just left behind. Jethru carefully laid Samuel on the bed, administering medicine with practiced hands. When the old man looked stronger, he summoned Alpha and Omega into the room. Though weak, Samuel’s voice carried the weight of years. "I suppose you already knew that they are my great-grandchildren," he said, his gaze sharpening as he met Jethru’s eyes. Jethru stilled. "Their father was Naomi’s son," Samuel continued, his voice trembling with a memory. "The only child she bore in her lifetime." Naomi. That name struck like a blade to the chest. "Didn’t Naomi marry Julian?" Jethru murmured. "Wasn’t he in love with her? Wasn’t it the reason why he tried to eliminate me?" Samuel’s eyes darkened. "Do you think any sane man would still marry Naomi after what happened that night, you brat?" He reached out with a feeble hand and smacked Jethru on the shoulder. Jethru barely felt it. His mind was reeling. "Elijah was conceived the night before your execution," Samuel continued, his voice thick with meaning. Jethru’s breath caught. His pulse thundered in his ears. "What?" His voice came out hoarse, disbelieving. Samuel’s gaze bore into him. "Then these two children..." The truth settled like a stone in his gut. He stared at Alpha and Omega, his world tilting on its axis.