Weapon seller in the world of magic-Chapter 692: Secrets of the Past (part-2)

He paused, gathering his breath before continuing.

"Then she gave birth to Lan Gengxin. The boy should have been discarded as an unwanted child of shame, but he carried the bloodline of Blizzard Pegasus. And a few years later, she passed away from an illness."

Mark inhaled slowly, absorbing every word. It was a story buried for decades, yet every sentence resonated like an old wound reopening.

The elder lowered his gaze as he went on. "The Patriarch’s only son, Lan Jing, had mediocre talent. But Gengxin... he was a genius with the sacred bloodline. The Patriarch had no choice but to raise him as his own, to groom him as the successor. But every time he saw him, he remembered the sister he loved and lost, and the disgrace she brought."

The room seemed to grow colder.

"And then came the rebellion a couple of decades later," the elder whispered. "The Lan Clan sided with the wrong faction. The war was lost. To appease the Emperor’s wrath, the Patriarch used the chance to send away Gengxin, your grandfather, hoping to erase the last remaining reminder of that shame. But Lan Jing, his real son, followed his brother in self-exile as a dutiful brother. The Patriarch couldn’t do anything about it. As the lord of this dominion, he couldn’t show affection or partiality to someone else."

Mark’s lips tightened. He saw the pieces forming a picture he never knew existed.

"And now," the elder said bitterly, "you returned."

His eyes lifted to Mark’s face, filled with a strange mix of hatred and fear. "The moment you appeared... everything resurfaced for him. I don’t know if you know this, but you look too much like Gengxin when he was young. For every older generation, we look at you as if you were the reincarnation of Gengxin. However, you lacked his refinement and humble nature. You speak more like Lan Ju, your great-grandmother. Talented, fearless, and bold. She also used to beat up imperial princes without caring about the consequences, and just like you, she too used to speak that we need to end our enmity with the fire clans. He saw the same rebellious streak. The same threat. And then..."

The elder’s voice hardened. It wasn’t over yet...

"You charmed the one groomed to be the next Patriarch, Lan Xia, right under his nose. You stirred up trouble with the Empire. You pushed the clan to the brink of conflict, spoke of independence, and challenged everything he built and protected. The old Patriarch could not tolerate your existence anymore. That’s why he planned to kick you out using legitimate means, but you instead beat him up and became the Clan head. What other choice does he have than to kill you?"

Mark’s face darkened.

"And the poison?" he asked coldly. "Who gave it to you?"

The elder bowed his head lower. "It came from the former Patriarch himself, too. He ordered your room guards to leave. He told me to finish it quietly. And... I obeyed."

Silence hung thick between them.

Mark’s gaze sharpened into something far more dangerous than anger. It was a coldness that had settled deep within his bones, numbing everything except the steady beat of calculation in his mind.

He tightened his grip around the gun just a little, not out of intention to shoot again, but because the weight of betrayal was dawning on him layer by layer. His great-grandfather was someone whom he treated like family. Mark wouldn’t casually bow to anyone, not even the gods. But he acknowledged the relationship and even knelt before him.

When he spoke, his voice was low yet steady, carrying a frightening clarity that made the elder’s spine stiffen further under the pressure of the gravity dome. "Now, the names," Mark said, leaning down so that his shadow fell across the elder’s trembling face. "I want the names. Every prominent elder is supporting your little cause. Don’t hold anything back."

Lan Meiran inhaled deeply, a shudder creeping into his chest. His life was already dangling by a thread so thin that a breath could snap it.

With the pressure crushing him and death staring him in the face, there was nothing left to protect. The moment he parted his lips, the names flowed out in a desperate stream. "Grand Elder Lan Ming... Elder Lan Wuxian... Elder Lan Heng... Elder Lan Fei... Elder Lan Shuran..." He continued listing them, each name leaving his mouth like a piece of stone chipped away from his pride, and each name making Mark’s expression darken further.

All in all, more than a dozen elders, most of them 12-circle realm experts, were involved, which is like almost 40% of the force. Only Lan Ming stood out as a 13-circle powerhouse, a man over two thousand years old, respected and feared by the clan despite no longer being in his prime.

Mark absorbed every name silently, his eyes narrowing in thought.

When the final name was spoken, he slowly straightened his back, sliding the antimatter gun back into his holster.

The elder gasped, almost sighing in relief, thinking this was the moment he was spared. The illusion of safety washed over him like cool water on a summer day. But when Mark stepped closer and crouched slightly, the elder froze again.

Mark’s expression no longer carried anger. It was blankness.

Without warning, Mark raised his hand and placed two fingers against the elder’s forehead. His touch was almost gentle, frighteningly so, and Meiran’s eyes widened as a faint ripple of energy pulsed outward. The panic returned immediately, stronger than before. "W–Wait, " he managed to choke out, but before he could finish, Mark uttered a single word in a calm, detached voice.

"Disintegration."

A ripple of violent energy burst forth from Mark’s fingertips, consuming the elder’s body from the inside out.

His skin cracked as black lines tore through him like lightning fracturing stone.

The elder screamed, his voice rising in a pitiful roar as his flesh began to dissolve into ash, piece by piece.

His hands trembled violently before breaking apart into fragments of nothing.

His eyes widened in terror until even they melted into dust. As the elder’s body continued breaking apart in irreversible dissolution, his voice cracked into a final plea that never reached completion before fading into silence.

Mark watched it without a single twitch of hesitation. His expression remained firm even as the last remnants of the elder crumbled into fine black dust that scattered across the floor like soot.

"Sorry," Mark said, and although his tone was soft, it carried no warmth. "I don’t owe it the loyalty of sparing traitors. But in exchange for your truth, I will not hold any grudge against your family."

He stood there for a few seconds, staring at the faint traces of ash still drifting in the air.

The quietness of the room seemed to press on him harder than the assassin’s blade ever had. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t sadness. It was something raw and bitter, an unfiltered mixture of disbelief, frustration, and twisted amusement.

Mark tilted his head back and suddenly let out a low chuckle. Then another. And another. Soon, the chuckle twisted into a sharp, almost manic laugh, echoing through the room in a way that felt too painful to be genuine.

"Here I was," he muttered to himself, fingers curling slightly as his expression contorted between a grin and a grimace. "Here I was... putting my own family aside... sacrificing everything... taking responsibility for the ’future of the clan.’ I even chose to stay here just so Xiao Jiao’s path would be smoother. And meanwhile..."

His laughter broke into a harsh exhale as he ran a hand down his face.

"My own great-grandfather wants to kill me? Because I look like my grandfather? Because I remind him of his sister? Because I refuse to bow to the imperial palace like a dog?"

Mark shook his head slowly, a dark glint settling into his eyes. His voice dropped into a whisper, heavy with fury. "How ridiculous..."

He let the words settle.

Then his voice deepened, resonating with a chilling resolve. "No... No... No..."

His eyes lifted, and the cold gleam inside them hardened to steel.

"If I don’t teach all of you a lesson... if I don’t make your life a hell for trying to kill me... then I won’t have peace in my heart."

He straightened, his breathing calm again, and the grin that spread across his lips was the most terrifying thing in the room.

The elders had chosen war.

*

Meanwhile;

Deep inside the Hall of Elders, an ancient chamber lined with icy pillars and floating lanterns, a sharp, crystalline crack echoed through the room.

It wasn’t loud, but it was unmistakable, like the snapping of thin glass under heavy pressure.

The sound made both guards stationed at the entrance jump as if someone had fired a weapon beside their ears. Their eyes snapped toward the elevated podium at the center, where twenty-seven floating yellow crystals always hovered in a gentle circle. Those crystals served as old-fashioned "life indicators," linked to the spiritual signatures of all elders of the Ancient Lan Sect. However, there is no life crystal for Mark. Not because he just recently ascended to the position, but it is because he is not a 12-circle yet.