Affea didn't respond to his comment. She knew there was bad blood between her brother and the Blood Clan Patriarch, which ultimately partitioned the clan into two.
She stepped aside and gestured toward the entrance. "Inside."
With a faint grunt, Francis walked past him into the sanctum.
Inside the hall, the great round table, with nine high-backed thrones with numbers imprinted on them, from I to IX, in ancient Roman numbers. Two additional seats were placed outside the table for observing. Lysandra and Qin Wuye can only sit there, feeling humiliated.
Francis looked at all the others. As his eyes fell upon someone who looked more like a brute in the middle of elegantly dressed people, he chuckled. "I didn't expect the boy would grow so much that even Fjor would drag his body all the way to the Death Clan. I wonder how Qridus would feel at that."
Fjor grunted at his comment. He chugged down the wine and slammed on the table. "More…"
