From Outcast to Overlord The Unyielding Heir (Leander Ashcroft) novel Chapter 612

Chapter 612 The Blood Clan’s Comeback

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The castle stood deep within the forest, so out of place it looked as though it had been dropped there from another world. Under the slanting sunlight, the bat sculpture perched at its peak shimmered with a striking, blood–red glow.

In Europa, the season stood opposite that of the East–bitterly cold, with daylight lasting only a few short hours. Before long, the sun dipped behind the hillside, and darkness crept in.

As night settled, the forest lost all traces of light, but the castle remained completely unlit, as silent and lifeless as an abandoned mausoleum. Every once in a while, the rasping cries of crows echoed from its depths.

Crack!

Lightning tore across the sky, illuminating half the night, and for that brief moment, a lone figure appeared atop the castle. He stood on the brickwork with his hands clasped behind his back. With a faint stretch of his arms, a massive pair of wings unfurled behind him–each spanning more than ten yards.

He was a Westerian man in the form of a middle–aged aristocrat, dressed in medieval court attire. His naturally elegant face had gone pale, and two sharp fangs protruded from his lips, giving him an air that was both sinister and uncanny.

Standing at the highest point of the castle, he swept his gaze across the surroundings like a sovereign surveying his realm. Just then, a flock of birds flew overhead. He lifted a hand and reached casually toward the sky.

Bam, bam, bam, bam…

One after another, the birds detonated into clouds of blood mist. Each crimson cloud compressed into thick droplets, which streamed toward him as though summoned. His lips parted, drawing them in with an invisible pull. Blood threads whipped through the air and disappeared into his mouth.

As the blood touched his tongue, a look of satisfaction crossed his face, the red glow in his eyes intensifying.

“Human blood was still the finest.”

He licked his lips, then stepped off the edge of the towering structure. His wings folded as he dropped several dozen yards, landing before the castle gates.

The massive doors–hundreds of pounds each–creaked open beneath his push. The interior lay in absolute darkness, not a sliver of light penetrating the gloom. He snapped his fingers, sending a burst of force toward the side wall.

Click.

A single lantern flickered to life, then another, and another. Flame after flame lit up in sequence until a long, glowing corridor stretched all the way into the depths of the castle.

Hands clasped behind him, he strode forward, moving swiftly along the illuminated path until he reached the grand banquet hall at the castle’s heart. The hall lay empty, adorned only with the ornate partitions and decorations of Europa’s old royal courts.

His eyes deepened, and his voice reverberated through the emptiness.

“All of you… After sleeping for so many years, the time has come. Are you truly planning to remain asleep?”

Only his own words echoed back to him. He seemed to be speaking to thin air, and no one responded.

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3:58 pm

Chapter 612 The Blood Clan’s Comeback

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“Hmph.” A cold smile flickered across his brows. “I’ll say this once. If you remain silent, I’ll turn around and leave immediately. One week ago, the Arbitration Office publicly tore up the King Phase Accord. Whether you continue to sleep or return to the world–it’s all in your hands.”

Silence lingered… until a sudden gust of wind rushed in through the window.

Whoosh…

It whipped the curtains, snapped the tablecloths, and made the long banquet table at the center of the hall tremble. The tremors intensified, causing the utensils atop it to rattle, then spill onto the floor with crisp metallic chimes.

The man stood with his hands behind his back, the corner of his lips lifting. “So you’ve finally decided to show yourselves.”

Boom!

A thunderous blast suddenly erupted through the grand hall. The long sandalwood table shattered from the inside out, blown apart by some unseen force. As the fragments scattered, a round opening was revealed beneath it. Thick, churning blood surged within the pit, bubbling continuously.

Then, with a violent burst, the blood geysered upward and split into three distinct silhouettes.

As the figures solidified, the one on the far left appeared first—a tall, elderly man dressed in blood–red robes, wearing an old- fashioned monocle attached to a long metal chain that wrapped behind his head.

On the far right stood a man in medieval Europan aristocratic attire, the kind that heirs of noble titles once wore. Though he looked to be only in his forties or fifties, his hair had already gone silver, and his eyes carried a deep sense of the passing of ages.

The figure in the center was the youngest–barely in his early thirties, with striking gold hair and impossibly handsome features, the very image of a Europan nobleman. His entire presence radiated piercing intellect and unshakable calm, as though nothing in the world escaped his perception.

The moment the three appeared, the middle–aged man standing before them dropped to one knee without hesitation. “Greetings, my lords.”

He addressed them with the oldest noble title of the Westerian Blood Clan, his voice full of reverence.

The two standing to the left and right remained silent. The central man–clearly their leader–cast a chilly glance at the kneeling figure.

“Kit,” he said indifferently, “what did you just say? Repeat it.”

“Yes.” Kit lowered his head and repeated, “One week ago, the Arbitration Office publicly declared beneath the Westerian world that the King Phase Accord has been officially torn apart. And in the East, the Martial Alliance has resurfaced.”

The three exchanged looks, subtle shifts flickering through their eyes. After a moment, the central man finally spoke. “Is everything you just said true?”

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