The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 98 Deity's departure

Eloda and Jolthar stepped into the front room of the shrine, their presence immediately drawing the attention of everyone waiting.

Daus, along with several members of the tribe, stood near the entrance, their anxious expressions revealing how deeply concerned they had been about the prolonged silence.

Raayani, who had remained relatively calm on the surface, was leaning casually against the wall, but her piercing gaze locked onto Jolthar the moment he entered the room.

The air around Jolthar was different. His aura, previously subdued and faint, now radiated an intense, almost overwhelming energy. It wasn't something he was intentionally unleashing—it simply spilled out of him, like a storm barely contained. The tribe members closest to him instinctively backed away, their knees trembling under the sheer weight of his presence.

Raayani's eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a thin line. This wasn't the same Jolthar she had known before. He was now stronger—much stronger—and far more enigmatic than ever.

Even Belan, standing silently at Raayani's side, raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "What happened to him?" she muttered under her breath, mostly to herself.

Eloda, noticing the discomfort in the room, patted Jolthar on the shoulder. "You should stop showing off now," she remarked with an annoyed look. Of course, she wasn't happy about any of this. She felt like she was exploited by the goddess and the damn kid in front of her. Your next read is at empire

Jolthar blinked, then tilted his head at her. "Showing off? Me? I wouldn't dream of it," he said, feigning innocence. But he obliged, drawing his aura inward until it was completely suppressed.

In an instant, the oppressive energy dissipated, replaced by an almost eerie calm. To the untrained eye, Jolthar now seemed entirely ordinary, as though nothing had changed at all.

Raayani's brows knitted in deep confusion. She had witnessed countless warriors and wielders of power, but the way Jolthar could turn his overwhelming presence on and off like a switch left her unnerved. And the fact that Deity seemed subdued around him, the sudden power surge, and their disappearance for about a couple of hours in the shrine.

Who is he really? she wondered. Her suspicion and curiosity only grew stronger.

Belan leaned closer to her and whispered, "Did you see that? One moment, he's like a walking tempest, and the next, he's... nothing. What is going on?"

"I don't know," Raayani replied quietly, her gaze still fixed on Jolthar. "But he's not the same person we brought here."

Eloda, meanwhile, turned her attention to the tribe. "I will be leaving now," she announced, her voice steady and authoritative. "You are safe. There will be no more trouble for you, at least for the time being."

Her words were met with relief and reverence. The tribe members bowed deeply, their voices rising in unison as they sang praises to their deity. Eloda allowed herself a small smile before her form began to shimmer.

Within moments, she vanished, leaving behind only a faint, golden glow where she had stood.

As the tribe continued their chants, Raayani turned her focus back to Jolthar.

"You," she said, her tone firm but laced with intrigue. "Come with me. I want to speak with you."

Jolthar glanced at her, one corner of his mouth quirking up in a sly grin. "Well, if you insist. I hope this isn't about confessing your undying admiration for me, though. I'm flattered, but I'm not sure I'm ready for that kind of commitment."

Raayani's lips twitched but quickly masked her amusement with a stern look. "You've got jokes now, too, I see. Just come."

"Ah, but you didn't deny it," Jolthar quipped, following her with a lazy stride. His eyes sparkled with mischief, though there was a sharpness to them that suggested he was observing everything around him with calculated precision.

Before they could leave the room, another figure entered—Eran. His expression was a mix of confusion and concern as he took in the scene. "What's going on here?" he asked, his eyes darting between Jolthar, Raayani, and the rest of the room.

Jolthar raised a hand to calm him. "Don't worry, Eran. Everything's fine," he said, his voice light but reassuring. "Just your usual 'ancient deity leaves a cryptic farewell while everyone stares in awe' kind of day. Happens all the time."

Eran frowned, clearly unconvinced, but he didn't press the matter further. Instead, he stepped aside, allowing Raayani and Jolthar to leave the room.

As they walked, Jolthar couldn't resist adding, "You know, my lady, if you wanted some alone time with me, all you had to do was ask. No need for the theatrics."

Raayani rolled her eyes but didn't respond immediately. She was too preoccupied with questions she hoped Jolthar could answer.

"Don't push your luck, kid."

-

The air outside the shrine was still, the open space bathed in the soft light of the evening.

A single, lonely tree stood at the edge of the clearing, its sparse leaves rustling gently in the breeze. Raayani stood there, her arms crossed loosely, her sharp eyes fixed on the man before her.

Beside her were Belan and Lysandra, both waiting for her to speak, though their curiosity was evident. She felt their subtle glances at her, wondering what she was about to say.

Raayani's attention, however, was entirely on Jolthar. He stood tall, his figure commanding yet relaxed. His broad shoulders bore the weight of someone who had seen far more than his youthful appearance suggested. The bandages that peeked out from beneath his clothing only added to his rugged charm, hinting at battles fought and endured. His dark silver-grey hair, long and unruly, fluttered lightly in the breeze, framing his sharp features. His stance was casual, but the way his muscles flexed beneath him whenever he shifted his weight hinted at a strength that was anything but ordinary.

Her eyes trailed over him with a sharp, calculating gaze, though she didn't bother hiding the flicker of amusement that danced in them. This boy... no, this man, she thought to herself. He's an enigma wrapped in scars and wits. How many layers are hidden beneath that careless smirk of his?