The hall was silent.
All eyes were locked on the man who had just entered.
He stood there—calm, unbothered.
Yet his presence alone made the air heavy.
It was as if the entire world had just tilted, the very fabric of reality bending to acknowledge his existence.
Zhao Tianlong's gaze darkened.
"Who are you?"
His voice carried authority, the kind that had crushed countless men under its weight.
But the man before him merely chuckled.
"Oh? Have you already forgotten me, Patriarch Zhao?"
The room froze.
A forgotten name. A forgotten past.
Yet, deep within the recesses of his mind, Zhao Tianlong felt something stir.
A memory long buried.
A name that should have been erased.
And then—
His fingers tightened around his goblet.
His face paled.
No. It couldn't be.
Not him.
---
The nobles and warriors in the room exchanged confused glances.
Zhao Tianlong was visibly shaken—something they had never seen before.
One of the elders spoke.
"Patriarch, who is this man?"
Zhao Tianlong did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at the figure standing before him.
And in a voice that barely concealed his rage, he whispered—
"Ochieng…"
Gasps erupted across the hall.
Some warriors stood from their seats.
Others staggered back.
The younger generation looked puzzled.
Who was this man?
Why did his name bring such a reaction from their patriarch?
And then, from the shadows, an old elder with trembling hands muttered—
"The forsaken son…"
A single phrase—
But it struck like a bolt of lightning.
---
Years ago, a child was cast out from the Zhao Clan.
A child who had been deemed worthless.
A disgrace.
An insect unworthy of the family's name.
And yet, that child had now returned—unannounced.
Unfazed.
And standing before them like a sovereign above kings.
Ochieng smiled.
His golden eyes swept across the banquet hall.
"I see the Zhao Clan still knows how to enjoy a feast."
He walked forward—slowly, deliberately.
Every step sent shivers down the spines of those present.
He stopped in front of Zhao Tianlong.
And then, with a smirk, he reached out—
And grabbed the patriarch's goblet.
"Let me join you."
GULP.
The hall watched in stunned silence as Ochieng downed the wine in one go.
Then, with a flick of his wrist—
He shattered the golden goblet against the floor.
The sound echoed.
A declaration.
A challenge.
Zhao Tianlong's hands trembled with fury.
"You dare?"
Ochieng's voice was soft, yet it carried through the room like a blade slicing through flesh.
"Did you think I would stay forgotten forever?"
---
The elders of the Zhao Clan exchanged wary glances.
They had assumed Ochieng had died in obscurity.
Yet here he was.
Standing tall.
Exuding an aura even they could not comprehend.
One elder finally spoke.
"What do you want?"
Ochieng tilted his head.
"Want?"
He chuckled.
"I have no interest in reclaiming the Zhao name."
"No interest in your wealth, your power, or your approval."
Then—
His eyes darkened.
And for the first time, the room felt cold.
"I'm simply here to remind you… that you made a mistake."
"A mistake that you will never be able to undo."
Silence.
Then—
A warrior drew his sword.
"Enough! We don't need to listen to this outsider!"
With a burst of energy, he lunged.
His sword, aimed straight for Ochieng's heart.
And yet—
Ochieng did not move.
He did not even blink.
Instead—
The moment the blade neared him—
It stopped.
The warrior's eyes widened in horror.
His sword—once an unbreakable artifact—
Had shattered into dust.
SHHHH.
The pieces fell to the ground.
And then, Ochieng finally spoke:
"I told you."
"You made a mistake."
And with a simple flick of his fingers—
BOOOM!
The warrior was blown away, crashing through the banquet hall walls.
Blood splattered across the pristine floors.
And at that moment—
Everyone finally understood.
The forsaken son had returned.
Not as a beggar.
Not as a lost child.
But as something far, far more terrifying.
Ochieng smiled.
"Now… shall we continue our feast?"
---