SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant - Chapter 260

Chapter 260: Chapter 260: 143rd Council Gathering
The ten Elders took their places without haste, fanning out behind the obsidian table like an array of silent judges. Their robes—black trimmed with faint silver runes—barely rustled as they moved, yet their arrival shifted the atmosphere entirely.

Authority settled over the chamber.

Valttair observed them with a measured gaze. He knew each face, each reputation, each political inclination. Ten instruments of tradition and balance—yet powerless compared to the eight seated here, and certainly powerless compared to the silent figure behind Kaedor.

Icarus di Valtaron didn’t move. Didn’t blink or didn’t acknowledge the outburst Grumhald had thrown at him.

As if such things were beneath him.

‘A decade gone, then he walks into the Council Chamber as though it’s his birthright,’ Valttair thought coldly.

The Elder Leader stepped forward, hands clasped lightly.

“This 143rd Gathering convenes under circumstances of grave severity,” she began, her voice calm yet resonant. “All the major world powers are meeting today to decide what will happen. Only the Eight—” her gaze hesitated, just barely, on Icarus, “—and those the Council has agreed to permit.”

A diplomatic way of saying we could not stop him.

Kaedor’s shoulders tightened, proud yet uncomfortable. Elenara’s vines coiled tighter around the legs of her chair. Roderic’s smirk faded into something calculating.

Valttair remained perfectly still.

The Elder continued.

“Before addressing the principal matter, we must confirm attendance and recognition of all present heads of Household.”

One by one, she recited the names.

“Nyssara di Myrrhvale.”

A nod—fluid as water.

“Roderic au Vaelion.”

A casual salute with his wine glass.

“Malakar du Zar’khael.”

A rigid incline of the head.

“Lady Lysaria au Nocthar.”

Her lips curved, fangs glinting.

“Kaedor du Thal’Zar.”

A grunt, barely respectful.

“Grumhald au Dvergar.”

A firm nod, beard bristling.

“Elenara au Sylvanel.”

Her staff pulsed faintly in acknowledgment.

And then—

“Valttair du Morgain.”

He tilted his chin a fraction. Nothing more.

Finally, her gaze drifted—inevitably, reluctantly—toward the man in maroon.

“Lord Icarus… Your presence is acknowledged, though your role in this gathering remains… undefined.”

No one breathed.

Icarus simply lowered his eyes a fraction, not quite a bow, not quite dismissal.

“I am here to observe,” he said quietly. “Nothing more.”

A lie. Valttair didn’t need talent SSS to know it.

The Elder Leader inhaled once. “Very well. Let the first matter be raised.”

Her gaze turned to Elenara.

“House Sylvanel may present its grievance.”

The fracture began.

Elenara rose slowly, the vines at her feet tightening like coiled serpents preparing to strike—but she never got the chance to speak.

Malakar’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood abruptly.

“Before any grievance is presented,” he said sharply, crimson eyes narrowing at Icarus, “I demand clarification. Why is he here? The Council is sacred. No outsider is permitted inside this chamber.”

Roderic leaned forward with a low, amused exhale. “Indeed. Much as I enjoy surprises, Icarus is not a trinket someone can smuggle into a meeting of the Eight. His presence requires justification.”

The air thickened.

The Elders exchanged uneasy glances, but none interrupted. They knew the Eight held true authority here.

Kaedor pushed back his chair, rising with a slow, bristling growl under his breath. “He is my guest. He is involved in this matter—more than any of you—”

Valttair cut him off like a blade.

“And since when,” he said, voice low and sharp, “do you decide who is allowed in this chamber? Should I bring someone next time? Perhaps a personal assassin? Or a private mage? Would that seem respectful to you?”

Kaedor’s jaw clenched.

Valttair continued, tone glacial and uncompromising:

“You have committed a grave breach of protocol, Kaedor. You know the rules. Only the Eight. No exceptions. If the Elders failed to remove him, we still hold the authority to do so.”

Grumhald slammed his fist again, beard trembling. “Aye. Throw him out. No damned wanderer—SSS talent or not—stands equal to us!”

Lady Lysaria watched the exchange with a small, hungry smile, as if enjoying the fracture forming at the table’s core.

Elenara remained standing, staff pulsing with contained fury. “I will not speak of Sylvanel’s grievances while an unauthorized witness stands in this room.”

Kaedor’s aura surged, wild and heavy.

“You dare question me? Icarus is vital to this discussion—”

Valttair leaned slightly forward.

“Then explain that vitality. Because unless a miracle occurred, the prodigy who vanished ten years ago has nothing to do with the defilement of an elven sanctuary—or do you claim otherwise?”

Kaedor opened his mouth—

But Icarus spoke first.

“I am not here to take a seat among you,” he said quietly, stepping forward. “I am not a rival patriarch. Nor a claimant to any throne. I am here because I witnessed the aftermath with my own eyes.”

Silence.

Every gaze snapped to him.

Kaedor’s hands tightened at his sides.

Valttair’s eyes narrowed to slits.

Malakar exhaled slowly. “So. You were at the site.”

Icarus nodded once, expression unreadable.

“And what I saw,” he said, voice calm but cutting, “makes this meeting necessary.”

The silence that followed Icarus’s declaration was sharp enough to cut flesh.

Even the Elders seemed unsure whether to breathe.

Valttair watched him closely.

The timing seemed too perfect, too calculated. It wasn’t natural. A single sentence thrown like bait—one Kaedor seized immediately.

Kaedor straightened, shoulders tensing with forced confidence. “Yes. Exactly. Icarus inspected the ruins personally on my request. Given the severity of the incident… I needed an outside perspective.”

Valttair could almost taste the lie.

Roderic’s brow arched, his smirk returning. “An outside perspective? You summoned an SSS Talent exile for a vandalism report?”

Malakar huffed, unimpressed. “Convenient timing. Too convenient Kaedor.”

Lysaria twirled a silver strand of hair around her finger, fangs glinting. “Kaedor, darling… even for you, this story leaks mana like a cracked gem.”

Grumhald snorted loudly. “You expect us to believe he just wandered by and you thought, ‘how lucky, the ghost returns from the grave’?”

Kaedor’s jaw flexed. “Believe what you want. Icarus has no reason to lie.”

Valttair leaned back slightly, tapping a single finger against the obsidian table.

“No reason… unless you gave him one,” he said softly.

Kaedor’s aura bristled, his muscles coiling like a cornered beast.

Before he could explode—

A vine cracked against the floor.

Elenara stood, her staff glowing with pulsating emerald light. The air shifted—cold, ancient, dangerous.

“I am done listening to excuses,” she said, voice trembling with contained wrath. “If Thal’Zar wishes to speak of motives and perspectives, then allow me to present the truth.”

Kaedor glared, but the Elders finally intervened.

The Elder Leader raised both hands, her voice calm but strained. “Yes. Lady Elenara, please begin. The Council must hear a formal account before judgment is passed.”

Elenara inhaled once.

The vines at her feet writhed like living veins of the forest itself.

Her gaze swept across the chamber, lingering on Kaedor, then on Icarus, then finally settling on Valttair—as though seeking silent witnesses who still valued order.

Then she began.

“Three weeks ago,” she said, “a sacred Sylvanel sanctuary—one tied to the roots of the World Tree—was desecrated.”

The temperature of the room dropped.

“It was not beasts. It was not nature. It was not accident.”

She tightened her grip on the staff.

“It was violence. Deliberate, calculated, and unprovoked.”

All eyes shifted to Kaedor.

He did not flinch.

But Valttair saw it—the smallest flicker of panic behind those amber eyes.

Elenara’s voice cut through the room like a blade of moon-forged steel.

“I ask the Council one question,” she said, staff trembling with fury. “What reason would House Thal’Zar have to trespass upon a holy site? Why send armed men? Why destroy what the elves have preserved for millennia?”

Her words echoed.

Kaedor’s fingers curled into fists.

Valttair watched him with cold, meticulous attention. ‘He’s cornered. And beasts bite hardest when cornered.’

Roderic leaned back with an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Kaedor. Please enlighten us. Because so far, your story relies entirely on ‘coincidences’ and a conveniently resurrected prodigy.”

Malakar folded his arms. “Explain your involvement. And explain why Icarus stands behind you like an escort.”

Grumhald grunted, voice gravelly. “If you can’t justify it, we assume guilt. That’s the rule.”

Kaedor inhaled sharply, shoulders rising.

Kaedor pressed on, eyes flashing with defensiveness.

“My hunters followed a trail. One that led beyond my borders. Toward the mountains. Toward lands unclaimed.”

Valttair narrowed his eyes. ‘Unclaimed? A convenient direction—because the dead cannot refute you.’

He leaned slightly forward.

“And how,” Valttair asked, voice cold and precise, “did you decide Icarus was the correct man to verify such traces?”

Kaedor stiffened.

Valttair didn’t let him speak.

“Because as far as I can see, someone like Icarus has no reason—none whatsoever—to heed your commands.” His gaze sharpened like drawn steel. “He is one of the only few living SSS-rank talents. A man who could rival any head of family seated here… and perhaps walk away the victor. So tell me, Kaedor—”

A pause. A blade of silence.

“—what possible sense does it make that he would follow your request?”

Kaedor’s jaw clenched, but Icarus stepped in first—deliberately.

“I do not follow him,” Icarus said calmly. “I follow employment.” He lifted one shoulder in a faint, almost lazy shrug. “You all know my profession. Mercenary work. High-risk contracts. The best hands money can buy.”

The lie slipped like oil across stone—quiet, polished… but thin.

Valttair heard it.

So did Roderic, whose smirk faded.

Elenara’s eyes narrowed.

Even Malakar’s posture shifted.

Icarus continued, tone steady:

“I was paid to look into a disturbance. To deliver a report. Nothing more.”

Valttair could see it clearly now:

Icarus avoided mentioning a client.

Kaedor avoided mentioning payment.

Both avoided looking at each other.

A fabricated story stitched together in real time.

And worst of all?

It insulted everyone’s intelligence.

Elenara’s staff shimmered with emerald rage.

“There were no disturbances,” she spat. “No rift surges. No agitated Void Creatures. No primordial anomalies. My guardians monitor every fluctuation within the forest. If such energy existed, Sylvanel would have known.”

She raised her chin.

“What happened was deliberate. A targeted strike. Not a monster rampage. Not a cosmic accident.”

Her vines coiled tighter, cracking the obsidian tiles beneath her feet.

“And your lies,” she said, eyes burning into both Kaedor and Icarus, “will not cleanse the blood spilled in that sanctuary.”