Timeless Assassin - Chapter 842

Chapter 842: The Old Guard
(The Next Night, Skyshard City, The Eighth Elder’s POV)

The night hung heavy over Skyshard City as the Eighth Elder slipped quietly out through the rear window of a small restaurant bathroom, his cloak drawn tight around his shoulders while he merged into the darkness of the alleys with practiced ease, for although he was an Elder of the Cult, he had long grown accustomed to living like a fugitive within his own homeland, ever since Chaosbringer’s relentless watch tightened around all of them.

He moved swiftly and silently through the backstreets, keeping his head lowered and his steps light, avoiding lit paths and circling behind closed shops, relying on memory and instinct more than sight as he made his way toward the designated meeting point, praying that none of Chaosbringer’s watchers had taken an interest in his unusual route tonight.

By the time he reached the old metallic gate at the outskirts of the district, his heartbeat had already picked up in pace, not out of fear of battle, but out of the dread that he would be discovered during a secret gathering such as this, and his freedom would be culled even further.

*Knock*

*Knock*

He knocked twice.

Then placed his palm against the cold steel before murmuring softly through the slit in the door,

“Long live the old order, long live the council of elders.”

As, *CLICK*

The gate unlocked with a metallic click, sliding open just enough to allow him inside before sealing shut behind him with quiet finality, as the Eighth Elder stepped into the dim warehouse where the others were already gathered.

The First Elder.

The Third Elder.

The Fourth, Fifth, Sixth, Tenth and Eleventh Elders.

All present, all masked by the same exhaustion, frustration and simmering resentment that he himself carried.

“Lord Eighth,” the Third Elder greeted mockingly from across the table, his eyes glinting with a sly amusement that made the Eighth Elder’s jaw tighten, “how have you been?”

“I’ve been the same as the rest of us, Lord Third… toothless.”

The Eighth Elder said, his voice sharp with bitterness as he took a seat, for the humiliation of living like a ceremonial relic while Leo and Chaosbringer controlled every aspect of Cult governance had long since worn away whatever patience he once possessed.

“Well don’t be so disappointed, Lord Eighth,” the Third Elder replied smoothly, leaning back in his chair with the air of a man who knew more than the rest of them, “I come bearing some good news tonight.”

Before the Eighth Elder could respond, the First Elder scoffed loudly, his expression twisted with barely controlled fury as he slammed his palm against the table.

“Unless the news you’re about to give is that the traitorous Seventh Elder is dead,” he growled, “I’m not interested in anything else.”

His knuckles turned white from how tightly his fists clenched, the veins rising across his forearm as he fought to contain the hatred that had long festered in him toward Chaosbringer.

“No… that’s not what I have to say.”

The Third Elder answered calmly, lowering his voice until everyone leaned in closer, their eyes narrowing as anticipation pooled between them like a gathering storm.

“But what I do have to share,” he continued, letting the silence stretch just long enough to tighten every Elder’s nerves, “is that Lord Soron is alive… and that he’s back on Ixtal.”

*Gasp*

Gasps echoed across the room.

The First Elder froze.

The Fourth Elder’s hands trembled.

Even the stoic Tenth Elder leaned forward with rare urgency.

“Skyshard has been hiding this information from us,” the Third Elder said slowly, savoring their reactions, “but I’ve learned the truth through my sources.”

He shared as a spark ignited in their eyes—a hope, a possibility, a seismic shift neither Leo nor Chaosbringer had wanted them to imagine.

For the implication was clear.

If Soron was alive…

Then Leo was no longer the legitimate Sect Master.

The Elders stared at one another as the realization settled like thunder in their bones.

A restless murmur spread through the room as the Elders exchanged glances, each man feeling the weight of the moment press against his chest, for the return of Soron was not merely good news—it was an earthquake capable of toppling Leo’s iron rule in a single stroke if handled correctly.

The Fourth Elder leaned forward first, his voice trembling with barely contained excitement as he whispered, “If Lord Soron lives, then Skyshard’s authority ends today… we were supposed to follow him only until our real Sect Master returned.”

“Yes,” the Sixth Elder added quickly, his eyes alight with the thrill of long-buried ambition resurfacing, “and if Soron is back on Ixtal, then the first thing the Cult should do is reinstate the council, not bow to a boy who seized power through Charles’s death.”

A few heads nodded at once.

The Fifth Elder spoke next, his voice low yet sharp with purpose, “Skyshard hid this from us, which means he fears what Lord Soron’s return means for him. That secrecy alone proves that he has no intention of relinquishing his control willingly.”

“That settles it then,” the First Elder muttered, his earlier fury replaced by cold determination as he clasped his hands together, “the people must know. If we release this news to the public, the masses will demand what is rightfully theirs—a proper Sect Master, not a temporary figurehead clinging to power.”

The Eleventh Elder shot a wary glance at the door before speaking, “If the civilians hear Lord Soron has returned, they will support our demand to have an audience with the Lord at the least.

I don’t think the Seventh will be able to stop us from going out then.”

“Exactly,” the Third Elder said smoothly, his gaze sweeping across the table as he steered their excitement into a unified plan, “so we let the truth leak—carefully, quietly, through the common folk who still revere the Elders. Rumors will spread like wildfire, and by the time the Seventh even realizes what is happening, the city will already be demanding us to let him meet the Lord.”

A dangerous, eager silence filled the air.

The First Elder clenched his fist as a fierce smile tugged at his mouth.

“Then it’s decided… the old order returns. And Skyshard’s reign ends.”

One by one, the Elders nodded, their resentment transforming into resolve, unaware that the serpent among them—

the Third Elder—

smiled for reasons far darker than theirs.