Wings Of Deception
Chapter 53 Releasing Aura

Chapter 53: Chapter 53 Releasing Aura

A shadow fell over the town as a gigantic swallow soared gracefully through the skies.

Perched atop its back was a lazy-looking, elegant youth—John Singer. A smaller swallow sat perched on his head like a crown, and in his hands, he held a black leather-bound diary, its pages flipping in the wind as he reclined effortlessly.

From below, the horde of beasts erupted in cheers and bows, welcoming him with a vibrant rain of petals and colorful leaves. It was a grand reception—until gasps filled the air.

Without warning, a blue electric arc cracked across John’s face, a sharp slap emitted directly from the diary itself.

The beasts recoiled in horror, some even flinching. Did the book just attack him?

But John remained calm, unfazed.

Truth was, he wasn’t reading the diary at all. He couldn’t. Not yet. The symbols inside were still unintelligible to him—a mystery bound in ink. He only kept it open to maintain his human form, as the diary seemed connected to his current state.

John let out a light chuckle as if everything was going according to plan.

From atop his head, the little swallow chirped once.

He gave a nod toward the elegant snake woman standing near the front. "Lady Valleryl," he greeted casually, acknowledging her with a charismatic tilt of his chin.

Then, with a sly smirk, he muttered under his breath, "Bubble, what are we waiting for? Let’s give them a proper entrance. Something with flair. Do it for the image of our Sky Dominating Clan."

The small swallow—Bubble—chirped again, this time with a mischievous glint in its eyes.

And then, before the stunned crowd, the massive colorful swallow began to churn and ripple, its feathers melting into streams of radiant light. In moments, the majestic bird transformed into a resplendent golden chariot, adorned with intricate cloud motifs and glowing runes etched along its sides. It floated effortlessly in the air like a divine relic from myth.

With another trill from Bubble, the golden chariot descended in a smooth arc, gliding straight toward the center of the town, its radiance casting shimmering golden hues over the crowd below.

Meanwhile, at the summit hall...

The grand building facing the colossal hollow willow tree was abuzz with tension and quiet curiosity. Inside its bourgeois-style interior, marble floors gleamed beneath chandeliers of spirit crystal, and golden sunlight filtered through open archways.

A massive round table stood at the center, with high-backed chairs arranged with purpose and power.

At the head of the table sat Frassure Mufasa, the lion-like King of the Three Fangs Kingdom, draped in royal crimson robes, his golden mane braided and adorned with medals of war and wisdom.

To his right stood his younger brother, Damien Mufasa, regal and calm, scanning the room with sharp eyes.

Seated along the circular spread were the heads of designated clans from across the Kingdom, each with their own banners, robes, and aura of authority.

Directly facing the king, a solitary figure cloaked entirely in shadow sat in silence. She was the envoy of the Illuminati Clan of the Central Valley, her aura cold and oppressive, like a still lake before a deadly storm.

To her side sat the ten representatives of the Blazing Crow Clan of the West—elegant, poised, and precise in their manners. Their dark eyes missed nothing, even as they dined slowly and with restraint, savoring each delicacy.

Further down, the fifteen sturdy members of the Iron Bull Clan had already made a battlefield of their plates. Meats were torn, drinks gulped, and fruit skins discarded without thought. Roars of laughter echoed from their side of the table.

One of them, a red-faced elder with bulging muscles and a slurred accent—Dame Roan—stood up unsteadily, raising a nearly empty jug.

"King Mufasa!" he bellowed, voice echoing off the crystal walls. "The honored guests are already here, are they not? Why not begin this summit, eh? It’s a fine, fine day to talk alliance and brotherhood!" He hiccupped and reached for another bottle, completely unconcerned by protocol.

The other guests turned their eyes toward the king, some with amusement, others with veiled annoyance. It was clear many shared Roan’s sentiment—Why hadn’t it started yet?

Before Frassure could speak, Damien Mufasa stepped forward, voice smooth yet firm.

"Please wait a little longer," Damien said, his gaze sweeping across the hall. "There is still one very important guest yet to arrive—someone who represents a rising clan with the potential to shake the heavens. I personally requested he be shown the utmost hospitality."

As if on cue, the ground outside gave a subtle tremor, a distant hum building as the golden chariot neared. Though the thick stone walls blocked the view, none of the guests remained unaware. With their honed senses and profound understanding of the world’s mystical laws, they could feel the foreign aura approaching.

Their eyes narrowed. Some were curious. Others, skeptical.

A few instinctively extended their spiritual senses.

"...Is it him?" Dame Roan scoffed, the drunken grin still plastered across his face. "He doesn’t seem like much. Are you sure he belongs at our table?"

Damien Mufasa didn’t flinch. He smiled coldly. "You don’t seem to know what you’re talking about, Dame Roan. Do yourself a favor and stop insulting my guest."

Roan’s eyes twitched. "And what if I don’t?"

The smile vanished from Damien’s face.

"Then that’ll make things easier for me," he said, voice turning low and thunderous. "I’ll beat the hell out of you first and make you kneel before my friend."

The moment those words left his lips, a crushing aura burst from Damien’s body—dense, suffocating, and sharp like a blade honed by storms. The air in the room grew heavy. Even seasoned warriors gasped for breath, their bodies instinctively stiffening under the unseen pressure.

As for Dame Roan, he couldn’t withstand it. His knees buckled. His organs trembled. He coughed out a mouthful of blood, staining his beard and armor.

A dozen Iron Bull Clan members surged up from their seats in protest, their faces turning red with fury.

Before any of them could voice their outrage, Frassure Mufasa raised a hand, his deep voice cutting through the tension.

"That’s enough, brother. Retract your aura."

Damien exhaled sharply and pulled back his pressure. The room immediately lightened, but the tension remained thick in the air. Roan slumped back into his seat, pale and shaken.

Then, a mental whisper passed between the brothers.

"Aren’t you going overboard, big brother?" Frassure asked through spiritual transmission. "You’re not yourself today. Is that mockingbird really worth it?"

Damien didn’t hesitate.

"Every bit of it. You’ll understand when you meet him. He’s... different. Logic doesn’t bind him. He’s strange, yes—bold, terrifying, and brilliant in ways you wouldn’t believe."

Frassure raised an eyebrow but said nothing aloud.

Then came a flicker of gold through the main windows.

Outside, the Sky Dominating Clan had arrived.