The scent of gunpowder still lingered in the air as Ochieng took a step forward. The room had erupted into chaos—guards shouting, guests ducking behind golden tables, and the elite whispering in shock. Yet, amidst all the mayhem, Ochieng remained calm, his black silk suit unruffled, his expression unreadable.
The man with the gun—Xavier Ren, the self-proclaimed rightful heir of the Zhao underworld—was trembling. His hatred burned hotter than the chandelier lights above them. "You think you can just waltz in here and claim what's mine?" Xavier snarled. "You, who lived in the shadows, knowing nothing of the blood we've spilled to build this empire?"
Ochieng's lips curled into a slow, dangerous smirk.
"I don't need to claim anything. It was always mine."
Xavier pulled the trigger—BANG!
But the bullet never reached him.
With a flick of his wrist, Ochieng had already moved. In a blur of motion, he twisted his body, dodging the shot as if it were child's play. Before anyone could react, his leg lashed out, kicking the gun from Xavier's hand with bone-crushing force. The weapon clattered to the marble floor.
Silence fell.
Lucien Zhao, seated like a king on the golden throne, let out a slow, amused chuckle. "Well, well, you do have the blood of a warrior."
Xavier clutched his wrist, his face twisted in agony. Ochieng bent down, picking up the silver gun, his fingers running over the metal with disinterest. Then, he tossed it aside like trash.
"You talk too much," he muttered before driving a brutal punch into Xavier's gut.
Xavier crumbled, gasping for breath.
Ochieng turned to the silent crowd, his voice smooth yet commanding. "Who else questions my right to sit at the head of this empire?"
No one moved.
Lucien finally stood, his deep brown eyes twinkling with amusement. "I must admit, I thought you would be easy to break, Ochieng. But you surprise me."
Ochieng met his gaze, unflinching. "That's because you don't know what I've endured."
Lucien smirked. "Then prove it."
At his signal, the grand doors of the ballroom swung open, revealing eight men in tailored suits—the leaders of the Eight Major Provinces. Each of them controlled a sector of power—business, military, the underground trade, and beyond.
The true rulers of the empire.
"You want the throne?" Lucien challenged. "Then take the Blood Oath. Prove your strength before the world."
Ochieng's fingers curled into fists.
A Blood Oath. A ritual where one had to survive a gauntlet of trials, defeating each of the eight leaders in combat before earning the right to lead.
His heart pounded.
This was it.
The moment he stepped into destiny's flames.
With a deep breath, he shrugged off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the toned muscle beneath.
Then, he stepped forward, his voice a quiet storm.
"Let's begin."