Chapter 366: Not a Threat

It was not said directly, but insinuated.

From the piercing gaze, the strong posture, and the cold-blooded tone—Abigail could tell that he wanted her to use this on Kai. Since she was a member of the Ambrosia Pact and the newest, she was the perfect target for the imposing man.

Easiest to sway and easiest to pressure.

Before Abigail could answer—the imposing man grabbed a blanket on the armrest and threw it towards her. He noticed that she was shivering uncontrollably from the cold. "No—Abigail, you’re mistaken. I want to help you get rid of your source of embarrassment.

"Having to face him, the man you betrayed, every day must be hard on you. I pity you."

Abigail covered her body with the blanket and narrowed her eyes at what he said.

It seemed this man knew everything about her.

Only a really small few knew that she betrayed Kai in the Blood Rite.

But somehow, he got to know about it.

"Do what needs to be done. Help yourself by doing this, so you can move on." He added. "I’m simply a Supernal of Poseidon. He felt guilty for what he did to Amphitrite—and this was his way to amend for his mistake. In other words, this is a sign from the Gods."

Silence swept over the room as Abigail looked down.

She was wearing a mask, but the imposing man could see the struggle behind her eyes.

A shake in the foundation, which was a good sign for him.

"A sign from the Gods...?"

"Yes. It would be wiser to follow the Gods. Don’t go against their will."

Across the long ancient records, every mortal soul who had defied the Gods had been severely punished beyond measure—tortured for eternity. Not one mortal had resisted or survived the wrath of the Gods, and Abigail wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she would be the exception.

Or at least, the imposing man thought as much.

From his eyes, she was weak-willed, gullible, easy to break.

As long as he phrased it right, she would most certainly buckle.

After all, a betrayer would always be a betrayer.

"No..." Abigail shook her head. "I’m not betraying him again. And this is not the Gods’ will."

A flicker of surprise crossed the imposing man’s eyes.

He was quite sure that she would buckle, but it seemed she had grown stronger.

Not too easy to break.

But his eyes returned to normal again—he had already prepared for this.

"On the surface, my little cousin was a whore, seducing middle-aged men to spare some time for her so she could get a little bit of money." The imposing man looked down at the wooden floor, tracing the sway of the wood grain there as if he was reminiscing about the past. "She was fair and pretty, a woman that men adored, or... abused.

"A few weeks before she started, she came to my house, asking for money. Fifty grand. I was under the impression she wanted to gamble again, but it turns out her father was sick. I had no money, so I told her to let her father die. He was a good father once, but after his wife passed, he became aggressive, loves to beat her. So, I said, why keep him alive? But she became a whore anyway to pay for his medical bills.

"As a result, I quite have a better view on whores in the red district," the imposing man paused for a fleeting second—and then looked up at Abigail again. "And I also learned that the bond shared between a father and a daughter is special."

Almost instantly, Abigail’s heart sank to her stomach.

She turned towards her own father, and back to the imposing man again—her lips trembled.

"W-What did you do?" She asked, dreading the answer. "What did you do to him?!"

Even with the panic in her voice, the imposing man didn’t rush to answer.

He took his time straightening his spine and then reclining back on the sofa, one arm stretched to the other side. A small smile played on his lips, and though the mask was on, Abigail could feel the smile.

"I said, what did you do to him?!" Abigail screamed.

"I am a Supernal of Poseidon. I have absolute control over water, far more than your control. But a poisonous liquid like that?" The imposing man glanced at the vial and clicked his tongue repeatedly while shaking his head. "I have limited control over it. However—I do have the blood of an Olympian God inside me. I can make a request to any God or Goddess. Such as Achlys, the Goddess of Misery and Deadly Poison."

Abigail’s heart skipped a beat.

Her entire body trembled as her face was drained of all colour.

In class, she learned about many things, but there was nothing about Supernals of an Olympian God or Goddess. All she knew about them was that they were going to be far stronger than any Supernal around.

She didn’t know that they could also make a request to other Gods or Goddesses.

Especially not with Achlys.

From what she knew about the Goddess, she resided in the Underworld. To reach her palace there, one would first have to get through the will of Hades, the King of the Underworld. And even if Hades yielded, there was still his wife, Hera—who kept a very close eye on Achlys.

Concoctions made by her are deadly, even for Olympian Gods or Goddesses.

Hera loved to use poisons made by her.

And as a result, she was afraid that anyone would approach Achlys and poison her.

To think that the imposing man could go through all of that to reach Achlys is unfathomable.

"I asked for a simple request—turn this vial into a poison liquid that I can control freely,’ the imposing man could see panic in Abigail’s eyes, so he quickly waved his hand. "It’s not going to work on you. Your body would’ve dissolved the poison by now."

He reached for Abigail’s father and lifted him up like he was nothing.

A painful whimper slipped past Abigail’s father’s lips as he was placed roughly on the sofa.

"But his body won’t," the imposing man continued. "At this point, the poison must’ve already merged with his blood, and there would be no way to extract it. He could die any second, but the good news is, you have the power to save him."

Slowly, the imposing man’s gaze shifted toward the ceiling above Abigail.

And then his eyes narrowed.

He exhaled lightly—a soft, dismissive sound—and rose to his feet with an effortless, predatory nonchalance. Since he had finished what he came here to do, it was time for him to leave before things escalated.

Ignoring the small, pathetic sobs coming from Abigail’s father, he walked to the side.

Every step he took seemed to shake the house.

And the sound rang loudly against the silence.

He took the grand spear leaning against the wall—the moment his hand touched the weapon, the entirety of the spear hummed to life. A brilliant, oceanic blue hue glazed over its intricate markings that stretched from the bottom of the shaft all the way to the top.

Abigail watched as the light slithered up like a serpent.

Next, water materialized from the air—swirling around the base of the spearhead.

Once it was ready, it settled into the foxtail, infusing it with the water affinity.

He walked toward the main door, but he stopped right beside Abigail. He stopped when their shoulders almost touched. His sheer size cast her entirely in his shadow. "Don’t disappoint me, Abigail. Do the right thing. Think of this as an opportunity to start over. Not a threat. Just a chance."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

Recognizing the uncertainty behind Abigail’s eyes, he continued.

"Give only two drops," He whispered; his voice a venomous thread that slipped directly into her ear. "If you don’t have the bravery to seize the opportunity, then give him two drops. It’ll incapacitate him. And then, I will take care of the rest. You won’t even need to get your hands dirty."

Only then did he walk again, threading toward the door with deliberate steps.

As he got to the door, he paused for a fleeting second that seemed to choke Abigail even more before he pushed the door open and stepped out into the night. The door clicked shut, and his footsteps faded away into the distance.

Immediately after he was gone, Abigail rushed through the room.

She sat on the sofa beside her father with shaking hands.

Abigail cradled his body and felt weakness—her father was already old, and this must’ve been really hard on her body. "Dad," She choked out; her voice broke midway. "Are you okay? It’s me. Look at me, please."

Hearing the familiar voice, her father’s eyelids trembled slightly.

And then, they opened—the whites clouded with pain and shame.

A tear slid down his wrinkled cheek when he saw the sadness in Abigail’s eyes. No real father would want to see their little princess cry. "I’m sorry." He said with a choked rasp. "I’m really sorry... for being such a burden to you."

Abigail shook her head fiercely.

A sob caught in her throat, as she had never thought of her father as a burden.

"No. Don’t say that." She said firmly. "There was nothing you could do in that situation. Even I can’t do anything. It wasn’t your fault. Just that—you were placed in a difficult situation. Far beyond what you could handle."

She looked down at his broken arm; the angle of the bone made her stomach lurch.

Ever since she became an Angel, she saw many atrocities.

Being a part of Lion’s team back then exposed her to many bad things.

She never batted an eye—never recoiled in surprise.

A corpse being treated like trash, organs pulled out—none of those things made her bat an eye.

However, seeing her father’s broken arm was different. Really different.

Abigail shook her head and forced herself to focus. She was a Supernal of Amphitrite. It was a bitter irony that she could be so easily controlled by a Supernal of Poseidon, but she was still grateful for one thing her bloodline allowed her.

She could heal others.

As she healed her father’s broken arm, the imposing man’s words echoed in her skull.

’Give only two drops.’

’It’ll incapacitate him.’

’I will take care of the rest.’

She stared at the vial on the table, and then at her father.

It was clear that the imposing man was trying to manipulate her—by saying that this was the will of the Gods. But even then, she wanted to curse the Gods for putting her in this familiar situation again still.

As her father’s breathing finally evened out, a terrifying thought crystallized in her mind.

’What should I do?’