The sound had come from Lachlan Silverwood's hand.
Clearly, the information had struck a nerve. Rage surged through him—so much so that the cup in his grasp should have shattered. Realizing his lapse in control, he gently eased his grip. The cup appeared completely unharmed…
Ethan, curious, quietly extended his senses—and what he discovered shocked him. The entire cup had been crushed into dust, yet it still held its original shape. This Eighth Lord of the Silverwoods… his power was truly unfathomable.
At the same time, Ethan inwardly scoffed. The old man was obviously trying to cover up his momentary loss of composure.
He had actually used his internal energy to forcibly restore the cup's form.
Still, Ethan couldn't help but wonder—who was stronger: Lachlan Silverwood or Matriarch Whitmore? He'd heard the Whitmore Family's individual combat abilities outmatched any of the other noble houses. Their lower rank stemmed only from their small numbers, not a lack of strength.
