The Last Sovereign

Chapter 7

Ethan and his team stared at the crowd around them, rooted to the spot.

On every side, people packed the streets, eyes lifted with reverence as a single name thundered from their lips.

"Welcome, Joshua!"

The chant echoed, a wall of sound, reverberating off every surface, drowning out the city’s usual chaos.

Ethan’s grip tightened on his weapon as he exchanged glances with his men, each of them wide-eyed, shaken.

These people weren’t here to challenge them—they were here for Joshua.

But how had he done it? How had he, amidst all this turmoil, gathered a crowd so vast and loyal?

The man in question, Joshua, stood in the center of it all with serene calm.

His eyes swept across the throng before he took a single step forward, his voice low but cutting through the noise.

"Jaguar gave me his word," Joshua stated, his tone firm but level. "He said he wouldn’t cross the border. Has he gone back on that?"

A figure moved within the crowd, breaking through with quick, deliberate steps.

A man in a deep blue suit, eyes respectfully downcast, dropped to one knee before Joshua.

“Sir,” he began, his voice steady but reverent. “Our leader, Jaguar, hasn’t broken his promise. He heard that you were arriving, and he sent us to secure the area and offer you an escort.”

Ethan’s grip on his weapon tightened as a chill washed over him.

His team shifted uneasily, each one visibly shaken by the realization dawning in their minds.

These weren’t Joshua’s people—they were Jaguar’s men.

Jaguar, the fearsome warlord who ruled the southern territories and had clashed with entire nations.

Yet, even he hadn’t dared to set foot across the border. He’d sent only his lieutenants, and only to greet Joshua.

Joshua’s quiet presence held more weight here than an army.

The implications settled heavily in Ethan’s mind, unsettling him to his core.

He’d known of Joshua’s reputation but hadn’t fully understood its weight until now.

This was no ordinary man. Whatever charges had been laid against Joshua—claims of corruption, bribery—were starting to look absurd.

A man of his stature had no need for petty crimes. His influence reached far beyond what anyone had imagined.

Whatever he was to State Texpanse, it was clear he was much more than a CEO.

The man in the blue suit rose to his feet, bowing respectfully.

"Sir," he said, gesturing toward the line of polished black vehicles parked on the street, "if you’ll allow it, we’d be honored to escort you wherever you wish to go."

Joshua nodded, his expression unreadable.

He stepped forward and slipped into the back seat of the first car without a word. “Tezcatlipoca’s Crest,” he said calmly, and the doors shut with a quiet click.

As Joshua’s vehicle began to move, the convoy followed in formation, an intimidating display of power rolling through the streets.

Passersby paused in awe, their eyes wide as the endless stream of luxury cars passed them by, tinted windows gleaming.

Ethan quickly shook himself from his shock, bolting to his own vehicle.

The convoy wound its way toward Tezcatlipoca’s Crest, a snow-capped mountain that loomed over the city.

It was a place known for its volatile terrain—and the hostile figures who called it home.

But today, as the convoy approached, the usual suspects, men hardened by battle and unrest, retreated, lowering their weapons.

Joshua’s mere presence commanded their obedience; his silent authority pressed them to bow their heads.

When the convoy reached the mountain’s peak, it came to a slow, silent stop.

Joshua stepped out alone, his dark coat billowing in the frigid wind as he moved toward a solitary gravestone standing amidst the snow.

The gathered crowd remained in place, watching with bated breath as he moved forward. No one dared follow him; they simply stood, heads bowed, the silence thick with unspoken reverence.

Ethan followed at a distance, pausing when he saw the lone gravestone standing amidst the snow at the mountain’s edge.

Joshua stopped in front of it, hands folded behind his back, eyes fixed on the stone, lost in some private contemplation. The wind howled around him, carrying flurries of snow, but he remained unmoving, as if nothing could disturb him.

Ethan leaned closer to the man in the blue suit, his voice low, hesitant. “That gravestone,” he asked, barely breathing the words. “Why is there a gravestone in a place like this?”

The man cast a wary glance at the gravestone, then back at Ethan, his face shadowed with a quiet respect.