I Got Cheated On and Ended Up in A Beast World

Chapter 162: Chapter 162: cleaning house

"I spent too much time trying to be gentle," Wang murmured, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register that made the surrounding pine needles rustle. "I stayed away from this mountain because I wanted a quiet life. I wanted to build a small, warm home where she could smile without fear. But I was foolish. As long as these old traitors are alive, as long as this tribe is messy, I can never safely bring her to my side. Every enemy I leave behind is a dagger aimed at her throat."

Elder Chen looked at the young master, a sudden shiver running down his old spine. He had watched Wang grow from a small cub into a powerful warrior, but he had never seen this look in the boy’s eyes before. The softness was entirely gone, replaced by the ruthless, unyielding instinct of a true alpha king.

"That Hidden Master is also there," Chen warned, his voice dropping into a tense whisper. "He is sitting behind the silken screen. Elder Shen does nothing without his counsel. His spiritual cultivation is deep, Wang. We do not know his true strength, or which external faction he represents."

"It does not matter who he is," Wang said coldly, his long leather boots making a sharp, heavy thud against the stone path as he began to walk down the ridge toward the valley. "Tonight, I’m cleaning my house. Anyone who stands between me and my female will bleed into this soil."

The Grand Hall of the silver Tiger Tribe was a massive structure carved from the core of a hollowed-out mountain.

Dozens of giant iron braziers lined the stone walls, filled with burning logs that cast a flickering, harsh orange glare across the room. The air inside was hot, thick, and suffocating, smelling of heavy ale, roasted meat, and the tense spiritual pressure of over a hundred high-tier beast warriors.

Sitting in rows along both sides of the hall were the lesser chiefs and elders, all of them large, rugged males with graying fur and heavy weapons resting against their knees.

At the very end of the room, elevated on a high stone platform, sat Elder Shen.

He was a thin, balding beastman with a sharp, fox-like nose and small, greedy eyes that were currently filled with a smug, deeply satisfied light.

He wore magnificent robes of white silk, a thick gold collar wrapped around his neck—a blatant show of wealth that did not belong to a simple tribal elder.

Behind his high stone chair hung a massive, translucent screen of black silk, completely hiding the figure sitting in the shadows behind it.

*Thud.*

*Thud.*

The heavy iron doors at the entrance of the hall were suddenly pushed open, the loud creak of the metal hinges echoing across the room, instantly silencing the noisy shouting of the chiefs.

Wang stepped through the threshold.

He walked down the center of the stone floor, his posture perfectly straight, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his long sword.

He did not look at the lesser chiefs who glared at him with suspicion, nor did he look at the guards who shifted their weapons as he passed. His blue eyes were fixed entirely on Elder Shen, locking onto the old male with a lethal, predatory intensity that made the old elder’s smug smile falter for a brief fraction of a second.

Wang stopped right at the base of the stone platform, looking up at the high seat. He did not bow. He did not lower his head. He simply stood there like a mountain of solid iron, his silent pressure slowly expanding through the room until the fires in the braziers began to flicker and shrink.

"You have finally returned, Wang," Elder Shen spoke, his voice high-pitched and sharp, cutting through the silence of the hall like a rusty blade. "We thought you had forgotten the way back to your father’s graves. For three moons, the northern borders have been troubled by rogue clans, yet our young master was nowhere to be found. The scouts say you were kneeling at the feet of a common human female, acting like a loyal dog in the lower marketplaces. Is this how the heir of the White Tiger house upholds our ancient name?"

A low murmur of agreement ran through the rows of lesser chiefs, their eyes darkening with anger as they looked at Wang. In the world of the beast tribes, relying on humans or showing weakness to a weaker race was considered the ultimate shame.

Wang did not argue. He did not defend his actions. He simply reached into the leather pouch at his side and pulled out a small, heavy scroll made of dark parchment, tied with a silver cord.

He tossed it onto the stone steps of the platform with a dull thud.

"Three weeks ago, the northern warehouse was raided by the shadow-wolf clan," Wang said, his voice smooth, low, and terrifyingly calm. "We lost forty thousand high-grade spirit stones and twelve crates of healing herbs. The scouts said it was a surprise attack. But this scroll contains the personal signature of Elder Shen, detailing the exact guard rotation and the secret pathways of that warehouse, sent to the shadow-wolf chief two days before the raid."

The hall went dead silent once more, the orange light of the braziers reflecting off the pale, sudden shock on Elder Shen’s face.

"You... you dare forge evidence against me?" Elder Shen stammered, his small eyes widening as he scrambled forward in his chair, his hands gripping the stone arms until the silk of his sleeves tore. "Guards! Seize this arrogant boy! He has brought nothing but shame and lies to this council!"

Four royal guards, their bodies covered in heavy iron armor, stepped forward from the shadows of the pillars, their long spears pointed directly at Wang’s throat.

Wang didn’t even look at them.

"Chen," he spoke softly.

From the shadows near the entrance, Elder Chen lifted a heavy bronze horn to his lips and blew a single, long blast that shook the stone ceiling.

*BROOOOOM.*

The heavy iron doors of the hall were smashed completely off their hinges.

Dozens of young, fiercely loyal warriors—males who had served under Wang’s father and had been secretly hidden in the outer valleys—flooded into the room like a silver tide.

They were armed with heavy battle-axes and long swords, their bodies covered in fresh blood from the outer guards they had already subdued without a sound. They quickly surrounded the lesser chiefs, their weapons raised, cutting off every single exit from the hall.

The lesser chiefs scrambled to their feet, their hands flying to their weapons, but they froze as they realized they were completely outnumbered and outmaneuvered.

Wang looked back up at Elder Shen, his golden eyes narrowing into dangerous, thin slits as his raw, ancestral beast pressure finally exploded from his body.

A massive, ethereal silhouette of a roaring white tiger materialized in the air behind his shoulders, its golden eyes reflecting his own, its roar echoing silently through the spiritual cores of every single beastman in the room.

The four guards who had pointed their spears at him instantly dropped to their knees, their weapons clattering against the stone floor boards as they vomited mouthfuls of blood under the pure weight of his alpha bloodline.

"I did not come here to negotiate with you, Shen," Wang whispered, his long sword sliding out of its scabbard with a sharp, clean ring that cut through the silence. "I came to clear the weeds."

He stepped onto the first stone of the platform, his boots heavy, his eyes locked onto the terrified old male who was now shaking like a leaf in his high seat. The final battle for the control of the north had just begun, and Wang had no intention of leaving a single enemy alive to witness the dawn.

The air inside the Grand Hall grew so cold that the breath of the gathered chiefs formed small clouds of white steam in the orange firelight.

Wang stepped onto the second tier of the stone platform. His long silver hair shifted across his dark steel pauldrons, and his boots made a slow, deliberate crunch against the loose grit on the steps.

The ethereal tiger silhouette behind him rippled with a pale, icy light, its heavy pressure bearing down on the room until the wooden beams overhead groaned under the weight.

"Wang! Stop right there!" Elder Shen shrieked, his thin hands digging into the carved armrests of the high seat. His face had turned a sickly, mottled gray. "You think you can just march into the sacred hall of our ancestors and slaughter an elder? The other clans will tear you apart! They will never accept a murderer as the alpha king!"

Wang did not stop. He lifted his sword, the edge of the blade tracing a thin, dark line through the dust on the floorboards.

"The ancestors do not protect traitors, Shen," Wang said,