Chapter 590: . How likely do you think he is to succeed?

Book 590. How likely do you think he is to succeed?

“So, shall we go out? Lin.”

Peyr, dressed in equally resplendent finery, seemed a sprite stepped straight from a celestial fairy tale.

She glanced at the timepiece, then, unable to bear watching Saya pace back and forth any longer, spoke up: “Only ten minutes remain until the banquet begins.

Have you made your decision?”

Saya halted mid-step, his smile bitter as he replied, “I don’t know.”

Truly—he did not know.

Through the vast floor-to-ceiling window of the room, beyond the lush, shadowed valley of ancient forest, floated an immense aerial island suspended among the clouds.

This was Miltona—a planet where the legend of the Lairsas family had first taken root.

He had finally arrived here—yet lacked the courage to step beyond the threshold of this very room.

For, up to this moment, no one in the Lairsas family knew their eldest heir had returned.

For now, he remained safe.

But should he enter the banquet hall, should he appear before their eyes—

Saya was certain, with absolute conviction, that Wells and the faction loyal to him would erase him from existence without hesitation or mercy.

Because *he*—Saya—was, in truth, the legitimate First Heir of the Lairsas “747” Dynasty.

Wells could never formally assume control of the family unless this unstable variable—this living threat—was eliminated.

“But even if I stay hidden here, what good does it do?”

Saya murmured softly to himself.

The Lairsas family’s influence spanned multiple stellar sectors.

To evade their pursuit entirely, he’d have to flee beyond ten sectors—vanish into obscurity, live under a false name for the rest of his days, never returning.

Or else carve out a dominion greater than the Lairsas itself, far beyond those ten sectors—and return in triumph, avenging every wrong.

The former was not what he desired.

The latter existed only in the fanfiction fantasies circulating across the Stellar Net.

How could a single man topple a super-commercial empire forged over hundreds of generations by the Lairsas?

“Then… there remains only one choice: to walk out.”

Saya whispered low, drawing from his formal coat pocket a crumpled slip of paper, its edges pinched and warped by his fingers.

*“Return to where it all began. Reclaim what was always yours.”*

It was this note that had guided him here.

“But how—*how* am I to reclaim what is rightfully mine?”

His gaze fixed upon the final line, and he fell into deep contemplation:

*“At the zenith of the stars, the crowned sovereign has already arranged everything.”*

Every other phrase on the note he understood—and each had been verified in turn. Only this last sentence defied interpretation. His intuition screamed that this line held the key—the precise method by which he might reclaim his birthright.

Yet thus far, not a single sign, not a whisper of its meaning, had revealed itself.

*Click—*

The sound of a clock’s hands turning.

Peyr rose from her seat, her voice firm as she addressed Saya: “You’ve run out of time to hesitate, to weigh options.

Go—or stay.

You must give me your answer *now*.

Otherwise…”

She shrugged lightly. “I’ll go ahead alone.

And if you follow later—I can’t guarantee you won’t be struck by a devastating ambush en route to the banquet hall.”

Tondun, too, watched Saya intently.

*Huuuuh—*

*“At the zenith of the stars, the crowned sovereign has already arranged everything.”*

“Very well,” Saya exhaled slowly, deeply—then, at last, resolved.

“I’ll go.”

Peyr and Tondun both let out quiet sighs of relief.

Watching Saya dither and agonize like that—it had almost made them want to march over and punch him twice, hard.

“Then let’s go.”

Peyr turned toward the door, already summoning the hovercraft.

Tondun stepped forward, clapping Saya firmly on the shoulder. “Brother—you made the right call.”

“Really?”

Saya’s eyes lit up instantly; he stared at Tondun, hopeful, urgent: “Do you know something? Tell me—*please*, Tondun!”

Tondun grinned wide, revealing teeth of polished quartz, and chuckled, “Honestly? I just *really* want to taste the banquet’s delicacies.

If you don’t go—I’ll miss them entirely.”

As a super-clan whose power stretched across several stellar sectors, every move the Lairsas family made sent shockwaves rippling through those regions.

Half a cosmic year ago, when the patriarch passed away, tremors shook multiple sectors.

Now, news of the new heir’s official ascension—if ever released—would undoubtedly trigger another cascade of upheaval.

Without exaggeration: the commercial landscape of several sectors might well be reshaped by the events unfolding tonight, within this very banquet hall.

Those invited to this banquet were, naturally, the most affluent and influential figures across several star sectors.

A Star Count was the bare minimum requirement; Star Marquises abounded like autumn leaves.

Prominent figures from commerce and politics across the star sectors also attended—four Star Sector Assembly Speakers alone had made the journey.

One could scarcely imagine the sheer grandeur of such an occasion.

The depth of the Lairsas family’s legacy shone forth today in full splendor.

Wells, clad in a moon-white formal suit, cut a strikingly handsome, elegant, and impeccably poised figure.

He moved effortlessly among nobles, assembly speakers, and titans of industry—laughing, conversing, commanding attention with effortless grace, as though born to be the center of the evening.

Indeed, he *was* the evening’s true protagonist.

Once this banquet concluded, he would officially ascend as the new patriarch of the Lairsas family.

This so-called Ancestral Star Banquet was, in essence, his coronation ceremony.

“Allow me to introduce you.”

Wells drew Mef beside him and approached a middle-aged man with crimson skin and a genial smile. “Esteemed Speaker Hobert—Speaker of the House of Representatives for the Bolo Star Sector, and our Lairsas family’s closest friend and ally.”

“This is my fiancée, Mef.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Speaker Hobert.”

“Charmed, Miss Mef. Your beauty dims even the stars themselves.”

“Thank you.”

Hobert courteously kissed the back of her hand, and the three began a light, amiable exchange.

“Congratulations, Wells.”

Hobert raised his glass. “I must admit—you are, without question, the most exceptional young man I have ever encountered.”

“Your praise is too generous, Speaker Hobert.”

Wells smiled faintly. “Without your support, none of this would have been possible.”

Hobert’s eyes flickered briefly; he chuckled, waving it off. “I shall always stand behind those young minds brimming with vigor and boundless potential. Ah—there’s the Speaker from Obsidian Star Sector. I must speak with him for a moment.”

With that, he excused himself and departed.

Mef watched his retreating figure, her brow furrowing slightly. “That Speaker Hobert… his demeanor feels oddly ambiguous.”

“He’s always been like that,” Wells replied coolly. “A true old fox—never leaving a single trace, never revealing his hand to anyone. He backs me only because *I* am the current heir apparent to the Lairsas patriarchate. Should another take my place, he’d shift his allegiance without hesitation.”

Mef nodded slowly, thoughtful.

Suddenly, she frowned again, as if recalling something. “Last time… it truly *was* Saya who slipped away. I just received word—he appears to have been taken by the White Moon Arrow family. Do you think… they intervened to aid him?”

“White Moon Arrow?”

At the name, Wells’ brow tightened momentarily—then relaxed. He shook his head.

“Impossible. The White Moon Arrow family would *never* assist him. Not under any circumstances.”

“Why not?”

Mef pressed earnestly. “Saya carries half their bloodline. That kinship alone gives them ample justification to help him—and leverage his status as first heir to infiltrate the Lairsas family, seizing whatever interests they desire.”

“Logically sound. Emotionally plausible.”

Wells offered a faint, knowing smile. “Yet I repeat: such a scenario holds *zero* possibility.”

“Why?”

Mef looked genuinely perplexed.

“Because…”

Wells gently swirled the wine in his glass, voice casual yet edged with quiet certainty.

“The White Moon Arrow family, like us, are merchants. And a competent merchant, before committing capital, must calculate not only the rate of return—but, above all else, the *probability of success*.”

He met Mef’s gaze, lips curling into a faint, almost mocking smile:

“Honestly now—how likely do *you* believe it is that Saya will ever successfully become the next patriarch of the Lairsas family?”