The heavy doors of the Great Hall of Velmora groaned as they were pushed open.
Step. Step. Step.
The sound of boots hitting the marble floor echoed like war drums.
Roric Alfred walked in.
He wasn't wearing his usual combat gear. He wore a high-collared coat of midnight blue velvet, embroidered with gold thread, and a cape that flowed like liquid blood behind him. At his waist, a ceremonial sword rested—though everyone knew he could kill everyone in the room with a spoon.
His aura wasn't explosive. It was suffocating. It felt like the air in the room had turned into lead.
The nobles, usually loud and arrogant, fell silent. They pressed themselves against the walls, heads bowed, sweating profusely.
"Oooh... Sir Roric is here," a noble whispered, his voice trembling.
Beside Roric, an elderly butler with a stiff upper lip walked in perfect sync. He cleared his throat.
"Presenting!" the butler announced, his voice booming.
"Prince Roric Alfred! The First Prince of Velmora! The future King who will ascend to the throne at tomorrow's ceremony!"
Roric didn't look at anyone. He walked straight toward the dais.
"He will lead the negotiation with the Kingdom of Emberfall!" the butler continued. "Together with General Sasha Wamen, they will form a coalition to defeat the 'Unknown Calamity'!"
Roric stopped in the center of the room.
He turned his head slowly. His black eyes swept across the crowd.
"That's enough," Roric said.
The butler clamped his mouth shut instantly.
Roric looked at the strongest nobles—men who were A-Rank warriors themselves. Under his gaze, their knees buckled. They felt like prey standing before a predator that ate gods.
"I am going to be King tomorrow," Roric said softly. His voice was calm, but it carried a terrifying weight.
"So, I don't want any inappropriate behavior. I don't want any mistakes. If I see a single mistake in my presence..."
Roric smiled. It was a cold, beautiful smile.
"You will be dead before your brain realizes it."
"This is not an announcement. It is an order."
The nobles nodded frantically. "Yes, Your Highness! Of course!"
But there is always one fool in every court.
A noble, emboldened by wine or stupidity, raised his hand.
"My Prince," the noble asked. "Can you tell us... how do you plan to defeat the monster? The one that defeated you and the Strongest Woman in the world just by releasing his Aura?"
Silence.
Absolute, deathly silence.
Other nobles stared at the man in horror.
Idiot! one thought. Don't say that!
"Sorry," the noble stammered, realizing his mistake too late. "I... I wasn't able to control my curiosity..."
Roric turned his body toward the noble.
He didn't look angry. He looked... amused.
"Really?" Roric asked, tilting his head. "Don't you see? I don't care how strong an opponent is."
Roric took a step toward the man.
"It makes me happy if they are stronger. It means I have something to break."
Roric's eyes narrowed.
"And also... Have you ever heard that I have lost?"
The noble opened his mouth to speak.
SLASH.
There was no movement. No sound of a blade being drawn.
But suddenly, the noble's head slid off his neck.
THUD.
The head hit the floor, eyes still blinking in confusion. A fountain of blood sprayed the ceiling.
"AHHH!" The other nobles scrambled back, terrified.
Roric stood there, not a drop of blood on his clothes.
"I only acknowledge the strong," Roric said to the headless corpse. "Not the weak."
He looked at the trembling crowd.
"You stand here and talk like you could beat him easily. Don't think just because you are a noble, you have a voice. You are cattle."
Roric placed a hand on his chest.
"Pride is all I have. And that's enough for me."
"And as for Sasha..." Roric's face darkened. "I don't care if she betrayed me in the past. We will kill that creature. And then... she will regret she was ever born."
The butler stepped forward, careful not to step in the blood.
"My Prince... the King is asking for you."
Roric nodded.
"Henpher," Roric said to the butler. "Teach these arrogant assholes how to speak in front of me."
"As you wish, My Prince." The butler bowed deeply.
Roric turned and left the hall. The moment the doors closed behind him, the nobles collapsed to the floor, gasping for air.
The Throne Room
King Cedric Blackwood sat on the Obsidian Throne. He was an old man, but his eyes were sharp as hawks.
Roric entered. The terrifying aura vanished, replaced by the respect of a son.
"My Lord," Roric said, bowing.
"Son," the King smiled. "Tomorrow is the best day of your life. Be happy."
Roric placed his ceremonial sword on the ground and kneeled.
"Thank you, My Lord. But sorry I came late. I had to... take out the trash."
"I heard," the King waved his hand. "Forget the nobles. Tell me what is on your mind."
Roric looked up.
"My Lord... that creature. The one everyone is talking about. I saw him. And Sasha saw him too."
"So what?"
"The point is," Roric said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He is a human."
The King froze. He gripped the armrests of his throne.
"What?" The King stood up. "How are you saying that? That's impossible!"
"I saw his face," Roric insisted. "The white hair. The structure of his jaw. His eyes. And the nature of his Aura... beneath the chaos, it is human."
"Impossible," the King muttered, pacing. "A human having power like that? It must be a monster taking the form of a human. A shape-shifter."
"I know it feels unrealistic," Roric said, standing up and picking up his sword. "But I am confirmed. I am sure of it."
The King shook his head. "If you say so... but it defies the laws of the world."
Roric gripped his sword hilt.
"You know, My Lord... in this world, everything is possible."
Roric looked at the reflection in his blade.
"Because even the word 'Impossible' says 'I'm Possible'."
The King sighed. He sat back down.
"By the way, Roric... now that the battle has ended and you have to work with Sasha..."
The King looked at his son with a heavy gaze.
"I have to ask you again. Why did you kill her mother? You could have killed her father, King Luthar. Why the Queen?"
Roric looked down. A shadow cast over his eyes.
"I killed his wife... because I wanted to see the King suffer."
Roric's grip on the sword tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"Because of what he did... I can't forget it."
FLASHBACK
A beautiful beach. The sun setting over the ocean.
A young Elf girl, with hair like spun gold, running towards a younger Roric.
She smiled. A smile that made Roric's dark heart feel light.
"Roric!" she shouted. "I love you!"
CUT TO NIGHT.
Rain. Heavy, cold rain.
The same Elf girl. But she wasn't smiling.
She was lying in a pool of mud and blood.
Her head had been severed. Her hands were tied behind her back. Her body was bruised, violated.
King Luthar of Emberfall stood over her, zipping up his pants, laughing.
PRESENT DAY
"I can't forget her blood tears," Roric whispered. "I can't forget how she looked."
"You know, don't you?" the King said quietly. "King Luthar... he isn't suffering. He is enjoying it. He didn't love his wife."
"I DON'T CARE!" Roric shouted, his voice cracking.
"If I have to kill him, I will kill him! But I want him to suffer first! You say he isn't suffering? What kind of man would not suffer if his child's mother is dead?!"
"But you didn't rape her," the King pointed out. "Why?"
Roric looked disgusted.
"Because I am not that kind of filth. I don't do it for fun. I don't rape for revenge."
Roric's eyes turned cold.
"I blew her mother's head off because there was nothing else I could do to hurt him. And you know... Sasha and I... we were partners. We cleared every dungeon together."
"But Luthar destroyed everything."
"Whatever," the King sighed. "Just don't get yourself killed. You are my only son. I can't give you to anyone."
Roric bowed silently and left the room.
The Gate of Solara
Three days had passed.
The convoy of six carriages finally slowed to a halt.
Markil was asleep, drooling slightly on his shoulder.
"We are here," Elrond announced.
Markil jolted awake.
"Huh? Pizza?"
"No pizza," Kalman grumbled from the corner. "We are staying silent."
The massive iron gates of the Kingdom of Solara loomed above them. A guard approached, holding a spear.
"Halt! From which Kingdom are you?"
The guard peered into the carriage. He stepped back, his eyes going wide.
Elves... and that high elf...
"Is there a problem?" Elrond asked. He didn't shout, but his S-Rank aura leaked out just enough to make the guard sweat.
"N-Nothing, Sir!" the guard stammered.
"We are from the Elven Kingdom," Elrond said proudly. "The Silver Spires. The Last Bastion."
Inside the carriage, Amreth tapped Markil's shoulder.
"Boy," Amreth whispered. "Take this. Hide your face."
He handed Markil a mask.
It was sleek. A full-face mask, split down the middle—one side pitch black, the other bone white. It had no mouth opening, only narrow slits for the eyes. It looked terrifying and cool at the same time.
Markil put it on.
"Cool," Markil mumbled from behind the mask. "I feel like a superhero."
The guard walked closer.
"May I check how many are you?"
The guard looked through the window.
He counted. One... two... three... four...
His eyes stopped on Markil.
Who is that masked guy?
The guard squinted.
He isn't an Elf. No pointed ears. No mana signature of an Elf.
That means... he is a Human.
A human sitting with Special Grade Elves?
"Fast," Elrond commanded. "We are going to be late."
"Y-Yes, Sir!" the guard saluted. "Open the gates!"
The carriage rolled forward.
As it passed, the guard looked at his partner, his mind racing.
Even though I am a D-Rank... I could see it. They weren't invited here. And they brought a Human.
Suspicious. Very suspicious.
"I need to tell the King," the guard muttered.
"Hey," his partner called out. "Where are you going? We have work to do!"
"Toilet!" the guard lied, running toward the castle. "I'll be right back!"
Inside the carriage, behind the black and white mask, Markil's purple eyes glowed.
I can sense his fear, Markil thought. He's running to tell someone.
Markil smiled beneath the mask.
Good. Let them know death has arrived.
(Chapter 29 Finished)