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It was night in Murkia Castle. A 17-year-old boy with short blond hair and sky-blue eyes wandered the dimly lit corridors. That young man was none other than Prince Simon, the future heir to the Kingdom of Murk.
Instead of his usual formal knightly attire, he wore flashy, casual clothes: a dark blue tunic over a brown undershirt, loose enough for freedom of movement. Yet he still carried his trusty sword sheathed at his hip, the hilt visible but the blade hidden in its scabbard, no glint escaping as he moved silently through the shadows
Simon was searching for his father, whom he hadn't seen all day. According to the servants, King Alvin was in the Murk family crypts, the underground mausoleum located deep beneath the castle.
Though Simon had little interest in tombs, he descended the stone stairs anyway and reached a modest iron door. He pushed it open with a low creak.
Beyond the threshold lay a vast, cavernous chamber lit by faint torchlight that barely reached the high vaulted ceiling. Rows of ancient marble tombs stretched out in perfect order—thirty-one in total—each one a simple, imposing rectangular slab of polished white stone. Names and dates were etched deeply into the surfaces: birth and death years of former kings, queens, princes, and close kin of the Murk bloodline.
The air was cold and still, heavy with the scent of damp stone and centuries of silence. No ornate decorations adorned the space; only the stark, solemn tombs themselves, arranged in long aisles that disappeared into shadow, a quiet testament to the lineage Simon was destined to inherit.
Although darkness enveloped the vast underground chamber, Simon could see perfectly in the faint torchlight. He finally found his father, Alvin, standing motionless in front of a particular marble tombstone, staring at it with an intensity that made the air feel heavier.
Concerned, Simon approached quietly. "Father, what are you doing here? We need to prepare for tomorrow's negotiations with the Centaur Tribe."
Alvin seemed to hear him, but he didn't turn. His gaze remained fixed on the grave. Simon stepped closer and read the inscription etched into the polished stone:
Trevor Murk
Born 517 – Died 553
His late uncle, King Alvin's older brother—and the man who had died just one year before he and Victoria were born.
"Why are you staring at Uncle Trevor's grave, Father?" Simon asked softly.
Alvin finally turned, his blue eyes meeting his son's. His long blond hair shifted slightly as he spoke. "I'm just remembering moments with him… moments before he died."
Simon looked back at the tombstone. He knew the stories well: Trevor had been an exceptional, disciplined warrior and a brilliant ship designer. Thanks to his innovations, the kingdom had launched successful invasions of enemy islands across the sea. Trevor had been the perfect heir—strong, intelligent, admired. Simon had always been inspired by the tales of his uncle.
But when everything was set for Trevor to be crowned the next king, one day before the ceremony, he climbed to the highest tower of the castle and threw himself off.
"Do you miss him?" asked Simon.
Alvin let out a long, heavy sigh. "Yes… I miss him. If I could, I would bring him back to life."
The words sounded almost tender, but Simon caught the undercurrent—something darker flickering in his father's eyes, a shadow of hatred that didn't match the sentiment.
Simon felt the tension but chose not to press it. "Well… I'm leaving. Don't stay down here too long."
"All right," Alvin replied quietly.
Simon turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing softly through the chamber as he left his father alone with the dead.
A minute later, Alvin glanced around to confirm he was truly alone. Then, with deliberate slowness, he unfastened his pants and exposed his small penis. He aimed it at the tombstone and let a stream of urine splash across the name Trevor Murk, the liquid hissing faintly against the cold marble.
"I hate you," Alvin muttered under his breath, voice low and venomous, as the piss pooled at the base of the grave.
He shook himself off, fastened his pants again, and walked away without looking back.
__________________________
After Luxter cut Andy loose, the two men sat facing each other across the low, crackling campfire in the dim cell. The flames cast long, dancing shadows on the icy walls, but the heat did little to melt the thick distrust hanging between them. Both were tense, eyes sharp, measuring every word and gesture.
Luxter leaned forward slightly, the firelight flickering in his red eyes as he spoke in a low, conspiratorial tone.
"Andy, I meant it—the plan's solid. But on closer look, it's more complicated than it seems. We need a quiet spot to start digging, and I know exactly where: a blind corner in the far east wall where the patrols rarely pass. No noise will carry, no guards will notice. But there's one problem we have to deal with first."
Andy tore off a chunk of the frozen bread he'd been gnawing on, chewing slowly as he watched Luxter.
Luxter's expression darkened, a flicker of old resentment crossing his handsome face.
"Ilugin Olrick," he said, voice low and venomous. "He rules this entire zone with an iron fist. Every prisoner here either bows to him or gets broken. If we're going to move freely—dig without his goons jumping us—we need him gone."
Andy swallowed the dry bread. "Ilugin?"
Luxter nodded, staring into the fire as if seeing something far away.
"My rival for the top spot in the popularity rankings—just like you are now. That half-breed bastard has the zone boss, Kasmira, wrapped around his finger. She slips him extra rations and privileges in exchange for keeping order down here. As long as Ilugin's alive and in control, we're just two more rats in his cage."
He looked up, red eyes locking onto Andy's.
"So we either take him out… or we stay trapped forever."
Andy assessed the situation, eyes narrowing as he leaned closer to the fire.
"And how do we plan to do that?" he asked, voice low.
Luxter's expression hardened, his mouth set in a grim, joyless line.
"I've tried killing Ilugin more times than I can count—knives, swords, even a hidden blade once. But the bastard's half-orc. His skin's like iron; blades barely scratch him. The only way is poison… something strong enough to burn through that hide. Problem is, the good stuff is locked up in the brothel's armory. We can't get in there without keys or a miracle."
Andy sighed, staring into the flames as he chewed on the frozen bread. His mind raced, searching for a way to end Ilugin. Then a memory flashed: the carriage ride to Murkia Castle, Robin huge breasts bouncing wildly as her hips moved on their own, tears mixing with moans of pleasure while she rode him, breaking every rule for a taste of forbidden cum.
An idea sparked.
"I've got a deal with Robin, one of the maids here," Andy said quietly.
Luxter's red eyes sharpened with intrigue.
"You've got a deal with one of the maids here? How the hell did that happen?"
Andy shook his head. "Long story. Doesn't matter right now. What matters is I need to talk to her in private—without anyone overhearing."
He thought for a moment, then suggested: "Maybe start a riot among the prisoners. Create enough chaos so I can slip away and meet her without raising suspicion."
Luxter snorted. "In the isolation zone? If two guys start killing each other, the guards don't step in. Neither do the maids. This place is for disposable trash. They let us tear each other apart. No one's coming to break up a fight."
Andy frowned, the plan crumbling.
Before he could respond, the loud bell rang through the zone again—Ding-Dong, Ding-Dong—followed by a sharp female scream that cut the air: "It's time to eat, you scum!"
"What's going on?" Andy asked, glancing at Luxter.
Luxter shrugged, calm as ever.
"Weekly supply time. Kasmira's announcing the rations," Luxter said calmly. "She runs the feeding down here."
The bell faded, replaced by the shuffle of feet and low murmurs as prisoners began moving toward the common area. Andy's stomach growled despite the tension.
"So what now?"
Luxter stood, stretching casually.
"We join the supply line. Can't plot on an empty stomach—and if we keep surviving on frozen bread, we'll be dead before we even try escaping."
Cautiously, they stepped out of the cell and blended into the slow-moving crowd heading toward the distribution point, where Kasmira and the other maids waited to hand out the meager weekly rations.