Chapter 82: The Crimson Arrival in the Castle
The opulent carriage, a heavy gilded cage, offered little comfort. Inside, the air was thick and brittle, strained tighter than a lute string. Leornars, his posture perfectly relaxed, sat across from Prince Luiphonia, who was still flushed crimson from his earlier, unsuccessful tirade.
"Grovel now, peasant," Prince Luiphonia sneered, his voice a venomous whisper in the confined space. "Acknowledge my superior right to exist, and I might deign to spare your miserable life."
A slow, utterly devoid-of-amusement smile stretched Leornars's lips. He reached up and, with deliberate slowness, unbuttoned the top closure of his shirt, a gesture of almost insulting casualness.
"You almost made me laugh," Leornars replied, his voice a low, resonant baritone that seemed to absorb the carriage's noise.
Beside the Prince, the royal guard Jeremy Corbyn stiffened, his hand falling instinctively to the hilt of his ornate, jewel-encrusted blade.
"Why so?" the Prince managed, his bravado slightly fracturing.
"Because you are a clown," Leornars stated plainly, the smile vanishing. His crimson eyes, usually a rich, vibrant hue, seemed to darken, like wine turning to blood. "No. You are the entire, pathetic circus."
The Prince's practiced, spoiled-child smile disintegrated. His eyes narrowed, and a vein pulsed violently on his temple.
"You dare insult the Crown, you contemptible peasant?!!" Luiphonia's shout rattled the window glass.
"My, my. That tipped you off better than I anticipated," Leornars drawled, leaning back deeper into the plush seat. "The 'Crown,' you say. Aren't you, functionally, the third in line?"
"So what?"
"So, basically, that means you are the extra-extra child," Leornars concluded, his tone the same as one dismissing a speck of dust. "The firstborn is the true lineage. The second is the backup plan. And then there's you—the discardable casualty."
"Your insolence! You CUR!" The Prince surged forward, a wild, meaty hand raised to deliver a stinging slap.
The air around Leornars plunged to a sub-zero temperature. A flash of crimson light flared, impossibly bright, in the depths of his eyes.
"If you so much as touch a single thread of my garments, I will take it as a declaration of war," Leornars stated, his voice now a chill, merciless force. "I will unleash my entire Avangard Kingdom upon Seraphim and personally guarantee that your death is slow, agonizing, and entirely forgotten."
The Prince's hand froze inches from Leornars's cheek, his face pale and slack with sudden, genuine fear.
"My Lord Luiphonia," Jeremy urged, his voice tight, his blade still sheathed but his knuckles white. "This man is utterly defiant. He thinks he is above us."
Swallowing his rage, the Prince slowly retreated. "Yes. I will not kill you here. Coachman! Take us to the castle! Faster!"
The Shadow of the Spire
The carriage lurched violently forward, racing down the cobbled streets of the capital. The royal drivers showed not a shred of care for the populace.
CRUNCH!
A sickening, wet sound was instantly swallowed by the pounding hooves and grinding wheels. A child, crossing the road, was flung away instantly, their small body decapitated by the carriage's heavy axle. Not a single person in the royal escort flinched.
"You must hate me, don't you?" Prince Luiphonia said, a faint, cruel smile returning, mistaking Leornars's silence for moral outrage.
"Hating you would be beneath me," Leornars replied, watching the fleeting shadow of the dead child through the window. "It would demand far too much of my valuable time and energy."
"Huh?" Luiphonia blinked, confused by the dismissal.
"You are nothing more than a mild, utterly forgettable inconvenience between me and my actual objective. That is all."
The carriage shuddered to a halt, the heavy door yanked open by a flustered attendant. They had arrived at the imposing, obsidian-colored walls of the Seraphim Royal Castle.
They were led not to the King's halls, but to the Dungeons.
The air instantly grew thick with the metallic tang of old blood, unwashed bodies, and despair. As Leornars took his first step onto the damp, slick stone floor, a profound silence fell over the usually noisy, suffering populace.
Then, every single caged demi-human slave looked up.
To them, Leornars was not a man. In their starved, beaten eyes, he was a blinding, impossible Star—a radiant, terrifying promise of deliverance.
In unison, the slaves began to chant, a deep, melancholic sound that resonated in the rock. They began rhythmically striking their steel cuffs against the bars, creating a metallic, heartbeat-like drum.
Oh, Great King!
As Leornars walked past, the slaves pressed themselves against the bars, reaching out with desperate hands to touch his coat, his fingers, anything.
"The prophecy has been fulfilled! The new era has begun!" The oldest slaves, their voices raspy with age and pain, cried out. The entire dungeon thundered with the noise and the euphoric, dangerous cheer.
"Leornars Servs Avrem, the white plague! The great king!" The slaves cheered up.
"The Messiah!!" They cheered.
Prince Luiphonia and Jeremy watched the commotion, their expressions a confused mix of revulsion and mounting alarm. They had never seen the slaves react to anyone like this.
They ascended the stairs and were led toward the King's Audience Chamber.
Just outside the great doors, the Princess Royal, Louis Liverra Sellim, the second in line and known for her cool, almost detached brilliance, was hastily exiting. Her eyes fell upon Leornars.
Her famous, impenetrable composure shattered. Pure, unadulterated terror replaced the logic in her gaze. She recoiled, putting a hand to her mouth, her eyes wide with the foresight of impending catastrophe.
"You fool... you've doomed us all!" she hissed, before turning and fleeing the hallway as if chased by a shadow.
The Prince stared after her, then back at Leornars, a cold, sickening concern finally beginning to bloom in his chest. Jeremy's hand tightened on his blade until the knuckles were bone-white.
"If you are a threat to this Kingdom, I will kill you," Jeremy declared, the words an empty tremor against the growing pressure in the hall.
Leornars merely turned his gaze upon the guard. It was a look that contained no recognizable emotion, only the vast, indifferent emptiness of space.
"Kill me?" Leornars's voice was low, and yet it seemed to physically push the very air out of Jeremy's lungs. "Is that a threat? Do you dare utter the word 'kill' to us? Who do you truly think you are? You are nothing. You are mere background noise."
As he spoke, the invisible pressure of his aura intensified. The polished marble floor beneath Leornars's boots cracked into spider-web fractures. A thin stream of blood began to drip, unnoticed, from the Prince's nose.
With a motion of absolute dominance, Leornars threw open the heavy Audience Chamber doors and strode inside.
"You have no right to do that!" the Prince bellowed, rushing after him.
Leornars paused just inside the threshold, his voice snapping back with a cold, merciless finality that silenced every throat in the room.
"Know your place, Prince. Or I will be the one to show it to you."
The King, seated upon the grand Seraphim throne, looked down at Leornars. Unlike the others, his aged eyes seemed unfazed, even welcoming.
"What do I have the great pleasure of meeting today, oh White Plague, King of the Avangard Kingdom?"
"I am merely here for a brief vacation," Leornars said calmly. "And decided to pay my neighbors a visit."
"Then allow me to offer you a grand manor for your comfort," the King offered smoothly.
"I have no moral obligation to listen to you, nor to agree with you. I decline your offer," Leornars said. "I have a subordinate who is currently arranging our accommodations. It would be rude to interfere with their duty."
As Leornars spoke, the Prince quickly whispered something to Jeremy, who immediately darted away. Moments later, a trembling butler approached Leornars with a silver tray bearing a single, crimson glass of wine.
Leornars looked at the glass. His eye was cold, piercing the glass and the man behind it.
"Is this a joke?" he asked, the question a warning.
"Huh? I did not order any wine," the King said, looking at the butler.
Leornars took the glass. Without hesitation, he poured the contents—not on the floor, but onto the bewildered butler's immaculate white collar. As he stepped past the man, his hand moved with inhuman speed, a crimson blur.
The butler's head fell to the marble floor with a soft, final thud.
"Never dare to think of poisoning me," Leornars stated, not even glancing back at the swiftly widening pool of blood. "I will turn your entire nation upside down if you dare to annoy me further."
He then walked decisively out of the chamber, following the direction the frightened Princess had fled.
Leornars found her in the sprawling Royal Library, an oasis of quiet carved from the stone. She was seated, her fingers tracing the illuminated script of a book on ancient spirits.
In a flicker of shadow magic, Leornars teleported directly behind her. His powerful hand clamped down firmly on her slender throat, a silent promise of swift death.
"You seem to know a great deal about me," he whispered, his breath stirring the fine hairs on her neck. "You know things you are not supposed to. Who are you?"
"I—I am Princess Louis Liverra Sellim," she gasped, her voice already strained. "I'm not the Queen's biological daughter. Just a child the King had out of wedlock."
"Keep talking. I want every single piece of information you possess." His grip tightened marginally, a cruel calibration of pressure.
"The first Prince's mother was a concubine. She died of a plague years ago. My mother was executed for attempting to kill the Queen. The King defended me... so here I am."
"And the arrogant clown?"
"He is the Queen's true son, spoiled and utterly unchecked. He indulges in slavery, murder—no one can stop him. He is the stain on our family's name."
"So, what is your true desire?" Leornars asked, his eyes gleaming in the library's faint light.
"I want him gone. He has killed, tortured, and destroyed too many innocent lives."
"Where are the Homunculi people kept?"
"They are in a massive, fortified labor camp in the town of Serbun. It's fifty-six miles north," she rattled off instantly, her fear now replaced by an urgent, burning conviction.
"You and I," Leornars said, slowly releasing her throat, "will clearly bond nicely."
She spun around, her eyes focused and intensely intelligent, the terror completely gone. "I have been following you since the Lurtra incident. I know of your plans for the Durmount Kingdom, and I suspect you are here for something similar."
"Oh, you have? I suppose that explains the feeling of being watched."
Before he could continue, Princess Louis dropped to her knees, her eyes fixed on him with fierce loyalty. "And I will side with you. I believe in your goal, and I will do anything in my power to ensure its success."
As she knelt, a circlet of pure, glowing crimson energy magically coalesced and formed into a crown upon Leornars's head.
"Oh, I see," Leornars said, a genuine, predatory smile finally gracing his face.
"Operation Liberation and Execution begins, Louis."
Miles away, Stacian and Julah were examining a prospective residence in the Seraphim capital. It was a magnificent estate with high iron gates and twenty finely appointed rooms. Stacian's blue eyes and matching hair gleamed in satisfaction.
"This almost perfectly meets Lord Leornars's tastes," Stacian chirped. "Let's procure it."
Julah stared up at the massive structure, gulping. "It looks... frightfully expensive."
"Huh? It's only five hundred thousand gold coins," Stacian said, waving a dismissive hand. "That's cheap change for Avangard's King."
"Five what!?" Julah squeaked in utter shock.
Back in Avangard
Zaryter sighed dramatically, rubbing his temples as he looked over the towering stacks of trade documents requiring signatures.
"Man, this is exhausting," he lamented.
"Lord Leornars handles this mountain every day. Stop complaining, moron," Ayesha said, entering with an entirely new stack of paperwork, a cruel smile playing on her lips.
"You're as merciless as Zhyelena, you know that."
"Yes," Ayesha replied, her smile widening.
In the Seraphim kingdom, Zhyelena moved like a shadow, surveying the populace and listening to their thoughts. She ascended the cross of the kingdom's tallest church spire, looking down upon the city.
"So I see. The noxious 'Pollium' drug is manufactured here, is it? Good information for Lord Leornars," she mused, her gaze cold. "This kingdom truly is disgusting. An entire red-light district of a nation. Whores looking for money by mating. Truly, this is hell."
Phase One
Leornars was seated calmly in a drawing room, sipping a cup of coffee. By his side sat a young lady in her teens, now exquisitely dressed and looking like a noble beauty.
Prince Luiphonia strode in, his eyes immediately falling upon the Princess, then shifting to Leornars.
"Is... she a friend of yours?" the Prince asked, his face contorted in a lustful grimace.
"Her? No. I am afraid I have no human friends," Leornars replied, setting down his cup as he rose to leave. The Prince, already distracted by the sight of the lady, sat down immediately, his gaze fixated on her with sickening desire.
Leornars stepped into the shadows of the hallway.
"Phase One is complete. I have the Princees and prince secured." He spoke softly, looking at his own shadow which seemed to deepen and writhe. "Now, time to release the cages."
He instantly summoned Bellian and Zhyier from his shadow dimension.
"Free the slaves in the dungeon. Transport them safely to Avangard. Ayesha will know exactly what to do."
The two figures vanished in a puff of black smoke.
"The prophecy? The new era? My, my," Leornars whispered to himself, a chilling excitement in his eyes. "This world truly is utterly fascinating."