Chapter 88: The Prince's Folly
The air in the stone tunnels was thick, heavy with the scent of stagnant water and panicked fear. Every echo was a hammer blow against the sanity of Luiphonia, the self-proclaimed Prince, as he fled the only life he had ever known.
"Hurry, you useless lump! Do you think we have time for your slow-footed dawdling?!" Luiphonia shrieked, his voice brittle with a rage that barely masked his terror. He didn't just run; he bounced off the walls, a creature of privilege stripped bare, now just a panicked animal.
Jeremy, his personal guard, a man built like a fortress wall, stumbled a step behind. His boots grated on the uneven floor. He opened his mouth to ask about the strange, wet scraping sound echoing from the passage behind—a sound too fast, too regular to be their pursuers.
"Prince Luiphonia, that noise—it's getting louder. It's not the guard's rhythm. What is it?" Jeremy's tone was less a question and more a command, his voice a low, gravelly counterpoint to the Prince's hysteria.
Luiphonia didn't even turn his head. "Mind your own business, dog! You are nothing more than a servant, a signed instrument of my survival. Just keep up, or I'll ensure that Pollium supply dries up faster than you can draw breath!"
Jeremy's jaw tightened. Beneath the leather of his glove, his fist clenched, the muscles in his forearm knotting. Pollium. The name of the drug was both his prison and his hope. The contract he'd signed—a devil's bargain trading his soul for the promised, impossible cure for his wife's terminal illness—forced his obedience. Luiphonia was despicable, a rot upon the throne, but he held the key to Jeremy's only future. He swallowed the bitter taste of subservience and quickened his pace.
Between them, Luiphonia dragged a young woman. Her name was Diane, or at least that's what Luiphonia called her. She was a pale, almost ethereal figure, her dress already muddied by the flight, her dark hair hanging limp. She offered no resistance, no plea, no cry of fear. Her eyes were wide, staring forward, utterly unfazed by the terror and the desperate flight. It was this unnerving passivity that seemed to fuel Luiphonia's escalating cruelty.
He didn't just hold her hand; he hauled her, yanking her arm so taut it seemed her shoulder might dislocate. "Move, girl! Are you trying to get us caught? You worthless decoration!" he spat.
Suddenly, her foot caught on a loose stone. With a sickening lurch, she pitched forward, hitting the damp ground with a muted thud.
Luiphonia didn't pause. He didn't check to see if she was hurt. He merely stopped, his breath ragged, and looked down at her prone form with an expression of pure, incandescent disgust.
"You dolt!" he snarled, and his polished leather boot swung out, connecting sharply with her side.
Jeremy recoiled, a silent, internal scream of professional revulsion tearing through him. He struck her. For tripping.
Diane simply inhaled sharply, a tremor running through her body, but the chilling passivity remained on her face. With silent, practiced obedience, she pushed herself up without a word, like a broken doll that still knew how to walk. Luiphonia didn't wait; he immediately seized her arm again, dragging her onward through the winding, damp passages.
They were heading toward their sanctuary: a dilapidated, forgotten warehouse district on the kingdom's industrial edge—a place of filth, secrets, and terrible chemical experimentation. It was the nerve center of the illegal Pollium drug operation, a place where Luiphonia had personally overseen the torture of demi-humans and ordered the brutal execution of scores who got in his way. He needed his product, his money, and a way out.
The warehouse door was a massive, rusting sheet of metal, disguised poorly by overgrown ivy. Luiphonia kicked it open with a triumphant, panicked roar, shoving Diane aside.
"We're here! We made it! Now, the escape preparations! Where is the damned treasury?" he bellowed, rushing into the cavernous, sickly-lit space.
The warehouse was a charnel house. Along long, metal workbenches, hooded figures in tattered lab coats were seated. They weren't just working; they were prisoners. Heavy iron cuffs shackled their ankles to the floor, and their wrists were similarly bound to the desks. They were the kingdom's best and brightest, forced to synthesize the illegal drug that fueled the black market and Luiphonia's lavish lifestyle. They were mostly silent, their eyes sunken, avoiding the Prince's manic gaze.
Luiphonia's eye caught a young scientist—a frail-looking man who had dared to pause his work for a moment. The Prince's frustration, his fear, and his pent-up fury boiled over, demanding a scapegoat.
He didn't hesitate. He grabbed a beaker from the nearest trolley—a clear, volatile-looking liquid—and stormed towards the scientist.
"Useless! All of you are useless cogs! If I am to be hunted, I will ensure my legacy is fire!" Luiphonia raged, his face contorted into a mask of pure malice. He brought the beaker up and flung the entire caustic contents over the captive scientist.
A piercing, guttural scream ripped through the warehouse air, a sound so raw and immediate that even the other prisoners flinched, stifling terrified whimpers. The scent of ozone and burning flesh immediately mingled with the warehouse's metallic, sterile smell. The scientist writhed, clawing at his face as his flesh instantly blistered and peeled away, revealing the raw muscle beneath.
Luiphonia watched the spectacle, a wild, cruel grin stretching his lips. He was the master, even if only for these final minutes.
"Report! Tell me how much of the poison has been disseminated!" Luiphonia barked at another scientist, who, trembling violently, managed to stammer out the information.
"P-Prince... your Highness... over five hundred million Pollium pills... supplied. As ordered. Across the continent. The network is... complete."
Luiphonia's smile broadened, the insanity settling into a cold calculation. Good. If I fall, I drag the world down with me.
He spun around, his attention snapping back to Jeremy, the cold calculation replaced by instant, suspicion-fueled accusation. "Jeremy! The funds! Where are the records of the transactions? Where is the promised silver? The accounts!"
Jeremy, still reeling from the sight of the screaming scientist, presented a meticulously neat, leather-bound ledger. "Prince, there are no records. The funds... the last three major exchanges, the ones that were supposed to bankroll our escape to the Eastern Free States—they simply did not happen. The funds never transferred to the shadow accounts."
"What?! You are lying!" Luiphonia shrieked, his mind unable to grasp any failure that wasn't someone else's fault. He stomped his foot, sending a tremor through the rickety floorboards. "You stole it! You absolute, greedy worm! You signed the contract, you swore to me, and you robbed me! It was you all along!"
Jeremy's self-control, worn thin by years of abuse and the constant reminder of his contract, finally broke. "I did not steal anything! I sold my soul for my wife, not for gold! You have been reckless, Prince! The transactions were tracked. Someone seized them before they could be transferred! Use your mind, for once, and not your cruelty!"
The accusation, the sheer disrespect, drove Luiphonia into a frothing, uncontrollable fit of temper. He searched for something to break, someone to hurt. His eyes landed on Diane, still standing silently near the door.
He seized her, dragging her brutally towards a small, dark storage room tucked in the corner. His voice was a snarl of desperation and depravity. "Since my treasure is gone, I will take my pleasure! You deserve this! All of you deserve this!"
He slammed the door shut, locking Jeremy out, and the muffled sounds of immediate, vicious violence began to emanate from the room—Luiphonia's maniacal laughter cutting through the sound of impact, a horrifying, undeniable act of pure malice echoing in the silent warehouse.
Jeremy stood frozen, his mighty hands clenching into fists that trembled not from fear, but from the agony of his forced inaction. The contract, the cure, his wife—all of it held him tighter than any chains. He was a good man forced to witness unforgivable evil.
The prince is utterly irredeemable, Jeremy thought, the final shard of his respect shattering. But the cure...
The horrifying laughter from the storage room reached a fever pitch, then abruptly, it was swallowed by an impossible silence.
K-KR-K-KRAAAAAAA-BOOOOM!
A sound like thunder splitting granite tore through the warehouse. The far wall, made of thick, reinforced brick and mortar, simply exploded. Not outwards, but inwards, disintegrating into a shower of dust and debris.
The light that poured into the sudden breach was not the fading grey of the evening sky, but an unnaturally brilliant, ethereal gold. Standing silhouetted in the ruins of the wall were figures of legend, figures Luiphonia thought were merely fables whispered by the rebellious poor.
The Avangard Knights—their armor glowing faintly, their movements precise and terrifyingly coordinated.
And at their forefront, the Seraphim Knights—the personal guard of the crown, clad in gleaming silver and bearing the mark of the Royal House.
And between them, standing perfectly centered in the wreckage, was the one face Luiphonia feared most: Leornars, the Crown's Executor, king of the Avangard kingdom.
Luiphonia burst from the storage room, breathing heavily, his face flushed with depraved satisfaction and sudden, paralyzing dread. "No! Impossible! How did you find me?!"
Jeremy, his years of training kicking in despite his moral collapse, reflexively moved to draw the heavy blade at his hip. "Prince, behind me!"
But before his steel could clear the scabbard, a blur of motion, faster than the eye could follow, warped through the very structure of the warehouse.
THWACK.
Stacian, teleported through the wall and delivered a savage kick to Jeremy's torso. The force was tremendous, not just concussive, but displacing. Jeremy's massive body was lifted clean off the ground, rocketing out through the hole Stacian had just made in the wall, slamming into a distant industrial pillar outside with a deafening, metallic clang.
Stacian didn't wait. She warped after him, appearing above his crumpled form and delivering a final, brutal, earth-shaking punch that drove him into the cracked pavement, knocking him instantly unconscious. The sound was audible even inside the warehouse.
Luiphonia was left alone. He stared at the hole in the wall, then at the gleaming, terrifying line of knights, and finally, his gaze settled on Leornars.
Leornars was leaning against a shattered support column, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression one of calm, self-satisfied superiority. Smug did not even begin to cover the look on his face; it was the look of a god finally witnessing the failure of a lesser man.
"You look surprised, little prince. Did you truly believe your little house of cards would stand forever?" Leornars' voice was soft, conversational, yet it cut through the air like a razor wire.
Luiphonia felt the bile rise in his throat. "Leornars! You evil runt! You will pay for this! The Queen will have your head!"
"The king is very aware, Luiphonia, actually the king is in prison waiting for you to be executed so he can follow." Leornars corrected gently, nodding towards the incoming knights. " But let's not talk about politics. Let's talk about… the compound evidence."
Leornars clicked his tongue and casually pointed.
Luiphonia followed the gesture. His eyes fell upon Diane, who was stirring slightly, still leaning against the storage room door.
But something was terribly wrong.
As Luiphonia watched, the beautiful, pale skin on her cheek began to subtly shift. Her slender, human fingers elongated, becoming thicker and ending in dark, claw-like nails. Her elegant nose flattened, and her ears stretched to sharp, pointed tips. Her dress, Luiphonia now realized with horrifying clarity, hadn't just been dirtied; it had been an illusion, now fading and tearing to reveal leathery, rough green skin beneath.
In slow, nauseating motion, the woman Luiphonia had just brutalized was reconstructing. The soft, passive human form gave way to a grotesque, small, yet powerfully built goblin hybrid.
Luiphonia screamed. It was a high-pitched, pathetic sound, devoid of his previous cruelty, purely the sound of naked, absolute horror.
"W-what is that?! What kind of monstrous sorcery—?!"
Leornars pushed off the column and began to slowly walk forward, his polished boots clicking on the concrete floor. The Seraphim Knights simultaneously rushed past him, their primary focus being to quickly, efficiently, and gently unlock the cuffs of the terrified scientists and the demi-human slaves shackled to the desks.
Leornars stopped a few feet from his brother, surveying the scene of human depravity and chemical ruin. He raised a hand and gestured toward the newly formed goblin, who was now staring at Luiphonia with a pair of huge, mournful, yet disturbingly intelligent eyes.
"Ah, Diane," Leornars said, the name dripping with icy sarcasm. "Allow me to introduce you to the subject of my most successful illusion to date. You see, I was disappointed to find no eligible bachelorettes for you to corrupt, brother. So, I had to be creative."
He paused, letting the statement hang heavy in the poisoned air.
"I created her," Leornars continued, his voice dropping to a confiding whisper that chilled Luiphonia to the core. "From various… remains. Corpses of monsters and lesser folk I collected from the sewers and the deeper levels of the Royal Dungeon. A limb here, a section of skin there. I carefully crafted this… goblin hybrid chassis."
Leornars tapped his temple. "The illusion—my Phantom illusion skill—was cast not just on her, but on the entire castle and surrounding area whenever you were near. Everyone saw a beautiful, passive young lady. The entire court, the guards, even you. You never questioned why she was so perfectly silent, did you, brother? Why she never cried? Why she seemed unfazed?"
Luiphonia staggered back, hitting a workbench, his face white as plaster. "You… you sick monster! You let me—you engineered this!"
"But of course, so tell me how do you feel knowing you slept with a corpse of vile monsters? I'm eager to know" Leornars replied, his eyes cold and utterly devoid of pity. "You only ever saw what you wanted to destroy, Luiphonia. You never saw people. You saw only objects to consume, debase, and discard. And you saw a beautiful woman—a trophy—which gave you the license to be as monstrous as you truly are."
Luiphonia's mind was racing, trying to find a shred of dignity or a loophole in this nightmare. "The Pollium! It's still my lifeblood! You can't trace the five hundred million doses! I'll collapse the continents' health systems! They'll have to pay my ransom!"
Leornars tilted his head, a genuine, terrifying smile touching his lips. "Oh, but you misunderstand, Luiphonia. That's the most beautiful part of this entire endeavor."
He casually walked to the central console of the warehouse, where the main drug inventory manifest was flashing. He placed his hand on the terminal, and the screen instantly changed from chemical formulas to financial logs.
"You see, you are correct: I am the original creator of the Pollium drug," Leornars revealed, his voice now a booming, authoritative declaration that silenced all activity in the warehouse. "You may have been given the initial schematics, but you never understood the final molecular structure. I allowed you to manufacture this poison. Why? Because it's the most lucrative product on the continent. And every single transfer, every coin of your revenue, every shipment you sent out…"
Leornars clenched his hand over the console, and the financial logs wiped clean, replaced by the Royal Seal of the Seraphim.
"...was monitored, tracked, and finally, confiscated. I took it all back. The funds you thought Jeremy stole? They were seized by my agents days ago."
Luiphonia's legs began to shake. The reality of his complete financial and physical collapse hit him harder than any blow. "Why?! Not for the Crown! You would never let me live if it was just about politics! Why this sick game?!"
Leornars' eyes finally lost their playful smugness, becoming dark and ancient. "Closure, Luiphonia. I did this not out of hatred for the Crown, but out of hatred for you. You have spent your life causing agony for sport. You thought you were creating a legacy of tyranny. But you were merely stocking my personal armory."
He raised his voice again, addressing the freed scientists and the knights. "The Avangard has the cure! We have the antidote to Pollium! The drug's distribution was not for wealth; it was to tilt the continent's economy and health department, making the Crown the singular source of salvation! We created the demand, and now, we supply the cure. Your reign of poison is over, Luiphonia. Your victims get to live, and the Crown gets to be the hero."
Luiphonia's head swiveled frantically, searching for a way out, a weapon, a sliver of hope. Instead, his eyes landed on a figure standing near the entrance, wrapped in the protective escort of a Seraphim Knight.
She was small, frail, but her eyes, wide and luminous, were burning into him like twin coals. Her face was grim, unmoving, but holding a pain that Luiphonia suddenly, instantly recognized.
"No. No, it can't be…" Luiphonia whispered, stumbling backward, his face now a portrait of pure, cold realization.
"You…" he pointed a trembling finger at the girl. "Julah."
Julah stepped forward, out of the Seraphim Knight's shadow. The silence in the warehouse was absolute, broken only by the distant, rhythmic clank of the knights freeing the last of the scientists.
Julah didn't speak; she didn't need to. Her presence was the final, devastating piece of the puzzle.
Luiphonia recognized her immediately. The girl he had failed to silence, the daughter of the family he had annihilated, the witness to his most brazen, most personal cruelty.
"The family! The daughter of the mine worker! You were the runt! The younger one! You were supposed to be dead!" Luiphonia screamed, his voice cracking with the memory.
He had killed her parents. He had killed her older sister. And he hadn't just murdered them; he had framed the sister for attempted regicide, ensuring their names were spat upon even in death. He had tried to ensure Julah was silenced, believing his knight had completed the task.
His gaze snapped back to Jeremy, who was slowly, miraculously, pushing himself up outside the ruined wall, his helmet cracked, his body a symphony of bruises, but clearly not defeated.
"Jeremy! I told you! Why?! Why didn't you kill her?! You failed me! You were supposed to ensure no witnesses! You failed your contract! You failed your Prince!" Luiphonia raged, the blame still pouring out, even as the end loomed.
Jeremy's powerful voice, though ragged, finally roared back from the wreckage outside. "I failed you? You are the failure, Prince! I swore I threw her out of the window over 50 meters to the river ! "
It was the final truth. The final isolation. Luiphonia was left with nowhere to turn, nothing to hold onto, his only shield shattered.
He swung wildly, pathetically, toward Leornars. "You orchestrated all of this! You let me ruin myself! I am the Crown Prince! You cannot touch me!"
Leornars looked at the spoiled, vicious, pathetic man who had clawed his way through bodies and lives just to feel powerful. Leornars walked to him slowly looking at the glowing crystal on Julah's forehead meaning she was broadcasting the feed to the kingdom. The people saw what was going on they riot.
" So you did all this to frame me,is that was it is?" Luiphonia asked defeated
The heavy air in the ware house felt like a physical weight pressing down on the Prince. His gaze was locked on Leornars, whose shadowed features were momentarily illuminated by the chandelier's harsh light, revealing a smile that held no warmth, only the chilling satisfaction of a puppet master.
"You still look confused, your 'Highness'," Leornars purred, leaning forward across the polished mahogany table. He steepled his fingers, his crimson eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "Let me clear up the last few pesky details for you."
The Prince didn't speak. He simply focused the full, cold fury of his royal bearing onto the man, demanding the truth with his silence.
Leornars took a slow, theatrical breath, savoring the moment of ultimate victory.
"Yes," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, yet carrying the clarity of a death sentence. "I made the Pollium drug. And you know what the best part is? I benefitted over half a billion Sol—and that's just the initial estimate. I've only just started counting."
He straightened, a profound, almost artistic arrogance blooming across his face.
"Let the world see you for what you are, Prince. Insufferable. A pampered royal failure who couldn't stop the rot in his own kingdom. And that," he chuckled, a dry, brittle sound, "is precisely why I chose you."
Leornars leaned back, his eyes half-closed as if recalling a masterpiece. "It all began nearly a year ago. I needed a catalyst, something toxic and fast. My research team—a few conveniently misplaced former chemists from the Academy—set up shop in a dingy, forgotten warehouse district on the edge of Vurnam City."
He paused, letting the namedrop sink in. Vurnam City, a major trade hub far across the border.
"That's where the Pollium formula was finalized. A simple, elegant blend of readily available materials, engineered for maximum addictive potency and rapid breakdown. Once I had the formula and a few batches, I drafted the complete manufacturing documents—sealed and coded, naturally."
He tapped the table once, decisively.
"Then, I found my delivery service: a desperate little smuggler with connections running straight into your nation. A ghost, really. I handed him the documentation and the initial sample stock. He didn't know what he was selling, only that the price was astronomical. He took the documents and the goods across the border, eventually selling them to a high-ranking, greedy faction—the very one you were hunting—within Luiphonia."
Leornars smiled cruelly. "They thought they were the masterminds, distributing their own plague. But they were just my unwitting agents. The seeds of destruction, planted months ago, bloomed right on schedule."
The Prince's fists clenched beneath the table, his knuckles white. Pollium, the drug that destabilized the poor districts. The revolutionary fervor that swept through the capital. The betrayal of his former fiancée, Diane. It was all a single, connected thread.
"The Pollium epidemic, the rising influence of your beloved Diane and her revolutionary rhetoric, even the timing of the national revolution—every last bloody detail was part of my comprehensive plan," Leornars declared, his voice rising in triumphant crescendo.
He met the Prince's furious stare with an icy gaze that belonged to a god, not a man.
"You, Prince, were the perfect folly for my design. I heard about you—your reputation for honesty, your slightly predictable idealism—from one of my subordinates stationed within the capital's garrison. You were honorable, and thus, exploitable. I chose you as my ultimate target and watched as you chased phantoms, never realizing the architect was standing right here, beyond your borders and your reach."
Leornars let the smirk he had been holding back finally bloom—grim, absolute, and profoundly arrogant.
"You can't do anything to me. It is finished."