Luca stretched his arms lazily, letting out a satisfied sigh as he settled comfortably in the center of the bloodstained room. His dark eyes flicked up toward the trembling king, who stood frozen, breath shallow, muscles locked in a silent war between fleeing and screaming.
"Oh, go ahead." He said, voice smooth, inviting. "You can scream, if you want. Call for your guards, your soldiers, your servants. Anyone you think will help."
King Theron flinched.
"Of course." He added, tapping his fingers lazily against the severed head still resting in his lap. "That would just mean you'd end up just like them."
He flicked his eyes around the room full of lifeless heads, their eyes forever locked in expressions of horror.
"Lying on the ground." He gestured vaguely to the pool of blood. "Waiting for someone else to come and clean up the mess."
Theron's throat tightened. He had been seconds away from calling out—from screaming for help, demanding someone come to his aid.
But now? He could feel the truth in Luca's words.
The air around this man was wrong. It wasn't just the casual way he spoke—it was the fact that he had already done the impossible.
Theron had thousands of soldiers stationed inside this castle. There were countless barriers in place, wards, elite guards, all designed to protect him.
Yet this man had walked past all of them.
And not only that.
He had butchered his son, his council, his most trusted nobles—and done it so silently, so effortlessly, that not a single soul had even noticed.
This wasn't some mad assassin.
This was a monster.
For the first time in his entire life, he didn't feel like a king.
He felt like prey.
Luca watched him, a playful look flickering across his face as he gestured to the empty spot in front of him, surrounded by the silent, staring heads.
"Or..." He said, voice casual. You could just sit down for a minute. Have a little chat with me. I promise it won't take too much of your time."
Theron swallowed, his mind racing. There has to be a way out of this. There has to be a way to survive this nightmare.
Right now, power, dignity, pride—none of it mattered. All that mattered was getting out of this alive.
Slowly, he lowered his foot. Then another.
His breath hitched as his boot brushed against a severed head, his heartbeat hammering in his chest. He forced himself to keep moving, his legs stiff, every nerve screaming at him to run. But there was nowhere to run.
Step by step, he walked forward, past the vacant stares of the dead. His gaze flickered from one face to another, recognizing friends, allies, men who had once stood at his side, who had laughed with him in council chambers, toasted victories at banquets.
Now they were nothing.
He reached the open space directly in front of Luca. And, with slow, jerky movements, he lowered himself to the ground.
Sitting there, amidst the corpses of his own people, forced to stare into their lifeless eyes, Theron felt his stomach twist with nausea.
His entire world had flipped upside down.
Luca grinned, leaning forward slightly. "Nice, isn't it?"
Luca gestured around the room, as if admiring the morbid scene. "Feels like we have an audience." He chuckled, glancing at the heads. "A slightly dead one, but an audience nonetheless."
Theron's hands clenched against his knees, his fingers digging into the fine fabric of his robes.
Luca then to his utter shock lifted the head in his lap, tilting it slightly as he placed it next to his ear, almost as if he were listening to it.
Theron's stomach churned.
Luca nodded thoughtfully, pressing the severed head closer to his ear, tapping its cold, lifeless cheek with his fingers. "Huh? Oh, yeah? You think so?"
Luca's smile widened as he turned back to Theron, eyes glinting. "Your son says he wants to be with his father."
Then, without warning, Luca tossed the head toward him.
Theron's body moved on instinct—his hands shot up, catching it.
For a second. Just a second.
The still-warm skin of his dead son pressed against his palms. The weight settled in his grasp.
And then he realized what he was holding.
A strangled, guttural gasp tore from his throat as he hurled the head away, as if it had burned him. It rolled across the bloodied floor, coming to a slow, heavy stop, its lifeless gaze now locked onto him.
Theron shuddered violently.
Luca sighed dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on now." He gestured toward the fallen head. "Your son's right there." He tutted. "No need to treat him so harshly."
Theron stared at him, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might burst from his chest.
What kind of demon was this man?!
Who—What—could sit there, watch a father hold his son's severed head, and still laugh about it?
Luca then let out a slow breath, his smirk fading. The amusement drained from his expression, his sharp, playful eyes dulling into something far colder—something devoid of emotion, like he was simply looking at a particularly disgusting insect beneath his boot.
He was done playing games.
His gaze locked onto the trembling king, trapping him in place with sheer, oppressive presence.
"Alright, let's wrap this up." Luca said, voice calm, even, yet carrying an undercurrent of undeniable menace. "I don't want to waste any more time in the presence of someone as revolting as you."
Theron stiffened, but he didn't dare move.
Luca leaned forward slightly, tilting his head.
"You've got everything you could possibly need, don't you?" His dark eyes flickered around the extravagant chamber, the expensive furniture, the golden decor, the towering bookshelves filled with knowledge and history.
"This kingdom is already prospering. I walked through your streets today. Saw your people. Well-fed. Content. Flourishing." He met Theron's gaze again, and this time, there was nothing behind his eyes. Just a vast, endless void of cold, calculating indifference.
"And yet..." Luca continued, voice turning sharper. "Despite all that, you still don't mind raiding another continent. Still don't mind butchering an entire population. And for what?"
His lip curled in disgust.
"For your own ego?"
Theron swallowed hard, his throat dry.
Luca exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "You don't need that land. You don't need anything from them. But you still went ahead and sent your armies. You sent them to slaughter thousands. You turned an entire continent into your personal hunting ground just so you could etch your name in history."
His bored, emotionless expression didn't change.
Then—without warning—
Luca spat.
Ptoo!~
A thick glob of saliva struck Theron's face, sliding down his cheek slowly, deliberately, cutting through the layer of cold sweat already soaking his skin.
The king flinched, his entire body tensing as humiliation burned through him like wildfire. His hands instinctively twitched, his first reaction to wipe it off—
"Don't."
The word cut through the air like a blade.
Theron froze.
Luca's voice remained calm, indifferent.
"If you wipe it off." Luca murmured. "I'll slice off the hand that tries."
Theron stopped breathing. His muscles locked, his mind screaming at him to move, to reclaim even an ounce of his dignity—
But he didn't. He couldn't.
The spit slid down his cheek, thick and warm, simmering on his skin like a mark of absolute disgrace.
Luca watched him for a moment, letting the filthy silence stretch, letting the king stew in his own degradation.
Then, with the same casual tone as before, he continued, "I'm actually a messenger, you know." Luca said, as he picked up another head from the side and tossed it around. "The demi-human continent sent me to negotiate peace."
A brief pause.
Then Luca chuckled, shaking his head. "Actually, nah. That's not quite right." His smile returned, but this time, it was sharp, cold, merciless.
"...It's more of a threat than a peace offering."
"Here's how it is." He said, his tone eerily gentle, like he was explaining something to a child. "By tomorrow, I want every last one of your troops off that continent. Not a single human stays near demi-human territory."
His smile widened.
"If you fail to do that…" He flicked his fingers toward the heads surrounding him, their lifeless eyes staring blankly ahead.
"Then your most trusted aides, your highest officials, your generals, your nobles, your entire royal family…"
His voice dipped lower, smooth, calm—
"Their heads will roll."
Theron felt like puking.
Luca's expression didn't shift.
"In fact..." Luca continued, his tone almost conversational. "So many will roll that if you stacked them on top of one another…"
His gaze drifted toward the grand window overlooking the kingdom.
"They'd easily reach the top of this castle."
A pause. Luca tilted his head, his voice dipping into something horribly amused.
"And the topmost head?"
He leaned in slightly.
"It would be staring at you from that window."
Theron trembled. His mind conjured the image instantly—a tower of heads, stacked grotesquely higher, and higher, and higher, stretching past the city walls, past the palace towers, until the very last head pressed against the glass of his chamber, gazing in with its empty, dead eyes.
A shudder wracked his entire body. His throat closed up, his chest constricting as sheer, bone-deep horror crawled under his skin.
Luca let out a breath, tilting his head slightly as he regarded the king with an almost pitying look.
"You know." H mused. "I bet you still don't even understand how this happened."
Theron's lips parted slightly, but he said nothing.
Luca chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Just yesterday, you were probably sitting at some grand dining table, laughing over dinner with your son, sipping on your expensive wine, thinking about how soon you'd be celebrating a grand victory."
His dark gaze flicked down to the severed head still lying on the floor.
"And now, here we are."
Theron trembled. But it wasn't out of anger anymore. No. The rage had long since evaporated, burned away by the sheer, overwhelming horror of the situation.
He wasn't thinking about vengeance. He wasn't thinking about his title, his legacy, or his empire.
He was thinking about survival.
And Luca could see it.
The smirk on his lips grew faintly. "You probably want to retaliate, don't you?" He let the words linger, almost teasingly, as if daring the king to react. "To do something to restore even a little of that fragile pride of yours."
Luca's voice lowered slightly, taking on a softer, more mocking tone.
"But you can't."
He leaned forward, resting an elbow on his knee.
"Because you have no idea how I did this. You have no idea how I walked past all your defenses. You have no idea how so many of your most trusted men—your own son—ended up lying dead at your feet before you even knew it was happening."
Theron's body felt weak. He clenched his jaw tightly, his pride screaming at him to look away, but he couldn't.
"So..." Luca continued. "Unless you want this royal genocide to continue, I'd suggest you behave."
His smile widened, though there was no warmth behind it.
"That means no sneaky little tricks. No retaliation. No 'secret plots' to restart this war in a few months or years. Because if I hear even the slightest whisper that you're trying to revive this little conquest…"
His fingers tapped against his knee.
"Then I'll be back."
Theron's throat felt dry as sand.
Luca sat back, exhaling as if he were bored. "Oh, and don't think you can just blame some 'private factions' either. If a single mercenary, noble, or rogue party decides to test the demi-human continent, that's on you."
He tilted his head, his smile widening just a bit.
"And you already know what happens when I start holding you accountable."
Theron didn't even nod. He just sat there, stiff, his breath uneven.
Luca sighed, stretching his arms as he stood up, brushing dust off his pants. "Well, I think that about covers everything."
He stepped over the severed heads as if they were nothing more than decorations, making his way toward the center of the room.
Then, just before he left, he paused.
"Oh, right." He said, snapping his fingers. "I almost forgot."
Luca turned back to him with a smirk, motioning toward the pile of heads surrounding them.
"I figured you'd have a hard time convincing your people to withdraw, even after all this." His voice was mockingly sympathetic. "You know, since so many of your high-ranking officials were so passionate about this war."
His grin widened slightly.
"So I did you a favor."
He spread his arms.
"I brought them all here."
Theron's eyes widened in horror.
His gaze flicked wildly over the sea of severed heads surrounding him, and suddenly, the terror doubled.
Because now that he was really looking, he saw them.
His military commanders. His top generals. His war strategists. The noble who supported his advance.
The very people who had led the charge against the demi-humans.
All of them. Dead. The horror of it was suffocating.
And just when he thought his mind couldn't take anymore—
A whisper.
A sound so soft, so eerie that it made his skin crawl.
His head snapped up.
And there—right before him—a portal formed.
Theron's entire body froze.
The swirling rift in space hummed with an unnatural energy, its dark, twisting center shimmering ominously.
That was it. That was the missing piece.
And in that moment, he knew. The demi-humans hadn't lost their magic. Unlike the humans, who had grown arrogant in their technological advancements, who had dismissed the arcane arts as mere myth, the demi-humans had held onto something.
And now—
Now they were using it against him.
Theron shuddered violently.
He had thought this war would be a simple invasion. A guaranteed victory.
But if this was what the enemy was capable of—
His stomach twisted at the thought of what would've happened if he had continued.
Luca stretched his arms, about to step into the portal—when suddenly, he stopped.
His smirk returned, lazy and amused.
"Oh, one last thing...I promise this will really be the last." He said, glancing back at the king.
Theron's body stiffened.
Luca tilted his head slightly. "A few of your other sons and concubines—you know, the ones that were really enthusiastic about the war?"
He grinned.
"I killed them too."
Theron's vision blurred.
Luca sighed, stretching. "Didn't have room for them down here, though. So I kept them all on your bed."
Then, without another word, he stepped through the portal—and disappeared.
The moment he was gone, Theron stumbled to his feet.
His chest heaved. His hands shook.
No. No, no, no.
He turned sharply, almost tripping as he rushed toward his bed.
"Please." He whispered, his voice hoarse, desperate. "Please, no—"
His trembling hands pushed back the silk curtains.
And then—
His entire world collapsed.
There—on his bed, where he had slept just last night, where he had spent countless nights in luxury and comfort—
Were more heads.
His sons.
His wives.
All of them, arranged in a perfect, neat little row, staring back at him with those same dead, lifeless eyes.
Theron's legs gave out.
He fell backward onto the bed, his body collapsing among the severed remains of his own family.
His vision swam. His mind screamed.
And then—
Darkness.
He passed out.
And just like that—
His chamber, once the heart of royal power, had become a grave of the powerful people that probably held control over 90 percent of the human continent and what impact that would have on the continent itself.
...Well, that wasn't Luca's problem anymore—it was the sleeping king's.
His part was done. He had stopped the annihilation of the demi-human race in just two days, just as he had promised the Goddess.
The necessary bloodshed was over.
Now, all that was left was to enjoy himself in the demi-human continent, first visit the elf village like he had decided, and—if he felt like it—fix whatever problems that plagued their society along the way.