Chapter 72: Whispers of the King
Leornars, the young monarch of Avangard, sat in the hushed splendor of his study. Moonlight, pale as bone, slanted through the tall arched windows, polishing the marble floor and the pristine white ceiling to a cool sheen. He should have felt satisfaction; the room, the fortress, the very kingdom beneath his feet were all monuments to his ruthless, lightning-fast rise. Yet, the victory felt as hollow as an echo in an empty hall.
A deep, involuntary sigh escaped his lips—a sound heavy with the dust of nine months spent in the dark, soul-crushing dungeon of Kurnov.
"I was a nobody, a forgotten speck of grit the gods didn't bother to ignore," he murmured, his crimson eyes tracing the intricate gold-leaf pattern on a diplomatic document. "Now? I have a kingdom, loyal allies, and enough wealth to make the old me weep with envious agony. But it's not enough. No mountain of coin can plaster over the scars in the soul, and no fleeting happiness can replace the sheer, brutal volume of tears one has shed."
He pushed the documents away, the crisp parchment scraping against the mahogany.
"The kindness we cling to, the emotions we linger with—they are our greatest strengths and our most fatal weaknesses. We crave them, yet we fear and resent the fragility they bring. I know I can never relive my childhood; time is like the wind, passing once, never to return. It's dust swept away by a spring breeze, and that's the whole of life. We grow, we learn, we adapt, and we grasp the purpose of our existence—our core."
He paused, a flicker of cold contempt crossing his face.
"Yet, some still cling to illusion, lust, deceit, and false accusations to harm others. That's the human trait. I would be a fool to envy such a race, yet I can't help but wonder... what is this elusive 'human spirit'?"
The study door clicked softly, and a shadow stretched across the marble. Stacian, his trusted second-in-command, entered. Her normally sharp features were softened by a touch of concern.
"Huh? My Lord, were you talking to me?" she asked, her voice a low, steady counterpoint to his philosophical rambling.
Leornars turned abruptly, his gaze intense. "Tell me, Stacian, what, in your observation, makes someone truly happy?"
Stacian was caught completely off guard. She hesitated, her violet eyes thoughtful. "Huh? Well, I'd say... trust, loyalty, or perhaps, as you said, 'emotional lingerments.'"
"Emotional lingerments," Leornars repeated, a ghost of a smile touching his lips as he rose from his seat. "So, illusions crafted by our core of existence grant us happiness. I confess, I didn't anticipate such a poetic answer."
"Illusion?" Stacian questioned, a frown creasing her brow.
Leornars walked to the window, watching the silent, silver world outside. "Yes. Friendship? Kingship? Relationship? All are merely ornaments of our lives. Things we choose to believe are true, meant to bind our pain and eclipse our clearer judgement."
Stacian nodded slowly, her understanding clicking into place. "Now I get it. This world is a desolate cavern, full of despair and dark tomes. Yet, this shared belief—this 'illusion'—is the only fabrication that keeps our sanity from spiraling into the void."
"Exactly," Leornars confirmed, turning back to her. "Just like dreaming."
"Dreaming?"
"Yes. Dreams are the ultimate illusions our minds conjure while our bodies recover from exhaustion or pain. They are mere hallucinations we create from our own tragedies, our own irony and delusional mindset."
"So, My Lord," Stacian pressed, stepping closer. "Do you believe emotions are liabilities?"
Leornars walked past her, the soft leather of his slippers making no sound on the marble. "Yes, and no. They are a liability when you consider the hypocrisy people commit for love and attention—what drives a child to crave parental affection, even from those who neglect them. But they are not a liability when you consider them to be an anchor to ourselves."
"Emotional anchors? Do you possess any, My Lord?" she asked, her curiosity genuine.
Leornars stopped and faced her, his crimson eyes locking onto hers. "Me? Certainly. I have you, Shullah, Zaryter, and the others. That is one of the key reasons I chose to forge a kingdom, not just a fort. I didn't need an army of obedient dogs; I needed a unified alliance forged in loyalty and trust."
He continued, his voice dropping slightly. "I never asked for blind obedience; I asked for belief in my goals. You recall what I asked Ayesha on her pledge of loyalty? I asked for trust in me and my ambitions, not blind sacrifice."
He stepped closer, his imposing presence filling the space between them. "I may be cold, heartless, and ruthless to the outside world, but I'd rather be seen as an evil tyrant than fail to protect the smiles of children like Shullah and Zaryter. That is why I give gifts for a job well done. You, Stacian, have over three thousand outfits and nine hundred other treasures for your unyielding loyalty. You are the second in command in Avangard when I'm away or unwell."
He gestured vaguely, acknowledging the unseen efforts of his other retainers. "Salene, Zaryter, Ayesha—they are all hard workers. Salene, with Kurumi Yamauchi's help, is creating potions and even that new shampoo and conditioner. Ayesha heads the hospital. Zaryter is learning leadership from Bellian to command the demi-human knights, while Bellian leads the undead. Every one of you holds a key, undeniable part in the foundation of Avangard."
Stacian's cheeks flushed a delightful, unexpected bright red. She lowered her gaze, unable to meet his intense stare. "My Lord..."
"I'll be departing today for the Elven Kingdom," Leornars said, returning to a purely professional tone. "I'm leaving you in charge. You are my most trusted retainer; entrusting Avangard to you is the best option."
"I will do my best," Stacian said, her voice firm, the blush receding as determination took over.
Leornars nodded. "And before I go, the matter of the villagers in the Rukeon region outside Avangard. I need them all dead. They have been conspiring with the Seraphim Kingdom. It explains how the Pollium drug reached Avangard. Spare only those who are truly innocent—infants. A child should not suffer for their parents' treason. Everyone else can die."
Stacian's eyes, moments ago warm with loyalty, now burned with cold, lethal hatred. The command settled on her like a mantle of necessary cruelty.
"So, those insolent cockroaches dare to repay my kindness with such vile spite?" she hissed, her voice dangerously low. "I allowed them the river, the trade routes... and this is what I get? I will exterminate every last one of them."
With a faint shimmer, Leornars teleported out of the castle, materializing in the vibrant, bustling heart of the Lotus Citadel's marketplace. The sun was higher now, illuminating the silver strands of his hair and making his crimson eyes look like molten rubies. He was dressed simply: a white shirt, blue baggy trousers, and leather slippers. His dragon earring, gold pendant necklace, and black bracelet were the only adornments that hinted at his power.
Merchants and traders, long accustomed to his presence, waved respectfully as he passed. He walked toward a cluster of his loyal retainers.
Zhyier, his undead complexion somehow radiating calm, held the tiny, laughing Shullah high in the air next to Zhyelena.
"Let's go," Leornars said simply.
Zhyier gently lowered Shullah, who immediately ran to Leornars' side. He smiled faintly and offered both her and Zaryter a crisp, red apple.
"I guess the undead can't eat, huh, Zhyelena?" Zaryter, a demi-human knight, started his usual mocking banter.
"Shut it, you lizard," Zhyelena, the undead assassin, retorted instantly. "At least I'm not draining the Lord's money on food and expenses!"
"Huh? The hell you zombie," Zaryter flared, stepping closer.
Leornars sighed, rubbing his temples. "This never gets old, does it? Stacian was right. You two should just get married."
Both retainers whirled on him, their squabble instantly forgotten in their unified horror.
"NEVER!" they roared in perfect unison.
"I'd give you my utmost blessing," Zhyier said placidly, adjusting his grip on his massive, black sword.
"No one asked for your opinion, dumbass," Zhyelena snapped.
"Yeah, shut up, newbie," Zaryter agreed, instantly allying with his rival against Zhyier.
"By the way, Lord Leornars?" Zhyelena called out, softening her tone.
"Hmm?"
"What's your type of woman?" she asked, a genuine curiosity in her eyes.
"You think he'll say you? Good luck, Mummy!" Zaryter snorted, immediately starting the buffering process with Zhyelena again.
Leornars walked on, biting into a piece of dried beef. "My type of woman? I've honestly never given it much thought. Someone independent, loyal, trustworthy, kind, determined. I'm not marrying a woman with no goals or ambitions; it would be like dating a doll. Let's say, someone mentally mature."
The others were momentarily stunned into silence. Zaryter processed this for a few seconds.
"So, someone like Stacian?" he finally asked.
"Hmm... I didn't think of that, but I suppose she does fit the bill," Leornars mused, chewing slowly. "But I see her as a subordinate, nothing more. And why would I spare time for a relationship when I have the domination of nations to attend to? Relationships are beneath me."
"Cold," Zhyelena muttered.
"Nah, fam. Frozen cold," Zaryter corrected.
"Oh well," Zhyier said with a deep, rumbling sigh. "I'd like to see what woman catches Lord Leornars' heart."
"A dead one," Leornars replied instantly, a shadow passing over his crimson eyes, a brief, sharp memory of his mother's execution. "The only woman I ever felt emotionally close to is dead. No one else can replace her. Simple."
He continued to walk, eating the dried beef. I remember the old days, just me, alone, before I met Stacian. Eating dried beef with salt I collected from the river banks.
Suddenly, a terrifyingly familiar chill shot down Leornars' spine. It wasn't the market breeze; it was pure, unadulterated intent to kill.
In an instant, he fired his threads of abstract—invisible, nearly-solid filaments of concentrated energy—in a 360-degree range, erecting an invisible, protective dome around himself and his subordinates.
A figure—a young man—was flung violently backward, skidding across the cobblestones.
THREAT ASSESSMENT. Host in immediate danger. Threat needs to be erased swiftly. Physical form manifestation - denied (no adequate mana support). Adaptive energy still at 0.4 percent mastery. Releasing Gate Keeper.
The cold, mechanical voice of his system, Althelia, echoed only in Leornars' mind.
The assailant, Kylie, rose slowly, his eyes wide with shock and pure, incandescent rage. Simultaneously, Zaryter was in a low crouch, his usual calm replaced with a predatory hostility. Zhyelena had already teleported behind Kylie, the obsidian tip of her dagger resting precisely on his throat with palpable malice. Zhyier had erected a thick, transparent magic barrier around Leornars.
"I've finally found you, Leornars Seirs Avantris!" Kylie roared, oblivious to the dagger. "I've looked for you for years and couldn't find you. So this is where you were hiding, huh? Answer me, you murderer!"
Leornars remained utterly calm, inspecting the threads that had caught the assassin. "Who are you?"
Kylie's grip tightened on his worn sword. "You don't remember me? I'm the boy you killed his father right in front of him!"
"Kid, I've killed a lot of people in my year in this world and my own. Approximately over twenty thousand," Leornars said with a tone of utter nonchalance, as if discussing the weather. "Be specific."
"You remember the baker's son," Kylie spat, his voice cracking with fury, "who you killed with a fucking fork and stabbed with his own dagger!?"
"Oh, that one," Leornars said, the recollection dim and uninteresting. "Yes. I guess his death was so insignificant I forgot about it. If he had an impact, I probably would remember."
Kylie snapped. With a primal scream of grief and rage, he charged Leornars. Instantly, twelve thousand Avangard knights—demi-human and undead—materialized in the marketplace, their weapons drawn, surrounding Leornars and his attacker in a terrifying, impenetrable wall of steel and bone.
"You hide behind lies and murder!?" Kylie screamed, halting abruptly, his eyes wide at the sight of the army.
"No, I'm not hiding," Leornars corrected mildly. "I'm hidden away from you by people who see my value, my ambitions. These are the Avangard knights—demi-humans and undead. Some are former slaves I freed; others, the rebellion I saved. It's simple."
Kylie threw his blade violently to Leornars' foot. "Leornars Seirs Avantris! I challenge you to a Xuretia Killeha!"
A Xuretia Killeha was a duel to the death, ending only when one combatant was dead or incapacitated.
Zhyelena burst into high-pitched, manic laughter from behind Kylie. "You're Level 56, you pathetic human scum! Lord Leornars is Level 114! You'd need a miracle to beat him! My Lord merely touching you is enough to kill you!"
"FIGHT ME?!" Kylie repeated, his eyes pleading for a duel he couldn't win.
Leornars looked at the sword, then at Kylie, and clicked his tongue. "No thanks. I got places to be. Guards, take him to Stacian. His accusations are attempted murder and property damage."
Kylie roared, trying to break free, running toward Leornars—who, in a flash of silver light, teleported directly behind him. Leornars delivered a simple, light jab to the back of Kylie's head.
The baker's son slumped instantly, unconscious.
"Another reason I hate humans," Leornars muttered, dusting his hands as Kylie was dragged away by two emotionless undead knights.