The aftermath of the Baron's eradication hung heavy in the air. Leornars walked down the street with a measured, calm stride, but every few seconds, his head snapped back—a predator's instinct—checking to see if Stacian was still trailing him. He ducked into a small roadside shop, his eyes landing on a sapphire stone set in a necklace. Without a word, he purchased it and handed it over to her before they continued their silent march toward the manor.
They descended into the damp chill of the basement. The heavy door groaned open to reveal Salene, perched quietly with a book. She looked up, her expression unreadable as she rose to meet him.
"Lord Leornars, what brings you here?" she asked, her voice a calm ripple in the silence.
"I need you to come with me," Leornars said, his tone steady. "Stacian, you handle the rigs with Zaryter. If you find anything, let me know."
"No probs," Stacian replied, swirling a flask behind him with nonchalant ease. She turned to leave, but paused, her voice tinged with a sudden, genuine pity. "Oh Lord... is it true? Your assessment on the twin girls? Did you really call them garbage?"
Leornars didn't flinch. "Why would you think that? What I meant by garbage was how they were treated. If they were human, the discussion would be... different."
Stacian set the flask down and walked out, her purple dress flurrying in the draft as she headed for the backyard. "I guess Lord Leornars hasn't changed that much," she murmured to the wind. "Still kind as ever."
The Star and the Greatsword
In the yard, the air was electric. Zaryter was a blur of motion, his chains burning with an intense heat as he fired them at Bellian. Bellian dodged the glowing links until one snagged his foot. Seeing the opening, Zaryter lunged, a kick aimed straight for the jaw that sent Bellian crashing into the stone wall.
Bellian didn't stay down. He shed his heavy armor and gripped his greatsword, his crimson eyes glowing with a sudden ferocity. He lunged forward just as Zaryter wrapped himself in his chains, dropping from above like a falling star.
Snap.
Stacian appeared between them in a flicker of movement, catching the massive blade and Zaryter's hand simultaneously.
"Let's go. We need to oversee what is going on in Asheviliah," she said calmly.
Zaryter's face shifted from combat-high to pure horror. His dragonian horns gleamed as Stacian's own wings and horns protruded. She seized him and soared into the sky.
"Heeeey! I can fly! Put me down... or up!" Zaryter's protests faded into the distance.
Leornars turned back to Salene. "Is it ready?"
"Almost, Lord," Salene said, pulling the pin from her hair. Her blonde locks fell loose, and her cyan eyes locked onto his. "I just need a living test subject to fully grasp the potential of the serum."
"Does Ayesha know anything of this?"
"She doesn't. I made it on the rooftops. I know she's our best scientist, but she will not hesitate to... hmmm... maybe if I can convince her," Salene mused.
Suddenly, a voice resonated from within Leornars. "I've never seen Salene looking like a normal person. This is new," Althelia's voice chimed from his core.
Salene bristled. "Did that voice lady insult me? Because I feel targeted."
Leornars rolled his eyes at the ceiling. "Althelia, take over my body. Go to King Alaric. When you arrive, inform me."
"About time. I needed to walk," Althelia remarked.
Leornars turned to Salene one last time. "Look for one person that looks like if they disappeared, no one would know. Take a homeless person—man or woman—just make sure the serum is ready."
As he spoke, his crimson eyes bled into a soft pink.
"Control taken," Althelia said, her voice shifting. "Salene, you heard the Lord. Efficiency is key; compromise is not an option we need. Ensure the task is complete."
As she climbed the stairs, Zhyelena appeared behind her, dropping to one knee. "Lord Leornars, I have arrived. Something is going on with Anasil, as you predicted. He knows something."
She rose, then immediately flipped backward, sticking to the wall as she realized who she was looking at. "Who are—wait, you're Althelia, huh? I guess the Lord is either asleep or unconscious."
"I see. I'll deliver the message to Leornars," Althelia said, unfazed. "Zhyelena, Undead Number 3, former princess... your message has been received. Return to your post await further instructions."
Althelia walked the streets, noting how the people waved. "Lord Leornars has established friendship with everyone," she mused. "Without trust, what's life? We can't live alone forever. That's not isolation, that's deprivation of love, which creates insanity... which Lord Leornars would have suffered if..."
She reached the castle. "Lord Leornars, we've arrived. Unless you want me to handle the political dialogue, I'll do it, no sweat."
The pink eyes flashed back to crimson.
In the courtyard, a merchant was being tossed out by a knight while trying to deliver a gift to Princess Lauren. The man turned his venom on Leornars. "Why's that BOY allowed to enter and not me? I'm the elder, not a boy!"
"That boy is the King of Avangard," the knight snapped, drawing his blade. "The White Plague. Show him respect, or you shall die."
Zhyier stepped from Leornars's shadow. "As expected of a human. Bitter and jealous. Are humans only known for greed, or do they have another trait?"
"For an undead like you, you'll never know the human spirit," the merchant spat.
"You mean greed?" Zhyier countered. "The human spirit is just a clause to trick yourself. You lot are manipulators, liars, and murderers."
"Zhyier, that's enough," Leornars said coldly. As the shadow retreated, he looked at the merchant with a smirk.
"I guess Zhyier never had a great experience with your kind. Nor have I. I have never liked humans. I don't think I'm superior, but we clearly see who holds the power. And it's not you," Leornars said coldly with a smirk.
He entered the audience room, locking eyes with Alaric.
"King Leornars, what pleasure do I have to meet you?" Alaric asked.
"I have killed your Baron," Leornars stated plainly. "He had no understanding of who I am. Slavery is a sin to be erased, Alaric."
"And you believe war or violence solves the problem?"
"You can't blame war," Leornars said, looking at the moonlight. "Wars have made unity as they have built mountains. But tell me, what peace is there if you are fighting for peace while building a mountain of corpses? War doesn't bring unity; it builds fear. Fear doesn't create love; it creates resentment. That's why coups happen. We made wars through misunderstanding, but leaders now create them over bruised egos. It's a tragic twist of fate for a knight to protect a king who only wants bloodshed."
He turned his gaze back to the throne. "A ruler is beneficial if he's controllable, but a threat to be silenced if he has a principle. And from the looks of it, you are not in charge here, are you, Alaric?" Leornars said calmly, his crimson eyes locking onto the King's.
Alaric's face went pale. He opened his mouth to speak, but his gaze darted for a split second toward the heavy tapestry behind the throne.
"I... I am the King," Alaric stammered, though the lie tasted like ash. "I make the laws here."
Leornars smirked, a cold, knowing expression. "A king who has to say 'I am the king' is no king at all. Who is behind the curtain, Alaric? Who is the one really pulling your strings?"