Chapter 65: The Wrath of King Carlos III

The silence in the Soaring Dragon Kingdom’s throne room was so thick you could almost cut it. Seated on his imposing golden throne, King Carlos III looked down with an icy fury. In front of him, kneeling on the cold marble, was General Valerius, completely bandaged and looking nearly destroyed. The general’s uniform was torn and stained with blood, and every time the King looked at him, Valerius’s body trembled. "How is it possible that you lost to the Hero?" the King’s voice began as a whisper, but it rose to a bellow that made the walls shake. "We gave you the best resources! We sent the fifteen best warriors in the entire kingdom! You had absolutely everything you asked for! I even gave you my daughter as you requested... and you lose to the Hero...!" The King stood from his throne in a rage, throwing the small table that was beside it. Wine splattered everywhere. Carlos III’s boot went up and forcefully kicked the general’s bandaged face. Valerius collapsed to the floor with a choked whimper of pain but did not dare to raise his head. The King, like a rabid beast, shouted curses as he walked down the aisle, kicking him again and again while everyone present in the room didn’t even dare to breathe too loudly for fear of catching the deranged king’s attention. "You incompetent bastard! Fourteen elite warriors, and you couldn’t even beat one bastard from a rookie guild! Look at what you did to my army! You destroyed them, you humiliated them!" As he shouted at him, the scene grew even more grotesque. Scattered across the floor, behind Valerius, were fourteen corpses. Fourteen bodies of elite warriors showing signs of torture. Arms broken at impossible angles, exposed bones that had snapped, some had no eyes, and others had their skin torn off in strips. They were the remains of the warriors Valerius had taken with him, and that the King had dismembered in a fit of rage. The King stopped and grabbed his head, forcing him to look at him. His eyes were a storm. "You’re lucky you’re my son-in-law, Valerius. You’re lucky you promised my daughter victory. Or I’d flay you alive like all these useless bastards... you low-born son of a bitch...!" Just then, the sound of running boots broke the tension. A royal messenger, with a pale and trembling face, entered the room, knowing this could be his last day alive. His voice was a thread. "Your Majesty! Urgent message!" King Carlos III turned his body, the gaze of his crimson eyes fixed on the messenger. The man, feeling the weight of that stare, lost all his strength. His knees hit the floor with a thud, trembling uncontrollably. "It had better be important, or I guarantee there won’t be a second chance," the king hissed, returning to his throne and sitting with elegance as if nothing had happened, while he combed his hair and adjusted his royal robe. "Brutus, you know what to do." A giant with his head covered by a black hood approached from the shadows. It had only one opening where you could see an eye filled with red veins that made him look terrifying. It was Brutus, the royal torturer, the man who was said to tear skin with his bare hands and break bones just by squeezing them. It was rumored that he ate human flesh every day, and that’s why his face was so deformed that he had to cover it with a black mask. The giant placed his hand on the messenger’s shoulder, and the man urinated as soon as he felt the terrifying pressure. A scream of panic escaped his mouth. But the king, having learned from his error of not letting the messenger finish speaking, raised a hand, stopping the giant. "Stop, Brutus. Let him speak. He hasn’t committed any sin yet; we must be kind to our loyal and obedient subjects." The king looked back at the messenger, his voice becoming strangely soft, a whisper that to the man sounded like the voice of hell itself. "Speak, little friend, tell us what is so important that you would enter my beloved royal hall in such a manner." "Your Ma... Ma... Majesty," the messenger stammered, unable to control his trembling. "The Pope has sent a message; the ritual to locate the remains of the ancient White Tail Empire is complete. As soon as you request it, they can begin." "You stopped my punishment for that?" the king scoffed, a cruel smile appearing on his lips. "An unimportant triviality. Brutus will have a new friend to play with soon...". Brutus’s grip intensified, creating the sound of bones about to snap. His eyes turned even redder as an erection appeared in his pants. The laughter of a sadistic sexual maniac resonated. The messenger, on the verge of collapse, became desperate. "Nooo! No, my lord, that’s not all! The Beast, Titan, and Elf kingdoms have sent emissaries to speak with you. They are waiting outside the throne room...". The king’s face, which a moment ago had been pleased by the imminent torture, twisted into a look of pure fury. He rose from his throne, his voice a thunderclap that made the castle tremble. "Why didn’t you say that before, damn it? A few seconds and you could have caused a catastrophe! Brutus, punish this useless messenger!" The messenger’s scream of panic echoed throughout the castle, while a guttural, sinister laugh escaped from Brutus’s mouth. His grip increased even more, shattering the bones in the messenger’s shoulder as he dragged him to where the other fourteen dismembered bodies lay. Valerius looked at him but only lowered his head, thanking all his ancestors for having married the princess, since otherwise he would not have his head on his shoulders at that moment. "Now, for the important matters," he murmured to himself. With a wave of his hand, the hall doors opened wide. The king walked with a firm step toward the entrance, where the queen and princess were already waiting. Both joined him, positioning themselves at his sides, their dresses impeccable and their faces serious, making a perfect bow to the waiting guests. In front of them were the emissaries from the Beast, Titan, and Elf kingdoms. The Beast emissary was an imposing lion-man with broad shoulders and a golden mane. The Titan emissary was a giant with stone skin, his muscles appearing as though they were sculpted from solid rock. The Elf emissary was slender and elegant, with a cold and calculating gaze. King Carlos III extended his arms in a gesture of welcome. His voice, now soft and cordial, sounded like that of a kind host. "Welcome to my humble kingdom. I hope you enjoy our hospitality." While the king spoke, the eyes of the queen and princess did not linger on the guests’ faces. They slid down, stopping at the pants of the lion-man and the stone giant. A subtle and lascivious smile appeared on their lips while the tips of their tongues came out to lick them. It was a look filled with desire and perversion, a secret shared between them. The Soaring Dragon Kingdom had its own particular form of hospitality, and it seemed the emissaries were about to discover it.