Chapter 124: I Surrender

Zinov hurtles toward the ground, his body battered and energy nearly spent. Alix descends gracefully beside him, his expression calm yet resolute.​ "I guess this is the end," Alix states, his voice steady. Zinov, with a defiant glint in his eyes, reaches into his pouch and retrieves a shimmering crystal. With a swift motion, he crushes it in his hand. Instantly, his form vanishes, leaving behind only a faint shimmer in the air. Alix raises an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering across his face. "A teleportation crystal," he muses aloud. "Didn't expect to see one here." He pauses, reflecting on the implications. "In the game, these were rare items," he continues, speaking to himself. "Their teleportation range depended on their rarity—the higher the grade, the farther they could transport you." A slight smirk tugs at the corner of Alix's mouth. "Interesting," he murmurs. "Normally, preventing such an escape is straightforward with the right skills. There's a Tier 5 ability specifically designed to block the lowest rarity of teleportation crystal." He exhales, a mix of amusement and intrigue in his tone. "But who would have thought a native of this world would possess such an item?" the scent of charred earth and the metallic tang of blood linger in the air. Amidst the remnants of the skirmish, Vaelith materializes beside Alix, dropping to one knee in deference. "Your Majesty," Vaelith reports, his voice steady, "the enemy forces have been eliminated." Alix nods, his gaze sweeping over the aftermath. "Good," he responds. "Ensure their belongings are collected before disposing of the remains." "As you command, Your Majesty," Vaelith replies, rising to his feet. He signals to the Shadows, who swiftly begin the grim task of gathering weapons, armor, and any valuables from the fallen soldiers. Satisfied with the proceedings, Alix turns away from the scene. With a thought, he accesses the system interface, selecting the option to return to his palace. In an instant, a soft glow envelops him, and he vanishes from the battlefield, leaving his subordinates to complete the post-battle rituals. --- Varkas and Pavel's battle rages on, with Varkas steadily gaining the upper hand. Pavel, sensing defeat, abruptly disengages and attempts to flee. As he retreats, he commands his two enslaved monster companions to attack: "Lera, Selene—stop him!" Pavel's voice is sharp, and the slave marks near their chests glow ominously, compelling them to obey. The two women, their eyes filled with reluctance and pain, step forward, preparing to unleash their magic upon Varkas. Varkas, however, moves swiftly. With a surge of speed, he closes the distance between them and places a hand on each of their shoulders. "Rest now," he murmurs, his voice gentle yet firm. A calming energy emanates from him, and both women collapse into unconsciousness, freed momentarily from their torment. Without wasting another moment, Varkas focuses on Pavel, who is now a considerable distance away. Drawing upon his enhanced agility, Varkas sprints after him, closing the gap with remarkable speed. Pavel glances back, panic flickering across his face as he sees Varkas approaching rapidly. He attempts to quicken his pace, but it's futile. Within moments, Varkas is upon him. "You can't run from me!!" Varkas growls. Pavel turns, desperation driving him to swing his greatsword wildly. Varkas sidesteps the clumsy attack with ease and delivers a decisive strike to Pavel's chest. The force sends Pavel sprawling to the ground, his weapon slipping from his grasp. Coughing and struggling, Pavel looks up at Varkas, fear evident in his eyes. "Please... have mercy," he pleads. Varkas's expression hardens. "Did you show mercy to those you enslaved?" Pavel opens his mouth to respond, but Varkas doesn't give him the chance. With a swift, powerful motion, he ends Pavel's life, ensuring he can no longer harm another soul. Standing over Pavel's lifeless body, Varkas exhales deeply, the weight of the battle settling upon him. He then turns back toward the battlefield. As the battle draws to a close, the adventurers find themselves overwhelmed and begin a desperate retreat. Varkas stands amidst the chaos, his keen eyes observing the enemy's disarray. He raises his voice, commanding his forces. "Do not let them escape! Cut off their retreat and finish this!" His soldiers respond with renewed vigor, pressing the attack and preventing the adventurers from fleeing. The battlefield soon falls silent, the enemy either defeated or captured. Varkas surveys the aftermath, his expression resolute. He turns to his troops. "Gather all weapons, armor, and valuables from the fallen. Ensure nothing of use is left behind. Once the looting is complete, dispose of the bodies properly." The soldiers nod in understanding and begin the grim task of collecting items from the fallen adventurers. As Varkas oversees the collection of weapons and valuables from the fallen adventurers, a member of the Shadows approaches him, bowing respectfully. "General Varkas," the Shadow reports, "His Majesty has vanquished the enemy forces on the Varestand city. The battlefield is secured." Varkas's eyes light up with admiration. "Our king never ceases to amaze," he says, a proud smile forming. "I would have relished witnessing his prowess firsthand once more." The Shadow nods in agreement. Varkas takes a deep breath, the weight of the recent battle still evident. "Let's ensure our duties are completed swiftly. Our king's victories inspire us all to strive for excellence." "Understood, Commander," the Shadow responds before returning to his tasks. Varkas casts a final glance over the battlefield, his thoughts momentarily drifting to the image of his king in combat, before refocusing on the responsibilities at hand. ---- In the days following the decisive victory over the Raltheon Kingdom, the cities of Erevaris—Misorn, Delon, Cras, and Varestand—buzz with excitement and admiration for their sovereign, King Alix. Marketplaces are abuzz with animated discussions, and taverns brim with lively conversations about the recent triumph. In Misorn's bustling central square, vendors enthusiastically share the news with their customers. "Did you hear?" a fruit seller exclaims, handing a ripe apple to a customer. "His Majesty single-handedly crushed the Raltheon forces! They didn't stand a chance." Nearby, a group of young women converse in hushed, excited tones. "Not only is our king powerful," one says, her eyes sparkling, "but have you seen him? He's incredibly handsome." Another giggles, adding, "And rumors said the he is still unmarried. Imagine being the queen of such a mighty ruler." In Delon's main tavern, patrons raise their mugs in celebration. "To King Alix!" a burly orc toasts, his voice echoing through the establishment. "May his reign be long and victorious!" A lizardfolk patron nods in agreement. "I've never seen leadership like his. He commands with strength and wisdom." Throughout Erevaris, the sentiment is unanimous: King Alix's strength, wisdom, and charisma have solidified his place as a revered and admired leader. The kingdom eagerly anticipates a future of prosperity and security under his rule. ---- In the desolate city of Sindwind, the once-bustling streets now lie eerily silent. Abandoned homes and shuttered shops stand as testament to the mass exodus that has taken place. Only a few souls remain, trapped by circumstance. Inside a modest, dimly lit home, young Zale sits close to his mother, Elira. The flickering light from a single candle casts long shadows on the walls, mirroring the uncertainty that weighs heavily upon them. "Mama, why did everyone leave?" Zale's voice trembles, betraying his fear. Elira pulls him closer, her hand gently stroking his hair. "The monsters... they've taken Varestand. Sindwind is next." Her voice is steady, but her eyes glisten with unshed tears. "Why didn't we go too?" he asks, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. She sighs, the weight of their predicament pressing down on her. "The journey to the next city is long and treacherous. Without a horse or cart, we'd have to travel on foot through the wilderness." "But others left." "They had means we don't." She cups his face, forcing a reassuring smile. "We have to stay strong, Zale. We'll find a way." ---- In the grand hall of the royal palace, King Edric sits heavily upon his ornate throne, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the marble floor. The weight of recent events presses down on him, rendering the opulence around him hollow. A trusted advisor, approaches cautiously, his footsteps echoing in the vast chamber. Bowing deeply, he addresses the king. "Your Majesty, the latest reports have arrived," His advisor begins, his voice laced with apprehension. Edric's eyes flicker upward, meeting his advisor's. "Speak," he commands, though his tone lacks its usual authority. He clears his throat. "Our forces were utterly decimated. Not a single soldier returned." The king's face pales further, disbelief etched into his features. "And Zinov? What of him?" He hesitates, then delivers the crushing news. "Defeated, Your Majesty. The reports indicate that even his formidable strength was no match for the king." Edric leans back, his head resting against the cold metal of his throne. He closes his eyes, the reality of their situation sinking in. "Zinov... defeated," he murmurs, more to himself than anyone else. "I never thought I'd see the day." A heavy silence envelops the room. After a long pause, Edric opens his eyes, a glimmer of resolve surfacing amidst the despair. "We still have the artifact," he states, though doubt tinges his words. King Edric sits heavily upon his ornate throne, the weight of recent events pressing down on him. His fingers drum anxiously on the armrest as he contemplates the artifact's potential. Doubt clouds his mind; even with such a powerful relic, I have a feeling that the chances of defeating that monstrous king seem slim. The Advisor stands nearby, his expression a mix of concern and anticipation. The silence in the grand hall is palpable. Finally, Edric exhales deeply and straightens his posture.