Chapter 121: Ashes of the False King

Chapter 121: Ashes of the False King [Emperor Cassius Pov] "...You... how did you..." Kaelith Ilstar choked on his own blood, the words scraping out of his throat like shards of broken glass. He lay sprawled across the marble steps of his throne—my throne now—blood trailing behind him like a second cloak. He clutched his stomach, where my blade had found him moments ago. Shaking. Drenched in red. Still breathing—but not for long. Pathetic. I reclined lazily on the high seat he once called a throne, one leg over the other, my sword resting across my lap, still dripping with his royal blood. The silver-flame banner of Irethene lay scorched beneath my boots, and the shattered remnants of his crown rolled somewhere in the rubble. I smirked down at him, my voice cold and precise. "Did you think we didn’t strike you until now because we were weak?" I asked. "Did that little fantasy keep you warm at night while your priests whispered victory into your ears?" Kaelith groaned, eyes dazed with disbelief and agony. I leaned forward just slightly, letting my words strike like knives. "No, boy. We waited because we wanted you to rot in comfort. To rise high enough that the fall would break every bone you own. That’s the price of arrogance, Kaelith. You never ruled. You only played emperor." Heavy boots echoed behind me. Regis stepped into the light, splattered with blood but as composed as ever. He looked at the broken body on the floor. "All nobles who supported him have been dealt with," he reported. "They screamed ’glory’ as they died." I gave a soft nod, brushing dried blood off my knuckles. "As expected. And the priest?" Regis’s mouth curled. "Tried to run. Crossed the border in robes soaked with wine and cowardice. But Ravick caught him before he reached the hills. He’s dragging him back now." I chuckled, slow and sharp. "Good. That means the play is over." Regis glanced toward the broken windows, where Irethene’s once-proud city now stood silent, ash-laced winds curling through its stone veins. "So... it’s time to go home?" he asked softly. I stood from the throne, blade in hand, and walked down the steps until I was staring directly at Kaelith. The bastard emperor coughed violently, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He blinked up at me with dazed hatred, but even that was fading. I tilted my head. "What about him?" Regis asked. I clicked my tongue and crouched, meeting Kaelith’s gaze as if considering a pet that had bitten the hand that fed it. "Hmmm..." I mused. "Should I feed you to the wolves alive? Let them chew on your bones while you scream like the child you are?" Kaelith whimpered. I narrowed my eyes. "Or should I gift your severed head to your people? Let it rot in the city square while they rebuild their lives under my name?" I stood again. Swung my sword once—slow and easy—and let the point rest gently against his throat. "You took my knights. You took my time. You tried to take my legacy," I said, my voice dipping into something darker. I stepped closer, my shadow swallowing his trembling body. His mouth opened, but I wasn’t done. "And more importantly... you forced me to spend three years away from my daughter." My grip tightened on the hilt. "Three birthdays missed. Three winters without her laugh in my halls. You turned my empire into a battlefield... and my fatherhood into a calendar of guilt." The point pressed harder into his skin, a crimson bead blooming beneath it. "So now," I hissed, "I’ll take your kingdom... and gift it to her. Wrapped in your blood and ash." He gasped—wide-eyed, ragged—but before he could beg, cry, or plead to whatever gods abandoned him— I drove the blade clean through his throat. Quick. Precise. Final. He crumpled without ceremony, a dethroned corpse in a pool of his own arrogance. I stood there for a beat, watching the blood snake down the marble steps, before I turned to Regis with cold precision. "I want the priest," I said, already wiping my blade on Kaelith’s ruined cloak. "Tell Ravick to bring him alive. I don’t want him dead before I get my hands on him." Regis winced. "...You should’ve said that earlier." I froze mid-wipe, one brow lifting slowly. "Why?" I asked, my voice deceptively calm. Regis sighed. "Because knowing Ravick, he’s probably already killed him by now. Or—worse—he’s halfway done, thinking it’s what you wanted." I let out a breath through my nose, sharp and humorless. "Of course he is." With one last pull, I sheathed my blade and turned fully to Regis, my voice low and dangerous. "Then tell Ravick to stop. Tell him to leave the priest just enough alive to scream. He can break him all he wants—but the final breath?" I smiled, slow and cold. "That’s mine to steal." Regis nodded grimly. "I’ll send the order." "Good," I said, walking back toward the throne, now rightfully mine. I glanced over my shoulder at Kaelith’s still-warm body. "Because I want that holy bastard dragged here in chains and shame. Let him crawl into this hall on broken limbs. Let his gods watch him die." I sat once more, letting the weight of victory settle over my shoulders like a well-worn cloak. "And when I’m done with him..." I leaned back, resting my head against the cold iron of the throne. "I’ll make sure his death becomes a sermon carved in flame." *** [Later, Irethene Empire, Throne Room] I didn’t have to wait long. By the time Ravick arrived—dragging the High Priest of Irethene by his collar like a stray dog through mud—the man was half-dead. Bleeding. Barely conscious. His once-holy robes were torn to ribbons, and one eye had already swollen shut. I didn’t even rise. Just stared at him, sprawled before my feet in a mess of bones and blasphemy. Ravick shoved him down hard, and the priest whimpered, coughing blood across the floor Kaelith had died on hours earlier. No divine rescue.No gods descending.Just a broken man in the house of a greater one. "I was merciful," Ravick said, brushing dust from his coat. "Relatively." I looked down at the priest—Velsior, they called him. The ’Tongue of Flame.’ The whisperer behind a bastard emperor. The shadow that tried to set the world on fire with prophecy and poison. Pathetic. "You used divinity like a dagger," I murmured. "Whispered conquest into the ears of a child and dared to call it fate." Velsior blinked sluggishly, trying to speak, but all that came out was a gargled moan. I leaned forward, just a little. "You fed him delusion, priest. Promised him the world. Let me teach you the truth." I crouched beside him, my voice as soft as it was lethal. "You don’t conquer the world with sermons. You conquer it with steel." He shuddered. "I should flay you alive," I said. "Hang your skin on your temple walls and watch your followers burn incense beneath it." Regis cleared his throat. "If I may suggest—perhaps we don’t flay anyone today. At least not before dinner." I exhaled slowly. A long, tired breath. I stood tall again and said flatly, "No more games. I’ve tarried here long enough." Because beneath the blood, beneath the steel, beneath this throne and the hundreds of corpses it had cost—I could only think of one thing. It’s been months since I last received a letter from Lavinia. Not one. I hadn’t sent any either. Not for lack of trying—but the messengers either vanished in the snow or were swallowed by war. She was growing up without my words to guide her. Without my eyes to see her. My daughter was waiting... and I had stayed too long. I turned to Regis. "We’re going back to Elorian." Ravick straightened. "Shall I prepare the war camp?" "No. Leave the tents. Let the ruins rot. This place is no longer ours to battle—it is ours to govern." I narrowed my eyes. "Did we raise the imperial flag?" Regis nodded once. "Yes. Just before dawn. Over the palace. Over the citadel. Every town square within riding distance now flies your banner. I’d say the message is clear." "Good," I said with a flick of my cloak. "Then this kingdom knows it has a new god." Regis winced faintly. "I suppose we now add Irethene to the imperial map." "No." I looked over my shoulder, smirking. "We carve it into the map." He nodded, muttering, "As you command." I strode toward the palace doors, the broken priest still groaning behind me. "And Regis..." I called as I passed him. "Yes?" "This land—find a noble house to govern it. Someone ruthless. Sharp. Loyal. But not too ambitious. I’m not in the mood for rebellion this decade." He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "So basically, find a ghost. Got it." I waved a dismissive hand. "Yes. Appoint whoever you please. As long as they kneel." Then Ravick frowned. "Your majesty, what about the coronation rites for—" "Later," I said. "We ride. Now." "But we haven’t—" I turned back to him, my voice rising like a storm. "I have a daughter waiting. I’ve slaughtered for three years to give her this throne. The empire will not wait. I will not wait. We ride for Elorian now." Regis blinked once. Then twice. "...Well," he muttered. "I have a son waiting too, you know." I shot him a glare sharp enough to draw blood. Osric. That boy crawls under my skin every time I see his smug little face. But I sighed. Deep and tired. Because that bastard hasn’t done anything yet. Not yet. I walked past him without another word, boots thudding down the marble steps of the ruined palace. The sun was dipping low, painting the broken kingdom in shades of red and ash. The day was ending. So was the war.