The air inside the grand ballroom was suffocatingly hot, thick with the heavy scent of roasted meats, aged wines, and expensive perfumes. Glittering crystal chandeliers cast warm, golden light across the polished marble floor, where noble lords and ladies laughed politely, sipping from crystal goblets as if the realm were not crumbling at its very foundations.
King Edmund Trialuh sat upon a elevated dais at the head of the long banquet table, his face drawn and hollow. Beside him, Prince Edward picked idly at his roast boar, his eyes darting toward the massive oak doors every few seconds with suppressed nervous energy.
Suddenly, the heavy doors swung open.
The chatter in the hall died down to a faint murmur as Leornars stepped into the light. He wore a high-collared coat of midnight-black silk embroidered with silver thread. His snow-white hair was neatly swept back, framing a face devoid of a single scratch or burn—a flawless facade concealing the horrors of the harbor district. Walking half a step behind his left shoulder was Stacian, stunning in a flowing crimson dress that mirrored the dark intensity of her eyes. And at his right shadow stood Zhylyena, her snowy hair pinned back with a jet-black haircomb, her crimson-and-black eyes calmly scanning the room, recording every heartbeat, every whisper, every stray surface thought of the royal court.
*"My Lord..."* Zhylyena's telepathic voice resonated directly in Leornars' mind, as smooth as silk. *"The king is gripped by severe paranoia... He fears the Kingdom of Durmount will launch a border raid now that Princess Alisha is 'dead'... Prince Edward is internally celebrating; he believes your arrival means the assassination was successful and his path to the throne is clear..."*
Leornars didn't react. His heterochromatic eyes remained unreadable as he approached the royal dais, performing a smooth, impeccable bow.
"Your Majesty," Leornars spoke, his voice carrying clearly across the quieted hall. "We return to honor your invitation."
King Edmund leaned forward, his heavy eyes inspecting the young strategist. "Master Leornars... Lady Stacian. We welcome you. We were informed you had business in the lower city."
"A minor disturbance at the docks," Leornars replied smoothly, straightening up. "A few lingering elements of the Black Acers gang attempted to disrupt the trade roads. I took the liberty of... liquidating their central operations. The threat to Lurtra's trade routes has been permanently excised."
Prince Edward choked slightly on his wine, coughing into a silk handkerchief as his eyes widened in shock.
*"Prince Edward's pulse just spiked to 140 beats per minute,"* Zhylyena reported passively in Leornars' head. *"He is terrified that the Black Acers leader might have confessed his involvement before dying."*
King Edmund, entirely oblivious to his son's panic, let out a deep, weary sigh of relief. "You continue to perform miracles for this kingdom, Leornars. First clearing our crushing debt to Durmount, and now cleansing the roads of those wretched vermin." The king gestured to the royal chancellor's empty seat beside him. "Where is Chancellor Vane? He was supposed to bring the official royal land decree to this feast."
"The chancellor felt suddenly unwell, Your Majesty," Leornars said, his lips curling into a faint, polite smile. "He asked me to present the finalized documents on his behalf."
Reaching into his inner coat, Leornars produced a thick, parchment scroll stamped with the royal crest and wrapped in gold wire—the deed granting him absolute sovereignty over two thousand six hundred square miles of coastal territory. He stepped forward and placed it gently on the king's table.
King Edmund picked up his quill, his hands trembling slightly, and pressed the royal wax seal against the bottom of the parchment.
"By my hand and blood," the king announced loudly, his voice echoing through the silent ballroom, "the territory bordering the northern wastes is hereby severed from Lurtra and granted in perpetuity to Leornars Servs Avantris. A sovereign domain, free from royal tax or crown intervention."
A collective gasp rippled through the noble audience. A commoner—a strategic advisor from nowhere—had just carved off a massive piece of the kingdom's map.
As the king handed the signed deed back, Leornars' crimson eye flickered with a dark, primal light.
Inside his mind, the cacophony of ancient screams, the smell of burning flesh from the Kurnov keep, the echoing splash of the old well, and the nine long years of physical torture replayed in a fraction of a millisecond. The neural chip, the scalpels, the cold chains, the mayor's sneer—it all burned away into a single, crystal-clear realization.
He had started as an abomination thrown into a dark well to freeze and die. He had been hunted, tortured, experimented on, broken, and remade through agony.
And now, the very royals who played with human lives like chess pieces were signing over their realm to the monster they had helped create.
Leornars took the signed deed, folding it neatly into his coat. He raised a crystal glass of red wine from a passing servant's tray and turned to face the room of trembling, ignorant nobles.
"A toast," Leornars said, his voice dropping into a chillingly calm register that made the hair on the back of Stacian's neck stand up. "To the prosperity of Lurtra... and to the foolish belief that the past can ever truly be buried."
He brought the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip as Stacian and Zhylyena smirked in unison behind him. The banquet had officially begun, but for the Kingdom of Lurtra, the final countdown to absolute extinction had just started.