The Loser Is the War Commander

Chapter 9: The Heir Arrives

The coffin sat in the center of the grand ballroom like a monument to death itself. The polished black wood gleamed under the crystal chandeliers, a stark contrast to the white roses and gold decorations meant to celebrate life and new beginnings.

Vincent Reksar's face had gone from purple to a shade approaching crimson. Veins bulged in his temples. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, trembling with barely contained rage.

"YOU DARE!" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. "YOU DARE BRING THIS—THIS ABOMINATION TO MY NEPHEW'S WEDDING?! YOU DARE MOCK THE REKSAR FAMILY WITH THIS SICK DISPLAY?!"

He took a step toward Darius, his finger jabbing the air accusingly. "You think you're clever? You think this makes you dangerous? You're NOTHING! You're a cockroach! A WORM! And I'm going to crush you so thoroughly that—"

Darius moved.

His leg shot out in a devastating kick that connected with the side of the coffin. The heavy wooden structure slid across the polished marble floor with surprising speed, its brass fittings screeching against the stone.

Vincent's eyes widened in shock. He tried to dodge, but the coffin was already there.

CRASH!

The coffin slammed into Vincent with the force of a battering ram, catching him square in the chest. The impact lifted him off his feet and sent him flying backward. He hit the wall with a sickening CRUNCH, his body leaving a visible dent in the expensive wallpaper. Blood erupted from his mouth in a crimson spray as he crumpled to the floor, gasping like a fish out of water.

"UNCLE VINCENT!" someone screamed.

The ballroom erupted into chaos. Women shrieked. Men shouted. Security guards raised their weapons, but Aria's squad responded instantly, their own weapons coming up in a coordinated movement that promised mutual destruction if anyone pulled a trigger.

Vincent lay against the wall, blood running down his chin, his expensive suit ruined. He tried to speak, but only managed a wet gurgling sound. One of his ribs had clearly punctured a lung.

Rita Logan's voice cut through the pandemonium, shrill with hysteria. "OH MY GOD! He—he just—Darius just hit VINCENT REKSAR!"

"He's insane!" Alexander Howard babbled, backing away. "Completely INSANE! Before, he was just hitting us—other students—but that was PETER REKSAR'S UNCLE! That's—that's declaring war on the entire Reksar family!"

"And the Ward family!" Lily Harper added, her face white as fresh snow. "They're allied! This is—Darius, you're FINISHED! You're beyond finished! You're DEAD!"

Jack Maxon, still sporting bruises from his earlier encounter with Darius, let out a bitter laugh edged with panic. "He's lost his mind! The pressure finally broke him! He's going to get us all killed just by ASSOCIATION!"

"We don't even KNOW him!" Rita screamed at the surrounding guards. "We just went to school together years ago! We're not involved! We're INNOCENT!"

Leonard Ward rushed to Vincent's side, his hands hovering uselessly over the injured man. "Someone call a doctor! NOW! And get MORE SECURITY! Lock down the entire hotel! Nobody leaves until this rabid dog is put down!"

Darius stood calmly beside the coffin, his expression unchanged, as if he'd done nothing more violent than moved a piece of furniture. Blood stained the floor where Vincent had fallen, but Darius's shoes were still perfectly clean.

Aria stepped forward, positioning herself at Darius's right side. Her voice, when she spoke, dripped with contempt.

"The Ward family. The Reksar family." She looked around at the assembled nobility with undisguised disdain. "To us, you're no different from ants. Insects pretending to be dragons."

"What?!" Leonard Ward sputtered. "What did you just say, you insolent—"

"She said," a new voice cut through the chaos like a blade through silk, "that you're insects."

The voice was cold. Controlled. Dangerous.

Every head in the ballroom turned toward the grand staircase that led down from the private suites above. A figure descended with measured steps, each footfall deliberate and commanding.

Peter Reksar.

He was young—perhaps twenty-seven or twenty-eight—with sharp features and calculating eyes. His wedding suit was pristine white with gold embroidery, clearly custom-made by master tailors. Everything about him radiated power, confidence, and barely contained violence. This was a man who'd been raised from birth knowing he was better than everyone around him.

But what made people step back wasn't his appearance. It was the aura he projected—the sense that he could and would destroy anyone who displeased him without a second thought.

Peter descended the stairs unhurriedly, his gaze sweeping across the destroyed doors, the unconscious guards, his uncle bleeding against the wall, the coffin in the center of it all, and finally settling on Darius.

The crowd fell into absolute silence, waiting.

Peter's expression remained eerily calm despite the carnage before him. He surveyed the scene with the detached interest of someone examining an interesting puzzle. His eyes lingered on the coffin, then moved to Vincent's crumpled form, then finally locked onto Darius.

"Interesting," Peter said quietly, his voice carrying perfectly in the silent ballroom. "Very interesting indeed."

He took another step down, his polished shoes clicking against the marble stairs. "So you're the one who dared to cause trouble here? At my wedding?" His tone was conversational, almost curious. "Tell me—who are you? What gives you the audacity to walk into this place and attack my family?"

Darius met his gaze without flinching. A cold smile spread across his face—the kind of smile that promised blood and ruin.

"The Reksar family is quite powerful now," Darius said, his voice soft but carrying clearly through the hall. "B-ranked nobility. Respect. Authority. Wealth." He paused, his smile widening. "But a few years ago? A few years ago, you were nothing but a D-ranked family. Dogs wagging your tails for scraps. Groveling before anyone with real power. Licking the boots of your betters just to survive."

The words landed like bombs.

The crowd gasped. Several Reksar family members turned red with fury. Leonard Ward looked like he might have a stroke.

But Peter's reaction was different. His calm mask cracked, and beneath it, something dark and violent stirred. His jaw clenched. His hands balled into fists at his sides. A vein pulsed in his temple.

"What... did you just say?" Peter's voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried a threat that made several people take involuntary steps backward.

"I said," Darius repeated, his tone almost pleasant, "that your family was nothing. Tail-wagging dogs. Pathetic. Worthless. And everyone in this city remembers it, no matter how much you pretend otherwise."

Peter's face flushed crimson. His composure—so carefully maintained—shattered completely. "You DARE—"

Then another voice cut through the tension. Female. Mocking. Dripping with venom.

"Well, well. I didn't expect the stray dog Darius to still be alive."

All eyes turned to the top of the grand staircase.