The Tyrant Of The Red Throne

CHAPTER 8 The Wilted Flower of the Nation

Far to the north, completely out of reach of the blood-soaked pine forest, an ivory-white tower violently pierced the clouds. Its walls were built entirely of sacred marble that perfectly reflected the starlight, and every single carving was actively flowing with pure mana, making the air around it feel incredibly crisp and deeply soothing. At the very top of that tower, standing on a massive balcony overlooking an absolute ocean of clouds, Lord Vael of the Elven race gracefully raised a crystal glass to his lips.

The thousand-year-old ruby-red wine flowed slowly down his throat. His sky-blue eyes stared incredibly sharply, but not out at the stars. He was staring directly into a massive crystal ball hovering right in the center of the balcony. Inside that sphere, the horrific scene down in the pine forest played out with absolute, crystal-clear precision, exactly as if he were watching a grand opera from the very best seat in the house.

He watched Gharok, the filthy northern dog, violently choking a lowly human. He watched another human child being dragged around by a chain. He watched the two other human boys lying completely helpless in the dirt.

"Absolutely disgusting," Vael muttered, his voice as incredibly melodic as a harp but as completely freezing as dead winter. He took another slow sip of his wine, his slender, pale fingers gripping the stem of the glass with absolute, perfect elegance. "Just look at them. The wild beasts roaring, and the pathetic pests crying. They both equally pollute the sacred soil of Aethelgard with their completely meaningless existence."

An Elven aide, standing completely bowed behind him in a pristine silver robe, chimed in with a deeply respectful tone. "It appears Commander Gharok has successfully managed to draw out that magic anomaly, my Lord. Should we perhaps dispatch a sealing team to capture the human alive?"

Vael let out a soft, echoing laugh. A laugh that held absolutely zero warmth, nothing more than a hollow vibration of the air.

"Capture him? For what possible reason? Do you honestly think I have any actual interest in a cockroach that just happened to figure out how to start a fire with its own filth?" Vael completely casually set his glass down on the marble table. "No. Let the dog play with his food. Let the pests completely slaughter and devour each other."

Vael's eyes narrowed slightly, clinically analyzing Roy violently thrashing inside the crystal ball with the exact same cold stare of a scientist dissecting a highly unusual specimen.

"This little tragedy," Vael stated with an absolute tone of finality, "is simply a bit of theater specifically designed for the superior races. A truly beautiful reminder of exactly why we are destined to rule, and exactly why they are destined to be nothing more than dust right beneath our boots. Just enjoy the show, Captain. It is a truly melodic symphony of pure, absolute despair."

Down on that muddy stage, the symphony of despair was rapidly reaching its absolute climax.

Gharok's crushing grip on Roy's throat felt exactly like a tightening ring of solid steel. Oxygen aggressively refused to enter his lungs. Thick black spots were rapidly dancing all across his vision. But the horrific physical pain of being strangled was absolutely nothing compared to the pure psychological torture his eyes were actively being forced to watch.

The Lycan soldier holding Elara's chain yanked it completely violently, instantly sending the tiny girl violently crashing face-first into the dirt. The heavy spiked collar around her neck brutally scraped her skin, leaving behind a sharp, thin trail of fresh blood.

"R, Roy," Elara whimpered, thick tears heavily flooding her tiny, soot-covered face. The shoulder that Gharok had purposefully crushed made it completely impossible for her to even support her own body weight properly.

"Look at her, kid!" Gharok growled heavily directly into Roy's ear. "Just listen to her voice! Every single one of her sobs is happening entirely because you are just too damn weak! Every single tear is dropping purely because you actively refuse to show off that interesting little magic trick of yours!"

Gharok gave a sharp nod of his head. The second Lycan soldier immediately raised a heavy, spiked leather whip high into the air.

"No, please don't," Roy's voice came out as absolutely nothing more than a weak hiss of air. He thrashed as hard as his body physically could, but it was totally useless. His incredibly weak hands helplessly smacked against Gharok's massive wrist with absolutely zero effect.

'System!' Roy screamed frantically inside his own head. 'Activate it! I absolutely don't care about the permanent damage! I will pay you with every single memory I have left! I will pay you with my literal soul! DO SOMETHING!'

[Access Denied. The Physical Vessel has reached its absolute limits. Forced activation will result in immediate cardiac explosion. Instant death with zero results.]

The system's cold refusal felt exactly like a brutal death sentence.

Gharok let out a loud laugh, looking deep into Roy's eyes, which were now completely overflowing with absolute despair. "So, you're actually choosing to do absolutely nothing? Do you honestly think that holding back your little power is going to make me feel pity?"

The Commander slightly loosened his crushing grip, not out of any sort of mercy, but purely so Roy could gasp for a tiny breath of air. He violently threw Roy down into the muddy dirt. Roy coughed incredibly hard, frantically gulping down the freezing night air.

"Let's do it like this," Gharok said casually, taking a slow step toward the completely terrified, violently shaking Elara. He casually lifted his massive axe, then completely pressed the flat side of the heavy blade right against Elara's cheek, physically forcing the little girl to look straight up at Roy. "Every single time you actively refuse to show me your magic, I am going to cleanly snap one of her fingers. Let's start right with the pinky. Sound good?"

"DON'T!" Roy screamed, his voice totally hoarse and violently cracking. "Stop it, please, just stop it,"

Roy's humanity was actively being pushed to the absolute most extreme limits. Every single protective instinct inside him was violently screaming, desperately trying to force his completely broken body to stand up. But on the other side, a brand new, freezing cold whisper deep inside his soul, a permanent leftover from his previous magical transaction, was coldly analyzing the situation.

If you use your magic right now, you will absolutely die. And the second you are dead, Gharok is going to kill Elara anyway. He is going to kill Faried. He is going to completely execute Ivan. And he is going to brutally tear apart the unconscious Henry. Everything will end in absolute failure.

Right in the middle of that agonizing internal torture, Roy aggressively refused to just give in to completely blind rage. He didn't activate his magic. Instead, his wildly glowing red eyes frantically darted around in every single direction, desperately looking for a gap, looking for a physical weakness, looking for absolutely anything he could use to violently flip the situation around. Maybe Faried could somehow break free? Maybe there was another trap set up nearby? Maybe he could literally bite the main artery in Gharok's leg?

He kept frantically searching for a tiny shred of hope right in the middle of absolute hell. It was a completely fatal mistake.

Gharok closely watched Roy's frantically darting eyes. He clearly saw the cold calculation actively spinning inside the boy's stare. And instantly, the entire expression on Gharok's face completely changed. It didn't shift into more anger, it simply shifted into extreme boredom. His genuine curiosity about the anomalous magic was completely overpowered by his sheer annoyance at prey that absolutely refused to play by his rules.

"Ah, I completely understand now," Gharok hissed with a deeply disappointed tone. "You aren't holding back because you're actually afraid of dying. You are actively looking for an opening to escape. You honestly still think you can actually survive this?"

Gharok casually pulled his massive axe completely away from Elara's cheek. He aggressively spat on the ground in pure disgust.

"Boring."

Just that one single word. Freezing, completely flat, and entirely final.

Before Roy could even begin to process the actual meaning behind that word, before Faried could even shout, before Ivan could even squeeze his eyes shut, Gharok swung his massive warhammer with an incredibly fast, totally emotionless horizontal motion.

The swing was absolutely efficient. Incredibly pragmatic. The pure motion of a butcher who was completely tired of playing with his livestock.

The razor-sharp blade of the axe tore through the air with a soft, quiet whistle.

There was absolutely no scream. There was zero drama.

There was only the sickening, wet sound of freezing cold steel violently meeting a completely fragile, tiny neck.

SPLAT.

Time totally stopped. The entire forest fell dead silent.

Right in front of Roy's violently wide, staring eyes, his little sister's tiny body completely collapsed to the side, exactly like a ragged doll whose strings had just been violently cut. From her completely severed neck, fresh blood violently sprayed out like a totally horrific, dark red fountain.

A tiny, round object was violently launched straight up into the air by the sheer momentum of the axe swing. The object spun wildly a few times, fully revealing a dirty braided ponytail and a pair of eyes that were still completely wide open, entirely frozen in an expression of absolute terror and total confusion.

Elara's head.

The tiny object hit the muddy ground with a soft, sickening thud, and then started rolling.

It kept rolling.

Until it finally, completely stopped, the very second its tiny, freezing cold nose bumped right against the front of Roy's leather boot.