Dragon King: Throne of Demons and Gods-Chapter 15: The Rot Beneath the Gold

Bel stood in the middle of the battlefield, his breath heavy, his heart racing. Something had changed beyond his stats.

A strange, thrilling sensation ran through him, something new yet natural. He blinked, everything around him became crystal clear.

He wasn't just seeing, he was feeling. It was as if his senses had exploded outward, giving him a 360-degree awareness of the world. But it didn't stop there.

He could sense the lingering presence of the beasts he had slain, their corpses like fading echoes in his mind. He felt the soft steps of small animals, rustling the undergrowth. And further away, lurking in the darkness, he sensed something else, creatures drawn to the scent of blood.

His fingers curled with excitement. This ability was amazing. If just a little bit of Pressure gave him this much awareness, he had to increase it further. Who knew what more it could do?

Then, another realization hit him, he wasn't as tired as before. The pain in his body had dulled, thanks to his recovery. Once again, he was ready to go.

He smirked.

If he could track monsters with this ability, he didn't need anyone else to give him their location. Aldric had officially become obsolete.

With a determined grin, he turned toward the deeper parts of the forest. If he went further, he'd find stronger creatures and level up faster.

He took a step forward, letting his new senses lead the way.

In the meantime, in the grand halls of the Duke's household, Crest walked briskly, his expression troubled. His thoughts churned, his mind occupied with something that left him restless.

A voice called out to him.

"Crest."

He turned to see the Baron, who greeted him with a warm, practiced smile and a light clap on the shoulder, as if they were old friends.

"You seem deep in thought. Something troubling you?"

Crest hesitated before speaking.

"I wanted to discuss something with someone, but..." His words trailed off as he glanced at the Baron, debating whether to continue.

The Baron waved a hand, inviting him to share his concerns.

"Go on, speak freely. You can tell anything to me,."

Crest exhaled and finally voiced his thoughts.

"Why did you take a knight for Dusteria from outside the noble families? I understand wanting to save a survivor from the village, but giving her an uneducated knight is making things difficult for her. He doesn't even respect his lady properly."

The Baron's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Ah, so you're worried about Dusteria?" He brushed off the concern with a light chuckle. "Bel's situation is my own problem, don't worry about it."

Then, with a teasing smirk, he added.

"Perhaps you'd prefer to lend her one of your knights instead? You have two, and they do seem to get along rather well with her. I'm sure there's a way... you two seem rather clo..."

Before he could finish his playful remark, a firm voice interrupted.

"Baron."

The Baron turned, surprised, while Crest straightened.

It was the Duke.

He was standing at the top of the grand staircase, his sharp eyes sweeping over the two men below, his expression etched with mild irritation. The weight of his presence alone was enough to silence them.

Without descending, he addressed to both of them.

"Baron, the Royal Council will be gathering tomorrow to discuss the incident in your village," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Prepare yourself and rest for the night."

The air in the hall grew heavier, his gaze lingering on the Baron for a brief moment before shifting to Crest.

The Baron sighed, terribly annoyed, but there was nothing he could do.

"Of course, Your Grace." With a final glance at Crest, he departed.

Once the Baron was gone, the Duke turned his attention fully to Crest.

"You shouldn't waste time concerning yourself with another noble's affairs, especially his," he said pointedly.

Crest met his father's gaze.

"I'm just curious about their knight. There's something strange about him."

The Duke's expression remained unreadable, but his tone hardened.

"Remember who you are, the future heir of the Verholt. Your only priority should be dedicating your time to training, becoming the strongest in this kingdom. You must always seek the top, never wasting time on things beneath you." His gaze hardened. "Or people."

Crest bit his lip, the words settling deep. He remained silent for a moment, then finally sighed and nodded.

"I understand."

The Duke gave a final, approving nod before walking away, leaving Crest standing there, his hands clenched at his sides.

The first rays of dawn stretched over the vast forest, illuminating the figures of several hunters on horseback as they ventured deeper into the wilderness.

Their voices were light, exchanging casual conversation about past hunts and the creatures they hoped to encounter today.

The horses, however, grew uneasy. Their ears twitched, their nostrils flared, and they stomped nervously against the dirt path. A few even attempted to rear up, their eyes wide with something primal: fear.

The men exchanged glances, gripping the reins tighter.

"Easy now..." one of them murmured, trying to calm his horse. But the tension only thickened.

Then, one of the hunters shuddered involuntarily, a sudden chill running down his spine. He turned sharply, his gaze drawn toward the dense shadows of the forest.

Before he could process the feeling, a massive shape burst through the foliage.

A beast, resembling a bear but leaner and ragged, charged out of the forest with a lumbering, exhausted gait. Its breath came in labored huffs, its fur matted with blood and dirt.

Despite its obvious fatigue, it did not stop, barreling forward.

The hunters, caught off guard, panicked. Hands scrambled for weapons, but hesitation won over instinct, the creature wasn't attacking. It was fleeing.

And then, a shadow passed above them.

A shadow dropped from the trees, descending like a missile.

Bel slammed into the bear with a thunderous impact. The force sent slight vibrations through the ground, dirt and debris flying outward. The beast roared in agony as its body was driven into the earth, struggling wildly beneath the crushing weight.

Bel clung to it, arms wrapped tightly around its massive form. His muscles strained, veins bulging, his grip unrelenting as he fought to keep it pinned.

His clothes were in tatters, his tunic torn, his pants shredded at the edges, streaks of red staining the fabric.

Deep cuts and bruises marred his exposed skin, blood dripping freely from open wounds. Yet, in the brutal sight of his battered body, there was something far more unsettling.

He was grinning.

A terrifying, wild grin stretched across his bloodied face, eyes gleaming with exhilaration.

Slowly, he shifted his grip, stabilizing the writhing beast beneath him. Then, in a scene that defied all reason, he opened his jaws wide above its neck.

His teeth, white and sharp, gleamed in the dim morning light.

He was about to bite.

And then, he noticed them, the hunters standing frozen, eyes wide, their weapons still half-raised in disbelief.

For a moment, silence hung thick in the air.

"Uh... hi?" Bel hesitated, his voice hoarse.

The hunters still didn't react, their faces pale with shock. He awkwardly shifted before quickly raising his hands.

"Look, my sword broke during the night, so... I was kind of desperate..."

While all of this happened, way farther away, the sun was rising with a different glow.

In the grand Verridan Hold, a man reclined comfortably in an opulent chamber, sipping tea as he skimmed through a leather-bound book.

Sunlight poured through towering windows, casting a golden glow over the polished mahogany table before him. His posture was one of pure leisure, enjoying the serenity of his morning routine.

The butler entered with measured steps, bowing slightly before addressing him.

"My lord, we've received news regarding the Royal Council."

The Marquess barely spared him a glance, lazily turning a page.

"And?"

"Perhaps it would be beneficial for you to attend. Gaining insight firsthand would provide an advantage."

The noble sighed, setting his cup down with a soft clink.

"I don't feel like going. I'd rather wait for the reports."

The butler's expression remained neutral, but his tone was firmer.

"With all due respect, my lord, you must go. This information is crucial. We definitely need to know what will happen there."

The Marquess finally looked up, brows slightly raised.

"We? Who exactly needs it? Stop spouting nonsense, I could leave without this game of clowns."

The butler didn't flinch, standing as still as a statue.

"The problem is not whether you want to go, my lord. The problem is that we must know who will be there and what they intend to discuss. Attending is your obligation for who you are."

The Marquess smirked with amusement.

"You're growing bold, aren't you? Who do you think you are to..."

He stopped abruptly.

His head tilted slightly to one side.

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A strange sensation crawled up his spine, a foggy dizziness settling over him. His vision warped, the room subtly twisting.

"What...?"

And then, an excruciating pain flared through his skull.

His hands gripped the edges of his chair and then, his fingers twitched unnaturally, loosening their grip.

His limbs stiffened, yet moved on their own, jerking in odd motions. His head turned involuntarily, his eyes wide with terror as his body no longer obeyed him.

A sickening crack echoed as his spine arched, forcing him to rise awkwardly from his chair before falling down.

His own body was no longer his.

The butler knelt beside him, shaking his head with a sigh.

"The people of this house... far too lazy."

The Marquess convulsed, his voice raw with panic.

"H-Help...! Somebody—"

A slow creak echoed as the door swung open. Heavy boots thudded inside, a knight entering with slow, measured steps.

The noble flinched, eyes darting to him.

"P-Please... save me!" he gasped desperately.

The knight didn't answer. He walked toward the butler, stopping just beside him. Lowering his head slightly, he whispered.

"I'm begging you..."

Then, without another word, he collapsed forward.

The noble's breath hitched. His wide eyes locked onto the knight's body.

Now that the knight was closer, he could see something he hadn't noticed before, his limbs.

Each joint, his wrists, ankles, elbows, was grotesquely twisted into unnatural angles. Blood seeped from beneath his armor, dark and viscous, pooling beneath him. His neck bulged, misshapen, as if something inside had ruptured.

The noble's stomach churned. His lips parted in a scream.

Beyond the chamber, the estate had turned into a massacre. Bodies littered the halls, all twisted and broken, their faces frozen in silent agony. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood and something else, something wrong.

The butler crouched closer to the trembling Marquess, his voice smooth, eerily calm.

"The Slumbering Lord does not favor unnecessary exertion... and in his infinite empathy, he is willing to shorten your trial."

His eyes glowed white.

He whispered.

"If you can answer a simple question."

The noble's body trembled as the butler leaned even closer, their faces mere inches apart.

"Where is the treasure of the Marquess' Estate?"