The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 182

As Alvera handed Kael the key, her hand trembled slightly.

She looked away quickly, trying to hide the unease building inside her. The box… it wasn't just any old item. It was something her mother had protected, something she held close even in her final days.

Memories stirred in Alvera's mind. She remembered those quiet moments when Asana would sit by the window, staring into the falling snow. Her mother's eyes always seemed far away, filled with sadness, longing… and something else she couldn't place back then.

Back then, Alvera was just a child, naive and too young to understand the weight of her mother's silence. Even though their kind lived long lives, they didn't mature quickly. Wisdom took time, and hearts took longer.

But there was one thing Asana had always told her.

"Remember Alvera, one day someone might be sent here by Ice Dragon Viserion. He might act strange, might be rude or loud… but he will carry burdens that even the strongest warriors can't lift. When that day comes, give him my treasure."

Alvera had blinked, puzzled. She had looked up at her mother with wide innocent eyes.

"Mother, how will I know it's really him? What if he's a bad person?"

Asana had smiled softly, her usual cold expression melting for a brief moment.

"My sweet child… fate doesn't answer us. It works in ways we can never guess. You can't be sure until it happens… so trust it. Trust what you feel. You'll know when he stands before you."

That day, so far in the past, had come rushing back.

And now here he was—Kael.

A strange, sarcastic man with odd ways and sharp words. He acted more like a jester than a hero. He questioned everything, never took things at face value, and his gaze was always unreadable. But deep down, she had sensed something.

So she tested him.

She had ordered him to sneak in, to do something dangerous. If he had refused or ran away, she would've known he was just another fool. But he didn't.

Instead, he accepted. Without complaint, without fear.

And now, as he turned the key in the box, she felt the pieces of fate sliding into place.

She waited.

Expecting maybe an old scroll of ancient power or a powerful artifact.

But what happened next shook her to the bone.

SWISH!

Suddenly, a wave of dark, bloody killing intent burst out of Kael's body like a storm. It was so dense, so sharp, it sliced through the air itself.

The walls of ice glowed red—not warm red, but dark, crimson, as if fresh blood had been splashed across every inch.

The gentle glow of magic was replaced by something sinister.

The floor cracked under his feet, spreading like spiderwebs, and a sticky heat crept through the cold—a twisted warmth that came not from fire, but from the stench of war.

It was as if the room had been dragged into a battlefield soaked in centuries of blood. Swords clashing. Screams. Fire and fury.

Alvera couldn't breathe.

Her knees bent slightly. Her heart raced. Her queenly pride crumbled.

She was someone who had trained for centuries, fought beasts, and faced death. But now she felt like a leaf in a storm, fragile and powerless.

This wasn't magic. It was a slaughter.

And at the center of it all—Kael.

She looked up.

His head was tilted slightly, and his mouth had stretched into an unnatural, bloodthirsty grin. His eyes weren't just mad—they were alive in a way that frightened her soul.

He looked like a demon born from the deepest pits of war.

A lunatic.

A monster.

And yet… she couldn't look away.

Meanwhile, inside the box, Kael's wild eyes locked onto a single item.

A black glove.

It wasn't made of regular cloth. No. This thing was stitched from the thick, battle-worn hide of a monster—maybe even something worse. It reeked of blood, history, and power.

But what caught Kael's attention the most—what made his blood boil and his heart freeze—were the stones embedded on the knuckles.

BANG!

He dropped the box without a second thought. His hand lunged forward like a beast, seizing the glove.

His fingers trembled as they touched the stone resting at the center.

His pupils shrank.

"The stone... The Stones of Chronos," he muttered, voice low, almost growling.

His eyes turned dark. His breathing became heavy.

"Chronos... That son of a bitch."

The name poured out of his mouth like venom. He couldn't stop himself from cursing.

Chronos, the God of Time.

In his death, that bastard had played a very big and crucial life.If not for him, Kael was sure that he would have won.

That guy, he played dirty.

He had warped time, twisted it, and cheated every step of the way. While Kael's life was slowly being drained, Chronos kept rewinding, time rejuvenating, leeching life.

In the final battle, while the enemies were able to use time to heal themselves and remain in perfect time, Chronos used his power to affect him.

While he was worn out, his enemies were on top form.

The five stones had been fixed to Chronos's forehead, each containing fragments of ancient time. Past, Present, Future, Eternity, and Erasure. Together, they made him nearly unstoppable.

Kael still remembered that battle.

He had been pushed to his edge. Every second dragged like hell. Chronos laughed and played, rewinding time again and again.

Until Kael snapped.

He let go of every limit.

Burned his blood, cracked his bones, and beat Chronos to death with his bare hands.

Smashed him into pulp, however…

That bastard rewound time again.

The memory brought a crooked grin to his face.

But that moment of pleasure had cost him. It gave the so-called "heroic bastards" their chance to strike back.

They didn't fight fair either.

Kael shook his head, still glaring at the glove.

"All the stones… except the Stone of Past," he muttered, frowning.

"How the hell did this end up here?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Weren't the gods supposed to collect these after Chronos died? Shouldn't they bring the bastard back to life instead of letting the stones swindled away?"

His grip tightened.

"Then what the hell happened?"