Chapter 272 The King’s Deceit

Chapter 272 The King’s Deceit

— A Few Hours Ago - Tessia Kingdom Royal Palace —

Within the suffocating confines of a dark and ominous chamber beneath the royal palace, a figure shrouded in black ragged clothing and adorned with a grotesque human skull mask stood before a malevolent magic circle. The unholy sigil was etched with the blood of countless victims, and in the shadows lurked a grotesque pile of human corpses, each bearing the gruesome scars of brutal mutilation.

"Arrrrrrrgggghhh, why! WHYYY!!!"

The man, clad in tattered darkness, roared in a haunting mixture of anger and frustration. His ragged garments were violently discarded, revealing a body grotesquely adorned with blood tattoos. This man was none other than Lucian Blackscar, now identifying as Lucian Justius.

Beneath the tattered shroud, his naked form stood amidst the desecrated corpses of women, their bodies defiled and mutilated, their hearts cruelly extracted. Lucian had plunged into the abyss of the most abominable and forbidden magical rituals, drawing upon demonic rites in a futile attempt to unravel the seal Daniel had placed upon him. Yet, the seal endured, mocking his desperate endeavors.

"You seem frustrated, Lucian. No longer the embodiment of my right-handed man," a sinister voice reverberated within the stygian chamber.

Emerging from the shadows, Cyrus Ashborn, the former Grand Councilor of the Hightower, advanced toward the feeble light of the flickering flames and ritual candles. The eerie glow emphasized the malevolence etched across his features.

"Heh... You're not in a position to lecture me, Cyrus. I heard you lost your position as Grand Councilor," Lucian displayed a mocking smile, the darkness within him resonating with the ominous aura that engulfed the chamber.

"It's just temporary, I assure you, and you know it. We mages are creatures of reason and pragmatism. The end justifies all means, no matter how cruel or disgusting the means are," Cyrus said to his former right-hand man, now a mere shadow of his past self, powerless and struggling at the bottom rung of mage societies as his magical power was completely sealed off.

Lucian looked at Cyrus, contemplating. "You're here because you wanted to use this place as a sacrificial ground to open the hell gate, don't you?" Lucian asked his former leader, knowing him well.

"Correct... The Tessia Kingdom was the place we had prepared and nurtured for a long time. We designed the education of this small kingdom to make people regard their kings as living gods.

We tailored their government policies and all aspects of their economy to revolve around the royal family, ensuring their loyalty toward their king as much as possible for this moment," Cyrus said, a bit melancholic as the current status of this kingdom was his greatest work.

This is the true reason why the Tessia Kingdom regards their king as if they're gods and thinks that as long as their king is with them, everything is okay.

They even believe that without politicians, the country can survive, but without their king, their life and their country will not be able to continue. Unbeknownst to them, politicians tend to play the game of power, but they also need to do their job well to manage the country; otherwise, their position would be in jeopardy.

They are just pitiful people with muddled minds, brainwashed since birth to believe in the propaganda of their king—or rather, the propaganda of the Hightower. Unquestioning loyalty and fanatical belief in something will bring immense power if the Hightower were to use it as a bridge to draw on mana, much like the gods of old transforming faith energy into mana.

"You seem to be a little too melancholic. Don't tell me you wanted to use our trump card," Lucian asked again.

"Yes. I'll use our trump card," Cyrus nodded without bothering to deny the fact.

Lucian made a face as if he had just chewed on a fly, unable to say anything, knowing that their trump card could only be used once and would damage the foundation of the Tessia Kingdom.

"Don't make a face like you've lost out. If we use our trump card, it is guaranteed that you'll regain your magical power, as you won't draw your power from the mana vein, but from hell itself," Cyrus said with a cruel smile.

Hearing Lucian's revelation, an excited smile crept across his face. He was fed up with his powerlessness and vowed that the first thing he would do, the moment he regained his power or acquired the ability to contend with Daniel, was to lead his army across the bridge toward Sector Alpha City, intending to kill Daniel and all of his loved ones and destroy everything he owned.

"Then, let's get started, shall we?" Lucian urged his former leader, eager to commence the ritual.

—

In the heart of the capital city, the royal square bustled with anticipation as Lucian, now reigning as king, exploited his authority to summon a mass meeting of the people. The pretext for this gathering was framed under the guise of concern for the king's health. Lucian, using a facade of grave illness, orchestrated the assembly to ostensibly pray for his recovery.

Millions of citizens, unaware of the malevolent scheme at play, gathered in earnest, their faces painted with genuine worry for their king. Lucian, donned in regal attire, stood on the elevated platform at the center of the square, an image of vulnerability that masked his true intentions.

The square, meticulously prepared for the horrifying ritual that would exploit the lives of the unsuspecting crowd, bore an air of deceitful tranquility. The citizens, loyal and unsuspecting, filled the space with a sea of faces eager to partake in what they believed to be a collective act of devotion for their ailing king.

As the crowd hushed in anticipation, Sitting atop of the red throne on the balconet, Lucian raised his feeble hand, signaling for silence. With a voice feigning weakness, he addressed his people, "My dear subjects, I am humbled by your concern for my well-being. Today, we gather not in sorrow but in unity, to pray for the restoration of my health."

The square echoed with murmurs of empathy and whispered prayers. Unbeknownst to the unsuspecting multitude, the stage was set for a ritual that would extract their life force, their collective energy unknowingly offered as fuel for Lucian's dark ambitions.

In the midst of the crowd, concerned citizens voiced their worries:

"Did you see how weak the king looked today? This illness must be truly dire."

"Long live the king!"

"I've heard the healers are baffled by the severity of his condition. We must pray for his recovery."

"We owe our loyalty to the king. If this prayer can bring him strength, I'll participate with all my heart."

"Even in death, We will still serve you!!"

As the ritual commenced, masked by the pretense of a communal prayer, the citizens remained oblivious to the impending horror that awaited them, ensnared in a web of deceit spun by their supposed king.

Homer, now holding the position of a lieutenant general, a title secretly bestowed upon him by the king for his bravery in detonating the bomb at Daniel's condominium in Sector Alpha City. His newfound rank was built upon the foundation of countless innocent lives lost that day, including his wife and unborn child.

His countenance bore a twisted smile, a peculiar mixture of happiness, deep sadness, and even profound regret. Following the tragic incident, he utilized his elevated power and position to indulge in excesses, as if attempting to honor the lives lost, particularly that of his beloved wife. Despite his attempts, nothing managed to fill the void in his heart, compelling him to spiral further into an obsession with his newfound authority.

It was Homer who orchestrated the current ritual, driven by the hope of obtaining more power, with the anticipation that the king would elevate his rank and status. Currently holding a modest noble rank of a knight, he thirsted for more, consumed by a relentless desire for greater power and influence.

As the ritual unfurled, the royal square ensnared an unsuspecting sea of citizens, their heads bowed in prayer for the alleged well-being of their king. The air thickened with an eerie tension, and the arcane symbols beneath their feet began to emit a foreboding glow.

A sinister energy permeated the atmosphere, and with a silent force, the ritual took an unforeseen turn. The citizens, fervently devoted and oblivious to the impending horror, found themselves unwitting participants in a grotesque exhibition of loyalty. The very act of their prayer had become a catalyst for their own demise.

"What!? What is this?"

"Arrrrrggggghhh! What's happening? Help us! Your Majesty, help us!"

"No!!! What is happening!?" n-.O/(v.-e./1)/b/-1)(n

"Stop praying! Stop praying! The king is trying to kill us!"

Realization dawned upon some as the ritual's effects became apparent. Panic rippled through the crowd as they attempted to cease their prayers, but the insidious drain had already begun. Some managed to halt their supplications in the nick of time, escaping the impending doom, while others, paralyzed by fear or unaware of the danger, continued to offer their life force unwittingly.