Chapter 634 Two days had passed since blood had baptized the hard-packed sand of the Crown’s fighting ground.   The trial by combat had been the sort that poets begged for in their dreams: steel glinting beneath a scorching sun, gasping nobility pressing hands to their mouths, and the steady

Chapter 633 When Valen had first been granted the title Governor of Salthold by the prince himself, the honor had not come alone. Alongside the sealed writ of appointment had been a letter—thin parchment scrawled with his grace’s tight, deliberate hand—outlining the policies Valen was to uphold now that he

Chapter 632 Vashen was the first to step into the chieftain’s newly conquered hutt, his frame tall and proud as the blood of victory still pulsed hot in his veins.   Behind him came Valen, slower, more measured—his eyes scanning the interior not with awe or reverence, but the cool

Chapter 631 Valen stepped carefully over the blackened remains of what had once been a thriving settlement of the Duskwindai. The scorched timbers groaned beneath his boots, smoke still curling faintly from collapsed roofs and broken beams. He believed this had been the heart of the Duskwindai people—what he did

Chapter 630 The duel stretched on, minute after brutal minute, the sand beneath them churned into paste from their boots.   At first glance, it seemed a one-sided slaughter.   Lord Gregor pressed forward like an unstoppable force, his axe carving deadly arcs through the air, each swing forcing Talek

Chapter 629 The priest’s final benediction hung in the air like the last note of a funeral dirge. Then—nothing. No cheers, no murmurs, not even the hiss of the wind. The arena had become a held breath, a coiled spring waiting to snap.   Gone were the colorful banners, the

Chapter 628 The transformation in the crowd was almost laughable in its predictability. Where moments ago the air had been alive with raucous cheers and good-natured jeering, now a heavy silence pressed down upon the arena like a burial shroud.   The same nobles who had been howling with laughter

Chapter 627 The dry September air thrummed with excitement as eight hundred voices rose in a cacophony of cheers, jeers, and raucous laughter.   The newly inaugurated royal arena, bathed in golden sunlight, had become a stage for a spectacle of speed, pride, and folly—a race for a simple laurel

Chapter 626 The royal court of the Capital of Yarzat stood like a crown upon the land, unattainable to all but a privileged few.   And for those rare enough to pass its gates, it evoked awe not unlike that of the great Cathedral of Romelia—sacred, serene, and silent in

Chapter 625 Everywhere Vhomo looked, there was only death.   If he turned to the right—death. To the left—death again. No matter where his eyes landed, the battlefield offered him nothing but carnage: twisted bodies, blood-choked screams, and the final, pathetic gasps of once-proud warriors drowning in their own gore.