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[Rough Draft] Chapter 98: A Casket of Corruption
What makes a good King? Is it the years of prosperity, the trials of war, the plagues, droughts, and famines he endures? Is it the strength of his resolve, the breadth of his mercy, or the wisdom of his judgment? Is it the love of his people, the respect of his enemies—or the blood that runs through his veins?
The crown’s weight balanced precariously at the end of his three fingers and taunted Nicholas as he battled the demons in his mind. The memory of his coronation still clung to the scent of ointment on his brow and chest.
‘I planned everything—perfectly. I removed every obstacle. I married Tristan’s tarnished goods to ensure continued peace with Emperor Arius. I took the traitor’s daughter as a bride to appease the nobles. I even contemplated making Lady Serilda a consort to ensure the goodwill and faith of the covens. All for what?’ The King’s reddened eyes rose to take in the witch hunters wrecking the Royal Library around him, ‘So this charlatan of a Pope to hold me under his thumb with a mere piece of paper? Bullshit!’
Even if Nicholas believed the Dowager was capable of blackmail and murder, why would she go through the trouble of having his biological grandmother sign a paper condemning herself of treason—and never use it?
‘Octavia would have torn the cathedral apart piece by piece to find. She held power as Lafeara’s Queen not once but twice, and I’m expected to believe she’d let ignore the presence of information that could cripple our very monarchy?’
With each steady sway of his hand, the symbolic circlet slipped closer to the ends of the King’s fingertips. Nicholas watched its progress numbly, only vaguely aware of the witch hunters rolling up the heavy carpet to scribble strange symbols upon the floor. Around him, the Pope’s witch hunters were busy scratching runes into the library floor while others dragged a heavy pair of chains and a large metal coffin just out of view.
‘Or perhaps—that was how Octavia maintained control over you, Father. I thought you were just some weak, feckless, uncaring tyrant who saw both of your sons as useless pawns—but you were powerless from the beginning. A tool for whichever power held Queen Lucetta’s dirty secret.’
A heavy, grating sound pulled his gaze towards the group of three witch hunters straining to push a heavy metal casket through the library doorway. The morbid-looking object, a silhouette of a large human body with the face of a monstrous creature etched where the head should be, stared back at him. The King jerked his gaze away from the silent stone eyes and frowned as Ripper appeared, lugging several heavy chains forged from a strange dark metal that reflected the candlelight like glass.
“What is all this?” Nicholas muttered, unable to ignore the guilt growing in his gut.
“Preparations,” Ripper replied with his usual unnerving fanged smile. “Just in case.” The Witch Commander handed out sections of the heavy chains that were swiftly carried out of sight.
‘Is the Pope’s best witch hunter afraid of Beaumont? No—should I be afraid for Beaumont?’
The crown’s sluggish spin suddenly shifted trajectory as it slipped over Nicholas’s fingernail and hit the carpet floor with a solid thud before rolling on determinedly towards the rolled edge of the carpet.
“Ha,” Nicholas clenched his fist as he watched the albino stroll leisurely towards the wobbling circlet.
“You might want to keep a better grip on this, your Majesty,” Ripper commented as he brushed the glittering gems and returned the crown to the unmoving monarch.
Nicholas accepted his collar back with an empty smile and dropped it in his lap. “How much longer do you expect me to wait, Commander?”
Ripper glanced towards the library door and shrugged. “Should be any moment now. Captain Beaumont parted ways with Kirsi in the royal garden not long ago. It shouldn’t take him long to reach Peony Palace.’
‘A romantic stroll in the moonlight?’ The King’s smile turned cynical as he recalled all his earlier efforts to encourage the relationship between his trusted friend and the treacherous half-blood. ‘I can’t fault him for falling for the pretty little witch, but I never thought he’d abandon his King. If only I had trusted my initial impression.’
“Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Ripper grunted as he kicked the rolled carpet over the runes his men had finished drawing on the library floor.
“Is all of this really necessary? You said yourself, Beaumont’s not a witch.”
The albino shot him a withered glare and then stepped back to sit on the corner of the royal desk, ignoring the pile of documents he crushed beneath him. “A witch I can handle. These runes are enough to give any pureblood pause, but—the Pope believes your purple-eyed giant to be something rather special, something far older.”
Nicholas scowled at the crumpled official documents. “Like what?”
“It looks like we’ll find out soon enough,” the Commander retorted with a note of eagerness. The King followed the albino’s red eyes to the library door, where Captain Norley appeared long enough to offer them both an affirming nod before shutting the door from the outside. “Right, times up,” Ripper growled as he snapped his fingers at his men. “Get behind cover, and don’t move an inch until I give the signal!”
The King exhaled nervously as the witch hunters made themselves scarce. “Remember our agreement, Commander. You promised not to hurt him.”
‘If I can’t talk sense into Beaumont now, I can only hope he’ll understand once the church has dealt with Kirsi.’
“No more than is necessary, your Majesty.”
The King flinched beneath the Commander’s taunting tone. Ripper offered a low mocking bow and then dipped out of sight just moments before a familiar knock echoed from outside the room. Nicholas swallowed back a lump of fear as he stared at the door. He lifted the crown from his lap and placed it on his head as the silence stretched. ‘Please, Beaumont. Don’t be stubborn. Let me help you.’
The knock repeated once more. Nicholas blinked rapidly and took a few steading breaths before calling out, “Come in.”
***
Beaumont met Nicholas’s gaze the moment he opened the library door. The monarch looked uncomfortable in his robes, with the crown tilted against his disheveled auburn hair. The unevenness of the threshold pulled the knight captain’s gaze towards the scuff marks on the floor that had not been there previously. He feigned ignorance as he stepped forward and surveyed the hidden runes glowing beneath the magnificent maroon carpet.
It was clear what was waiting for him. Beaumont managed a faint smirk as he shut the library door behind him. ‘I suppose I can’t blame them for trying, but earth runes won’t work on me.’
“What—brings you back—Captain?”
The knight captain arched a brow at the hesitance in the King’s voice. A pang of disappointment surfaced briefly within Beaumont’s chest as he offered Nicholas a polite bow. ‘Perhaps, just one last time, I’ll help you—if you ask me to.’
“I heard—you were walking with Lady Krisi in the garden.”
Beaumont straightened and offered a nonchalant shrug. The faint scuff of a boot against the corner of a bookshelf to his right. ‘They’ll have to do better than that if they want to hide from me.’ The knight captain cast a nonchalant glance around the shelves, many of them filled with highly regarded and exorbitantly overpriced books. ‘What a shame. Nicholas is rather fond of the collections he’s amassed here.’
“Are you going to stand over there all night, or will you join me?” The King gestured to a tray of wine and glasses on a side table. “You’ve yet to congratulate me on my marriage.”
“I must decline, your Majesty,” Beaumont replied, though he closed the distance between them. His senses sharpened as he picked up the irregular beats of mortal hearts fueled with feeble magic. ‘Looks like a dozen witch hunters. What are they waiting for?’
“Just a few hours ago, you resigned as my trusted bodyguard, and now you won’t even join me for a drink,” Nicholas scoffed with a note of reproach as he scratched his left ear hesitantly. “Yet I see you still wear the Royal Knights uniform?”
“I thought it best to remain close to the capital until the Pope and his hounds crossed the border,” Beaumont replied with pointed emphasis as he thumbed the crushed documents on the corner of the King’s desk. “However, if you wish, I can resign from the Royal Knights tonight.”
“And after you resign—will you be serving her?”
Beaumont met the King’s spiteful gaze and sighed. “I promised to safeguard your Majesty until you achieved your goal, and I have. I have other interests to pursue—but I remain your friend, Nicholas.”
The King stifled a reply, then buried his fists against his tired eyes. “I cannot do this without you, Beaumont. You are my strongest, truest knight! I have lost Attwood, my trusted Prime Minister. I am surrounded by—must I lose you as well?”
“The Duchess and I will support your Majesty should you need us.”
“The Duchess,” Nicholas echoed dully as he dragged his knuckles down his cheeks. “Are you in love? Is that it? Is she the greater purpose you’ve been waiting for?”
Beaumont felt his disappointment slip into hollow pity as he took in the young ruler before him. “Remember why you began this journey, your Majesty, and see it through. Your great ambition, your dream of Lafeara’s future prosperity. You have every opportunity you ever desired fully at your fingertips. The crown is yours. What difference does a single knight make?”
“You were more than—” Nicholas scoffed as he dragged the crown from his head again. “Fine. It appears that any effort to persuade you at this point will be pointless.” He set the circlet down carefully on the desk and gazed pensively into its decadent jewels. “You have my permission to retain your rank and uniform until you see fit, Captain. But before you leave, tell me plainly, do you think I will become a great king?”
Beaumont’s violet eyes narrowed as he assessed the heart of the man seated before him. “You are cunning, your Majesty. You have as much potential as any man, but—”
‘You would sacrifice anything for a mortal throne. Your brother, your first love, your closest friend—and even me.’
“But?” The King’s lips twisted into a scornful smile. “Perhaps you consider someone else more worthy? Like Lady Kirsi.”
Beaumont let out a resigned sigh as he scratched his neck, subtly loosening the straps of the dragon-steel longsword strapped at his back. Judging by the magic enhancement runes flaring up around the library, the witch hunters were preparing to make their move. “I won’t deny there is an undeniable difference between you both that goes beyond your status and background. One of you would do anything to retain your power and reputation—such as burn innocent civilians afflicted with the plague. The other would sacrifice their reputation and wealth to protect Lafeara, witch and mortal alike, even those that curse her very name.”
“Enough of your pretentious sophistry!” Nicholas lurched upright, pointing a trembling finger accusingly at Beaumont as he circled closer to the knight captain. “I am the King! Your allegiance belongs to me! Yet your so-called loyalty shrivels up the moment some pretty little thing gets your dick hard.”
Beaumont’s violet pupils flashed dangerously as he tilted his head towards the King’s finger, which hovered a mere breath from his nose. “Careful—your Majesty.”
“No, you be careful! I know the only reason you stand before me now is because she wills it! You scorn your king but roll over at the flick of Kirsi’s finger. Will you be licking her boots next just to get between her—”
The King’s contorted face blurred beneath the weight of Beaumont’s backhanded slap. Nicholas toppled back over his desk, papers scattered wildly across the floor, followed by the dull thunk of the crown hitting the chair and then the carpet in turn.
Beaumont sneered at the whimpering fool, marveling at himself for ever seeing anything of worth in that man. The knight captain’s scowl deepened as he swiftly slid his blade from its sheath and turned to meet the first pair of witch hunters rounding the shelves towards him with dual swords and battle axes. He blocked and absorbed their attacks in turn, returning the impact of their blows tenfold, knocking them away with ease. They collided with the nearest bookshelf, which creaked and tumbled beneath them. Beaumont quickly shifted his attention to the towering bookcase behind him that was already falling over. He danced out of its way just as another pair of hunters leapt over the collapsing shelves of books, flinging a long, draped object towards him. The inky black net spiraled out like a web over Beaumont. His senses recoiled at a scent both intimately familiar and repellant.
The knight captain twisted his blade to deflect a cross-bolt, then shifted his stance, preparing to cut through the suspicious-looking object, only to have his swing pulled short as a heavy metal chain wrapped around his right wrist and the longsword’s hilt.
Confusion surfaced briefly on Beaumont’s face before the cold pang of devastation shot down his arm and through his core like a cold bolt of lightning. The swirling movement of the net overhead and the witch hunters rushing towards him slowed rapidly until the very world stood still, and a blinding light splintered across his vision. Beaumont tried to move, tried to regain control of his physical body and powers, but the disorienting visions of the dying immortal ripped through him mercilessly.
These chains—they were—a part of her—forged from the remains of the immortal who had created him—who left her legacy to an heir she would never live to meet. The scales of treachery left behind by Veles cunning manipulation and Arachne’s cancerous lies on an unsuspecting, unhatched egg fell away as Minerva dying will resonated with his soul. He felt her anguish as she gave up the remaining years of her existence to grant him life. He watched as the Priestess who had raised him as her son accepted the dying dragon fang before his birth. He shared her fury as the Third Saint’s descendants tore apart Minerva’s temple to rob the secret crypts of her skeletal remains, then forged them into tools strong enough to kill the Scarlet Witch.
And then Beaumont watched in mounting horror as the sacred remains of a goddess, his mother, were used to kill Kirsi over, and over, and over…
My son.
A voice as ancient as the earth, as comforting as a swaying cradle, and as tender as a mother’s kiss—yet filled with such anguish that the visions bleed red before his eyes, cried out to him.
What have they done to me? I burn. I buuurrrnnn.
The inky-black net wound around Beaumont’s paralyzed figure like a predatory serpent. More chains wrapped around, sapping his strength, as the dazed knight captain fought to remain upright. The cursed metal hissed and burned against his skin, draining Beaumont’s power as the weight of the net and chains intensified, dragging him to the floor. Like a bug trapped beneath a boulder, he could only tremble with rage as the endless cycle of Kirsi’s death slowly faded before his violet eyes. His scorched skin cracked and splintered like a field after an intense drought. With halting breath, Aeron pulled his lips back to reveal a growing pair of sharp canine teeth.
“Not so quick to escape this time, are you, Captain?” Ripper’s taunting voice echoed above him, followed by the albino’s boot as the giant was rolled onto his side. “Magic runes couldn’t stop you, but the bones of a dragon sure did.”
“I shall take great pleasure in crushing your Holy City.”
The Commander blinked in surprise at the knight captain’s words, then laughed as he took a spare chain from one of his men and wrapped the end around his fist. Aeron could do nothing to stop the albino’s raining blow. Each punch left small craters in his crumbling shell as the cracks spread deeper and wider.
“Mercy’s—Tit!” Ripper sounded oddly winded as he paused his rampage to survey the damage. Aeron met the Commander’s gaze with a burning, murderous glare as he envisioned snapping every bone in the albino’s body one by one. “Ha! Guess it will take more than that to crack you open!” Ripper’s disappointed glower quickly blossomed into a smile as he tossed the heavy chain to the floor and retrieved the knight captain’s blade, which had fallen close by.
“What—what are you doing?” Nicholas rasped, still leaning against the desk for support. “You promised not to hurt him!”
“What a beauty this is!” The albino stated admiringly. “Dragon-steel! You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?”
“You had better kill me while you still can, witch hunter,” Aeron growled savagely, his voice deepening as the skin around his eyes darkened ominously.
“Pfft. Who said anything about killing you?” Ripper retorted with an almost somber shake of his head. “I just want to see what color you bleed.”
“Wait—No!” Nicholas panicked cry cracked and faded beneath the sharp deafening ring that filled the library as Minerva’s fang clashed against the net and chains forged from her bones. Ripper grunted sharply as the tip of the dragon steel blade cut through the knight captain’s tunic, only to veer suddenly to the side, where it got tangled up between the net and chains.
“Well—I’ll be damned.” The Commander chuckled as he steadied himself and yanked the blade free. He stared between the longsword’s immaculate, sharp edge and Aeron’s exposed abdomen. “Dragon-steel can cut through witch steel, and yet you remain unharmed? Just what—are you?”
“Why don’t you remove these chains and find out?”
All signs of amusement left Ripper’s face as the knight captain raised his head. The witch hunters around them flinched and stepped back, cautiously drawing for their weapons as if responding to some unspoken threat.
“No,” Ripper whispered as he dropped the tip of the longsword to the floor. “I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“What’s that—beneath his skin?” A witch hunter beside the Commander murmured nervously.
“There’s something wrong with his eyes,” replied another.
“Never mind his eyes. Look at his damn teeth. He’s—shit, he’s getting up!”
Aeron rose sluggishly to his feet, straining against the weight of Minerva’s corrupted bones. He shook himself violently, the chains loosening around the net, allowing him to reach up to yank free what little remained of the knight’s uniform. “Last chance to run, witch hunters!”
“I appreciate the offer.” The albino stepped back cautiously, holding onto the longsword firmly as he motioned for the other witch hunters to withdraw. “But we can’t just let a dragon roam free to muck about with our plans. And you did just threaten our Holy City.”
“I might be convinced to forgive your transgressions if the Holy City agreed to leave Krisi alone,” Aeron snarled. The dark, cracked skin around his eyes and mouth continued to flake away, revealing iridescent silver scales. “Or will nothing short of the extinction of your species stop you?”
“Careful, dragon,” Ripper growled in return. “The more threats you issue, the less inclined I am to keep you alive.”
“It will take more than the sword in your hand to accomplish that!”
The albino scoffed and lifted the dragon-steel blade threateningly.
“That will be enough, Commander!” Ripper tensed as the Pope strode into the library, looking oddly relaxed among his armed and anxious witch hunters. “Our quarrel is not with him,” Jericho said soothingly as he moved between the albino and his prisoner. “Forgive the rude introduction, but might I know your true name, dragon?”
The cracks across Aeron’s cheeks widened as he barked out a laugh. “Your ancestors have robbed and desecrated the resting place of an immortal—but you proclaim we have no quarrel and ask for my name?”
The Pope had the good sense to look ashamed as he bowed his head in deference. “Forgive the folly of my ancestors and any offense I may have caused today, but we know of no other means to restrain a dragon.”
Aeron took a halting step forward as the witch hunters holding his chains tightened their grip. He leaned in close to Jericho and sniffed. The Pope flinched while Ripper scowled as the dragon let out a low mocking laugh. “There is little of their divinity with you, and yet the greed within your soul remains the same.”
Jericho sighed as he straightened and took a step back. “It seems you are as stubborn as I heard. What a shame. There is much we could have learned from one another.”
“Why? Does your god not speak to you?” Aeron fangs brightened with a mocking smile. “Has Ramiel yet told you the story of the First Saint?”
The Pope’s benevolent smile drained away as his pale-golden eyes flashed ominously. “It is as we feared. Kirsi has already tainted you.”
‘We?’
The faint jingle of tiny bells pulled all eyes to the library door, where a slender figure appeared dressed in luxurious white robes draped beneath a heavy golden veil that covered her pale, frail hands. Aeron’s startled confusion quickly shifted into anger as he recognized the overwhelming presence that filled the room, sending the witch hunters and Nicholas to their knees. Jericho remained standing, but the veins emerging at his temple and neck showed it was not without effort.
Beneath the woman’s veil, a pair of golden eyes that burned like sun rays gazed at him as she approached and tenderly touched the jagged surface of his cheek. We meet at last, Aeron.
“Y-you’re—”
“ᛞᛖᚦ ᛏᛟ ᚦᛖ ᚷᛟᛞᛊ!” Light burst from the woman’s hands as an inhumane snarl ripped past Aeron’s throat. The chains and net tightened around him once more, burning with the same cursed blaze as the woman’s eyes. The immortal’s divine energy flooded the room, lighting up the runes and altering their purpose. The library trembled as the dragon fell to his knees. Aeron snarled, his rage merging with Minerva’s will as the mortal mask he wore crumpled to reveal his true face.
Ripper frowned as the dragon-steel blade in his hand trembled in response to the awakening immortal’s power. Tremors shook the castle wall as the windows vibrated ominously. “Bring the casket!” The Commander bellowed, then flinched as the longsword clanged to the floor at his feet, ripped from his fingers by an undeniable force.
“ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᛖᚱᚦ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛒᛚᛟᛟᛞ ᚹᛖᚱᛖ ᛁᛟᚢ ᛗᚨᛞᛖ.” The chains binding Aeron groaned as his body swelled in size, the iridescent silver scales ripping through his human skin. “ᛏᛟ ᛞᚢᛊᛏ ᛁᛟᚢ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᚱᛖᛏᚢᚱᚾ.”
Since you have made your choice, you cannot blame us for treating you as an enemy.
Aeron’s violet eyes snapped to the corner of the room where the crimson eyes of an old, stopped man draped in dark robes regarded him with resigned bitterness.
Young fool. You should have accepted Minerva’s legacy before joining this fight if you were going to choose the losing side.
Veles flicked his finger, summoning the cursed casket from its hiding place. The metal hinges of the obscene artifact snapped free as the heavy lid flew open to reveal the sharpened spikes of its interior.
Hatred deeper than any Aeron had ever known scoured its way down his scales like acid tears. Kirsi had been bled to death and drowned inside this heinous instrument of torture. The divine-charged chains that bound him and kept him all but mortal dragged the straining dragon towards the waiting prison built from his mother’s corpse.
‘If this is a test from the gods—then so be it. Their destruction or salvation—I will let you decide. Carina.’