B3 - Chapter 46: King Theron Linster

"Seth, the People's Champion," King Theron said, his blue eyes firmly locked onto Seth's face. "Or do you prefer 'the Maddened Beast'?"

Seth didn't bow, nor did he look away from the monarch's piercing gaze. "Neither. Just Seth is perfectly fine. Or Seth the commoner, if you prefer, Your Majesty."

The King let out a short laugh, his shoulders shaking beneath his heavy velvet mantle. "A commoner. Yet both of us know that isn't true."

"That depends entirely on what defines a commoner, Your Majesty," Seth answered. The formal title scraped against the back of his throat, but he forced the words out anyway—he had to maintain his composure. "I have lived my entire life as a commoner, and many would say that makes me one."

King Theron took a step closer, and his smile sharpened. "The blood in your veins certainly says otherwise."

Seth kept his mouth shut, jaw tightening into a hard line. Arguing with the man any further was entirely useless. Seth cast a glance toward the edge of the staging grounds, hoping inwardly that Marcus was lingering somewhere close by. This situation could turn ugly real quick.

"Let's go for a walk," King Theron said, then turned on his heel without waiting for a nod.

Seth followed the monarch's prompt advance across the packed dirt. Beside him, Elena shot him a tense, worried glance as she watched him leave.

The other important figures on the field—Marshal Vancaws, Elena's father, and the heads of the several Noble Houses—all remained where they stood. The only ones trailing Seth and the King were the six heavily armored Royal Guards, halberds in hand as they formed a loose escort.

When Seth's stride brought him closer to the King, the surrounding guards stirred. One of the men on the left even lowered his heavy halberd, which made the polished blade catch the morning sun.

Seth glared at the man. King Theron was a goddamn Platinum Tier, while Seth was a mere Iron; there was no need for any reaction like that.

The guard stepped half a pace toward him, and the man's posture stiffened even more—as if he had directly sensed the defiance running through Seth's thoughts.

Ahead, King Theron glanced casually over his shoulder. "At ease."

The guard retracted his weapon, and they continued to walk across the neutral zone.

Instead of leading them to the fortified gates of Veretia, the King headed toward an open section of the plain. A gargantuan, luxurious command tent loomed ahead in the distance, its heavy silk canvas dyed in royal purple and secured by thick golden cords that snapped loudly in the wind.

The King reached into his embroidered pocket and pulled out a small, pulsing runic stone. A transparent barrier then spread outward in a wide dome around him and Seth as they continued to walk, the noise of the surrounding now completely cut off.

"Everything makes a little more sense now," King Theron said. "That man must have been your father. I honestly should have guessed that he had a child." He paused, adjusting the high collar of his doublet. "But to be perfectly honest, given how thoroughly savage he was, it never once crossed my mind that a woman would want to be with him."

Seth shot the King a glare, anger slipping through his composure despite himself.

"Don't look at me like that," King Theron commented. A patronizing amusement had crept into his voice. "You should have seen him when he knelt in front of my throne. He looked like a wild beast that had come straight out of the forest."

He'd have never knelt in front of a man like you if it wasn't for me, Seth thought, fists clenching hard inside his leather gauntlets.

The King kept his steady stride as he clasped his hands behind his back. "You see, the soul-contract we signed back then prevents me from actively searching for the whereabouts of any of his pack's members, or their offspring. I simply didn't realize that it included your father. My dumb self honestly thought he was just another fleeing coward."

The King slowed his pace and turned his head, clearly wanting to gauge Seth's reaction. Thankfully, the past year of dealing with nobles had taught Seth how to keep his face neutral—even when he wanted nothing more than to summon Dusk Scythes and cut the bastard's head from his shoulders.

"Anyway," Theron continued, "that entire contract is irrelevant now. The moment I learned about you through this war, it lost all purpose. I know you won't run off and hide, because I now possess something far more effective than any contract." The man's smile broadened. "Leverage."

Anger surged inside Seth's chest, and his core stirred along with it. He knew what the man meant.

"You aren't the type to abandon your friends," Theron added with a chuckle.

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Seth's jaw tightened so hard it ached, then he forced every trace of emotion out from his face. By the time they'd reached the entrance of the purple command tent, his expression had become completely unfazed.

"Why would I need to hide?" he asked, his tone respectful even if his thoughts weren't. "Have I done something that displeased Your Majesty?"

"That will depend entirely on your answer to my very next question." King Theron grasped the velvet drapery of the tent entrance, but halted.

"I'm listening," Seth answered.

"Did you make a deal with Marshal Vancaws?"

Seth went completely still. A dozen possible lies flashed through his mind.

Each one died almost as quickly as it formed. The problem was, he had no idea how much the King already knew. If Theron possessed even a fragment of the truth, a poorly constructed lie could be far more dangerous than just telling the truth.

"Not one secured by a contract."

"Good."

A note of satisfaction had returned to the King's voice.

Theron pushed aside the entrance flap to step into the tent, and Seth followed a pace behind.

Opulence dominated every corner of the massive pavilion.

Thick carpets swallowed the sound of their footsteps, gilded candelabras bathed the interior in warm golden light while silk-lined walls concealed the structure's framework, and ornate mahogany furniture occupied much of the available space.

Seth barely noticed any of it.

The moment he entered, his attention had locked onto a large board standing on the left side. Dozens of hand-painted portraits had been pinned to the cork surface, and each of those was accompanied by detailed notes on several pieces of parchment.

He tracked the faces one by one. Elena. Devus. Jenna. Selena. Henry. Renwal. Mael. Professor Reat. Orwen. Celine and the remaining members of the Champions of Chaos. Every single person he cared about was on there except Marcus.

"You are a smart young man," King Theron said, crossing the room to sit in a cushioned throne. A servant rushed forward to place a silver plate of fresh fruit on the side table. "You understand perfectly well what would happen to these individuals if you were to respect any agreement you made with Marshal Vancaws."

Seth's core roared violently inside his chest, its energy slamming against his Well like a trapped beast. He used all his restraint to keep his hands dead at his sides and not pounce at the man. "It cannot be any clearer, Your Majesty."

"Excellent."

The King picked up a silver chalice next to him, then took a slow, deliberate sip. "Oh, and there is also another small favor I would like to request. In exchange for guaranteeing the safety of each of your dear friends, of course."

Seth's blood felt like molten beneath his skin. Yet none of it reached his face.

"With pleasure, Your Majesty," he replied. "What is the request?"

"My grandson's squad will be participating in the same upcoming battle as you and Miss Surani," King Theron began. He took a slow sip from his goblet. "I would like you to ensure that he finishes that battle with the highest contribution."

Seth remained silent.

"Furthermore, I would also appreciate it if you could make sure the Marshal's granddaughter fails to walk out of that Rift." The King's words were spoken with the same detachment one might use when discussing the weather with their neighbor. "We all know how accidents can happen so fast on the battlefield. And from what I've heard, you don't particularly enjoy her presence anyway."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Seth answered, keeping his composure.

The King reached for a cluster of purple grapes resting on the silver platter, plucked one from the stem, and popped it into his mouth.

"Then you are allowed to leave." He waved a dismissive hand toward the exit as he chewed. "It might be wise to take one last, thorough look at that board before you go. Reminders are helpful."

Seth's inner beast screamed at him again, this time to lunge across the tent and tear the monarch's throat out. But rage alone wasn't enough. He needed strength that he didn't yet possess.

So, he buried the murderous impulse and forced himself into a rigid, shallow bow. "Your Majesty."

Seth straightened and walked straight out of the purple tent, wishing his boots could tear through the luxurious carpet underfoot.

Seth crossed the vast plain and headed toward Veretia, bypassing clusters of soldiers marching toward the neutral zone. He needed to find the members of the Champions of Chaos as soon as possible to warn them.

But why? It isn't as if they can do anything about that threat, Seth thought while gritting his teeth.

'That human is even more despicable than the one you crippled,' Nightmare said through their bond.

'He is,' Seth answered mentally.

The King's absolute depravity was to be expected, given his track record over the past decade: the absurd and dictatorial laws, the unchecked noble greed, the systematic oppression of the commoners and the Adventurer Guild. Seth would have been genuinely surprised if the man was capable of any more decency than the corrupt nobles of House Faertis.

For several minutes, only the sound of boots crunching across dirt accompanied Seth. Then Colossus spoke, 'Seth...do you truly believe he would harm them?'

The scorpion's voice carried an unusual heaviness, yet Seth wanted his companion to know the truth, so he didn't hesitate in his response. 'Yes.'

A long silence followed as Colossus dug the claws of his legs into the sand inside his Pocket-Realm. 'I hate it,' he finally answered. 'I hate not being strong enough to protect our family from a man like that.'

Seth's own jaw tightened at the words. 'That's why we've been pushing ourselves so hard.' His eyes shifted toward the distant mountains on the horizon. 'And that's why we'll continue to do so.'

Nightmare huffed. 'Until we can tear the throat out of people like that.'

'I still hate it,' Colossus retorted as he clenched his pincers.

A bitter smile touched Seth's lips. 'Me too,' he admitted.' Me too.'

As he crossed through Veretia's gates, Seth pulled his cowl up to hide most of his face. He was in no mood for the gazes.

Weaving through narrow alleys, he deliberately avoided the main thoroughfare while heading toward the outpost the Champions of Chaos had been temporarily using.

Yet just as he turned and slipped between two buildings, the ambient sounds of the city faded into a profound silence, and a ripple of aether vibrated sharply against his skin.

"You have once again managed to find yourself in trouble," came a deep voice from the shadows directly behind his back.

Seth spun around. Marcus was calmly walking out from the mouth of a connecting alleyway, reaching up with a wrinkled hand to pull back his hood, revealing his long, messy white hair and tangled beard.

Seth let out a snort. "You know that's one of my natural talents."