Chapter 317: Last Laugh

Then someone whispered.

"...Chief?"

The word spread through the crowd like ripples in still water.

"Chief Dross..."

"That’s his head."

"He’s dead..."

Gasps echoed through the street. Weapons that had been raised only moments ago slowly lowered. The warriors looked around in confusion, their eyes darting from the head to each other, searching for answers that no one had.

They had been so focused on Darion and the undead that they hadn’t noticed when he had disappeared. They hadn’t seen him chase Dross. They hadn’t seen the fight. They hadn’t seen the sword fall. All they had seen was the aftermath. Their chief’s head. Lying in the dirt. Dead.

Darion stepped down from the tower.

His footsteps were slow and deliberate, each step echoing softly against the stone. His sword hung at his side, the golden light faded, its purpose fulfilled. He walked calmly. Almost casually. As though nothing unusual had happened.

But the sight of Dross’s head had already shattered what remained of Vrethka’s fighting spirit.

The warriors stared at their fallen leader. Then, among the prisoners standing farther away, two men suddenly caught sight of the head.

The chief of Harrowhold. And his son.

They had spent days under Dross’s control. They had been prisoners. Humiliated. Tortured. Forced to work. Forced to watch their people suffer while Dross treated them like nothing more than conquered property. Dross had reduced them from rulers to prisoners. From men of authority to slaves.

And now... His head was lying in the dirt.

The two men looked at each other. For a second, neither of them said anything. Then a smile slowly appeared on the face of the Harrowhold chief. His son smiled too.

They raised their hands into the air. They didn’t cheer. They didn’t need to. Their smiles said enough. For the first time since being captured, they were free. And Dross was the one lying in the dirt.

Perhaps they were the ones having the last laugh after all.

Darion’s attention shifted.

Caef was still on his knees. His hands were bound behind his back. His head hung low. Tears streamed down his face, cutting clean lines through the dirt and blood that covered his skin. The man who had spent so long planning his revenge now looked completely broken.

"Please..." Caef whispered.

Darion stopped in front of him. Caef slowly looked up.

"I’m sorry."

Darion stared down at him. His expression remained cold.

"You know your brother started this."

Caef’s lips trembled. He didn’t answer. There was nothing left for him to say.

Darion continued. "I was on my own when he started the fight." His voice carried clearly through the silent street. "And now I was alone, until you and your now headless friend tried to attack me."

Caef’s shoulders began to shake. He lowered his head again. The tears continued falling.

Nobody spoke. Hundreds of people watched the scene. Even the warriors who had once fought beside Caef remained silent.

Darion looked at him for another moment.

To Seren, something about him felt different. She had seen Darion joke. She had seen him complain about being bored. She had seen him talk casually about beds, food, and the ridiculous things that happened around Percvale. She had seen the Baron who could smile in the middle of danger. But this Darion was different.

There was no smile. No humor. No hesitation. Only cold certainty. For the first time, Seren saw something beneath the man she knew. Something dangerous. Something that had been there all along.

Darion looked at Caef. "Sometimes, vengeance should not be sought."

Caef’s eyes widened slightly.

"Maybe it’s okay to live with what has happened."

Darion turned away. "Ghet Ulg."

The massive undead knight stepped forward. Caef’s eyes widened.

"No..." He scrambled backward on his knees. "Please!"

Darion didn’t turn around.

Ghet Ulg reached down. His enormous hand wrapped around Caef’s head.

"WAIT!"

Caef screamed.

Ghet Ulg pulled.

CRACK!

The head tore free from the body. Blood sprayed across the dirt. Caef’s body collapsed. His head remained in Ghet Ulg’s hand for a moment before the undead knight dropped it.

Silence. Absolute silence. Nobody moved. Nobody dared to speak.

Darion slowly turned around. He looked across the streets of Vrethka. The warriors. The prisoners. The families watching from the buildings. Everyone. His eyes moved over them.

Then he spoke. "Will you continue war with someone like this?"

His voice carried across the settlement.

"Someone who just killed your lord, his friend, and hundreds of your allies?"

The warriors looked at one another. One man lowered his sword completely. Another dropped his weapon. Then another. Heads began shaking.

"No."

The answer was barely a whisper at first. Then another warrior said it. "No."

More voices followed. "No."

"No."

"We won’t."

Darion watched them. His expression didn’t change.

"Or..." He paused. "Will you bow before me?"

The words hung in the air. For several seconds, nobody moved.

Then a sword hit the ground. CLANG. A warrior dropped to one knee. Another followed. Then another.

Weapons fell throughout the street. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG. One after another, the warriors of Vrethka dropped to their knees. Some lowered their heads. Others bowed completely. Soon, the entire street was filled with kneeling people.

The remaining warriors surrendered. The prisoners watched. The people of Harrowhold watched. Even Seren stood silently as she looked at Darion.

The man standing before them was no longer simply the Baron of Percvale. He wasn’t merely a Necromancer.

He had walked into Vrethka alone. He had survived their warriors. He had escaped their palace. He had summoned an army of undead. He had slaughtered hundreds.

He had hunted down their chief. And now their chief was dead. His head lay in the dirt. His greatest ally was dead beside him. And the warriors who had once believed themselves powerful enough to conquer Percvale were now kneeling before the man they had come to destroy.

To them, Darion was no longer just a lord. He wasn’t just a Necromancer. He was something more. Something terrifying. Something unstoppable. Something that ordinary men could not hope to defeat.

To them... Darion was a god.