Chapter 132 - - 132 - A Prince’s Final Dawn [R18]

Chapter 132: Chapter - 132 - A Prince’s Final Dawn [R18]

Prince Rumil stood frozen—his right arm severed clean at the elbow, blood spurting onto the stones as the battle raged around him.

"Hahahah! I told you today I’ll end your life, Prince Rumil!" Prince Andrin roared, his face twisted in a feral, triumphant grin, his chest heaving with dark demonic energy.

Prince Rumil looked at him not with fear, but with a sudden, fierce contempt. His eyes burned with an absolute clarity for the very first time in his life. Stripped of his titles, his treasury, and his pathetic romantic illusions, he finally saw the world as it was.

With a surge of pure, unyielding willpower, he willed an ancient, radiant elven blade to materialize in his remaining hand. He leaped forward like a desperate, laughing maniac, his silver hair wild in the wind, unleashing a lethal royal technique.

"Sylvar Aelthir!"

He slashed downward with terrifying momentum, the sword carving a glowing path through the dim morning air. Andrin instinctively threw himself backward to dodge, but the deceptive arc of Rumil’s blade vanished mid-air, slipping through space itself. Caught completely off guard with his defenses dropped, Andrin screamed as the invisible edge swept past his lower body. His left leg was sheared off in a jagged, uneven mess. Blood fountained high into the air from the fresh stump, and a shriek of absolute agony ripped from his throat.

"Aghhhhhhhhh!" Andrin wailed, collapsing violently onto the stone.

"This is how it feels, you bastard!" Rumil snarled, standing tall over him, his chest heaving with manic adrenaline as blood dripped from his own mangled shoulder. "You are the reason why I had to suffer such total humiliation today! My father told me I wasn’t worthy, my treasury was stolen, and my own fiancée was sleeping with the man I considered my best friend! If only you hadn’t been born, my life would have actually meant something!"

"You fucker! Blaming your shitty decisions and your narcissism on someone else? The absolute audacity!" Andrin spat back through his tears of pain, his demonic blood boiling.

Summoning what little strength he had left, Andrin lashed out with a desperate, blood-red wave of kinetic energy. "Blood Moon Cleave!"

Miles away from the blood-soaked battlefield, inside the quiet, opulent sanctuary of a high-royalty chamber, the person truly responsible for the downfall of both princes lay in absolute comfort. Lucien sat relaxed on the edge of the silk-draped bed, making certain that he left his indelible mark upon the royal line. Beneath him, Prince Rumil’s former fiancée, Aelene, was eagerly on her knees, servicing her master, taking his thick, throbbing length as deep into her throat as she could possibly manage.

Her hands clutched at Lucien’s bare thighs, her eyes rolled back in pure, shameless submission as she swallowed his pride. Lucien reached down, gripping her silky hair firmly in his fingers, driving his hips forward in a steady, unyielding rhythm. His massive, throbbing, veiny weapon reached straight down the back of her throat, stretching her neck to its absolute limit with every deep, heavy thrust.

"So I believe it’s the tenth time that I’m putting my essence in your mouth today... prepare yourself," Lucien said, devilish smile touching his lips as his gaze looked down at her completely broken posture.

She opened her mouth wider in desperate obedience, and Lucien pushed himself extremely deep, spreading her throat completely before a massive wave of his hot essence burst forth from his shaft, filling her mouth to overflowing. Lucien didn’t pull out for a long, suffocating moment, letting her savor every drop of his potent load. When he finally withdrew with a soft, wet sound, he looked down at her with cold authority.

"Clean this up."

"Yes, my lord..." Aelene whimpered, her chin dripping as she greedily swallowed every last drop, her chest heaving for air. She let out a soft moan, her once-slender, fit abdomen visibly protruding and slightly swollen from the immense volume of seed she had taken into her body throughout the night. "I feel like I’ve completed a full two-course meal just by taking your essence inside me so many times..."

She looked up at him through heavy, heat-flushed eyes, her body trembling with insatiable desire. "My Lord Lucien... I want it inside my core again."

Back in the ruined courtyard, Andrin and Prince Rumil continued their desperate, apocalyptic duel.

Both fighters were battered beyond human limits, their astral energy pools practically empty, yet every brutal exchange tore through the surrounding architecture. Andrin’s attacks connected again and again, the searing pain making Prince Rumil grind his teeth in mounting frustration. He knew his life was slipping away, and he knew the exact same was true for the monster before him.

Suddenly, a sharp, horrific pain exploded within Prince Rumil’s chest. It felt like a sudden rush in his heart—an agonizing, unnatural burning like his internal organs were being dissolved in pure acid.

In the middle of a life-or-death battle, the shock was fatal. His movements seized up. In that terrifying second, he realized the dark truth of what had happened. It was when Aelene had fed him that single spoon of food, while he was feeding her one in return. She had fed him a slow-acting, lethal poison designed to directly attack his heart after a prolonged delay.

His knees trembled. He stood stuck in place, realizing he couldn’t attack anymore—his heart had simply ceased to work.

Yet, at the very last moment of his life, a strange, quiet clarity washed over the dying prince. He didn’t scream or curse the heavens. Instead, he wondered what he had done wrong. Was it because he fell in love? Or was it because he was born a prince burdened by expectations he could never fulfill? Looking back at his entire life, he realized he had never truly been happy. All the fleeting moments of joy he had clung to had been constructed around the illusions fed to him by Aelene.

A single, pristine tear slipped down his bloody cheek. He raised his eyes, looking up as the golden rays of the morning sun broke over the horizon, bathing the ruined city square in brilliant, warm light.

For the first time in his life, Prince Rumil stopped to appreciate the sunrise. Never in all his years of pampered arrogance had he paused to simply watch the sunlight. Now, with his last breath, he finally stopped to behold it in all its splendor.

He stared into the dawn, his posture regal, and whispered softly, "Thank you, Aelene."

His heart stopped entirely. His head dropped forward, but his body did not fall. Prince Rumil died standing completely upright on his feet, his single hand still clutching his sword, an unyielding monument of tragic strength.

Andrin came running, dragging his bleeding stump across the stones, and with a wild scream, he brought his blade down, beheading the prince who had died standing. Rumil’s head parted from his neck, and his lifeless body finally crashed down onto the blood-soaked cobblestones.

"Hahahahah! I told you, didn’t I?! I told you I would kill you!" Andrin wheezed, laughing like a maniac as blood poured from his own mouth. "Don’t worry... I’ll send your precious fiancée to you soon enough!"

But right as the words left his lips, Andrin saw someone standing directly in front of him in the morning mist.

It was Anne.

She stood motionless amid the wreckage, her long hair flowing gently in the cool morning breeze. Seeing her face brought a flood of traumatic memories crashing back into Andrin’s mind—how he had betrayed her, how she was dual cultivating with Lucien right in front of his eyes while he lay paralyzed and helpless on the floor.

"You... you bitch!" Andrin spat.

Even with his left leg cut completely off, he dragged himself toward her on his one remaining knee and raw elbow, pulling his mangled body across the gravel. As he drew closer to Anne, his rage multiplied beyond all measure, his eyes bloodshot with pure hatred. Yet he was utterly exhausted, his body broken from fighting both Aelvera and Prince Rumil. Anne didn’t flinch. She didn’t draw a weapon or attempt to attack. She simply stood tall, looking down at his pathetic, crawling state with total detachment.

Suddenly, a shadow dropped from the sky above.

Aelvera leaped down from behind with blinding speed, her sword flashing like a arc of blue lightning in the morning sun. With a single, decisive stroke, she decapitated Prince Andrin. His head spun through the air, hitting the ground with a dull thud and rolling over until it rested right against the toe of Anne’s boot.

Anne slowly lifted her foot and set it squarely on top of his severed head. Lingering consciousness remained in Andrin’s dying eyes, and he could still feel the crushing humiliation as Anne looked down at him and spoke a single word.

"Pathetic."

Aelvera landed gracefully beside his headless corpse, her breathing heavy as she wiped her bloody steel. "I have finally taken the revenge of my father."

High above the smoking city, standing upon the highest observation balcony of the royal palace, Princess Lysandra, Fayie, Princess Verna, and Norrik watched the entire gruesome climax unfold. They saw how two princes had ultimately slaughtered each other down in the mud, completely unaware of the master puppeteer who had orchestrated every single step of their demise.

"Fayie... how terrifying do you have to be to manipulate an entire kingdom from the shadows like this?" Princess Lysandra asked, a subtle shiver running down her spine.

"Very," Fayie replied plainly.

"Princess Verna, I’m quite jealous that Lucien is in your country," Lysandra continued, turning her gaze toward the other royal. "If he were in mine, I would have made sure he was tied strictly to my side."

"I don’t think he takes sides, Princess Lysandra," Verna said with a smile. "Not unless someone genuinely manages to interest him."

"Well, it seems like our mutual problem is solved at long last," Lysandra remarked, looking out over the horizon.

"So, what are you planning after this, now that no one stands in the way of you and the throne anymore?" Verna asked.

"Come on, I could say the exact same thing for you," Lysandra chuckled softly.

"Well, it was my sister Sylvie who won the imperial succession, with Lucien Vale as her champion," Verna explained peacefully. "As for me, I’m truly not interested in managing a kingdom. Mother is still more than capable of ruling."

"Yeah... Queen Cynthia is truly something else."

Both princesses shared a quiet, knowing look. Deep inside, both of them felt a profound sense of relief that the greatest threats to their existence were finally gone forever.

Meanwhile, bathed in the rich, golden glow of the rising sun, Lucien stood on the balcony, bending Aelene over the marble railing while thrusting ruthlessly into her core.

"Ahhh... my core... it’s spreading!" Aelene gasped out, her fingers digging into the cold stone as wave after wave of intense cultivation energy erupted through her body.

Lucien reached down, hooked his hand under her leg, and hoisted it high over his shoulder, driving himself deeper and deeper into her tight, drenched depths.

Suddenly, Lucien came to a complete stop, holding himself still inside her.

Aelene blinked, her mind foggy with bliss, and asked softly, "What happened, my lord?"

"Seems like it’s over," Lucien whispered with a dark, satisfied smirk.

"Ohh... ahhhhh! It’s becoming even thicker, my lord... ahhh, I can feel all your veins!" Aelene whimpered, her body shuddering violently as Lucien resumed his brutal rhythm, driving into her core with overwhelming force before completely flooding her womb with his essence once again.

"Ahhh, my lord... you didn’t even take it out after filling me so many times..." Aelene panted softly against the railing.

When Lucien finally withdrew his massive shaft, ropes of glowing essence immediately dripped from her swollen core, running in warm streaks down her bare legs.

Back inside her private chamber in the barracks, Aelvera waited in quiet composure. A deep sense of satisfaction filled her heart, knowing she had finally avenged her father. Two days had already passed since Prince Rumil was slain. The identity of the man who struck down Rumil remained a complete mystery to the public; while people knew the killer’s name was Andrin, no one had connected him to the missing Prince Andrin of Valtheria.

Suddenly, the wooden door creaked open, and a single soldier stepped inside, bowing low.

"Lady Aelvera, Lord Axel is here."