Chapter 48: King’s Cruelty: It’s an Idiot’s Trap!

The synchronized advance of the guards didn’t stop, but it shifted into a deadly, defensive formation. With a collective, mechanical clack, the front line dropped to one knee, while the row behind them stepped into the gaps. In perfect unison, dozens of soldiers leveled heavy crossbows directly at Cassius’s chest, throat, and face. Farther back, mounted atop the stone barricades, the heavy iron gears of two tactical ballistas groaned as they were cranked back, their massive, single-pointed iron bolts aimed squarely at his heart. A perimeter of ready steel surrounded him. One pull of a trigger from any direction would tear him to pieces.

Yet, Cassius didn’t care. The threat of the bolts didn’t even register in his mind.

"Open their chains, RIGHT NOW!" Cassius shouted.

The command ripped from his throat, raw and agonizing, shattering against the cold stone walls of the plaza. No one moved. The guards remained as still as statues, their eyes hidden behind their visor slits, fingers resting flat against the cold iron triggers.

Cassius turned his back on the weapons, completely exposing himself to the firing line. He threw himself back into the path of the mechanical, tragic circle. His bare foot skidded through the dirt as he lunged forward, his hands outspread. His mother’s shoulder clipped his arm, her emaciated body pushing past him with that terrifying, unseeing momentum. But Cassius didn’t let go. He threw his weight to the side, reaching through the rattling web of rusted iron, and desperately clamped his fingers around his father’s bruised, ash-grey arm.

The skin felt freezing, caked in dried mud and old blood. His father didn’t stop moving; his legs kept churning against the cobblestones, pulling against Cassius’s grip with a desperate, animalistic strength.

Cassius held on with everything he had, his own tall frame trembling violently as he anchored his weight to the stone. He looked up into his father’s face, searching for a single spark of recognition, a flicker of the man who had raised him. There was nothing. Just a wide, vacant stare fixed on the dangling fruit.

The hot, heavy tears Cassius had held back for years finally spilled over, falling drop by drop onto the dry grit of the plaza floor. Each splash against the stone felt like a physical confession of his helplessness.

The silence was suffocating. Florianthum watched the tears fall from his face, and it felt like oil being poured onto a burning fire in her chest. As a high-ranking warrior and a newly appointed Lordess of the realm, she possessed the absolute authority to command these soldiers. With a single wave of her hand, she could order every crossbow lowered, every weapon dropped. She had the power to clear the plaza.

But right beside her was Vilucious.

The cold, heavy weight of the king’s presence was an invisible noose around her neck. In front of him, her title meant absolutely nothing. Her authority was a phantom. If she moved, if she whispered a counter-command, the king wouldn’t just execute her; he would use it as an excuse to order the immediate, brutal slaughter of Cassius and his parents right before her eyes. She was forced to be in agonizing stillness, her fingers digging so hard into her silver armor that the metal began to warp against her thighs.

Out in the dirt, the frantic clattering of the chains grew louder as his parents fought against his restraint. The single, bruised red apple bobbed wildly in the air, swaying just inches above their heads, mocking the entire struggle.

Cassius looked up at the fruit, a surge of pure, human fury breaking through his grief. He let go of his father’s arm and lunged upward. His fingers closed tightly around the rough, bruised skin of the apple. With a guttural cry of frustration, he yanked downward with his bare hands, using his raw strength to snap the thick, reinforced cord holding it aloft.

The heavy thread gave way with a sharp snap.

"IT’S AN IDIOT’S TRAP... stop, Mom!" Cassius cried out, his voice cracking into a sob as he threw the broken apple violently out of the path, desperate to break the spell that held them captive.

The sharp, cruel edge of a crossbow bolt pressed so close it scraped against Cassius’s bare skin, tearing open a jagged gash along his arm. He didn’t flinch from the iron, but the wound ran deep. Almost instantly, a thick, vibrant purple blood began to well up, dripping heavily from his forearm.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The exotic crimson-violet pools began to collect on the pale, dusty marble of the courtyard floor.

Inside the carriage, a dark, amused smile tugged at the corner of the king’s lips.

"Ah... now the entertainment reaches its crescendo," Lord Vilucious whispered, his voice smooth and laced with sadistic delight as he leaned slightly forward, his eyes drinking in the tragic tableau of the broken family.

The moment the first heavy drops of Cassius’s blood splattered against the open stones, the world seemed to freeze.

As if a switch had been flipped, his parents suddenly stopped. The mechanical, endless running ceased in a heartbeat. But there was no sudden return of sanity. Instead, their posture shifted, their spines bending awkwardly as their hissing and guttural growls intensified, vibrating deep within their hollow chests. They slowly turned their heads, locking onto Cassius with their terrifying, pitch-black void eyes.

Thick, stringy saliva dripped from their bared fangs, falling to the stone like the drool of starving, wild beasts. They moved in closer, their frantic, panting breath hot against Cassius’s face. He didn’t recoil. Trembling, Cassius kept his grip firm, holding his own father by his frail, bony shoulders.

"Dad... please... see, I got injured-" Cassius’s voice was completely heartbroken, a fragile, stammering sob that caught violently in his throat. He leaned in, desperate for a touch, a look, a single tear of parental instinct.

His father’s dark eyes tracked the movement, shifting from Cassius’s face down to the dripping wound on his arm. For a fraction of a second, the air hung dead. Then, a horrifying, unhinged growl ripped from the older man’s throat. With an animalistic snap, his father violently hunched down to the dirt, throwing himself onto the stone to frantically lick the purple blood that had collected on the ground.

An instant later, his mother dropped beside him, her fingernails clawing at the stone as she joined the desperate, feral scramble to consume her own son’s blood.