Chapter 72: A Psychopath’s Philosophy: Fodder Knows Its Place

The transition from the damp, suffocating quiet of the cellar to the suffocating grandeur of the throne room was seamless, yet the air here was entirely different.

It didn’t smell of rotting stone and desperate, whispered secrets. It smelled of cold incense, expensive wax, and the sharp, metallic tang of absolute authority.

High above the marble floor, Lord Vilucious sat upon his high magical throne. The massive structure didn’t just command the room; it seemed to drink the ambient light, its dark, crystalline surface humming with a low, rhythmic pulse that vibrated deep in the floorboards.

On either side of the dais, two royal soldiers stood like stone monuments. They held massive, sweeping fans made of soft white feathers, moving their arms in long, agonizingly slow arcs. They didn’t look like men executing a military duty.

Their eyes were glazed and fixed ahead, their movements possessing the eerie, mechanical devotion of zealots performing a religious ritual. It was a display designed for nothing less than worship.

Below the throne, the court was split by a terrifying calculation.

Vast, heavy velvet curtains draped from the vaulted ceiling, casting deep, impenetrable shadows along the perimeter. Behind that thick fabric, the subtle shift of silhouettes and the occasional, muffled scrape of armor betrayed the presence of the kingdom’s highest elites.

They were kept hidden, listening in the dark like weapons waiting to be drawn. Only a chosen few.... those currently holding the king’s volatile favor, were permitted to sit in the open rows along the sides, their postures impossibly rigid, their faces pale under the weight of the silence.

On Vilucious’s lap, Vermonia stretched her sleek, dark frame. The royal cat let out a low, rumbling purr, her claws catching slightly on the heavy silk of his robes.

Vilucious didn’t flinch. Moving with an agonizing, casual deliberation that made the open rows of elites hold their breath, his long, pale fingers sank into the thick fur behind the cat’s ears. He stroked her with a gentleness that felt entirely wrong for a man of his cruelty; a soft, rhythmic caress that only amplified the terrifying dominance radiating from his posture.

He looked down at the court, his gaze heavy and unreadable, ruling the room by the sheer terror of what he might say next.

A true monarch had no need to shout over the dead. The slight, lazy tilt of his chin was enough to make the entire court freeze.

"The grand construction of our sanctuary for the sick," Vilucious murmured, his gaze drifting over the pale, tense faces in the open rows before locking onto the official kneeling at the foot of the dais.

A thin, bloodless smile touched his lips. "Tell me, Governor... how progresses our great monument to mercy? Are the foundations well-fed?"

The dark, heavy fabric of the velvet curtain rippled slightly as the focus shifted.

The invisible lens of the court zoomed in sharply, tracking down the steps of the dais to lock entirely onto Kerwon. Sitting in the very front row of the open seats, his spine was already straight, but the moment his name left the monarch’s lips, his posture snapped into an impossibly rigid, mechanical line.

He stood up instantly, stepping forward like a perfectly programmed extension of Vilucious’s own will; the ideal personal assistant, completely devoid of personal hesitation.

Kerwon kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his eyes locked dead ahead, deliberately avoiding the terrifying, predatory gaze of his king.

"The lower bloodlines are laboring precisely as decreed, my Lord," Kerwon spoke, his voice crisp, steady, and loud enough to echo off the vaulted ceiling.

"The general military maintains surveillance over them down to the microsecond. Not a single breath is drawn without an iron sight trained on their necks."

The silence in the room stretched tense and brittle, the elites behind the curtains waiting to see if this flawless report would satisfy the vampire king’s hunger for absolute control.

Vilucious’s fingers suddenly snapped against Vermonia’s neck, the sharp crack of his knuckles cutting through the air like a small pistol shot.

"Great! Bravo!"

Vilucious suddenly erupted into a sharp, theatrical burst of applause, his heavy rings clashing together with a deafening, metallic ring. "Cheers for him!"

Instantly, like a well-rehearsed machine, the open rows of elites and the hidden figures behind the curtains joined in. A wave of frantic, sycophantic clapping flooded the high court, every noble desperate to match the king’s artificial enthusiasm. Kerwon’s rigid posture didn’t falter, but a thin bead of sweat broke along his hairline.

"Ah. Ah. Ah."

The sound was low, clicking against the back of Vilucious’s teeth.

The entire room froze instantly. The applause died mid-strike, leaving several nobles with their palms hovering inches apart in terrified, breathless suspension. The silence that slammed back into the hall was twice as heavy as before.

Vilucious slowly lowered his hands, letting them rest flat on Vermonia’s back. The pristine snow cat had gone completely stiff beneath his palms. He leaned forward, his torso folding over his lap as his dark, unblinking eyes bored straight into Kerwon’s face. The cheerful mask had vanished, replaced by a flat, terrifyingly vacant expression.

"Wait..." Vilucious murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, conversational whisper that carried perfectly across the dead quiet. "But I didn’t want to hear that. You know that, right, Governor?"

He tilted his head sideways, a twitch of pure, psychopathic amusement playing at the very corner of his mouth.

The heavy silence of the court pressed down on Kerwon, but he didn’t snap. Back in the old, human world, he had been the apex predator of his own small kingdom: a wealthy, arrogant legacy kid whose father’s bottomless pockets bought away every consequence and funded every cruel whim.

He had never learned how to fear another man. Here, in this rotting new world, that hard, stubborn core remained. He stayed impossibly stiff, his chin held high, but the subtle twitch in his jaw and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead betrayed the cold realization that his old-world privileges meant absolutely nothing to the vampire king.

He didn’t offer a desperate excuse. Instead, his posture simply tightened, locking up like a iron vise as he absorbed the threat.

Vilucious watched him for a beat, the terrifying vacancy in his eyes suddenly melting into a soft, melodic laugh that echoed pleasantly off the stone walls.

"Ha ha..."

"Mr. Kerwon..." Vilucious said, his tone shifting instantly into something warm, almost affectionate; the picture-perfect image of a benevolent, deeply caring monarch sharing an inside joke with an old companion.

He leaned back, his pale fingers sliding smoothly through Vermonia’s pristine, snow-white fur, the contrast between his bloodless skin and her spotless coat sharp against the dark throne.

"It’s been ages since we both played together, right? Let’s forget the downs of our life and spend a little time. What do you think?"

He tilted his head, giving the court a grand, sweeping smile that practically demanded their silent admiration.

"Well, I think you would agree, of course,"

Vilucious murmured, his voice laced with an absolute, casual dominance that left no room for rejection. "Like... who would not, right?"

A murmur of polite, terrified agreement rippled through the open rows of the elites.

Before Kerwon could even process the invitation, Vilucious raised a single finger. From the heavy shadows near the dais, a military commander stepped forward, dropping to one knee beside the throne.

Vilucious reached into the folds of his dark robes and pulled out a small, exquisite device; a miniature horn made of solid, polished gold, its flared rim shaped like a trumpet.

He pressed the narrow end to his lips, whispering a sequence of low, rhythmic syllables into the artifact. The device didn’t amplify his voice; instead, it compressed the sound into a localized, vibrating frequency meant only for the commander’s ears.

Finishing his command, Vilucious tucked the golden trumpet away. He stood up from the crystalline throne, slipping Vermonia off his lap with an elegant motion.

He stepped down the dais, his dark, unblinking gaze locking dead onto Kerwon’s eyes with a chilling, hypnotic intensity.

"Kerwon," Vilucious smiled, the warmth completely absent from his stare. "Let’s go."

The heavy double doors of the court creaked open, throwing a long shaft of pale light into the grand corridor.

Vilucious stepped through first, his dark robes sweeping over the polished stone with a faint, rhythmic hiss. Kerwon fell into step right beside him, his boots clicking in a stiff, military cadence, while the elite security militant followed a precise three paces behind, a silent, armored shadow.

The corridor was vast, lined with towering arched windows that overlooked the sprawling, soot-choked construction grids of the new capital.

"While making this kingdom from scratch,"

Vilucious began, his voice smooth and conversational, as if they were merely two old friends taking a stroll through a manicured garden. He kept his eyes fixed on the glass ahead, his pale profile sharp against the gray light outside.

"I thought... why would I make mosquitoes and pigs who just live like trash?"

Kerwon didn’t break his forward stride, but his head snapped to the side. His gaze locked onto the king’s face, his eyes searching the smooth, unreadable expression of the monarch.

The casual brutality of the words struck a chord against Kerwon’s own old-world arrogance, sparking a grim, dark curiosity that broke his silence.

"Then..." Kerwon asked, his voice tight but steady, holding his chin up as they walked straight down the hallway. "...Why they are still there my precious Lord?"

Vilucious didn’t answer immediately. He merely let out a soft, hummed breath, his fingers tracing the cold stone of the window ledge as they passed it, his mind clearly operating on a terrifying wavelength that Kerwon was desperately trying to calculate.

A faint, chilling smile touched Vilucious’s lips as they turned a corner, the shadow of the security militant falling heavily across the stone floor behind them.

"Exactly," Vilucious murmured, his tone dripping with a quiet, terrifying satisfaction. He didn’t look at Kerwon; his eyes remained fixed on the horizon of his rising empire.

"But then I understood... the food chain was necessary. And the creatures to be treated the same forever was also necessary."

He stopped walking, his dark robes settling around his ankles like pooling ink. Slowly, he turned his head to meet Kerwon’s gaze, his eyes entirely vacant of human warmth, yet sharp with absolute certainty.

"It is important that the fodder should know its place."