Chapter 94: The rot 3
Everyone else, no matter their title or bloodline, would remain under quiet scrutiny. The rot was deeper than anyone had suspected, perhaps deeper than he dared to imagine. And the one who had poisoned Darius, his own son, was still out there. Perhaps sitting at his table. Bowing before him. Toasting to the health of the kingdom while plotting its death.
The King’s eyes lingered on the crippled grandmaster for a long, silent moment. His expression revealed nothing, neither mercy nor malice, but his silence spoke volumes. The weight of his judgment was like a blade suspended in the air, unmoving yet threatening with its very presence.
Then, in a voice that cut through the stillness of the hall like the cold snap of winter, he said, "Take him back to the dungeons."
The guards at either side of the kneeling man moved, their hands firmly gripping his arms as they pulled him upright. The grandmaster said nothing, but his eyes flickered toward Lucas and then toward the King, searching for a hint of certainty or promise in either face. There was none, the desperation that had begun to glimmer earlier now dulled under the weight of uncertainty.
Before the man could be fully led away, the King added, "Whether or not your cultivation will be restored... I will decide in due time. I haven’t seen this miracle for myself, but Henrietta vouches for it. And her word, unlike yours, is not in question."
The crippled grandmaster lowered his head, saying nothing in return. What argument could he possibly make now? The King had spoken. Whatever fate awaited him, redemption or rot, it no longer rested in his own hands.
Henrietta said nothing either as the man was escorted out. She remained at the King’s side, watching him, studying the lines on his face as he gazed forward in thought. She could tell that he believed her. She could tell that he trusted her instincts, her eyes, and her judgment. And more importantly, that he was beginning to believe in Lucas too. Even if he hadn’t witnessed what happened with his own eyes, the mere fact that Henrietta claimed it was possible was enough to keep the flicker of belief alive in him.
The King sat still, his gaze distant again, as though weighing more than just the decision about one man’s power.
He was weighing the future of the realm, he turned his gaze to Henrietta first, then slowly to Lucas, the young man whose name had come up too often in the past weeks to ignore. His son’s savior. A boy spoken about in the kingdom with both reverence and suspicion. And yet, here he stood, unshaken, piercing, unafraid of bearing the King’s gaze head-on.
"I will not pretend to be in control of all this," the King finally said. "This is no longer the kind of threat I can face with a sword or with decrees. I see now that the rot is deeper than I imagined. The very bones of the kingdom are splintering under something I can’t yet understand."