Edmund stood tall in the center of the grand hall.
He slowly turned toward one of the disguised royal officers—his soldiers, now deeply tainted by the dark celestial aura coming from him.
His smile was cruel, cold, and full of hunger.
"Bring all the captured men to the courtyard," he said casually, as if ordering a feast.
The officer saluted stiffly, eyes slightly glazed—already corrupted by the dark miasma leaking from Edmund's body.
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Edmund's smirk grew wider as the corrupted soldiers dragged out the remaining elite guards, servants, and loyal retainers of Klimbert.
Some struggled, some cried out for mercy. Others cursed him, spitting on the ground, refusing to bow even in chains.
It didn't matter.
They were all the same to him now.
Fuel.
Nothing more.
Around a hundred prisoners were forced to kneel in lines, wrists bound, faces pale but defiant.
Edmund slowly walked out, his boots tapping on the stone floor.
