Bowing only his head, gaze low, he said solemnly,
"I pay my respects to His Majesty."
Theron walked toward him—golden eyes burning with rage, intense mana rolling off him in waves. Without a word, he turned to one of the knights at his side, raised his hand, and pulled the knight's sword free from its sheath.
Then he turned… and walked toward Ivan.
As Theron approached, Ivan raised his gaze to meet him, a smug smile on his face—completely unbothered.
"Your Highness," he said with mock concern. "Are you alright? You don't look so good."
The smile widened.
"Don't tell me you're still upset about me breaking your little toy."
A low, cruel chuckle escaped his lips.
"You should've seen the look in her eyes when she realized death was coming.
Oh— I'm sorry. I forgot. You were there."*
His voice turned darker, a grin stretching wider.
"Not that you did anything. Even when she looked at you—begged you to save her."
Theron's golden eyes glowed, jaw clenched tight. He bit his lip until blood dripped down his chin. A single tear ran from one eye.
Ivan saw it—and let out a loud, mocking laugh.
"A single tear? Really?" he shouted. "Don't make me laugh, Galewyn! You just stood there and watched her die! And now you want to play the grieving king?"
He shook his head in disbelief.
"You're making me feel bad, Your Highness."
He grinned viciously.
"Since I feel so guilty, why don't I grieve alongside you?"
He laughed—louder, darker, madder.
Theron trembled. His bloody lip quivered. His hand clenched so tight around the sword hilt that the blade itself began to hum under the pressure. His teeth ground together so hard, blood welled between them.
Then he raised the sword.
And with a cold, steady rage in his eyes—he swung.
SLASH!
Blood sprayed across his face.
Ivan's head flew clean from his shoulders—landing on the ground with a wet, sickening splat.
Silence fell.
So quiet… you could hear the blood dripping from Theron's blade onto the cold floor.
Then—a crack.
The chains binding Ivan's headless body splintered.
Elira's eyes snapped toward him. She felt it—something unnatural.
"Your Highness—" she warned.
The blood pooling beneath his feet began to bubble—then violently burst.
BLOOD SPEARS shot in every direction.
Theron raised his sword instinctively, pulling it up just as a golden barrier shimmered into place around him—CLANG! The blood spears struck, deflected by the shield.
He jumped back.
Elira had acted fast—covering everyone nearby in a protective dome of golden light.
The chains binding Ivan's body cracked louder.
And then—his severed head twitched.
Veins pulsed.
Flesh twisted.
The head began to regenerate.
Everyone froze, eyes locked as Ivan's corpse.