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CHAPTER : The Cast Dice
> "I'll spin the dice and let the world decide what I am."
The stone walls were cold against their bodies as Leornars and the two demi-humans crawled through the shadowy crevices of the castle. The scent of mold and war hung thick in the air. Ahead, muffled voices and metal clinks betrayed a cluster of guards stationed in wait.
Leornars narrowed his eyes, the gleam in them devoid of warmth. He didn't stop moving.
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In the Audience Chamber
"My king, the mages we sent... all perished," the bishop reported gravely, kneeling at the foot of the throne.
King Derldragade leaned forward, his expression tense. "Perished? Why?"
The bishop took a breath. "They reported... a disturbance in the boy's mind. They said it was beyond redemption. His mind—was already broken before we summoned him."
"Broken how?" the king demanded.
The bishop hesitated. "They saw fragments... torture. Daily dismemberment. His limbs and organs ripped apart and restored—twice a day, for nine years straight. He witnessed his mother's execution... over half a billion times. He starved for years, surviving on rats and insects."
Gasps rippled through the chamber. The princess, Selrose, turned pale, her hands trembling.
"They planned to use him as a puppet soldier too," the bishop continued, "but... he slaughtered over eight thousand people the very night he was summoned."
The king shot up from his throne. "Eight thousand?!"
"Yes, sire," the bishop replied, voice low. "At the time, he had no knowledge of magic or mana. But now... he's begun learning. I reviewed the clergymen's reports—he already possesses Level 2 proficiency in Elemental Magic, Sorcery, and even Dark Magic."
The king's face turned red with fury. "If he learns more, we're doomed!"
"It gets worse," the bishop added. "There is a high likelihood… that he's a necromancer."
A heavy silence followed.
The king finally muttered, "So... he's the one. The protector the subhumans have been waiting for across the ages."
"A necromancer can turn the tides of war alone," the bishop warned. "He could reanimate fallen soldiers and make them fight for him. Imagine having that power under our control. Victory would be—"
The chamber doors burst open.
An elderly woman entered slowly, leaning on a wooden staff, wrapped in a plain cloth robe. Her hair was veiled, and her back slightly hunched—but her presence was undeniable.
"Lady Saphela!" Princess Selrose rose in delight.
"Selrose, dear. You look well." The oracle gave a gentle smile. "As for me... just older."
The king frowned. "What does the oracle want?"
"I've seen the boy," she said, her voice calm but sharp. "And you locked him up."
"This matter has nothing to do with you!" the bishop snapped.
Saphela turned and smacked him across the head with her staff.
"Watch your tongue, child. You forget who you're speaking to."
She turned to the king. "Do you understand what you've done? Do you realize how many have prayed—waited—for his return? I've dedicated my entire life for a chance just to see him, and now I find out you've imprisoned him like a beast? Are you all fools?"
"Calm down, Lady Saphela," the king said carefully.
"Calm down?" she repeated, voice rising. "You don't grasp the storm you've invited. Alvalihm, Seraphim, Kurtov, Seratimn—even the Empire of Avrtl—they all will turn on us if word gets out. He is a symbol of hope for demi-humans and demons alike. If they learn he's been made a prisoner here, our kingdom will fall—and that's no prophecy. That's a fact."
"I won't be lectured about demons and sub-humans," the king growled. "They were born to be our slaves. Nothing more."
The oracle's eyes narrowed.
"You'll eat those words. The dice has already been cast, Your Majesty. Pray it doesn't roll away from you."
She turned away, pausing only to smile at the princess. "Come by for tea, Selrose."
The doors closed behind her.
"Bothersome old hag," the king muttered.
"Isn't she... over a hundred years old?" the bishop asked.
The king nodded. "My great-grandfather said she was eighteen when he was still a teenager."
He stood, his robe trailing behind him. "Bring the boy back. I don't care how many die in the process—he will be our puppet soldier."
---
Elsewhere
A knight burst into the chamber.
"Sire! We caught one of the demi-humans helping the silver-haired boy escape!"
The king didn't hesitate. "Kill him. Slowly. Make sure he screams before he dies."
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Leornars and the two demi-humans found a way out thanks to the beastfolk's earth magic. They emerged through a reshaped wall, ducking into a collapsing structure. Moments later—thwick, thwick—arrows rained down on them.
The elf girl raised her hands. "Wind Magic: Spiral Gale!" she called out, redirecting the arrows with a current of air.
"My magic's only Level 3... I still need practice," she said, panting.
Explosions echoed in the distance. The building groaned.
"What was that?" the beastfolk asked, spinning around.
CRACK—the wall behind them began to fall. The elf turned back.
"Risk your life too... for him," she whispered, casting one final spell to push the others clear.
CRASH.
Her body was buried under the debris.
"SHUELT!!!" the beastfolk screamed, tears streaming down.
Leornars stared at the wreckage. No emotion. No compassion.
"We... we need to go! I need you to live!" the beastfolk pleaded.
"'We, we, we'... What is this nonsense?" Leornars thought coldly.
They fled, dodging more collapsing structures and sprinting into the city's underbelly.
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In the Sewers
The air was foul. Their breaths came in shallow gasps as footsteps echoed above them. Leornars reached over, curiously tugging at the beastfolk's tail.
"H-Hey! Don't touch that!" the boy squeaked, ears twitching.
"Huh. So they're real," Leornars mused.
"Crov and Shuelt... they were good people," the beastfolk said quietly. "Shuelt was just 14... and Crov was 15."
"And you?" Leornars asked.
"I'm thirteen!" he said proudly.
"Good for you, then."
Leux rummaged in his small satchel and pulled out a minced meat sandwich. He handed it over with a smile.
"Thanks," Leornars said dryly, inspecting it.
He took a bite.
Tasteless.
Still, he ate.
---
They talked through the day—mostly Leux doing the talking. He spoke of slavery, his journey, and his dream of freedom. Leornars, silently listening, absorbed every word. Slowly, knowledge of magic began to click into place.
The next day came.
Footsteps again.
"Let's go!" Leux said, grabbing Leornars' hand.
But flames lit the tunnel ahead. Guards surrounded them.
"No escape," Leux whispered.
Leornars stepped forward, drew his dagger—and lunged. A slash. Another. Blood spilled.
Then—shhk.
A wet splatter hit Leornars' cheek.
He turned.
A spear had impaled Leux from behind, the tip bursting from his stomach. Blood poured from his mouth.
Still, he smiled.
With his last breath, Leux raised his hands and used his earth magic.
The ceiling collapsed, crushing the guards—burying them all.
All but one.
Leornars stood, untouched in the chaos.
Both of his eyes glowed.
His mana surged.
And then—he snapped.
---
Blood Night
He tore through the sewers like a beast. Reaching the surface, he burned guards alive, ripped through armor and bone, his rage fueling his raw elemental magic. Flames consumed the evening sky as Leornars neared the castle walls.
He climbed, bare-handed—over forty feet—his blood-drenched body scaling to the balcony of the princess's room.
Princess Selrose stepped back, eyes wide.
The boy's silver hair was stained in red. His eyes—two glowing orbs of hate.
"This is all your fault," Leornars whispered.
"Huh—?"
"DIE."
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To Be Continued...