The Sun Throne of Aethelgard was forged from enchanted dawn-steel, designed to radiate a warm, comforting light across the grand audience hall. But under the rule of King Valerius, the light had grown stark and blinding—a harsh glare that left no room for shadows, or for mercy.
Valerius lounged on the throne, swirling a goblet of dark red wine. He was a handsome man, bearing a striking resemblance to the human prince Kaelen had once been, but his features were sharper, hardened by artificial power. Above his head, visible only to those with the [Appraise] skill, floated his status: [King Valerius - Level 48 Paladin of the Sun].
It was a hollow level, bought with the blood of his own citizens in the fighting pits beneath the castle, rather than earned in true combat.
"The Culling Tithe from the eastern provinces has arrived, Your Majesty," High Mage Vane droned from the foot of the dais, reading from a hovering, glowing ledger. "Three hundred low-level citizens. Mostly the infirm and dissidents. They should yield enough EXP to push the Royal Guard vanguard to Level 25 before the month's end."
Valerius took a slow sip of his wine. "Excellent. Ensure the beast-handlers starve the manticores for a few days before the harvest. It makes the kills quicker."
Before the High Mage could bow, the heavy oak doors of the throne room slammed open.
Two heavily armored palace guards marched in, flanking a man in a tattered, mud-stained green cloak. It was Captain Thorne of the Royal Rangers. He lacked his weapons, his armor was dented, but he walked with a perfectly fluid stride.
Valerius raised an eyebrow, waving the High Mage away. "Captain Thorne. You return from the Verdant Labyrinth earlier than expected. And without Bram's party."
Thorne stopped at the base of the dais and dropped to one knee. He did not bow his head.
"Bram's party is dead, Your Grace," Thorne reported, his voice echoing off the marble pillars. "Wiped out entirely. The ruins they were investigating are not an abandoned outpost. It is a Cataclysm-grade Dungeon."
A murmur rippled through the courtiers and guards lining the hall. Cataclysm-grade. Such dungeons were kingdom-killers if left unchecked.
Valerius leaned forward, his grip tightening on his silver goblet. "A Cataclysm Core? In our backyard? Why hasn't the ambient mana spiked? Why are there no monster surges?"
"Because it has been claimed, Your Grace," Thorne said, his eyes locking onto the King's. "The Master of the Dungeon controls the flow of its creatures. He has already subjugated the local goblin tribes and is fortifying the entrance. He possesses an army of highly advanced, bipedal reptilian constructs."
Valerius scoffed, a nervous sound that didn't quite reach his eyes. "A monster playing general. Send the First Legion. Burn the forest down and shatter the Core. We could use a Cataclysm crystal to power the capital's wards."
"With respect, Your Grace... it is not just a monster," Thorne continued, his voice steady despite the execution order he knew might follow. "My squad was captured. We were disarmed by his guards, but the Dungeon Master did not kill us. He healed my shattered knee with a wave of his hand. And he gave me a message for you."
Valerius stood slowly, his enchanted plate armor clinking in the silent hall. "A beast sent a message?"
"He said to tell you," Thorne took a deep breath, "that the grave could not hold your brother. And that Prince Kaelen is coming to collect his throne."
CRASH.
The silver goblet slipped from Valerius's hand, shattering against the marble floor. The dark red wine spilled down the steps of the dais, pooling like fresh blood.
The color vanished entirely from the King's face. For a fraction of a second, the Level 48 Paladin looked like a terrified, guilty child.
"Treason," Valerius whispered, his voice trembling. Then, he roared, his artificial mana flaring and cracking the stone beneath his boots. "Treason! You dare bring this vile heresy into my court?! My brother died of the Red Fever! His body was burned on a pyre!"
"I am only relaying the words of the Dungeon Master, Your Grace," Thorne said evenly, refusing to break eye contact. "He knew your name. He knew the capital. He has Kaelen's eyes."
"Lies woven by a demon to sow discord!" Valerius shrieked, drawing his sun-forged broadsword and pointing the blazing blade at the Ranger. "Guards! Take Captain Thorne to the deepest cell in the black-site! Anyone who repeats this madness will be fed to the pits!"
The palace guards hesitated for a split second, respecting Thorne, but the King's maddened glare forced them into action. They seized Thorne by the arms and dragged him backward. The Captain didn't resist. He had seen the true King in the dark, and he knew Aethelgard's days under Valerius were numbered.
As the heavy doors slammed shut, sealing Thorne away, Valerius turned to his High Mage, his chest heaving. Panic had completely overridden his vanity.
"Vane," Valerius spat, his eyes wide and frantic. "Mobilize the Mages' Guild. Summon General Kastor and the entire First Legion. Issue a Holy Decree. We are not just clearing a dungeon."
Valerius looked down at the spilled wine, the memory of Kaelen choking on poisoned vintage flashing vividly in his mind.
"We are purging the Verdant Labyrinth from the face of this world. Leave no scale unburned."