Primordial Villain with a Slave Harem

Chapter 1091: Heavy Heart

His silken cape trailed behind him, sweeping through the soot and ash. Ministers had begged, guards had pleaded, for none dared to let their liege wander unescorted in the aftermath of such carnage. Maybe hidden threats lingered even now.

But Alexios had silenced them with one raised hand. A king who could not face his kingdom’s scars had no right to bear the weight of the crown. Hiding in ignorance was not an option. And if there were traps laid for him... Then so be it. He was ready to face any challenge.

The echo of his boots was the only sound.

Each step pressed heavier than the last. He was a man who had worn the crown for nearly a thousand years, a monarch who had led countless wars to victory. And yet here, in the very heart of his empire, he had failed.

While it was true that the city was ginormous and the attacks only impacted a small part of it, but that did not lighten the weight of shame on Alexios’s shoulder. Failure was failure.

Windows were boarded shut. Market stalls stood abandoned, produce rotting in baskets. The scent of death lingered in the alley. From the shadows, a pair of terrified eyes peeked at him through a crack in the barricade. From what he could tell, it looked like an old woman who was clutching her grandchild. The moment their gazes met, she pulled the boy back, vanishing without a word.

Alexios’ chest clenched.

None of his ancestors had suffered this failure. For time immemorial, the crown jewel of the Valorian empire had been untouchable, a shining beacon of prosperity. And now, under his reign, it had been defiled. Terror had walked freely through his streets, thousands of his people lay dead, and the rest cowered in fear.

A streak of blood stained the cobblestone before him. He stopped. Slowly, he lowered his eyes.

For the first time in centuries, he felt small beneath the weight of his crown. His reign, his legacy, was no longer gilded in triumph, but stained with shame.

His voice, low and hoarse, slipped into the air.

"I have failed you all."

The wind carried the confession down the empty street, where no one but the ghosts of the fallen could hear it.

And King Alexios walked on, a ruler whose heart was heavier than the crown he bore.

"Devil..."

The name rumbled from Alexios’ chest like distant thunder.

This sort of elemental devastation screamed Devil. Technically, it could’ve been a group of mages, or perhaps even a single mage with incredible control over the elements, such as his wife.

But the king knew the circumstances of what exactly went down here today.

His wife had tried to use that poor woman to lure the man of her most recent mania out, a pawn sacrificed to draw the prize into the light. Well... she succeeded. Devil had come, and he had not only shown his face in the capital, but he had left his everlasting mark upon it.

Alexios’ hand clenched at his side. The ministers would whisper of this night for decades. Historians would write of it for centuries. And legends would exist of it for much longer than any living human.

The king’s boots carried him forward until he stood before a tavern that seemed almost mocking in its survival. Alone among ruins, the building stood unscathed, untouched, as though shielded by fate itself.

Alexios’ jaw tightened. His blade hissed free of its scabbard.

He pushed the doors open. He didn’t have to look for long; at the center of the tavern’s floor gaped a hole. Alexios stepped to the edge, peering down. ȓᴀɴo͍𝐁Εs̩

A tunnel.

He slid down its slope, boots scraping against hardened earth until he reached darkness. The cavern stretched on and on, descending far beneath the capital.

He narrowed his eyes. Earth magic. But not just any magic... It was the same kind of seemingly limitless magic that bent the elements to the will of its caster. This was not the result of a spell being cast, not in the sense that the denizens of the Iskaris continent were used to.

No, this was something much more advanced, something much more alien. Exactly what Devil was known for.

He had carved himself a path straight to the heart of the city from its depths, straight to his chosen stage.

Alexios tilted his head back, gaze following the endless line of tunnel toward the faint light above.

With a flex of his legs, he leapt back up through the shaft, then soon found himself standing atop the roof. The wind stirred his cape as he looked all around himself.

Here.

This was the place. The very spot where Devil had stood when he unleashed ruin upon the crown jewel of the Vraven Kingdom.

Alexios’ hand tightened around his sword hilt. Rage burned in his chest, but it was not aimed at Devil. Not at the monster who had proven himself more difficult to deal with than anyone would dare expect.

No, his fury belonged to one person alone.

Queen Morgana.

His wife. The woman who had dragged the wolf into their home, all to sate her ambition.

His teeth ground together as the thought took root. His kingdom burned, his people lay in graves. The architect of it all was his own queen.

Alexios lifted his face to the night sky, letting the wind cool the fire in his lungs.

Then, after a sharp intake of breath, he kicked off the rooftop with such force that the tiles shattered beneath his explosive departure. His body blurred against the night, cutting through the sky as he streaked toward the palace. Wind whipped against his face, but the storm inside him was hotter, sharper, unrelenting.

The gleam of the marble palace rose into view, its pristine towers untouched by the devastation not too far beyond its walls.

As Alexios descended, the guards posted outside Morgana’s wing caught sight of him. Their eyes widened in unison. His aura rolled off him in suffocating waves, thick enough to choke the breath from their lungs. Instinct screamed louder than loyalty, for they all understood: stand in his path and you die.

They stepped aside without a word. Some bowed. Others simply froze. None dared test his wrath despite being given explicit orders not to let anyone in.

The doors groaned as Alexios shoved them open. The queen’s chamber spread before him, vast and luxurious.

Kneeling in a half-circle before Queen Morgana were her handpicked guards. At the front was Andre, Commander of her royal guards. A man who had carved his way to beyond level 70 through blood and war. His presence was always towering, but now, he seemed to be subdued before his queen.

Beside him, his subordinate knelt. Squad captain Cassandra. Her head was bowed lower than anyone else’s as strands of her hair fell forward to veil her face. Her posture was so deep it nearly pressed her forehead against the floor.

They were busy giving a report of what happened to their queen, but the chamber became silent thanks to Alexios’s intrusion. Every head snapped toward him.

The king did not care for the attention he was receiving.

He stepped forward, letting the echo of his boots thunder across the chamber. His hand never once left the hilt of his blade. His gaze was locked on Morgana, who sat tall on her cushioned chair. Her expression was anything but pleasant.

"Get out," Alexios growled at the guards with a tone they’d never heard their king ever use before.