The World Dragon's Heir

Chapter 495: Make It Private

Dominic stared down at the faces of the Dagos Prisoners in front of him, every one of them a Noble born soldier.

But one face stood out from the crowd.

"You, what is your name?" He demanded.

"Immanuel Dagos, illegitimate son of the late King."

Dominic nodded. "Well, Prince Immanuel, as you are still technically Royalty, as the new King never rescinded your title, only that of Kaizon, what should I do with you?"

The Prince sighed. "Out of respect for the throne, if not the lineage, I ask that you make it private."

Beside him, Elder Manif of the Duskblade Sect nodded, and Dominic extended his hand to help the Prince rise.

"Alright. I can agree to that. Now, for the rest of them. Prince Immanuel, how many of these men were conscripted, and how many are loyal sons of Dagos?"

"Every man here, myself included, was conscripted by the army. There are no other Noble Sons of Dagos remaining in this force.

There were dozens of them an hour ago, but your sharpshooters have uncanny accuracy for officers."

That was understandable. Remove the chain of command, and unit cohesion collapses.

The imbalanced mana in Dominic’s body still seemed to be increasing, and he couldn’t find a reason for it. The mages were long dead, he wasn’t actively absorbing mana, as his internal reserves hadn’t even been used, much less depleted.

But still, he could feel the effect growing.

"Elder, I am feeling lenient. Pick a city in the west and send the survivors away. A thousand-hour work contract in a foreign land should give them time to repent their sins."

Elder Manif looked more than shocked at Dominic’s unusual show of mercy, but he didn’t object. He simply opened a portal into what was obviously a dungeon, and took a form out of his coat to add a few notes.

Then he stepped through and spoke quietly to the Prison Warden, before exchanging some cash.

"It will be done. A thousand hours of hard labour in the gold mines. Unlikely to kill them, but it will teach them a lesson about when to run and when to fight."

The soldiers sighed ruefully. It had seemed more dangerous to defy the mages in Shersdonia than it had been to follow them. That had proven to be absolutely incorrect. But at least the Duke here had spared their lives after they had surrendered, instead of holding a grand trial to have them hanged as a public spectacle under the flimsiest of excuses.

Dominic shook his head, trying to remove the fuzzy feeling, and Larry the healing Troll rushed through to cleanse him.

Only to find that he was fine.

Or, that he wasn’t cursed, poisoned, or under attack. In fact, his health appeared to be perfect. There was no physical reason for his condition.

Then, Prince Immanuel’s eyes shot wide open, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

"Dammit, I should have known. No Royal Prisoners. Kaizon’s last proclamation," he wheezed.

"What do you mean, last?" Dominic demanded, trying to focus.

But the Prince simply collapsed, dead.

A rush of power surged from the area into Dominic, and he felt something inside him break. Not a bone or organ, it felt more like something had shattered and set him free, as if the lingering rage and animosity of his past had simply vanished.

The power faded as quickly as it had started, leaving everyone on the battlefield confused.

However, without an enemy to target, all that was left was to clean up the bodies so they didn’t attract scavengers. That was a task for Dave, as the riflemen were in their party clothes.

"Gentlemen, good work. Brush yourself off, come see Larry if you need healing, or the Royal Guards if you’re feeling brave. Then you can return to the debutante ball." Dominic announced, raising his voice so that everyone would hear him.

The Natural Sons cheered and laughed.

Their losses were nonexistent in this battle. They had healing potions, and the mages had fronted the battle for them. The Duskblade Sect had taken casualties, mages who had been knocked from the sky, but there were no dead among the riflemen.

Dominic placed a hand on Elder Manif’s shoulder.

"Let’s take care of yours. The riflemen will be fine with Larry, we can bring the Royal Guard here to do the healing of anyone who can be saved." He whispered.

---------

Far off to the northwest, in the city of Ormsted, two ancient Necromancers sat across a chessboard from each other, sipping tea.

"Did it work?"

"I believe that it did. The influx of Unholy Energy overwhelmed the Blood Curse, and with the death of the Royal Bloodline in his immediate vicinity, the Curse reacted as if the vendetta had been settled.

We will know more in just a few hours, but I believe that the curse on Dagos should be broken now." The other mage replied.

"Do we tell the King?"

The second man snorted disdainfully. "Are you not fond of your immortal life anymore? You know how fond he was of the Dragon King. I wouldn’t count on keeping any part of your soul intact if he found out that you had cheated that old dragon’s kin out of his vengeance."

The two necromancers laughed at the memory.

They had done many things in the past year to set this moment in motion, and to make it believable when the curse broke before the entire Royal Lineage of Dagos was eliminated.

They couldn’t have that. After all, they were also cousins of the foolish King.

And all that it had taken was a few Sects of Necromancers and half a year of summoning rituals. If they had come up with this plan years ago, they could have saved themselves much grief, and ever having to deal with that idiot Kaizon.

Now, to sit back and feign innocence when Cygnia sent their prodigal son to face off with the King.

It should be a most interesting meeting.