Chapter 1169: Crashing into the Throne Chamber
Niti stared at the four unconscious mercenaries on the floor, her gaze shifting slowly back to Rudy. The utter lack of exertion on his face contrasted sharply with the groan of the man waking up near the shattered barrels.
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her fingers still tingling from the residual warmth of that bizarre sensory link in the crypts.
“You expect me to believe you are just a well-timed bystander,” Niti said, stepping past a discarded short sword. “You staged that entire fight. You took a hit to your shoulder on purpose just to make it look difficult.”
Rudy shrugged, rolling his shoulder to check the shallow tear in his fabric. “A little theatricality keeps people from asking too many questions. Clearly, it failed with you.”
“Because I have eyes,” Niti replied, though she kept her voice low as she glanced toward the exit. “The mercenary who ran will bring reinforcements. We need to move before the entire shipyard locks down.”
“Lead the way,” Rudy said, gesturing toward the eastern exit doors that led back into the lower palace courtyards. “I have worked up quite an appetite anyway.”
They navigated the winding servant corridors and ascending stone staircases in silence. Niti kept a strict pace, her mind churning with questions she knew he wouldn’t answer honestly.
The ease with which he walked through secure royal sectors suggested an intricate knowledge of the palace, or a plete disregard for its authority.
By the time they reached the grand upper corridors, the distant, muffled sound of arguments echoed from the central wing.
The massive gilded doors of the grand throne room stood guarded by four elite sentries, but the doors themselves were slightly ajar, venting the heated noise of a council in session.
Inside, Virgil stood over a massive oak strategy table covered in iron-wrought maps, surrounded by a dozen regional elders, high-ranking military officials, and high-ranking lords.
The atmosphere pulsed with frustration as they debated troop movements for the ongoing war along the western border.
Rudy didn’t bother knocking or waiting for an introduction. He threw the double doors open with a resounding bang that caused several manders to draw their sidearms instantly.
“The strategy on the left flank is pletely garbage, by the way,” Rudy announced, strolling into the throne room with his hands tucked casually into his pockets.
The entire council halted. Virgil froze, a wooden tactical marker hovering in his hand, while the surrounding elders turned their gazes toward the intruder. Niti slipped into the room behind him, quickly moving toward the perimeter to distance herself from the inevitable fallout.
“Who dares breach the war council?” Lord Kunt, an elder representing the northern territories, slammed his fist onto the table. “Guards! Execute this peasant where he stands! How did a moner even bypass the outer courtyard?”
“He has no crest, no armor, and no respect,” General Ash barked, his hand gripping the hilt of his broadsword. “Slay him for treason!”
Two elite sentries lunged forward, their polearms leveled directly at Rudy’s chest.
Rudy simply extended a single hand, tapping the flat of the closest blade with his index finger.
A shockwave radiated outward from the contact point, shattering the iron spearheads into tiny fragments and sending a concussive blast through the stone floor. The guards stumbled backward, their hands vibrating from the impact, while the entire room fell dead silent.
The ambient noise of the palace seemed to vanish entirely under the weight of his presence.
“I am going to say this exactly once,” Rudy said, his voice dropping into a tone that brooked absolutely no argument. “The war is no longer your concern. I will take care of it myself. Every border conflict, every mercenary guild, and every invading army will be dealt with by the end of the week.”
“This war has been ongoing for six months already and it has just started. The last great war was 69 years long! And you expect us to believe that you will end this war in a week?! You are a human with some powers! You have no idea how war is fought and how many forces it takes to conquer one fortress!” a weird looking noble known as Tite exclaimed.
The elders stared at him, their fury momentarily paralyzed by the display of casual destruction. Virgil finally lowered his tactical marker, clearing his throat as he looked between Rudy and the broken weapons on the floor.
“You claim you will end a multi-front war alone?” Kunt sneered, though he took a cautious step back behind the strategy table. “This is madness! Virgil, why are your men not cutting this lunatic down?”
“Because cutting him down is an impossibility, Elder Kunt,” Virgil said, his voice carrying a mix of exhaustion and reluctant acceptance. He rubbed his temples, turning his attention fully to Rudy. “You certainly know how to make an entrance. And I assume you expect us to just take your word regarding the western front?”
“You can watch the reports e in tomorrow,” Rudy replied, the intense aura around him vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. He let out a loud, dramatic sigh and patted his stomach. “But right now, I am pletely starving. Navigating those dusty old crypts takes a lot out of a guy. Virgil, tell me your kitchen actually has decent food.”
The transition from a terrifying threat to a casual demand for dinner left the high-ranking officials pletely bewildered. Several manders looked at each other, unsure whether to draw their swords again or call for a medic.
Virgil sighed, waving a hand toward the attendants standing near the side entrance. “Prepare the grand banquet hall immediately. Bring out the roasted meat, the imported spiced wines, and every luxury dish currently in the cellars. And of course, don’t forget the Blood Moon fruits. It seems we are hosting a guest.”
“Excellent,” Rudy grinned, already turning toward the dining wing. “Make sure they don’t skim on the desserts either. And yeah, Blood Moon fruit is a must. It’s been ages since I had one.”
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