From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties! Chapter 253: Breeding Ceremony? [FIXED!]

Morning broke over the settlent, light creeping through the shuttered window. Everything was settling into the rhythm of a new day—voices outside, footsteps on packed earth, the distant clang of the forge starting up. But sowhere in the shadows, sothing lurked. Sothing that had arrived during the night and now watched.

Byung opened his eyes slowly. His body felt lighter. Empty in a way that had purpose behind it. He’d emptied his balls into Naruz with clear intention—not just release, but creation. The goal was pregnancy. An heir.

He needed to create an army in ti. If he personally had to impregnate them himself, he would do it. The goblins needed that release anyway. All they had were mories of their first ti, and with the way things had changed, there was a real chance so of them had never experienced it at all. The promotion ceremony that used to provide that opportunity was irrelevant now.

Byung knew it would also bridge the gap between the orcs and goblins. Shared offspring. Shared blood.

He turned his head and saw Naruz across the room. She was already up, already dressed. Sohow she’d managed to clean his chambers while he slept—the dust was gone, the floor swept, his belongings organized.

Byung realized he was far more exhausted than he’d initially thought.

Naruz stood near the small cooking fire she’d built, preparing sothing that slled like roasted at and herbs.

"Why didn’t you wake ?" Byung asked.

Naruz glanced over her shoulder. "You needed your rest."

"I have things to do."

"You have things to recover from first." She turned back to the fire. "I know you’ve gone through a lot the past couple of days. I won’t ask about it. But you needed to sleep."

Byung sat up slowly. It was clear he had no plans of talking about what had happened in the prison world, and Naruz was smart enough to let it be.

He got to his feet and walked toward her. It hasn’t even been a year since he’d arrived in this world. Less than twelve months. And he’d accomplished so much already—claid a barony, united goblins and orcs, survived things that should have killed him.

He was the main character of this world. He could feel it.

But he needed Naruz’s opinion. At the end of the day, he wasn’t an orc. There were things about their culture he couldn’t fully understand without help.

"Tell about the Stonehide tribe."

Naruz paused. Then she spoke without turning.

"They’re one of the strongest tribes. Savages, basically. They believe in pure violence. They don’t think before they act. Strength is everything."

"And the won?"

Naruz’s shoulders tensed. "They treat their won like things. Tools to release sexual tension. The strong females are given to the strongest males to produce stronger offspring. That’s all they’re valued for."

Byung wasn’t surprised. It made sense why Grishka had been able to appeal to them. She was exactly what they understood—raw power in female form.

But it served a problem.

These orcs were traumatized. The Stonehide won had escaped that life.

If he organized an orgy, it would be no different from what they’d fled. It would trigger everything they’d tried to leave behind.

Byung didn’t say anything. He just stood there, thinking.

He needed Grishka. Desperately.

He held power over the Stonehide orcs. But tradition was fragile. Cultural trauma was more fragile. If he handled this wrong, he could break them instead of unite them.

Grishka had to be in charge of integrating the Stonehide won. She had to be the bridge. She understood them in a way Byung never could.

"Where is Grishka?"

"She went with Maui a few days ago. To the western territories."

"She should be back by now."

"Maybe she ran into complications."

Sothing about it bothered him. Grishka wasn’t the type to delay. If she’d left days ago, she should have returned.

There was a knock at the door.

Naruz answered it. Borkle stood there with one knee planted on the ground.

Borkle’s eyes went to Naruz, then to Byung. His nostrils flared. He could tell instantly what had happened. Byung had fucked her.

Borkle’s expression didn’t change. He just nodded.

"My king. The elf has woken up."

Byung wasn’t surprised. He’d expected this. Velara was strong.

He looked at Naruz, then back at Borkle.

"Make sure no one sees her until I get there. Keep the area clear. I don’t want anyone talking to her before I do."

"Understood."

"And Borkle?"

The goblin paused.

"If anyone asks questions, tell them she’s still unconscious. No exceptions."

Borkle nodded and exited.

Byung stood in his chambers, weighing priorities. Velara waking up changed things. She was an elf of unknown origin—soone with connections, knowledge of how the elves functioned. She had seen what happened in that prison world. She knew about the dwarf, about Kragg’s possession, about the dark mana.

She was a potential asset or a potential threat.

He looked at Naruz. "I’ll be back shortly."

"Should I co with you?"

"No. Stay here. Eat sothing. Rest." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Thank you. For this morning."

Naruz smiled slightly. "You’re welco, my king."

Byung stepped out into the morning light. The settlent was fully awake—goblins and orcs moving through the square. So nodded to him. Others touched fists to their chests.

He acknowledged them absently.

Velara was awake. Grishka was missing. The Stonehide won needed careful handling. And sowhere in the dark shadows, sothing lurked.

Byung didn’t know what it was.

But he could feel it. The sa way he’d felt the dark mana in that prison world.

He quickened his pace toward the healer’s longhouse, his hand resting on the knife at his belt in case he needed to gut her.

Whatever was waiting—whether it was Velara’s questions, Grishka’s absence, or that thing that had possessed Kragg’s body—he would face it the sa way he faced everything else which was head on.

He was the king now. And kings didn’t run from problems.

They solved them.

-

The dwarf and Kragg approached a village as the sun descended. But this wasn’t just any village. This was the human settlent that had entered an agreent with Byung—trade arrangent, protection for grain and talwork. They’d kept their word. Paid their dues.

None of that mattered now.

The dwarf didn’t do anything. He stood at the entrance, red eyes watching as a spectator.

Kragg walked into the village alone.

What followed was slaughter.

Kragg moved through the settlent like a force of nature, tearing through every person he encountered. n. Won. Elderly. His hands ripped through flesh and bone with casual efficiency. He didn’t do it because he wanted to emotionally. He did it because this was what he fed on.

He held no emotional burden. Killing these humans was like swatting mosquitoes. These creatures had such short lifespans compared to him. They flickered in and out of existence so quickly.

They were just livestock.

Kragg drank their blood straight from opened throats. He tore out their hearts and ate them whole. This wouldn’t extend his ti. But it was a taste he had missed. The warmth. The texture. The way fear made the at taste different.

He was drenched in blood now, head to toe, skin slick with it. A sadistic grin split his face wide, showing too many teeth. He loved every mont of this. The screaming. The running. The futile attempts to fight back. The mont when hope died in their eyes.

This was joy. Pure and simple.

A child saw him standing over her mother’s corpse, blood pooling beneath.

She couldn’t have been more than five. Blonde hair. Big eyes. She looked at the monster and did the only thing her instincts told her to do.

She ran.

Ran for her life, little legs pumping, sobbing hard. She didn’t look back. Just ran toward the edge of the village, toward the trees, toward anywhere that wasn’t here.

Kragg could have let her leave. What harm could a traumatized child do?

But the truth was, despair was sothing he’d missed even more than blood.

Watching hope die slowly was better than watching it die quickly.

He reached down and grabbed a severed spine from the pile at his feet. Weighed it. Then threw it.

The spine flew through the air like a spear.

It plunged straight through the little girl’s chest from behind, erupting out the front in red. She dropped mid-stride, face-first into the dirt, dead before she hit the ground.

Kragg stood there, admiring his work. Then he turned back to the remaining houses.

The dwarf watched from the entrance. His red eyes tracked every movent, every kill, every mont of cruelty. Despite his hatred for humans—and he did hate them deeply—this was sothing else entirely.

This wasn’t war. This wasn’t revenge. This was sport.

It brought him mories he’d tried to bury. mories of ho. The dark dwarf settlents deep underground. He rembered the day creatures had co. The way they’d moved through his people exactly like this. Efficient. rciless. Feeding.

The dark dwarves had faced a very similar attack. They’d survived. Barely.

But he never forgot what it felt like to be prey.