Soulbound: Dual Cultivation Chapter 92: The rot

When they arrived at the grand hall where the King awaited, the crippled grandmaster, still chained though flanked closely by guards, was made to kneel before the raised dais where the King sat. His head was bowed, hair matted to his face, and his breaths ca slow as if each one was a reminder that he still lived, despite all that had been taken from him.

The King expression was hard, his gaze sharp as a drawn blade. He made no attempt at pleasantries nor offered the man any hint of dignity. There was no use for such things here.

"Start talking," the King commanded coldly, his voice echoing through the vastness of the hall.

The grandmaster raised his head, just enough for his weary eyes to et the King’s. Though there was still a flicker of defiance in them, it was tempered now by hesitation.

"What if," the man rasped, his voice dry from disuse, "what if I tell you everything, and once I’ve spoken, you kill anyway?"

The King did not blink, his voice remained level, unyielding. "There is no promise in your position. You don’t bargain from the floor." He leaned forward slightly, the weight of his authority bearing down. "You lost the right to deal when you raised your hand against this kingdom."

The prisoner’s jaw clenched.

"The only reason you’re still breathing," the King continued, "is because Xavier and Henrietta believes you still have so use. They believe your value hasn’t entirely turned to dust. But I don’t share their patience." His gaze cut like steel. "You speak, and maybe, just maybe, I allow Xavier to give you what he offered. You refuse, and you’ll rot, without power, without purpose, and forgotten by the very people you tried to serve."

The crippled grandmaster swallowed hard, his eyes flicking sideways to Lucas. And there, in the boy’s calm and silent expression, he saw no rcy.

The crippled grandmaster took a slow breath, his shoulders stiff with the weight of what he was about to reveal. His voice no longer carried the arrogance of a warrior or the venom of a traitor, it was steadier now, edged with sothing close to resignation.

"I don’t have any nas to give you," he began, lifting his head slightly to face the King. "We operated anonymously. That was the foundation of the movent. I received my orders through enchanted scrolls that dissolved after reading. I was told what to do, not who was pulling the strings."

He paused, glancing montarily at Lucas as if gauging whether to continue, then turned his gaze back to the King.

"This kingdom... your kingdom... was always the target because of your strength. You command the largest armies, the deepest vaults. That alone made you a threat to what they’re building. A new order. One that spans borders and pays no allegiance to crown or bloodline."

The King’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing yet.

"They’ve already taken root in the other kingdoms," the grandmaster continued, his voice dropping slightly. "Others still believe they’re in control, but the rot runs deeper than they imagine. Governors, high priests, generals, scholars. They’re all infiltrated. Slowly, patiently, without making a sound."

While he spoke, The King gave a subtle nod to Henrietta. Without a word, she moved to the prisoner’s side, her eyes glowing faintly as she called upon her inner sight. The light shimred just barely around her fingertips as she reached into the man’s soul and heart, brushing the threads of his essence with her senses.

Monts passed.

Then Henrietta straightened, her eyes narrowing with certainty. She turned to the King and gave a firm nod.

"He speaks the truth," she said quietly. "His soul holds no deception. He is telling everything he knows."

The King narrowed his eyes at the man kneeling before him, the golden light of the chamber’s sconces flickering off the rings on his fingers as his hands clenched the arms of his throne. He studied the crippled grandmaster in silence for a mont, his mind clearly racing to make sense of it all. A conspiracy without nas. A movent without faces. An invisible hand reaching into every corner of the realm? It sounded absurd, even for soone who had ruled through wars and betrayals.

"This doesn’t make any sense," the King finally said, his voice low but sharp with disbelief. "Sothing this vast... sothing this well-coordinated... to remain completely hidden, even from ? From my court? My spies? My seers?" He turned slightly to Henrietta, as if expecting her to refute it after all, but she remained silent, standing behind the prisoner with her arms crossed tightly, her expression grim.

The crippled grandmaster raised his eyes again, and this ti there was no fear in them, only a cold, bitter acceptance. "That’s the point, Your Majesty," he said. "It was never ant to make sense until it was too late. Until the blade was already at your throat."

A heavy silence followed, and the King leaned forward just slightly, his voice cutting through the still air. "Then tell ... what was in it for you?" His tone was laced with disdain, as if the very idea that a man of his standing could be bought disgusted him.

The grandmaster did not hesitate.

"They promised Breakthrough to the Ascendant Rank."

At that, the chamber seed to still.

"I’ve been trapped at the peak of the Grandmaster Rank for over a hundred years," he continued. "I tried everything, elixirs, seclusion, rare tos, even forbidden techniques. Nothing worked. I was at the edge of the heavens... but couldn’t break through." He looked up, eyes haunted. "Then I was approached, no nas, only the offer. They said they had the resources. The knowledge. The ans to push past the boundary... into the Ascendant Realm."

His voice faltered slightly, not from sha, but from the weight of wasted years. "Do you know what that ans to soone like ? Soone who has spent a century clawing at an invisible ceiling? That kind of promise... it becos your god. You’d burn kingdoms for even a chance to touch it."

The King sat back slowly, his face unreadable, but his silence now was no longer disbelief, it was contemplation. He was beginning to understand just how deep the roots of this betrayal might go.