Dragon King's Harem Chapter 365. The Lizard King's Anger II
The tent was much calr once all of them left. The soldiers and servants’ absence left Viperax alone in the stillness, the only sounds being the distant murmurs of the camp and the crackling of the campfire outside.
He stared blankly ahead, his eyes unfocused as if he was looking at sothing only he could see. In truth, he wasn't really seeing anything; his mind was a chaotic ss, scattered in every direction.
His hand reached out almost automatically, grabbing a pitcher of wine.
With a harsh, jerky movent, he poured the liquid into his cup, not caring as it spilled over the edges and onto the table. The wine soaked into the wood, a dark stain spreading outwards.
He lifted the pitcher again, glaring at it as if it were to bla for his frustration. In a fit of annoyance, he threw the pitcher aside. It clattered across the ground, coming to rest against the tent wall.
His gaze returned to the ssy table, where the remnants of his untouched al and the spilled wine painted a disarray sight.
“ARGH!” he shouted, the sound raw and primal. His patience snapped, he kicked the table with all his strength, sending it toppling over. Plates, cups, and food scattered across the floor in a chaotic ss.
His hands clenched into fists. Even a small mistake, like spilling wine, seed to ignite his fury. It was as if he was searching for sothing, anything, to channel his rage into.
His mind raced with thoughts of his recent humiliation and the cold, calculating eyes of Argod. He could still see Argod’s face in his mind, that calm, superior expression.
Viperax stood up from his seat abruptly, the chair scraping harshly against the ground. He began pacing back and forth in the tent, his movents erratic and fueled by frustration. Today had been a disaster, a series of events that had gone entirely wrong and left him feeling cornered and helpless.
His chest felt tight, his anger pressing down on him, making it difficult to breathe. He didn't know how to release the pent-up rage that seethed inside him. The thought of sleep seed impossible; his mind was too chaotic, too filled with the relentless replay of his humiliations and failures.
“Fuck!” he shouted, the word ripping from his throat with a ferocity that belied his royal status.
At that mont, he didn't care about decorum or the expectations placed on him. He was a king, but right now, he felt like a man pushed to his breaking point.
He stopped pacing for a mont and glared around the tent. The overturned table, the scattered food and wine, the remnants of his wives' attempts to comfort him—they all seed to mock him. He was a king, yet here he was, throwing a tantrum like a child. The thought only made him angrier.
Viperax's furious pacing was abruptly interrupted by a noise from outside the tent. He stopped in his tracks, his head snapping towards the entrance, ears straining to catch the sounds of the conversation just beyond the canvas walls.
“I need to speak to the king,” said a male voice, urgent and insistent.
“The king is mad right now. He even just expelled all his wives. Don’t bother him," responded another voice, sounding cautious and firm.
“But this is an ergency,” the first soldier said, his voice edged with panic.
“Just report it to the chief. He should already know what to do,” the other replied, clearly trying to maintain order.
“I did, and the chief also asked to report it to the king,” the first one insisted, his desperation growing more evident.
'Viperax's irritation flared anew. What now?' he thought, frustration bubbling up again.
But the tone of the conversation suggested sothing serious. He couldn't afford to ignore it, not when his position was already precarious.
Viperax heard the commotion outside and a grin appeared on his lips. This was it, a chance to vent his pent-up anger and frustration. Without wasting a second, he strode out of the tent, the cool night air hitting his face. The campfire’s flickering light cast long.
“Tell what happened,” he demanded, not bothering with formalities. His voice was sharp.
The young soldier, standing just outside, looked even paler. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his eyes were wide with fear.
Viperax, already anticipating trouble, assud a group of bandits was preparing to attack. He relished the thought of crushing them, using them as an outlet for his seething rage.
“Nightshade Ravagers. They will attack us from the north, Your Majesty," the soldier reported, his tone urgent and breathless.
Hearing the soldier's report, Viperax's grin twisted into a snarl. Without a second thought, he swung his fist, landing a solid punch on the soldier's face. The young man crumpled to the ground, the force of the blow knocking him off his feet.
“Nightshade Ravagers are weak and you can’t handle them?!” Viperax roared, his anger boiling over. He had expected to face high-level bandits or sothing more worthy of his wrath, not a pack of brainless monsters.
The soldier lay on the ground, dazed and clutching his bruised face. Blood trickled from his nose, but he didn’t dare move or speak. He knew better than to provoke the Lizard King further.
Viperax seethed, pacing back and forth with clenched fists. The Nightshade Ravagers, despite their fearso reputation, were not the adversaries he had hoped for. They attacked in groups and were poisonous, yes, but his elite soldiers should have been more than capable of dealing with them. The very idea that they needed to report such a threat to him felt like an insult.
The camp was in a flurry of activity as soldiers scrambled to prepare for the impending attack. Viperax’s fury only added to the chaos, his n wary of drawing his ire.
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