CHAPTER 558: A THRONE BUILT ON SAND

"Pathetic," he sneered. "A general who hesitates at the sight of death. You think loyalty and oaths make you righteous? You’re nothing but a pawn—just like her."

Zamree’s head snapped up. His vision blurred red.

"A pawn?" His voice trembled—not with fear, but with fury. "You fooled us, General Turik!"

Turik’s eyes glinted, cold and calculating even in his chains. "Thank you for your compliment."

That was the last thread. Something inside Zamree—something young, idealistic, and noble snapped.

He roared, the sound was raw, primal, and charged. His boots slammed against the marble floor, echoing through the chamber like thunder.

Turik tried to twist away, but it was too late.

The blade struck.

It plunged through the layers of his exquisite clothes and flesh with a wet, tearing sound. Turik gasped, disbelief flickering in his gaze. Blood spilled from his lips as he looked down at the sword buried in his chest.

Zamree’s face was a mask of anguish and wrath. "For the crown," he whispered through gritted teeth. "For the royalty you betrayed."

Turik’s strength faltered. His body sagged, still held upright by the blade that impaled him. Yet even as the light drained from his eyes, a faint smirk ghosted across his lips.

Turik’s trembling hand rose to his head. His fingers brushed against the cold metal of the crown — still there, still his. A faint, bitter smile curved his lips. With what strength remained, he pushed himself upright and slumped onto the throne, the weight of the crown seeming heavier than ever before.

His eyes widened when he saw the face of the High Priest. "How...how could it be you?"

His voice came out as a rasp, barely more than a whisper, yet it carried through the hall. "General Odin... in the end, I did not lose to you. I wear the crown. I have become the King of Zura. But you ... you are still... only a general."

General Odin’s laughter broke the silence — harsh, disbelieving, edged with scorn. He stepped closer until the dying king could see the mockery burning in his eyes.

"A crown?" Odin sneered. "You call that victory? It hasn’t sat on your head for even two hours. Don’t delude yourself, Turik."

Turik tilted his head back, his gaze wandering upward to the high banners that draped the throne room. The golden sigil of Zura — his sigil, his dream — rippled faintly in the rising wind.

A ghost of a smile lingered on his bloodstained lips. Then the light faded from his eyes, and he died sitting upon the throne, staring forever at the emblem of the empire he had betrayed.

Zamree stood in front of Turik’s corpse, his breath ragged, his sword dripping red. The weight of his oath—the purity of his ideals—felt shattered beyond repair. He looked down at Mira’s still body, lying at the foot of the throne beside the man who had betrayed her, and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

For a long, agonizing moment, no one dared to move. The nobles, frozen in their silks and jewels, stared at the bodies lying before the throne—their newly crowned king and queen—murderers of the royal bloodline.

Then, slowly, the murmurs began.

"Turik is dead..."

"He murdered the king, the queen and her children."

"The gods have judged him!"

"Heavens itself avenged the death of the Royal Family!"

One voice rose above the rest, trembling with awe. "The blood of the guilty spilled upon the royal floor. The heavens will not forgive this."

The high priest stood motionless, his face pale beneath the falling shadows. A mask lay shattered at his feet. In his eyes, however, there was no remorse—only a deep, impenetrable calm.

Beside him, General Odin stood wearing the same garb as him.

The High Priest raised his hands, his voice steady despite the tremor that swept through the hall.

"The cycle has turned," he intoned, his words carrying the weight of prophecy. "The crown has fallen, and the gods have taken back what was theirs. The kingdom must atone."

The nobles fell to their knees—not in reverence, but in terror. The air was thick with dread, as though some unseen judgment loomed over them all. Lightning flashed through the stained-glass windows, casting fragments of crimson and gold across the floor, bathing Mira and Turik in a halo of shifting light.

Zamree looked upon them both—and felt his knees weaken. His sword slipped from his grasp, clattering against the stone when he realized the extent of what he had done. He had assassinated the King.

He wanted to speak—to demand answers, to curse the gods who had allowed this tragedy—but no words would come. He could only kneel beside Mira’s still body, trembling hands hovering above her, afraid to touch what he had destroyed.

"She was innocent," Zamree whispered, his gaze fixed on Mira’s lifeless face. "She didn’t deserve this."

A sharp voice broke the silence.

"Innocent?" The maid who had testified earlier stepped forward, trembling but defiant. "No, General Zamree. She was no innocent." Her voice wavered, yet conviction burned beneath it. "I saw it with my own eyes — she murdered Princess Lireya. She mocked her, humiliated her... and made her suffer before the end."

The high priest’s cold eyes turned toward him and the maid. "No one is innocent before the will of the heavens," he said softly. "Even you, child of honor."

Zamree’s heart pounded. "If this is divine will," he said through clenched teeth, "then the gods are cruel."

A murmur rippled through the hall. The nobles gasped, horrified at his blasphemy. But the high priest only smiled faintly—a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Perhaps," he said. "Or perhaps they are simply just."

He turned, his robes whispering across the floor as he strode toward the fallen throne. He placed one bloodstained hand upon it, his expression unreadable. "A new order will rise from this ruin," he murmured. "One that even the gods cannot unmake."

Alaric ascended the dais with deliberate slowness. He looked majestic in his ceremonial robe, where the back and the left of his chest were embroidered with Azurverda’s emblem.

"From Today onward, Zura will become a vassal kingdom of Azurverda, and Commander Zamree, the son of a Duke, will act as the Regent King."