CHAPTER 80: CHAPTER 79. THE BEASTMEN KING

The City of Gorhal, the Capital of the Beastmen Kingdom

Tucked in the heart of the Kaelindor continent, Gorhal stands as both fortress and sanctuary, the roaring heart of the Beastmen race. Built into the spine of the Vargros Peaks, the city rises layer upon layer from the mountain’s roots to its snow-laced summit, each tier representing a different clan of the Beastkin united under one crown.

At its pinnacle, bathed in perpetual sunlight and crowned with golden roofs that gleam like a lion’s mane, stands the Citadel of Fenclade, the royal palace of King Leonhart Fenclade.

The structure dominates the skyline, carved from obsidian rock and reinforced with ancient stone said to have been shaped by the first Beastlords themselves. Its golden spires pierce the clouds, symbolizing strength that reaches beyond the mortal world, toward the spirit realm that guides all Beastmen.

From afar, Gorhal seems almost alive: waterfalls cascade between its terraced levels, feeding the emerald forests below, while banners of crimson and gold ripple in the mountain winds. The air itself hums with vitality, a raw, untamed energy that speaks of both beauty and danger.

In the Beastmen race, power is everything. The strong rule; the weak are forgotten. Such is the law written in their blood since the dawn of their kind. Every stone in Gorhal bears the mark of struggle and triumph, from the claw-scarred walls of the training arenas to the towering statues of ancient Beastlords who rose to power through battle and sheer will.

And yet, beneath that savage creed lies an unspoken unity, a respect born from the understanding that only through strength can their people survive the harsh lands of Kaelindor. For in Gorhal, even the winds whisper the same truth: only the mighty endure.

At dawn, the city glows like molten amber; at dusk, it is a silhouette of majesty against the fading sun. The lower tiers bustle with life, markets filled with traders, smiths, and hunters, their crafts infused with the essence of the wild. Higher still, the noble clans dwell in stone halls, their walls engraved with the history of the Great Hunt and the rise of the Fenclade dynasty.

Leonhart’s roar echoed through the grand hall of Gorhal Palace, shaking the golden chandeliers and making even the thick stone pillars tremble. His voice carried the weight of thunder and the thrill of battle.

Leonhart Fenclade—King of the Beastmen of Kaelindor—stood like a living monument to power itself. Towering and broad-shouldered, his frame is sheathed in armor of white and gold, forged from celestial alloy said to have been quenched in dragonfire. Each plate was marked with carved sigils of dominance and kinship, the mark of a ruler who united claw, fang, and heart beneath a single banner.

His mane, pure white and wild as a storm over the northern peaks, cascaded down his back like a lion’s crown. It shimmered faintly, almost divinely, reflecting the golden light that pooled around him. Beneath that regal cascade, eyes of golden amber burned, calm yet commanding, the kind of gaze that could silence armies or ignite their fury.

A king both feared and beloved. The scars that lined his arms told of countless wars, yet none dimmed his majesty. "Someone dares challenge me?" His words rolled like an avalanche, and every beastman in the hall bowed their head in instinctive obedience. As an alpha of the beastmen race, Leonhart is both majestic and frightening.

Mara’s falcon had arrived only moments earlier, its wings still dusted with snow from the high peaks. The aide knelt, holding out the sealed message. "Yes, sire. The challenger’s name is confirmed."

Leonhart’s golden eyes flared, his mane glinting under the torchlight as his massive hand clenched the armrest of his throne. A grin, fierce and predatory, split his face. "Finally!" he bellowed, the sound almost joyous. "I was beginning to rot in this cursed peace!"

He rose, towering over everyone present, the sheer presence of his power making the air itself thrum. "Who dares challenge the King of Beastmen?"

"Roxanne de Borgia," the aide answered.

For a heartbeat, silence ruled the hall, and then laughter burst from Leonhart, deep and wild. "The mixed blood, the werewolf and the demon’s daughter!" His eyes gleamed like molten gold. "A proper opponent!"

-

Wyndham Estate

After a two-day delay, Roxanne’s envoy finally departed for the beastmen territory. The morning air is cool, filled with sounds of hooves striking the dirt road and the soft creak of carriage wheels.

There are twenty people in total, a small but strong group consisting of Borgia knights, two maids, a midwife, and Marvessa. Because of Vivianne’s pregnancy, they chose to travel carefully, using both horses and a carriage to make the journey less tiring.

Vivianne sat in front of Roxanne on a large black mare, safely nestled between her alpha’s arms. The gentle sway of the horse and the sound of Roxanne’s heartbeat against her back made her feel calm, though the thought of their destination still made her uneasy.

Ahead of them, Marvessa rode together with Maxim. It’s a sight that made a few knights exchange quiet grins, remembering Mara’s firm order: no one is allowed to share a saddle with Marvessa unless she herself is present. And Maxim was chosen because he’s married and mated.

Vivianne tilted her head to the side, her curious tone cutting through the air. "I still have a question for you, Marvessa."

Marvessa turned slightly, her long silver hair fluttering in the wind. "Anything, master," she replied simply.

"How can you walk freely around the capital?" Vivianne asked, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Aren’t you one of the Emperor’s Shadow Knights? Why didn’t the Emperor even glance at you?"

The question had been sitting in her mind for days, ever since the night of the Grand Ball. She remembered how Marvessa had walked so casually through the palace halls, wearing the Borgia knight’s uniform as if she belonged there.

No one had stopped her; not a single royal guard had questioned her presence. Even the Emperor himself, who was known to recognize every face that served within his walls, had passed by her without the faintest sign of recognition.

Vivianne could still picture it clearly: the ball, the music, and Marvessa’s figure standing only a few steps behind her all night. The woman had followed her through the grand ballroom, across the marble corridor, and even into the Emperor’s presence, invisible to everyone but those she wished to be seen by.

She turned slightly in her saddle to look at Marvessa, her eyes full of genuine curiosity. "You were right there, beside me. I even saw one of the imperial guards brush past you, and he didn’t notice you at all." Roxanne’s arms tightened slightly around Vivianne’s waist, sensing her unease, but she said nothing; she wanted to hear Marvessa’s answer too.

At her question, several knights slowed their pace. They didn’t want to look too curious, but their ears clearly perked up, pretending to check their reins while listening carefully.

Marvessa sighed and gave them a sideways glance before answering. "It’s because no one knows what we truly look like, not even the Emperor himself. We only show our real faces to the one we’ve pledged our loyalty to... our master." Her tone is calm, but there’s a quiet pride behind her words.

"Most of us serve under the Emperor only because our blood binds us to the Erengard royal line. It’s not about loyalty. We just can’t kill him. Or anyone who shares that blood." Her dark purple eyes flicked briefly toward Roxanne. "That includes the Grand Duke... and her mother."

A low murmur rippled through the knights, a few of them nodding in understanding. "Ah, that makes sense," someone whispered.

Marvessa’s ear twitched, and she turned sharply in her saddle. "Why are you all listening?" she complained, glaring at the guilty faces surrounding her.

One of the younger knights coughed, trying to hide his grin. "We were just... curious, Marvessa."

"Tch. Next time, I’m riding alone," Marvessa groaned, throwing her head back with a dramatic sigh that made a few of the knights chuckle under their breath.

"Like Mara would ever let you ride alone," Maxim said, his tone full of teasing as he guided his horse.

Marvessa’s face turned a vivid shade of red. "I can ride a horse too, you know! She’s just—she’s too much sometimes!" She huffed, crossing her arms with a pout that only made the teasing worse.

One of the knights up ahead laughed. "Our warhorses aren’t ordinary horses, Marvessa. They’ll throw you off before you even get a chance to prove yourself. Just listen to Mara—she knows what she’s doing." More laughter followed, echoing along the dusty trail as the convoy moved through the forest path.

"Master, did you see that?" Marvessa complained, glaring at the knights who were grinning at her. "They’re all attacking me!"

Vivianne turned slightly in Roxanne’s lap, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, I want to know too. Are you dating Mara, Marvessa?" she asked, feigning innocence. The moment the words left her mouth, the knights erupted into laughter, their voices ringing in the crisp morning air.

Marvessa sputtered, her face now crimson from ear to ear. "Wha—! N-no! She’s just... overprotective!" She stammered, which only made the others laugh harder.

Roxanne, holding the reins with one hand, couldn’t help but grin. "That’s one way to put it," she murmured, earning another round of snickers from her knights as Marvessa groaned dramatically again.