CHAPTER 270: CHAPTER 270: THE ILLUSION BREAKS

The massive doors to the throne room groaned open, the sound echoing through the high, stone chamber. Balthor stepped inside first, followed by Redna, Noriel, the councilor, and the general.

The "king" sat slouched on the throne, one leg hanging lazily over the armrest. A full barrel of beer rested beside him, a mug already in his hand. His posture was relaxed—too relaxed—and the vacant, half-lidded stare in his eyes made him look more like someone enjoying a long drink at a tavern than ruling a kingdom.

Balthor’s gaze narrowed. He didn’t need more than a few seconds to recognize the body language. ’He’s just like me...’

He exhaled slowly. ’But I’m the true heir. Guess I’ll have to step into the role. That kid Noel... he’s going to make me work. And I was so comfortable at my place, the Drunken Hammer... Guess I’ll have to leave someone in charge there.’

The king’s gaze drifted toward them. He straightened slightly, but only just enough to look presentable. When he spoke, his voice was flat, like a rehearsed line repeated too many times.

"Welcome... esteemed guests. To what do I owe the honor?"

Balthor didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on the man, studying every lazy movement. Whatever this was, it wasn’t the posture of a king chosen by the people—at least, not without a heavy hand guiding the process.

Noriel’s expression was unreadable, but Balthor could tell the older dwarf was ready to speak the moment the time came. Redna, meanwhile, was already stepping forward, mana flickering faintly at her fingertips.

The air in the throne room seemed to shift. The guards lining the walls straightened, sensing that something far heavier than a formal visit was about to unfold.

Redna took another step forward, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor. Mana began to swirl around her hands, the golden light spreading like liquid fire between her fingers.

She glanced toward the councilor and the general. "You wanted proof? Here it is."

Without waiting for permission, she extended both hands toward the throne. A ripple of golden energy surged outward, colliding with a faint shimmer that surrounded the king like a heat haze. The impact sent a sharp crack echoing through the hall.

The shimmer fought back for a moment, bending and twisting the light, but Redna’s magic surged stronger, peeling it away layer by layer.

Gasps erupted from the courtiers as the illusion broke entirely.

Where moments ago sat a regal figure in fine robes, there was now a ragged dwarf with unkempt hair and an ill-fitting crown slipping sideways on his head. His royal garments hung loosely over a dirty shirt, and around his neck was the unmistakable black mark of slavery—its jagged lines pulsing faintly with residual magic.

The man’s eyes darted around the room, panic flickering behind them, but he stayed seated as if unsure whether to flee or keep pretending.

The councilor turned sharply toward Noriel, his voice low but firm. "You were telling the truth."

The general’s jaw tightened as he stepped forward, glaring at the figure on the throne. "This mark... a slavery mark?"

Noriel didn’t respond. The truth was now plain for all to see.

The throne room had gone silent except for the faint hum of Redna’s lingering magic. All eyes were on the ragged dwarf slouched in the royal seat.

Noriel stepped forward, his voice calm but cutting through the heavy air. "Ten years ago, Tharvaldur chose its ruler through a vote—a democratic process meant to represent the will of the people."

He paused, letting the words settle. "But Torwan’s influence runs through every sector of this kingdom. The votes were manipulated. The council was pressured. Every step was calculated to place this man on the throne."

Gasps and murmurs spread through the nobles gathered at the edges of the hall.

Balthor didn’t say a word. He simply stood with his arms crossed, his gaze locked on the man pretending to be king. He’d only learned his brother was alive less than two months ago—thanks to Noel—and even now, the thought of confronting Torwan churned in the back of his mind. That conversation would come... after all this was over.

The councilor’s expression hardened. "If what you say is true, this was no mere deception. This was treason against the kingdom itself."

"It is true," Noriel said simply, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

The dwarf on the throne swallowed hard, his fingers tightening on the armrest as if it could shield him from the accusations.

Redna stepped closer to the throne, her magic gathering once more, this time sharper and more focused. The ragged dwarf tensed, glancing nervously between her, the general, and the councilor.

"This will sting," she said flatly.

A narrow beam of golden light shot from her fingertips, striking the black mark on his neck. The magic sizzled against the cursed brand, smoke curling upward as the jagged lines began to fade. The man winced and let out a strained groan, but within seconds, the mark was gone.

The moment it disappeared, he slumped forward with a long exhale, rubbing his neck. "Alright... alright, I’ll talk."

The court leaned in.

"I was just a beggar on the streets," he began, his voice shaking. "Torwan, the Headmaster of the Tharvaldur Academy found me, dressed me up, told me I could be a king if I just did what he said. No more freezing nights, no more hunger... I didn’t say no."

The general stepped forward, his glare like a blade. "So you were a willing accomplice?"

The man hesitated, licking his lips. "At first... no. But after a while—" he gave a weak shrug— "having a crown and servants wasn’t exactly something I wanted to give up."

Outrage rippled through the throne room—shouts, accusations, demands for his punishment. Guards moved in, seizing him by the arms and dragging him from the throne.

Noriel turned to the gathered court, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Until the formal succession is declared, I will serve as regent. And when the time comes, Balthor will take his rightful place as king of Tharvaldur."

Balthor let out a quiet sigh. ’Guess the Drunken Hammer will need a new manager.’