Chapter 45: The King of Beast - The Forsaken King - NovelsTime

The Forsaken King

Chapter 45: The King of Beast

Author: SHO75
updatedAt: 2025-07-14

CHAPTER 45: THE KING OF BEAST

Sylas sat on the front, his eyes locked on the road.

From time to time, Ana would lean forward and ask,

"Do you want me to sit up there with you?"

Or,

"Are you feeling lonely, sitting all by yourself?"

Every time, Sylas answered with the same soft smile—

"Oh, Princess... if you sit next to a commoner like me, what will the nobles think?"

He raised a brow dramatically, like it was the most scandalous thing in the world.

"They might riot," he continued with a smirk. "Or worse... they might beat me up."

Ana rolled her eyes and pouted, like always.

King Kael just chuckled in the back, quietly enjoying the show.

But Sylas never looked back. His eyes—his mind—focused on one thing. The mission. He needed to be aware of everything.

After the third time she asked, he stopped answering.

His grip on the reins tightened before he flicked them, telling the horse to go faster.

She stared at him like a hunter—focused, unmoving.

He didn’t need to look to know.

He could feel her eyes on him.

Sharp. Steady.

Like a blade pressed gently to his back.

"Stop giving me such a scary look, Princess."

After that, she whispered something to King Kael.

"Let her sit. She doesn’t get to leave the kingdom often. It’s a better view."

He stopped the cart, and she had a beautiful smile on her face as she sat next to him—clinging to him.

While riding through the almost empty field, the sun was out. The air felt nice. Birds sang from the trees far in the distance, and the naked land stretched for miles.

The land looked somewhat alive. Normal.

They passed by small villages—simple huts scattered between patches of dry farmland. But the people... they looked starved.

When they saw the cart, they ran toward it. Weapons in hand.

They shouted something, though their voices cracked and broke in the air.

Their legs were too thin.

Their bodies—too weak.

Most couldn’t run for long.

Some stumbled and fell.

Others dropped to their knees, gasping for air after only a few seconds.

Their hands clutched the dirt.

Some—too weak to stand. Some threw rocks at the cart.

Sylas’s grip on the reins tightened.

He didn’t speak.

Just stared—eyes sharp, unmoving.

Then his voice cut through the silence.

"What happened here?"

The king didn’t speak at first.

He just stared out at the people—those thin, desperate figures reaching out through the dust. His gaze lingered on a woman who collapsed beside a broken fence, holding a child that was too still in her arms.

Then he turned to Sylas.

His tone was soft. Broken.

"You see... Selvaran took over almost 75% of our lands," he said quietly.

He paused.

"And the first people to suffer are the small villages that live outside the kingdom."

That filled Sylas’s head with more questions.

"Why don’t they live in the kingdom?" he asked. "Wouldn’t that make the kingdom stronger?"

"They wanted to get away from all the conflicts," King Kael muttered. "They just wanted to live their own peaceful life."

To Sylas, it made... some sense.

In the world of power and politics, loyalty never lasts.

Everyone turned on each other eventually.

Even brothers became enemies when thrones were on the line.

That was how the game was played.

And when you remove all that?

You have peace.

Suddenly, the light began to dim. Slowly. Gradually.

The trees grew thinner—like the ground itself was dying.

Some had already begun to rot, as if something had poisoned their roots from below.

The familiar scent of blood and iron drifted in the air, warm and thick.

It mixed with something worse.

The scent of the Veil.

By the fourth hour, the first farm appeared.

Or what was left of it.

Empty fields. A rotting animal. Dry, lifeless dirt.

Cracks split the ground—like the earth wanted to tear itself apart.

They kept moving.

They passed more villages, but they were burned to the ground.

The sight was horrific—charred rubble, shattered walls, and dead bodies scattered across the dirt.

Even the animals looked desperate. Thin. Starving.

Some were dragging corpses across the ground, ripping into the flesh like it was the only thing left to eat.

They didn’t even flinch when the cart passed.

But then... they saw Sylas.

Their eyes shifted—slowly—from the rotting meat to fresh blood.

They moved in a group. Slow, deliberate steps. Surrounding the cart like they were stalking prey.

Their growls were low but weak. They didn’t have the strength to roar.

Sylas stopped the cart.

He stood up and stepped down slowly, meeting their eyes.

"What do you think you’re doing, you damn cats?"

Most of them flinched.

But the leader didn’t.

It stepped forward, baring its teeth. Its shoulders were low, and its bones stuck out. It was desperate.

Sylas grabbed the basket of food they had packed and tossed it toward the lions.

Dried meat, bread, fruit—it all hit the ground with a soft thud.

Ana flinched.

King Kael didn’t speak, but his eyes narrowed. Neither of them liked it.

"This isn’t right," Ana muttered. "They’re wild animals. They’ll come back."

"They’re starving," Sylas replied, not looking at her. "So were the people in those villages."

He didn’t say anything after that.

Because deep down, he knew she was right.

He should have given them some.

But he didn’t.

The silence dragged, sitting between them like guilt made real.

Then he turned to her—slowly.

His voice was low. Honest.

"It was a mistake," he said. "One I shouldn’t have made."

Ana didn’t ask any more questions.

Not after seeing the look on his face.

The guilt. The pain.

Neither did the king.

He just sat in silence.

After eating first, the leader of the lions approached Sylas and started rubbing against him, purring softly.

Their eyes met.

A king... and a broken king.

It was a quiet reminder of what life used to be—once wild and proud, now reduced to something tame. Something lost.

The beast didn’t act like a predator anymore.

It acted like a cat.

And somehow... that made it even sadder.

Once proud. Now lost.

A king reduced to begging for scraps.

Ana stared from the front of the cart. She raised her brows, confused. He could tell she was a little afraid.

The beasts were much bigger. Fierce. Especially when they were hungry.

He stepped forward, slowly reaching out until his hand rested on the creature’s ragged fur.

His voice was quiet—but firm. Heavy with meaning.

"Never forget... you are the king of the jungle."

The lion blinked, lifting its head.

Then it began to glow—faint at first, then brighter.

Gold light shimmered beneath its skin, flowing through its bones like fire being reignited.

Sylas kept his hand on its head.

"I bless you now. From the King of Kings... to the King of Beasts."

The lion let out a deep, echoing roar—one that shook the ground beneath their feet.

He just couldn’t stand it.

No one deserved to die from hunger.

It was better to die by the blade than by starvation.

He hopped back onto the cart, reached out, and gently placed his palm over her cheek.

With a soft smile, he looked at Ana and said,

"Please... go back inside. It’s not safe right now."

She stared at him, her face red.

Then she let out a tiny huff, puffing her cheeks like a child being scolded.

"...Fine," she muttered, turning away with a dramatic little stomp.

But as she climbed inside, she peeked over her shoulder and smiled.

The king smiled too, just watching.

Sylas shook his head, chuckling softly under his breath.

He knew that was the only way to get her to listen.

Throughout their journey, Sylas began to notice a few things.

Vortania was a ruined land filled with broken cities.

What once was a proud and strong nation was now barely holding together—cracked ground, broken houses, barely any people.

They were all broken, hidden behind hopeful smiles.

They passed through towns that looked like ghosts of their former selves.

The people were kind, but their hands were empty.

The cities of Vortania... they tried to gather resources from its neighboring cities, but those cities barely had anything to offer.

They were struggling too—drained, barely surviving.

They would all die slowly.

He understood why the king was doing this.

And then came the worst realization.

The slender monster Sylas had killed—the one with hollow eyes and long, shadowed limbs—was the same creature responsible for the attacks on those cities.

It wasn’t a random beast.

It had a purpose. A pattern.

Then it clicked.

"It was them who sent it."

It had walked freely across these lands like a phantom, taking each city out one by one.

Each time he thought about it, the air around him seemed to grow colder.

As if something was still watching them.

Waiting for them. Or him.

But after they crossed the border, Selvaran looked... good.

Too good.

Everything seemed untouched. The roads were perfect. The buildings gleamed. The people smiled.

But behind those smiles... there was something else.

They hated King Kael.

Sylas could see it in their eyes every time they rode through a city.

Even when they stopped to rest in Selvaran towns, Sylas had to keep watch through the night—his sword close, always watching.

The soldiers. The merchants. The strangers on the street.

They watched them closely. Making sure they didn’t disappear.

No one dared make a move.

They acted kind. Polite. Respectful.

They were all fake.

Sylas could feel the hatred. The whispering behind their back.

The quiet tension made the air thick, sharp.

They didn’t strike. Most likely because the king had ordered them not to.

After traveling for what felt like days, the road finally led them to the capital.

It was massive—larger than the maps made it seem.

And waiting at the gates... stood the King and Queen of Selvaran.

Beside them, the prince.

All three surrounded by well-dressed people, polished soldiers, and silent guards.

They smiled.

And Sylas smiled back.

Novel