CHAPTER 54: BURN OR KNEEL

Before leaving, Sylas ordered all the knights his father brought to scan the area for King Kael’s body.

He didn’t say much—just gave the command and sat on the ground, waiting.

His father didn’t ask any questions. He let him lead.

The entire time, he stood nearby. Silent. Just watching.

Not judging.

Just watching—as if he wanted to see what Sylas would do next.

Sylas didn’t move.

He sat still, hands resting on his knees, eyes locked on nothing.

The minutes dragged.

The search went on.

His father didn’t speak.

Neither did he.

He just watched as the soldiers spread across the ruins, combing through the rubble. Step by step. Body by body.

Time passed.

Then—

A shout.

"We found King Kael!"

Sylas stood up slowly.

"Bring him here."

They found King Kael’s body—and his head. Lying a distance apart.

Even from where he stood, Sylas could see the king’s face.

He looked peaceful.

For a man who’d been betrayed, who died surrounded by fire and war...

His face held no fear.

And that’s when Sylas understood.

He looked at Ana. And it all clicked.

That night, when King Kael made him promise.

When Sylas said he would protect her...

That was when King Kael accepted his fate.

The moment Sylas spoke those words—he became the shield King Kael could never be.

"Damn you, old man," Sylas thought. "You trusted me this much?"

Ana stepped forward. Slowly.

Like every step cost her something.

She saw his face.

And her legs gave out.

She fell to her knees.

Covered her mouth, like she was trying to keep the sound in.

But it didn’t work.

She cried.

Hard.

And no one stopped her.

Sylas stood beside her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders from the side.

He didn’t speak.

He just stood there—silent.

Then he walked back into the kingdom.

Alone.

Rage boiling under the surface.

He found the traitor’s corpse.

No hesitation. No words.

He sliced the head clean off.

Grabbed it by the hair.

Turned.

And walked through the gate.

Lucius and his father stood at the edge.

They saw what he held—and froze.

"Why?" his father asked.

Sylas looked at him.

Eyes sharp.

Voice cold.

"I’m going to make sure nothing like this ever happens again."

They placed King Kael’s body into the cart.

Ana sat beside him. Her face empty.

Tears had stopped. There were none left.

She didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Just stared forward like the world had ended—and she was still stuck in it.

Sylas walked over and covered King Kael’s body with a cloth.

To show respect.

As they rode through the empty fields toward Vortania, Sylas said nothing.

But in his mind, he made a promise. One heavier than any blade he had ever carried.

He would make sure no one ever tried something like this again.

No more kings playing games.

No more cities divided by lies.

No more borders used as excuses for blood.

No more war.

No more betrayal.

He was going to end it all—no matter what it took.

He walked while his father and Lucius rode ahead on their horses.

He didn’t mind.

The severed head dragged behind him, scraping against the dry earth.

He let it.

A part of him hoped the pain carried over.

That somehow, even in death, the monster felt every inch of that road.

He never spoke the man’s name.

He didn’t deserve one.

Sylas believed names were for the honorable. For the remembered.

For those who lived with truth and died for something real.

A man like him didn’t deserve to be remembered.

Not even with a name.

After a long walk, Sylas finally reached one of the outer states of Vortania.

It belonged to the same region that had once served the dead king.

He stood in the center of the square, holding the head by the hair—lifting it high for all to see.

People gathered.

Some froze.

Others backed away the moment they recognized the face.

He didn’t speak right away.

He let them look.

Let the silence do the work.

Let them feel it.

He didn’t want them to think it was a speech.

He wanted them to understand—it was a threat.

Then he spoke.

His voice was calm. Even.

"There will be no more regions. No more borders. No more division."

He looked around at the people.

Eyes steady.

"From this point on... Zarulek is one."

He raised the severed head slightly higher.

"If anyone tries to do what this fool did..."

He paused.

"I will burn your kingdom down. Just like I did his."

No one moved.

No one spoke.

Fear spread like smoke.

Heavy and thick.

And Sylas turned.

Walked away.

Because there was nothing else to say.

He didn’t stop with one state.

He walked to the next.

And the next.

Every land that once bowed to the traitor king—he stood in their center and showed them what defiance looked like when it died.

He never needed to raise his sword again.

The message had already been carved into the land.

"Do you think this will bring them peace?" his father asked.

He had been watching from a distance.

Sylas didn’t turn.

Just stared at the empty road ahead.

"No," he said.

"It won’t."

He paused.

Then spoke again, like he was repeating something he didn’t want to remember.

"Power changes people. That’s what he told me."

"Who?" his father asked.

Sylas didn’t answer right away.

"A great man once told me."

He looked down at his hand—the same one that had dragged a king’s head through the dirt.

"He told me power strips away who you pretend to be... and leaves only what you really are."

He clenched that hand for a second. Then let it go.

"But he said one more thing."

He looked up again.

"If even one person can stay pure... just one... maybe peace is possible."

He paused again.

"But people like that don’t last long."

"They break."

"Or the world breaks them."

He turned to his father.

"That’s why I want the crown. Not for power. Not for glory.

I want to build something where everyone stands as equals.

Where no one gets crushed under another man’s name."

Lucius stood nearby.

He didn’t speak.

But his eyes lingered on Sylas a little longer than usual.

After crossing the border, they passed through the first capital.

At first, the people cheered.

They saw the severed head Sylas carried.

They thought justice had been done.

But then they saw the cart.

And inside it... King Kael.

The cheering stopped.

Grief hit like a wave.

They weren’t mourning the man Sylas had killed.

They were mourning King Kael.

The king who stood for peace.

Who tried.

Who trusted.

In the distance, the queen waited.

Beside her stood Lucian, his face unreadable.

One by one, the people lowered their heads.

No one asked them to.

Then they began to follow.

Quiet. Slow.

They didn’t cheer.

They didn’t speak.

They just walked behind the cart—

As if King Kael was still their king.

As if this was his final procession.

Sylas noticed it.

He didn’t know how much the man was loved.

Didn’t realize how far that love reached.

He looked at the body again.

And this time, he spoke.

Not to the soldiers.

Not to Ana.

Not to the crowd.

Just to the man who could no longer hear him.

"You were indeed a great king," Sylas said softly.

"I was wrong."

Then he turned.

And kept walking.