Chương 98: A Game of Thrones and Blood

Under a suffocating canopy of black arrows forged from pure dark mana, suspended in the air and aimed with lethal precision at his heart and vital points, Dex Williams stood with a strange steadiness that completely contradicted his ostensibly vulnerable position. The surrounding air was saturated with killing intent, and the tension of the drawn bowstrings in the hands of the Dark Elf archers emitted a faint, nerve-shredding hum.

Although the drop of blood was still drying on his neck where Okonnor's blade had touched it, Dex's mind was operating with an icy coolness. His blue eyes, laced with a faint orange flicker of Phoenix energy, swept over the faces of the shadow warriors surrounding him. He read their tense body language before his gaze settled with absolute, heavy focus on Commander "Okonnor."

In that defining moment, Dex realized that his dagger, and even the suppressed Phoenix fire within his core would not get him out of this predicament alive. The power gap between his Rank (D+) and a centuries-old monster like Okonnor was as vast as the ocean.

His only weapon now, and the most lethal one on this board, was "information", specifically, that divine knowledge he carried from his past life as a reader of the novel; knowledge that transcended time and exposed what transpired behind closed doors in the palaces of the capital.

"Okonnor..." Dex pronounced the name with a calm, composed tone, ignoring the blade still hovering near him and the army of assassins hanging in the trees.

"You stand here, surrounded by your men, thinking you are the absolute hunter in this forest, and that we are merely naive prey that stumbled into your spiderweb. But the bitter truth, which your eyes refuse to see, is that we are all, you, me, and even this sacred forest of yours, nothing but small pawns being moved on a chessboard far larger and far bloodier than you can imagine."

Dex raised his hand incredibly slowly, so as not to trigger the instincts of the assassins around him, and pointed to the torn, mud-stained crest of the "Williams" family on his shirt: a roaring golden lion standing upon two crossed swords, wreathed in flames.

"You hate this crest. You loathe it from the depths of your soul, and I understand that completely. My ancestors used this crest as a hammer to crush the bones of your people. But my father, Marcus Williams, 'The Iron Wall of the West,' did not fall poisoned in his bed because he was a weak commander, nor because he was your mortal enemy whom you wished to eliminate. He fell for one reason only...

because he was the last solid obstacle standing in the way of the 'absolute chaos' that will sweep across this continent." Okonnor narrowed his green eyes until they resembled the slits of a spearhead. He did not lower his weapon, nor did he step back, but his strategic curiosity was piqued. The words the youth spoke were not the pleas, but a complex geopolitical assessment.

"You speak in riddles, human whelp," Okonnor said, his voice rough like the rustle of dead leaves.

"And it disgusts me. Be clear, and speak your piece before my patience wears thin and I let my men turn you into a pincushion." Dex took a deep breath and began laying out the forbidden cards, the secrets no one was supposed to know save the conspirators themselves: Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

"The poison coursing through my father's veins, dissolving his magical core, 'Beelzebub's Tear', is not a weapon possessed by the Empire's external enemies. Nor can it be synthesized in the royal palace laboratories. It is an ancient demonic poison that emerges from the vaults of only one entity in this world...

'The Shadow Organization'." The moment Dex uttered the organization's name, a new, different, and electrified tension rippled among the Dark Elf warriors. Some bows lowered involuntarily.

"The Shadow Organization" was not merely a guild of thieves or hired assassins; it was an ancient, cancerous entity, a complex web of corrupt nobles, rogue mages, and grand merchants who owed allegiance to no flag or race. They were war profiteers who sold kingdoms, igniting racial conflicts for profit, chaos, and control from behind the curtain. Even the Dark Elves, the masters of stealth, avoided direct confrontation with this octopus-like syndicate.

Dex continued, his voice growing in strength and certainty as he observed the impact of his words: "My uncle... Lord 'Sylvester Williams'. That elegant man who smiles humbly in the Emperor's face, shaking hands with nobles using a soft palm at capital banquets, while readying his poisoned dagger to stab his older brother in the back with the other. He is the one who contracted them. He is the one who slipped the poison into my father's wine goblet.

And the goal is not merely settling family scores or jealousy over Marcus's glory... The goal is absolute control over the entire 'Western Army', the most powerful striking military force in the Empire." Dex took a bold step toward Okonnor, breaching his personal space with the confidence of kings.

"Think about it with the mind of a general, Okonnor, not the mind of an avenger. If Marcus dies today, and Sylvester, who is nothing but an obedient puppet in the hands of the Shadow Organization, seizes the reins of military power, what is the first thing a new, weak ruler will do to prove his worth? He won't be content sitting in the fortress guarding the borders as my father did.

Sylvester will need a bloody victory, an immediate external war to unite the ranks of skeptical soldiers, and to distract the Emperor from his crime and the Shadow Organization's infiltration into the joints of the state." Dex gestured toward the expanse of the wooden village floor.

"And the 'Falus Forest'... and this hidden village of yours, and the World Tree you stand upon... will be the first holocaust Sylvester offers as a sacrifice for his new throne. The Shadow Organization will rain chemical and magical weapons upon you the likes of which you have never seen, and they will wipe you from existence under the pretext of 'Purging the West'." Okonnor fell silent. His formidable strategic mind, which had commanded armies for centuries, was connecting the threads at the speed of light.

He had always known that human nobles were greedy creatures driven by ambition, but a military alliance of this magnitude with "The Shadow Organization" meant the old rules of engagement were null and void.

"You are saying..." Okonnor whispered, his eyes widening slightly in a tacit acknowledgment of the threat, "you are saying that your uncle, backed by the Shadows, is willing to burn a quarter of the world just to rule the remaining ashes?"

"Yes," Dex replied with lethal coldness, honesty gleaming in his eyes.

"And I am here, standing before you, to stop him from doing so. Not out of love for a power I despise, and not to save an Empire I care nothing for... but because I refuse to let us, you and I, be the next victims in their dirty game."