Chapter 433
The same signature he had seen countless times whenever his grandfather signed the village letters.
The same signature he used to imitate as a child because he wanted to write as beautifully as his grandfather.
The same signature that had now become the proof of the cruelest betrayal he had ever experienced.
All the pieces of the puzzle began to assemble in his mind.
Why, when the unfamiliar group claiming to come from outside the country managed to pass through the mist that had long blocked all access in and out of the village, his grandfather and grandmother suddenly disappeared.
Why they were not at home when Xavier returned from his first journey beyond the mist.
Why they never appeared again afterward, even when the village began to be bombarded by the armies of the Obrim Dynasty.
Because they were not victims.
They were not helpless elders who died in the chaos.
They were the masterminds behind all of this.
They were the ones who gave the Obrim Dynasty information about the location of the village.
They were the ones who opened the path for the invading army to enter.
They were the ones who ensured that the protective mist would no longer remain a secret.
And they did all of this while continuing to pretend to be loving grandparents, who faithfully raised Xavier for years, who read bedtime stories every night, who prepared breakfast every morning with warmth and affection.
All of it was a mask.
All of it was part of a grand plan.
All of it was a betrayal that had been planned long ago, since the very first day Xavier had been entrusted to them by his father, Xavier XV, who believed they would faithfully protect his son.
Xavier stood in the silent archive chamber, surrounded by stacks of documents and rolls of parchment, while his zombie army stood guard outside.
His hand gripped tightly the document that exposed all those lies.
His eyes, glowing golden yellow, now burned brighter, hotter, more dangerous.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as he tried to regulate his increasingly heavy breathing.
He thought about every moment during the years he had been raised by those two people.
Every laugh.
Every embrace.
Every piece of advice.
Every act of care.
Was all of it fake?
Was not even a single moment sincere?
Had they merely been playing their roles from the beginning, waiting for the right moment to betray him?
And the answer to all those questions, the most likely answer, was yes.
Because if they had truly cared for him, they would never have proposed attacking that village.
They would not have allowed his friends to die.
They would not have allowed all those tragedies to happen.
They were part of the same killing machine, and they had played their roles perfectly for years without ever being discovered.
Without hesitation.
Without waiting any longer.
Without giving anyone the chance to escape or hide.
Xavier issued an order.
An order that shook the entire Obrim Dynasty to its very roots.
An order that made everyone involved in this conspiracy answer for their actions.
An order that would become the greatest trial this kingdom had ever witnessed.
Gather all the elites.
Gather every important person.
Gather the entire population of the Obrim Dynasty.
Bring them to the main square of the palace.
Bring every single one of them, without exception.
And his zombie army, always obedient without question, immediately moved to carry out the command.
They spread across every corner of the territory, to every city, every village, every house, searching for and gathering every person connected to the Obrim Dynasty.
The nobles hiding in their luxurious palaces.
The officials attempting to escape by disguising themselves as ordinary citizens.
The soldiers who still remained loyal to the old regime.
The wealthy merchants who had long benefited from the cruelty of the Obrim Dynasty.
The common people who could only helplessly witness everything that had happened.
All of them, without discrimination, were driven toward the main square.
"Today, justice does not come as a whisper. It comes as a sword."
The palace's main square transformed into a sea of people trembling with fear.
Thousands of individuals, from high officials dressed in luxurious robes to ragged commoners, crowded the open space surrounded by zombie soldiers with empty eyes and shattered bodies.
On the towering stage in the center, Xavier sat upon a temporary throne made from piles of captured enemy weapons.
His glowing golden eyes swept across the crowd one by one, searching for the faces he had once known as his grandfather and grandmother.
And when he finally found them, when his gaze met those aged eyes that once looked at him with false affection, Xavier felt his chest tremble.
Not a tremble of sorrow.
But the tremor of cold, measured anger.
He no longer needed to ask questions.
He no longer needed to hear explanations.
Everything he needed to know was already written clearly on their pale faces, on their trembling bodies, on their eyes that dared not look directly at him.
The betrayal was real.
And the punishment had to be delivered.
The executions proceeded one by one, orderly and merciless.
The elites of the Obrim Dynasty who for years had enjoyed power while oppressing the people, who sat on comfortable chairs while others starved, who signed orders to attack the village with golden ink upon precious paper, now stood in line before executioners who were not human.
The zombie army moved efficiently.
Not hurried.
Not delayed.
Like killing machines programmed to function perfectly.
One head was severed, the body collapsing heavily onto the ground.
The next was hanged, their legs and arms struggling briefly before finally going still.
Another was stabbed repeatedly with spears, the body pierced like a sieve before finally surrendering to the death that had long awaited them.
Blood flowed everywhere.
It soaked the stones of the square.
It ran into the small drainage channels.
It formed pools of red that spread wider and wider.
And amid all the brutality unfolding, amid the screams, the sobs, and the cries filling the air, Xavier sat silently.
His face showed no expression.
His golden-yellow eyes stared straight ahead, witnessing every death, counting every life lost, ensuring that not a single one escaped this judgment.
The process lasted for hours.
Perhaps days.
Time itself blurred amid the chaos and death that continued without pause.
One by one, every official of the Obrim Dynasty and every individual involved in that cruel regime faced their punishment.
The ones who proposed the attack on the village.
The executors on the battlefield.
The bureaucrats who signed the orders of death.
The soldiers who willingly slaughtered innocent civilians.
All of them received their equal retribution.
And when the last of them finally collapsed, when nothing remained of the old power structure that had oppressed the world for so long, when blood had pooled ankle-deep in parts of the square, Xavier drew a long breath.
For the first time in a long while, he felt that justice had been served.
Not perfect justice, because no justice could return the lives of his friends who had died.
Not satisfying justice, because no satisfaction could erase the bitter memories of their deaths.
But at least, at least those responsible had paid the price for their actions.
At least no one had escaped this trial.
At least the world had been cleansed of the cruelty of the Obrim Dynasty forever.
Now only one living human remained in this world.
Xavier XVII.
To be continued…