Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 104: [The Throne of Kharnath-Dur 7] A City at War, A Temple in Ruin

Chapter 104: [The Throne of Kharnath-Dur 7] A City at War, A Temple in Ruin

The cannon’s thunder faded, but only for a breath. Raven stood tall on the left flank, the heat of mana discharge still clinging to the air. Black smoke curled above the battlefield, thick enough to blot out the pale dome-light overhead. Burned armor, shattered stone, and broken limbs painted the street below.

"Keep the line tight!" Raven called. "We reload, we fire. Again."

Another round of cannon blasts tore into the Velkarin vanguard—twisting bodies mid-stride, sending war cries into abrupt silence. Still, more came. Unrelenting. The Axis had numbers. Numbers and magic.

Raven’s gaze flicked to the backline.

He could feel it.

Pressure—behind them.

Maeryn made her move.

If she struck from the temple’s inner sanctum now, the defense would be caught between hammer and anvil.

"We’re being pinched," he muttered, jaw clenched. "Damn it."

Raven turned to the nearest engineer. "You. Take command of this position. You know the cannon pattern. Keep them cycling in overlapping arcs—three second offsets. This entire wall is your responsibility now."

The dwarf paled. "I-I’m not—"

"You are now," Raven snapped. "Unless you want to be buried under rubble when the flank collapses."

Then he turned, cloak flaring, and called out, "Commander Ironsong!"

From across the battlefield, Ironsong looked up, his blade still red from cleaving down a Velkarin axeman. "What?!"

"I have to move—temple side. You’ll lead the wall."

Ironsong didn’t hesitate. "Understood."

They locked eyes across the firelit distance.

No speech. No farewell. Just a nod.

One general to another.

Raven vanished down the stairwell seconds later—shadows folding in his wake.

Ironsong stepped forward. In the growing smoke, the left wing momentarily lost their voice. No orders. No rhythm. Just uncertainty.

Ironsong raised his sword high.

"FORM RANKS!"

The cannon crews snapped to him. Even the hesitant ones followed. His voice cut through the chaos like a hammer through stone.

"Reload in relay. Archers, tighten formation around the gunners. You fire at anything that gets past those blasts!"

He paced the wall’s edge, armor scorched and battered, but steps steady.

"You want to survive? Then fight like Kharnath-Dur still means something!"

And for the first time, the men roared back.

The defense line surged. Cannons resumed their cadence. Arrows hissed like wind through a forest of death. Crossbows snapped. Dwarves moved in rhythm again—not with fear, but with fury.

And behind the wall, in the depth of the temple, Raven ran straight into the game Maeryn thought she was playing alone.

Raven moved fast, the soles of his boots whispering across ash-laced rooftops. The skyline of Kharnath-Dur was jagged and uneven, a labyrinth of dwarven architecture cast in deep brass shadows and faint crystal glows. He vaulted low fences, ducked beneath sagging pipes, and leapt over narrow alley gaps that plunged into the city’s veins below.

While his body moved with predator precision, his mind raced faster.

Maeryn knows she’s been backstabbed. She’d never sit idle.

Each breath was measured, each motion calculated, but thought never stopped.

She’ll accelerate her plans. Fortify the temple. Open the path to the dungeon. Probably using that hidden stairwell from the sanctum.

A brass dome flashed in his periphery—the temple’s main spire.

He narrowed his path.

She’ll use the chaos as cover. Same as everyone else in this game.

One last run across a steel support beam. He drew the Dominion Chain and launched it toward an outcrop below. The hook caught, and he yanked hard—swinging low in a silent arc. ƒree𝑤ebnσvel-com

Two guards at the temple entrance.

Before they could speak, Raven dropped between them. A sweep of his leg. One down. A dagger to the back of the knee. The second slumped.

The chain recoiled like a serpent, and he approached the great brass double doors.

Carved in the visage of Dorrak-Thul, the God of Earth, the doors loomed.

No more time.

He pushed both open—metal groaning like a beast stirred from slumber.

No more subtlety. No more shadows.

He had to get to Maeryn before she opened the gates of hell from within.

The moment Raven stepped into the temple hall, the silence cracked like brittle ice.

Priests and acolytes turned at the echo of the massive brass doors groaning shut behind him. Incense still curled lazily in the air, the scent of myrrh and burning stone lingering like a solemn hymn. But reverence died the instant they saw what stood at the threshold.

A figure in black. Cloak tattered like shadowed wings. Visage masked, mechanical limbs clamped to his face with a click that sounded too much like judgment.

Gasps. A dropped scroll. A priest stumbled backward.

Raven walked forward.

One step at a time—steady, unhurried, absolute.

The echo of his boots swallowed the murmurs of the chamber. The glow from the crystal lanterns turned his armor into a silhouette carved from nightmare.

"W-what is—Intruder!"

A younger priest dashed to the side hall. Raven didn’t chase him. He didn’t have to.

"Phantom Seer, come to me"

He simply raised his hand, and from the depth of shadow behind him, the Phantom Seer began to emerge—gliding on air that twisted unnaturally, six spiraling eyes glowing with pale white light. Its claws flexed as if anticipating the next command.

Panic bloomed.

"Call the guards!" someone shouted.

Another bolted through the inner corridor.

But Raven didn’t flinch. He reached the center of the hall, beneath the towering idol of Dorrak-Thul, and slowly turned his gaze upward to the statue’s face. Calm. Focused.

No more time for hiding. No more delays.

A voice from one of the guard behind him.

"Lock the temple. No one leaves."

Raven curled a small, dry smile. "Scatter their minds, Seer."

The Phantom Seer’s six spiraling eyes pulsed once—then dimmed to an unnatural white.

A wave of distortion rippled outward, invisible to the naked eye but felt—a pressure behind the eyes, a pulling at the mind. And then the statue of Dorrak-Thul began to change.

The priests gasped. Not at Raven.

But at the god.

The carved stone eyes of Dorrak-Thul shimmered with an inner glow. Cracks in the statue’s face rearranged subtly, unnaturally. The mouth deepened into a jagged grimace. Dust bled from the edges like ash. One priest dropped to his knees, whispering prayers. Another screamed and stumbled backward, knocking over a ceremonial urn.

"He sees us!" one cried.

"No—no, this isn’t right—this isn’t—"

The illusion held perfectly. It was not violent. It was righteous. The god of the earth watching his faithful in silence—and judging them.

Whispers turned to sobs. Cries became pleading.

And all the while, Raven walked forward through the chaos.

Unmoved. Unafraid. The Phantom Seer hovered behind him like a specter of consequence, its presence amplifying the illusion as if drawing divine wrath through the mask.

Their attention shattered. Scattered between a god’s imagined fury and the dark figure stepping through their sanctum with impossible calm.

At the end of the great temple hall, just below the colossal face carving of Dorrak-Thul, stood High Speaker Maeryn.

Her poise—normally cold and regally composed—had cracked. Rage now twisted her beautiful features. Her voice echoed in shrill commands, rising in desperation as she tried to reassert control.

"Hold your ground! In the name of Dorrak-Thul, stand firm!" she snapped at the priests. Her eyes darted wildly, searching for someone—anyone—who wasn’t paralyzed by fear.

"Block the exits! Don’t let him reach the sanctum—GO!

Her tone wavered as her gaze swept the crumbling loyalty in the room.

"You are sworn to the temple! Protect your High Speaker!" she shouted, but the panic only grew, and Maeryn unconsciously stepped back, her authority bleeding into the shadows like ink in water.

But no one obeyed.

None listened.

The god’s silent fury still burned in their minds, and the effect of Mind Shatter from Phantom Seer loomed behind them.

And through the chaos, Raven advanced.

He stepped beneath the stone face of Dorrak-Thul, shadow stretching long behind him as he came to a stop.

"High Speaker Maeryn," Raven said, voice steady, mask unshaken. "Where is the king?"

Maeryn turned, her eyes narrowing to slits. "Ungrateful outsider," she spat. "You dare step into this sanctum and demand answers?"

Raven sighed, slow and unimpressed. His voice came again—harder, sharper.

"One more time. Where. Is. The. King. Of. Kharnath-Dur?"

Maeryn’s sneer stretched into something else. Not amusement—certainty.

She tilted her chin upward, and the flickering temple light caught the gleam in her eyes. "You’re too late, outsider. The forge breathes. The city will rise—and the surface will burn. The plan is already—"

CLANG.

The flash was faster than her words.

The Dominion Chain had launched from Raven’s wrist, a whisper of steel followed by a sudden, brutal thud.

Maeryn’s voice choked off midsentence.

The chain’s jagged edge punched through silk and bone—clean. Final.

For a heartbeat, she stood, frozen. Her expression betrayed only one thing.

Surprise.

Then she collapsed, her body falling like a cracked idol at the foot of her own god.

Raven said nothing. Only silence followed.

He gave her one second. For mercy. For redemption. She chose power.

The hall, once filled with confusion and cries, now trembled with quiet.

Because one truth had just been declared in steel.

The city would no longer be ruled by shadows.

And Maeryn’s game had ended.

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