Ex rank talent Awakening: 100\% Dodge rate-Chapter 310: REQUESTING THE THRONE

Thanks to the treacherous plots orchestrated by the empire, he had lost Jessica, a wound that pierced his heart with eternal pain, a void that no victory could ever fully mend.

Pressing onward, Greg reached the entrance of the castle itself, where the scant remaining guards stood vigil at their posts, their armor dented and their postures weary from endless strife.

Upon spotting Greg, the guards' faces hardened into masks of dread, their breaths catching involuntarily in their throats, the air growing thick with tension.

They regarded him as if he were the embodiment of death itself, a reaper returned to claim their souls in the dim light filtering through the ruined halls. 𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

Greg, undeterred, ignored their stares completely, striding past them without a glance, his presence commanding the space until he entered the grand courtroom where Queen Elizabeth sat regally upon her throne, her demeanor unshaken despite the chaos.

"Have you come to finally kill me for my actions?" Elizabeth inquired calmly, her expression reflecting a resigned understanding, as if she had long anticipated this confrontation.

She had seen enough, stayed close enough and gathered sufficient tales of Greg's exploits to grasp the depths of his ruthlessness, a force as inexorable as the tides.

Greg fixed his gaze on the ice-cold queen, her features chiseled with stoic resolve, and chose to disregard her question entirely, advancing toward her with deliberate steps until he stood directly before the throne, the distance between them charged with unspoken tension.

"I want to sit," Greg stated simply, his first words to her delivered with an expressionless face that mirrored her own impassive composure, the room's heavy silence amplifying the moment.

"Provide a seat for our guests," Elizabeth commanded one of her attendants, her voice steady and authoritative, as the servant hurried to comply in the shadowed expanse of the court.

"No," Greg declared flatly, his detached expression remaining as unyielding as a mask forged from ancient, impenetrable stone, betraying no flicker of emotion in the dimly lit chamber.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Elizabeth responded, her voice resonating with unwavering defiance, her posture rigid as she refused to concede even the smallest ground in this tense standoff.

"This throne signifies everything to the empire," she continued, her words laced with the weight of centuries-old tradition.

"Its legacy, its unassailable power, I can't permit someone who's not of royal blood to sit upon it. You'll have to claim my life first if that's your aim."

"I see," Greg murmured softly, his golden eyes narrowing into slits of cold, methodical calculation, scanning her face for any sign of weakness amid the oppressive atmosphere.

Without a moment's hesitation, he extended his arm toward a nearby attendant, his finger slicing through the thick, stagnant air of the courtroom like an invisible blade tracing its fatal path.

From the void of nothingness itself, a sleek arrow coalesced in a mesmerizing swirl of dark, pulsating energy, its slender shaft vibrating with raw, lethal intent, catching glints of light from the sputtering torches mounted on the cracked walls.

With effortless mental command, Greg propelled the arrow onward, directing it to streak forward like a divine bolt of unerring judgment, piercing straight into the attendant's chest and snuffing out his life in a horrifying instant, his limp body collapsing in a heap onto the cold, unforgiving marble floor, a pool of crimson slowly spreading beneath him.

"I won't say it again," Greg cautioned, his intense stare fixing firmly onto Elizabeth, unblinking and utterly merciless, as if daring her to test his resolve further in the echoing silence.

"The attendant did nothing wrong," Elizabeth remarked, her once-impenetrable icy facade beginning to fracture just a little, revealing the turbulent storm of genuine emotions roiling deep within, waves of grief, simmering fury, and a profound sense of helplessness that she struggled to conceal.

"And yet he dies because of his queen," Greg retorted sharply, his voice plummeting to a frigid, cutting edge that reverberated off the scarred and ruined walls of the grand hall, amplifying the chill in the air.

"I won't kill you," he added, his words heavy with restrained power.

"Not because I lack the ability, believe me, I could end you in the blink of an eye but because I refuse to lose another friend in this endless cycle. However, do not confuse this mercy with any form of weakness on my part."

"Now, I want to sit," Greg pressed on, his tone absolute and unyielding, infused with the icy certainty of inevitability that hung over them like a shroud.

"For every refusal you utter, I will exact the life of yet another one of your loyal subjects, without remorse."

"Why do this at all?" Elizabeth questioned, her voice now colored with a hint of genuine bewilderment woven through her steadfast resolve, as she searched his face for some underlying motive in the flickering shadows.

"Are you trying to shatter my pride completely?" she probed further, the words escaping her lips with a subtle tremor, reflecting the internal conflict brewing beneath her composed exterior.

"Your pride?" Greg repeated, a harsh, bitter scoff threading through his response like a venomous undercurrent, his lips curling slightly in disdain.

"You made a foolish mistake," he elaborated, his gaze hardening as memories resurfaced.

"You chose to side with your father, a disastrous error that directly caused the death of my dear friend, a loss that still echoes painfully in my soul."

"But that's how I'll choose to view it, solely for Brian's sake," Greg conceded, though his voice retained its edge, sharp as a honed blade.

"What drives me here is the desire to desecrate your dead father's tainted legacy, to grind it under my heel. And, of course, to advance my own ambitions in this fractured world."

Elizabeth held Greg's stare intently, her own cold features perfectly echoing his emotionless demeanor, the invisible tension coiling between them like a brewing tempest.

Finally, with a deep, burdensome sigh that appeared to bear the immense load of her rapidly disintegrating empire upon her slender shoulders, she rose gradually to her feet, vacating the ornate throne with a measured, almost ceremonial grace, as though she were surrendering not just a seat, but a fragment of her very essence and identity.