Multiversal Ascension-Chapter 126: A Tender Moment, A Blood-Stained Message (2)

His thoughts churned. 'Should I just kill him now?' He considered it briefly before shaking his head. 'No, I'll wait. It shouldn't take long, and once the woman—mistress, maid, concubine, whatever she is—leaves, that's when I'll strike.'

A nod to himself. 'That way, his death will take longer to be discovered.'

His gaze flickered back to reality for an instant.

"You like that, bitch?" the king's voice slurred.

A vein twitched on Mikael's temple, irritation creeping up his spine, but he forced himself to remain calm. "Let him enjoy it... It's the last time of his life, after all." A low, cold chuckle echoed within the shadows where he hid.

And so, he waited.

Every five minutes, he briefly emerged to check the situation, only to be met with the same distasteful scene. Each time, his annoyance grew. He honestly didn't want to see any of this.

Finally, on the fourth check—twenty minutes after his arrival—the room had changed. The woman was gone, and the king lay alone in the bed.

'Finally.'

Without wasting another second, Mikael emerged from the shadows, his figure materializing silently at the edge of the chamber, just outside the king's line of sight.

Immediately, the thick scent of sweat and sex assaulted his senses. His nose wrinkled in distaste.

'Disgusting.'

Not wanting to remain in this place any longer than necessary, he acted instantly. With a fluid motion, he drew a sword from his inventory, and in the blink of an eye, steel met flesh. The blade sliced cleanly through the king's neck, his head soaring through the air before landing with a dull thud. Blood splattered across the silk bedding and lavish carpets, soaking them in crimson.

The king's lifeless eyes remained locked in an expression of sheer disbelief. Even in death, he hadn't grasped what had transpired.

Mikael spared him no more than a fleeting glance. His confusion was irrelevant—if anything, it was preferable. A swift, bewildered death meant the king hadn't had the chance to cry out, to alert the guards, to disrupt the silent perfection of the infiltration.

Without hesitation, Mikael reached down, seized the severed head, and stored it within his inventory. Then, without a sound, he stepped into the shadows, his form dissolving into the darkness as if he had never been there at all.

Mikael's actions had been swift, precise, and eerily silent—so seamless that, for an instant, it was as if nothing had changed. Yet, that illusion would shatter the moment anyone so much as glanced at the gruesome reality before them.

The king's headless corpse lay sprawled across the bed, blood seeping into the lavish sheets, staining the once-pristine chamber with the stark finality of death. The rich scent of iron would soon permeate the air, an undeniable testament to the unseen intruder who had come and gone like a ghost.

One thing was certain—whoever stepped into the royal bedchamber next was in for a horrifying discovery.

A silent countdown had now begun. He had only a limited window before the body was discovered, and he intended to use that time efficiently.

His next target: the crown prince.

Moving like a wraith through the darkness, Mikael advanced toward the prince's quarters. Unlike the heavily fortified royal chambers, this section of the palace was slightly less defended—though still secured to a degree that no ordinary assassin would dare to even dream of infiltration.

But Mikael was far from ordinary. Slipping past the guards with effortless ease, he reached his target without so much as a whisper to betray his presence.

The chamber that lay before him was enormous, a testament to opulence. Every piece of furniture gleamed with extravagance, gold and precious gems woven into even the most mundane of decorations. Yet, Mikael paid it no mind. His attention was locked onto the sole occupant of the room.

A young man with a round, chubby frame lay sprawled across the lavish bedding, his chest rising and falling in deep, untroubled sleep.

Mikael gave a small nod of approval, satisfied that he hadn't once again intruded upon an intimate moment. It would have been unpleasant for him, but more importantly, it would have complicated the mission. If the prince had been otherwise occupied, Mikael would have been forced to wait until he was alone—a delay he preferred to avoid. The message he intended to transmit would pass better if the prince was sleeping when he delivered it.

Fortunately, the prince was alone, his breathing slow and steady, utterly unaware of the silent predator lurking in the shadows.

Without a sound, he emerged from the shadows, stepping beside the bed. From his inventory, he retrieved a parchment—a letter he had personally written in advance.

Carefully, he placed the letter on the bedside table. Then, reaching into his inventory once more, he withdrew the severed head of the king.

Positioning it strategically, he placed the decapitated head just beside the letter—ensuring that when the prince woke, his first sight would be his father's lifeless eyes staring back at him.

The letter was placed in clear view, its presence unmistakable.

Its contents read:

To Crown Prince Lucian Valden,

I trust the sight before you is enough to convey my message. Your father's head lies in your presence as a token—not of honor, but of warning. Do you see how easily his life was snuffed out? How swiftly his reign ended? He was once as untouchable as you believe yourself to be.

I do not require your obedience, only your fear. Stop your foolish war with the Rithen Kingdom, or know that the same fate awaits you. Your life is not guaranteed—not while those who oppose you remain at large. Know that you are being watched, and there are many hands that can strike before you even sense the danger.

You are no more powerful than your father was. Should you refuse to heed this message, your own head will be next. Consider this your only and final warning.

The clock is ticking.

With the greatest of patience, A Shadow in the Dark freewēbnoveℓ.com

As Mikael reviewed his handiwork, a fleeting thought crossed his mind.

'Maybe I have a future as a poet?'

The irony of his own amusement wasn't lost on him. The letter he had left behind was steeped in dark, ominous undertones, meant to instill fear, yet to him, it was nothing more than a routine intimidation tactic. He had orchestrated similar threats before when he controlled his gang. Of course, sending a severed head as part of the message was on the rarer side, but it wasn't entirely new to him.

Satisfied with the arrangement, he took a final glance at the scene. Everything was set. The message was delivered. The moment the prince awoke, his reaction would undoubtedly send the entire palace into chaos.

With that, Mikael slipped back into the shadows, vanishing as if he had never been there.

Now, it was time to deal with the war-mongering nobles.

***

The sun had just risen, casting a warm golden glow across the landscape. Its light illuminated the grand and opulent palace, which was slowly stirring to life.

Maids moved swiftly through the halls, tending to their duties with practiced efficiency. The air remained calm, as the royal family and other high-ranking figures were still asleep—it was too early for them to rise. This fleeting moment of tranquility was the last they would enjoy before the day's true chaos began.

A sharp, terrified scream shattered the morning peace. A maid, having just entered the royal quarters, stood frozen in horror.

The sound immediately drew the attention of the palace guards, who rushed to investigate. What they discovered left them speechless—the king was dead. Assassinated in his bedchamber. Worse still, his head was missing, leaving behind only a gruesome, headless corpse.

The shocking revelation sent ripples through the palace, but the news was swiftly contained. No word escaped the palace walls, ensuring that the outside populace remained unaware. However, the morning's nightmare was far from over.

Another scream echoed through the halls, this time deep and filled with terror. It came from the bedchamber of Crown Prince Lucian Valden.

The guards, still reeling from their earlier discovery, sprang into action once more. Fearing the worst, they stormed toward the prince's room, throwing aside any notion of etiquette. They had already lost their king—if something had happened to the prince, the entire kingdom would be thrown into turmoil.

They reached the prince's chamber and, without hesitation, smashed the doors open. To their relief, Lucian was alive, his head still firmly attached to his shoulders. But their relief was short-lived.

Because now, they knew where the king's missing head had gone.

Lucian sat frozen, his gaze locked on the severed head placed mere inches from his bedside. To the guards, his wide-eyed horror seemed directed at his father's lifeless face, but in reality, it was something else that terrified him.

Moments before the guards arrived, Lucian had spotted a letter beside the grotesque offering. He had read it, and its contents left him trembling.

His father's death? Meaningless. Lucian felt no grief. After all, he was now king. Why should he mourn? But what shook him to his core was the message behind the display. The positioning of the head made it clear: Do as you please, but if you follow the same path, you will be next.

The letter was no mere threat—it was a promise.

Rumors spread rapidly within the palace. Theories formed and twisted as people whispered among themselves. Some claimed the prince had murdered his father to seize the throne. Others speculated that he had caught the king with one of his lovers and, in a fit of rage, killed him. A more reasonable theory suggested an assassination by the Rithen Kingdom.

Regardless of the truth, one thing was certain—today would not be a normal day. But at this moment they didn't know how right they would be.

While the king's assassination was carefully concealed from the public, another shocking piece of news could not be contained.

During the night, nobles had been assassinated.

And not just one or two. Ten nobles had been killed in their sleep.

What was most terrifying was the method—silent, precise, and without alerting a single soul. Their deaths were only discovered in the morning when visitors or servants stumbled upon their lifeless bodies.

The capital reeled from the shock. Nobles, who had always considered themselves untouchable, were now dead—murdered as easily as commoners.

An immediate investigation revealed a disturbing pattern. Every noble assassinated had been a staunch supporter of the war against the Rithen Kingdom.

Panic spread like wildfire. Whispers of Rithen's involvement gained traction, fueling paranoia. Those who had once eagerly pushed for war suddenly changed their stance. Some, who had entertained the idea of joining the war effort, swiftly abandoned the thought.

Wealth, territory, power—all meant nothing in the face of death. For those who valued their lives, no amount of riches was worth the risk.

However, not all nobles were so easily shaken. A little more than half remained steadfast, believing that strengthening their personal guards would ensure their safety. Their reluctance to abandon the war was understandable—the Valden Kingdom was winning. Victory was only months away. They refused to let fear dictate their decisions.

But then, another wave of news struck the capital.

Redgate City and the war camp outside Blackthorn Fortress had fallen.

The news alone was alarming, but the way these locations had fallen was even more shocking.

They had not been taken by an overwhelming army after a hard-fought battle. No.

Each had been destroyed by just two individuals.

It didn't take long for their identities to be revealed. They were the divine envoys of Seraphis, Goddess of Purity and Protection.

Until now, many had dismissed the Rithen Kingdom's claims of receiving divine aid as mere propaganda. A desperate bluff meant to intimidate Valden. But this was no bluff. It was real.

Panic swelled once more, even among the most war-hardened nobles. The situation had changed. The war, which had once seemed like an inevitable victory, now carried unforeseen risks. If they continued pushing for conquest, they might find themselves facing divine retribution.

The shifting tide of opinions became evident throughout the capital. Nobles who had previously been adamant about war hesitated, their priorities shifting. The pressure intensified when, at last, the news of the king's assassination spread beyond the palace walls.

Shock followed shock, and the citizens, though reeling, were beginning to grow numb to the chaos.

Then, Crown Prince Lucian Valden stepped forward to make an official statement.

His words were far removed from his past declarations. "I am against this war," he announced, his voice carrying across the capital. "I will not allow our brave citizens to continue dying for this pointless conflict. This war has lasted long enough—it is time for peace."

His speech was in complete opposition to his stance just days ago.

How curious.

Author Note:

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