The Lunar Curse: A Second Chance With Alpha Draven-Chapter 610: Dealing with The Council of Elders

[Third Person].

"Very well," Draven said calmly. "Since Elder Fellowes is too ill to serve, I hereby remove him from the Council of Elders. Effective immediately."

The words fell like a stone into still water. Shock rippled through the hall, yet no one dared speak. Even those who had expected this punishment had not expected permanent expulsion.

On the other hand, Randall’s brows drew together slightly. He stepped forward just enough to speak without appearing confrontational.

"Your Majesty," Randall began evenly, "perhaps stripping his voting privileges would suffice. Dismissal may be... excessive."

Draven did not even look at him. "My decision stands."

Randall fell silent. The message was clear; the throne no longer negotiated.

Then, Draven reached to his side and lifted a folded sheet of parchment, and the air shifted. Several elders’ faces drained of colour immediately as they recognized it.

Draven unfolded the paper deliberately. "You all remember this," he said quietly. "The list of those who acted in bad faith against the Crown."

A long silence lingered in the hall.

"You colluded," he continued, his voice sharpening. "You attempted to frustrate my reign before it began. You sought to prevent my Queen from ascending the throne. If you can gather in secret to plan to oppose your King’s lawful mate, and then openly carry it out... what stops you from gathering to usurp your King?"

The words "usurp" and "treason" hung heavy in the air.

The elders felt it. Draven had just accused them without formally accusing them—a master stroke.

In the next second, several of them dropped to their knees.

"Your Majesty, mercy—"

"We meant no treason—"

"We were misled—"

Only Randall remained standing. He knew better than to plead on their behalf. He also knew this reckoning had been inevitable.

Draven observed the kneeling men dispassionately. Their pleas made no impact. Then, he turned slightly.

"Oscar."

Oscar stepped forward and unfurled another parchment, and he began to read clearly.

"By decree of His Majesty King Draven Oatrun: In recognition of the many years of service rendered to Stormveil by the undersigned elders, and in consideration of their advanced age and long tenure, the Crown hereby releases them from their official duties, effective immediately. They are to retire honourably and return home to spend the remainder of their years in peace with their families."

A stunned silence followed. Meanwhile, Oscar continued.

"The Crown further declares that the Council of Elders shall undergo restructuring. Vacancies shall be filled by individuals of proven merit, loyalty, and intellect, irrespective of social standing or lineage—so that Stormveil may be governed by wisdom rather than faction."

This was a direct blow to the current elders. Power would no longer be inherited through influence. It would be appointed by the Crown.

When Oscar finished, he stepped back. Then, Draven rose slowly from his throne.

"You lot have twenty-four hours from now," he said coldly, "to submit formal letters of resignation."

His gaze swept across them. "If you fail to do so, I will strip you of your noble titles and execute you and your households for treason."

A few elders visibly struggled to breathe. The threat was clear. Though Draven had not written "treason" in the decree, he had spoken it here. He was indeed very strategic.

If they resigned, they lived as publicly honoured retirees. But if they resisted, they died as traitors.

There would be no document tying Draven to accusations. No scandal. No stain.

One by one, the elders bowed deeply, some nearly collapsing as they did.

"Thank you, Your Majesty... for your grace."

Grace?

They knew what had just happened. They had been cornered, exposed, spared publicly, but condemned privately.

In their hearts, they understood the truth: Draven was not merely powerful. He was dangerous. Crafty. And unforgiving.

Randall watched his son carefully. He had anticipated a purge, but not that it would be executed so cleanly.

There was no chaos, no shouting, no blood. Just signatures and silence.

Draven turned back toward his throne. "The Council will be reformed," he declared. "Stormveil enters a new era today."

No one questioned him. No one argued. They understood the political landscape of Stormveil had shifted permanently.

And they would never again underestimate King Draven Oatrun.

---

The heavy doors of the Grand Hall shut one after another as the dismissed elders filed out, their shoulders stiff, their faces pale.

Then silence settled over the hall.

Only a handful remained—Draven on the throne, Oscar at his side, and Randall standing a few steps below. Randall was the first to speak.

"You moved too quickly," he said evenly, though there was strain beneath the calm. "You should have waited a month. Perhaps two. Let the dust of your coronation settle. What you did today will create enemies. It may destabilize your throne. The people will begin to question you."

Draven leaned back slightly, studying his father with an unreadable expression. "Will they?" he asked quietly. "Will the people truly question a ruler who removes those plotting in bad faith against the Crown?"

Randall’s jaw tightened.

"Will they question me for retiring elders who conspired to frustrate their King before his reign even began?" Draven continued, his voice steady but edged with steel.

"Will they question me for opening the Council to younger, more capable minds instead of allowing it to rot from within?"

Each question landed deliberately. Randall did not answer immediately, so Draven’s gaze shifted to Oscar.

"Oscar."

The single word echoed in the vast hall, and Oscar stepped forward without hesitation.

Draven’s eyes held his for a fraction longer than necessary. This was not accidental. Oscar had once been close to his father. Loyal and rusted by him.

Now, Draven was offering him a line to choose.

Oscar bowed slightly before speaking. "Your Majesty acted correctly." His voice was firm.

"A new reign must begin with clarity, not compromise. Those elders did not merely disagree. They colluded. They tested the authority of the Crown before it was fully seated."

He turned respectfully toward Randall as he continued.

"If Your Majesty had delayed, they would have interpreted it as weakness. They would have regrouped. Strength shown early prevents rebellion later."

Oscar then faced Draven again. "You did not spill blood. You preserved their dignity publicly. You secured loyalty privately. Stormveil will not question you for this. They will respect you for it."

Silence followed.

Randall’s expression hardened slightly, but he said nothing. There was nothing to argue.

Draven nodded once, satisfied. He had not only tested Oscar, but he had also measured him. And Oscar had not disappointed.

"Prepare the formal expulsion letter," Draven said calmly. "Send it to Reginald Fellowes immediately."

Oscar bowed. "At once, Your Majesty."

As he turned to leave, Draven added, "Ensure it is delivered personally. I want no room for denial."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

Oscar exited, and the hall felt larger now.

Randall remained where he stood. For a brief moment, father and son simply looked at one another.

Then, Randall exhaled slowly. "You are more ruthless than I expected," he said.

Draven’s gaze did not waver. "You trained me to be."

Randall held his eyes for another second, then inclined his head slightly. Not as a father, but as a former King acknowledging the current one. 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

Without another word, he turned and left the hall.

The purge had begun.