The Nameless Heir-Chapter 62: Handsome Hero

Two shadows dropped from the sky.

Pride landed first.

He stood like a titan—muscular, towering, wrapped in armor that shimmered with veins of dark-purple light.

The energy flowed thick and slow, like molten ink, slipping through the joints in his frame.

A massive blade followed behind him, made from shadow, its tip screeching softly as it dragged along the ground.

It wasn’t elegant.

It was heavy. Brutal.

The drop cracked the stone underneath his feet and shook the ground.

The moment he dropped, the mages surrounded him and unleashed everything they had.

Fire spells exploded in his face. His body froze over. Then they sank him into the ground—coating him in stone, layer by layer.

Making sure he couldn’t move.

A breath of relief escaped their lips...

Until the earth began to tremble.

A single hand burst from the dirt—dark, massive, alive.

Pride pulled himself up slowly, rising like nothing had happened at all.

Just then, a knight in silver armor—wielding a giant sword, glowing with dark reddish energy—screamed and charged at him while Pride was still halfway out of the ground.

The sword struck his head.

Nothing happened.

The sword snapped like a twig.

Pride didn’t flinch. He ignored the man and kept rising, shadows slithering off his armor as he stood to full height.

He loomed above the knight.

The man froze—shocked.

And then, without a word, Pride slapped him to the side like swatting away a fly.

Like the whole thing had just been... bothersome.

He scanned the area—then shot forward.

The ground exploded behind him, tearing apart in his wake.

In a blink, he grabbed one of the men by the face.

His fingers closed in, squeezing the helmet until the metal bent—dented under the pressure like it was made of clay.

Then he drove him forward—using the man like a shield, slamming through anyone in his way like a raging minotaur.

Spells hit the body. Swords struck it. Some backed away, afraid to attack their comrade.

He just kept going—crashing straight through people and walls without slowing down.

Next, he turned—grabbed another man and slammed him into the ground hard enough to shake it.

The soldier gasped.

Pride didn’t wait.

He followed it up by grabbing the man by the leg—and hurling him across the kingdom.

His body crashed through the rooftop—splintered wood, broken tiles flying in every direction—then vanished into the wreckage below.

Pride kept going.

No urgency. No emotion.

Like he was just doing his job.

He shattered a shield with his fist.

Snapped a man’s arm just by grabbing it mid-swing.

Another holy knight got in his way, sword glowing with divine light. He screamed a prayer.

Pride caught the blade, crushed it with one hand—then threw the knight high into the air like he weighed nothing.

His body vanished somewhere over the rooftops.

Gluttony came next.

He didn’t land—he crashed down with a heavy thud that shook the ground.

His grin stretched wide—too wide.

Teeth bared.

Eyes sharp and bright like something starving.

It wasn’t rage burning behind them.

It was joy.

Quiet. Vicious. Full.

The kind that didn’t laugh.

Just looked at everything like it was already his.

And in that look, one thing was clear:

That screamed food.

His appearance was much bigger than Kael remembered.

Bloated. Misshapen.

His body was swollen—overfed and bloated.

He looked like he’d eaten a dozen men and still wasn’t satisfied.

His stomach sagged, heavy and stretched, pulsing with every breath.

Veins writhed beneath the skin like worms under pressure.

His face was round and greasy, cheeks puffed out, jaw twitching like he hadn’t stopped chewing in days.

A slit opened across his chest. Wet. Breathing.

He wasn’t starving.

He was full.

And yet he was drooling, looking at them all like food.

Each breath came slow—a heavy, wheezing rasp that hung in the air.

It didn’t sound like breathing.

It was more like something old and broken—dragging smoke through its throat, struggling just to stay alive.

He had too many teeth. Too sharp.

Jutting at angles—like they’d grown from pain, not hunger.

They were more horrified than last time.

Like the creatures were evolving alongside Kael.

The stronger he became... the more dangerous his shadows grew.

And still... the thing smiled.

He hadn’t moved yet.

But the hunger was already leaking out.

The first guard didn’t even scream.

He just disappeared—swallowed whole in one bite.

One jaw clamped down, and that was it.

No blood. No sound. Gone.

Gluttony lunged forward.

His feet hit the ground with a crack.

When he exhaled, the air twisted—thick with the stench of burnt metal and something long dead.

Rotten. Foul enough to sting the back of the throat.

Like everything he’d ever eaten was still inside him—rotting, festering, waiting to be used for something else.

He moved.

A mage raised his hands to cast—but it was too late.

He was already there.

He caught the man mid-spell and tore his arm off like it was paper.

More mages and soldiers appeared—some with shields raised, forming a wall, while others cast spells from the back line.

Gluttony turned.

Then sank into the shadows.

He slipped beneath them—silent, unseen.

A moment later, the ground beneath their feet split open.

A mouth emerged—wide, jagged, lined with teeth—surrounding them.

And before they could do anything, it snapped shut.

And swallowed them whole.

Bone crunched. Flesh popped.

Two seconds later, there was nothing left but silence...

He kept going. Kept feeding.

He left nothing behind but a trail of dismembered bodies—some half-eaten, some twitching, some already cold.

Magic hit him. Spells flared—fire, ice, lightning.

He just laughed.

It was a low, rumbling laugh—the kind that made the ground feel thin, like something heavy was coming up from underneath.

Each spell only seemed to excite him. freewebnσvel.cøm

He moved faster. Tore harder.

Bits of bone clattered on the ground behind him, slipping from his mouths like he was spitting out pomegranate seeds.

He dragged corpses along the ground—some still moving, some clearly dead—like toys on strings.

No one could stop him.

Kael watched from above.

His eyes followed the destruction below—cold, still, almost bored.

Pride punished.

Gluttony fed.

And Kael waited.

The dragon’s wings moved slightly beneath him, keeping him high above the city.

Smoke curled around them.

Firelight danced off his coat.

Below, far across the rooftops, he saw them—Liz, Aria, and Caius—moving through alleyways, pulling people out of buildings, waving them toward the outer walls.

They were still helping.

Still trying to save whoever they could.

Kael narrowed his eyes.

The hero hadn’t come yet.

His jaw tightened.

Tired of waiting.

He dropped off his mount.

His feet hit the ground—but made no sound.

He landed smooth, effortless.

Like the shadows themselves had caught him.

Like they rose up just to break his fall.

Kael walked forward.

The castle loomed ahead—untouched, unburnt.

Its silver towers rose high, walls polished, gates wide open.

Everything else had fallen into chaos, but this place still looked like a painting.

Perfect.

Fake.

No guards stood outside.

Kael didn’t hesitate.

He ran straight in.

The ceilings stretched high above him.

The banners were clean, untouched.

The gold on the pillars still caught the light.

He moved past it all without slowing down.

He stormed through each one.

Doors splintered beneath his kicks.

Statues shattered as he passed.

Every step left scorch marks on the floor—trails of black where his shadows dragged behind him like tattered cloth.

A painting fell.

His coat caught the edge of it—ripped it from the wall.

The frame broke on impact.

He didn’t look back.

Room after room—he kept moving.

Until he saw it.

A red and gold door.

Bigger than the others.

Polished.

Glowing faintly at the edges like magic still clung to it.

He didn’t knock.

He pushed it open with one hand.

The air inside was warm. Perfumed.

And still.

A bed sat in the center—silk sheets tangled, gold trim catching the candlelight like a quiet warning.

Two women lay there, half-covered, barely moving.

Their eyes were open.

But they didn’t speak.

In the center of it all—sprawled lazily, naked—was the hero.

Kael didn’t react.

He just walked in.

No noise. No warning.

He found a chair in the corner.

Dragged it across the floor—slow, scraping.

Then he sat beside the bed.

He didn’t speak.

He just sat there.

And watched the man.

Golden hair. Clear skin.

A face too sharp, too smooth.

Like it had been carved to impress strangers.

Kael leaned back slightly.

"Lucky bastard," he muttered.

But the words tasted bitter.

The women shifted beside the man.

Their eyes opened.

They blinked once.

Then they saw Kael.

And the fear was immediate.

Not fear of him.

Fear of everything else.

Their hands moved—pointing, not at him but toward him.

Begging. Pleading. Silent.

He met their eyes—steady, calm.

Then he brought a finger to his lips—telling them to stay quiet.

His hand shifted—pointing at the door.

A silent order.

They understood.

Slowly, they got up.

No words. No hesitation.

They gathered their clothes and began to move.

Step by step, they slipped into the hall.

Kael’s shadow followed them—gliding just behind their heels, soft and watchful.

It made sure they didn’t make a single sound.

The hero stirred.

He reached for something that wasn’t there.

Felt the empty space beside him.

Kael raised his hand and gently brushed his fingers across his face.

"You lucky bastard."

The hero smiled.

But the feeling didn’t sit right.

The hand didn’t feel like a female’s.

Something was off.

He snapped his eyes open—shocked and confused, wondering who he was looking at.

"Who the hell are you?!" he shouted. "GUARDS!"

"What are you doing here?! Who do you think you are, bas—?!"

Kael grabbed him by the face before he could finish.

"You talk too much, naked man."

Kael’s hand snapped forward—wrapping around his face before he could mutter another word.

Fingers dug in—tight.

The man squirmed. Tried to pull away.

Kael didn’t let him.

He lifted him off the ground—then slammed him into the wall beside the bed.

Stone cracked. Dust fell.

The room went still.

Stone cracked. A line split through the polished marble wall.

Dust rained down from above.

He turned and dragged the hero down the hallway by the face.

Just walked.

The man’s feet scraped against the ground.

He kicked. Fought. It didn’t matter.

Kael didn’t slow down.

He reached the end of the corridor.

The doors to the balcony were wide open.

Kael stepped outside—and threw him.

The hero’s body flew across the terrace and crashed into the outer steps.

He hit the floor hard—skin scraping against the stone, limbs flailing.

Still naked.

He was still screaming, while Kael stood on a shattered ledge, watching from above.

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