Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 132: Dungeon

Chapter 132: Dungeon

Roman descended the cold, stone steps of the royal palace, the air growing damp and heavy as he approached the dungeon. This had become a grim routine for him, a daily pilgrimage to confront the crown prince, the very source of so much suffering.

As he walked, the guards deliberately averted their eyes, a mix of fear and respect playing across their faces. They knew the story of the crown prince’s downfall and how is the reason why their kingdom is currently in flames.

At the end, he arrived at a cell that seemed to echo with the cries of despair. The door was a rusted barrier between him and the remnants of a once-proud royal. He pulled the key from his pocket, the metal cold against his palm, and slid it into the lock. The sound of the mechanism clicking open echoed ominously in the silence, a prelude to the confrontation that awaited him.

As he stepped inside, the figure huddled in the corner of the dimly lit cell flinched at his presence. The crown prince, once a figure of arrogance and entitlement, now resembled a broken man. His blonde hair lay matted and filthy, a stark contrast to the polished elegance it once held. Roman took in the sight of him—skin stretched taut over bones, the gauntness of his frame a testament to the years of neglect and torment. Scars crisscrossed his exposed skin, each one a reminder of the consequences of his past choices, and Roman felt a flicker of detachment as he regarded the pitiful creature before him.

"Your Highness," Roman intoned, his voice steady but devoid of warmth. The prince looked up, and in that moment, a flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes. Relief washed over his features, as if he found comfort in the familiarity of Roman’s presence, the least terrifying figure among his captors—Leona, Thorne, and now himself.

"Please, let’s get this over with. I’m tired," Roman said, his impatience seeping through the monotony of his tone.

"I’ve told you this for two years!" The crown prince’s voice was desperate, trembling with fear and exhaustion. "All I know is that he escaped to the Church of Elaris. Please, I’m begging you—"

The plea hung in the air, laden with desperation. Roman regarded him coldly, knowing well the weight of the prince’s cowardice. He had once been a figure of pride, but that had long since crumbled beneath the pressure of his choices. Roman examined the jagged scar that marred the prince’s once-handsome face, a cruel work of art left by Noelle’s wrath. It had festered, a grotesque reminder of his past transgressions, and each time it threatened to heal, Thorne had made it a point to reopen the wound, ensuring that the prince’s suffering was never-ending.

Roman felt a flicker of pity deep within, but he quickly buried it beneath layers of indifference. This man had dared to lay hands on Noelle, Thorne’s beloved omega. The insanity of it all was staggering. Now, the prince had lost everything—his kingdom, his people, and his own dignity. His life had become a relentless cycle of torture, and Roman couldn’t summon any sympathy for him. The intoxicating effects of momentary lust had led to devastating consequences, and here he was, a husk of his former self.

With a practiced motion, Roman slipped on his gloves, the soft fabric settling over his fingers like a shroud. This was just another chore to complete, another reminder of the man who had brought this fate upon himself.

*

An hour later, Roman emerged from the oppressive gloom of the dungeon, feeling the weight of exhaustion drape over him like a heavy cloak. He paused, tilting his head back to gaze at the moon hanging high in the sky, its pale light casting an ethereal glow over the desolate palace grounds. The stillness of the night contrasted sharply with the turmoil he had just witnessed, and he let out a weary sigh.

"You look like shit," a voice broke through his reverie. Roman turned to see Raul, the large man’s imposing figure illuminated by the moonlight. A smile tugged at the corners of Roman’s lips despite the heaviness in his chest.

"You’re not any better yourself," Roman shot back, the banter easing the tension that had settled within him. Raul was a solid presence in the chaos that surrounded them, and Roman appreciated his company.

"How is he?" Raul asked, his tone shifting to something more serious.

Roman chuckled, the sound hollow. "You mean the count?" he replied, knowing all too well who Raul was referring to. Victor Raymond had once held a noble title that now felt like a cruel joke in a kingdom that burned.

Raul let out a deep laugh. "He’s still trying to meet Thorne, and honestly, he really shouldn’t. He’s more erratic than he was a year ago."

Roman shook his head, incredulous. "Don’t know why he’s being so dumb. He should think about being a good father and husband." The confusion in his voice was genuine; he couldn’t wrap his mind around Victor’s reckless ambition that would get him killed when he has family, hell all this is happening because Thorne lost his family, not everyone gets that chance as he thought of Felix, the perculiar omega with his dark bags under his eyes and a penchant for poisons, a rush of emotion threatened to surface. Roman quickly buried it.

"He wants to meet you," Raul said sheepishly, a hint of reluctance in his voice. Roman could see the big fool’s hesitance; he didn’t want to be the messenger of bad news.

"No." Roman started to walk away, but Raul’s voice stopped him.

"He’s outside."

With a resigned sigh, Roman followed Raul out of the palace, his heart sinking with every step. As they exited, he spotted a nondescript carriage waiting nearby, the wooden structure worn and battered, much like its occupant. Roman approached the vehicle, his instincts bristling with unease. He climbed inside, taking a seat opposite Victor, who looked as though he had aged a decade since their last encounter. The former count was a shadow of the man he used to be, his once-proud bearing now crumpled and defeated.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Count Raymond?" Roman asked, his voice devoid of warmth. He watched as Victor flinched at the title, the words like a blade cutting through the air. Roman couldn’t summon sympathy; they had no real connection anymore. Their shared past felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by the grim realities of the present.

Victor shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting around the carriage as if seeking an escape. "I—I just wanted to talk," he stammered, his voice trembling. The confidence and carefree nature that once defined him had vanished, leaving only a desperate man clinging to the remnants of his former life.

"What’s there to talk about?" Roman replied, crossing his arms over his chest, an unyielding wall of indifference.

"First, stop pretending you can face Thorne. You can’t. He’s not the same man you once knew, and if you truly care for

Oliver and your little boy, you’ll leave him be."

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