Fallen General's Omega (BL)
Chapter 166: Murder

Chapter 166: Murder

The hall felt frozen in time, the air thick with the metallic tang of freshly spilled blood. The crimson splatter painted the once-immaculate marble floor, and the sight of the headless knight sent a cold shiver down the spines of everyone present. Gasps and whispers of horror echoed around the hall, but all Thorne could hear was the furious pounding of his own heart, his focus honed razor-sharp.

With a flick of his hand, the fallen knight’s sword flew into Thorne’s grip, as though it belonged there. He didn’t hesitate. In one swift, merciless movement, he held the blade to the king’s throat, the edge biting dangerously into the royal skin. The king’s face twisted in disbelief and rage, but beneath the façade, there was a flicker of fear. The fear of a man who had never been this close to death, who had always believed himself untouchable.

"This is treason!" the king hissed, his voice cracking with a mixture of fury and desperation. His green eyes bore into Thorne’s, trying to summon a fraction of the authority he had wielded his entire life. But his words, usually commanding, now sounded feeble and strained.

Thorne’s lips curled into a smile devoid of warmth. His grip on the sword did not waver.

"Treason?" he mocked, his voice cold and cutting. "No," he said, leaning in closer, his gaze as fierce as a storm.

"It’s not treason. I’m not your subject, your majesty. It’s more like murder." The word rolled off his tongue with a chilling finality, and for a moment, a shadow of genuine terror passed over the king’s face.

The king’s eyes flicked desperately to Noelle, seeking an ally, a sign of hope in the chaos. But Noelle only met his gaze with cold indifference. There was no sympathy, no fear, no loyalty to be found. Instead, a fleeting glimmer of amusement danced in Noelle’s familiar green eyes, a mocking light that made the king’s stomach drop. Noelle turned his head away, leaving the king to feel the full brunt of betrayal and helplessness.

"Thorne, that’s enough," Duke Remiro said, his voice calm yet edged with urgency, breaking through the suffocating tension. Thorne did not move, his jaw clenched tight, the sword still pressed against the king’s throat, his rage a living, palpable force that pulsed through the room.

"Thorne," Remiro called again, this time with a touch more insistence.

For a moment, Thorne’s grip tightened, his knuckles whitening. The entire hall seemed to hold its breath, unsure whether they were about to witness the death of a king. Finally, Thorne let out a deep, seething sigh, his eyes still locked with the king’s.

"This isn’t over," he said, his voice a deadly promise. He dropped the sword, the blade clattering onto the marble floor.

With a protective arm around Noelle, Thorne turned and walked out of the banquet hall, his steps measured and deliberate. Noelle leaned into him, their bond palpable, unbreakable, as they left the stunned crowd behind.

The moment the heavy doors closed behind them, chaos erupted. The glass champagne bottles exploded in unison, shards bursting outward like a storm of glittering knives. Plates shattered on tables, and the massive windows lining the walls cracked and splintered, raining down razor-sharp fragments. Cries of shock and pain filled the air as nobles ducked, shielding themselves from the assault of flying glass. Blood streaked across the pristine floor, a grim reminder of the power that had just exited the room.

The knights, who had stood frozen with swords at their throats, finally felt the pressure release as the blades clattered to the ground around them. They exchanged fearful glances, hands trembling from the encounter, while the king himself remained frozen in his seat, face pale and eyes wide.

"Apologies, Your Majesty," Duke Remiro said, bowing with a veneer of respect that concealed his true feelings. "My stepson was angry. His emotions were all over the place. I hope you won’t take it to heart."

The king, still pale and shaken, barely registered the duke’s words. His trembling hands gripped the arms of his chair, his fury now mixed with a bitter fear he had never thought to feel within his own kingdom. Remiro’s apology sounded hollow, but the king had no choice but to nod stiffly, silently seething.

As Duke Remiro straightened, he allowed a subtle, self-satisfied smirk to curve his lips. He turned on his heel and strode away, his every step brimming with quiet triumph. The destruction Thorne had wrought was a gift, an unforeseen shift in the power dynamics of Vitra. Remiro’s mind spun with possibilities, knowing that tonight’s events had forever altered the kingdom’s political landscape.

The power balance had shifted. The scales, once so firmly tipped in favor of the monarchy, had begun to even out—and perhaps even tilt toward those like Remiro, whose influence was now poised to grow.

The nobles finally began to gather their bearings, the chaos and fear in the hall slowly ebbing into a tense silence. Duke Remiro led his family out with an air of unruffled composure, their departure as poised as their entrance had been, though the satisfaction in the duke’s eyes didn’t go unnoticed.

Count Grady, meanwhile, stood frozen, a thin line of blood trickling down his cheek from where a stray shard of glass had nicked him. He dabbed at the wound with a trembling hand, his mind racing. If he dared to pen anything outrageous about tonight’s explosive events, he knew well that his fate might be as grim as the unfortunate knight’s—a headless end, sprawled across the polished marble floor.

The threat was no longer subtle; it hung in the air, palpable and heavy, reminding everyone in attendance that Thorne’s rage and power were not to be trifled with. Grady swallowed hard, the grim image of that decapitated knight burned into his mind. Perhaps it would be wiser to tread carefully, to make sure his words tomorrow were measured, factual, and devoid of anything that might invite the King’s wrath.

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