Stolen by the Rebel King
Chapter 453: Seen But Not Heard

Chapter 453: Seen But Not Heard

"What on earth?" Sirona gasped in shock as she saw rising flames. Acrid smoke began to fill the air. "This wasn’t supposed to happen!"

"Fucking bastard!" Atticus cursed out loud, his eyes blazing with hatred as he stared at the broken wall.

Jean Nott’s fingers were all over this destruction. Did he take the iron meteorites as well? Did he harvest so much of it that he could use it solely to cause explosions?

King Calarian hurriedly got back to work, trying to mend the metal pieces together. But the exploding iron meteorite had done too much damage― it wasn’t only the metal that required fixing.

Atticus gritted his teeth, enraged as the makeshift wall he built crumbled down despite his best efforts, stripping the capital city of its already weakened defenses. More buildings began to fall under the onslaught of the wind and debris, and this time without the metal reinforcements from before, they tumbled down easily.

No wonder King Calarian didn’t want to use his method so quickly. Using it would mean leaving his capital vulnerable for the taking.

"We need to go," Sirona barked out as more debris flew in their direction. Atticus groaned and used his powers to fling them away; he was starting to feel exhausted, but the last thing he wanted to do was to run with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs. That would be as good as letting Jean Nott win.

"Don’t be stubborn about this," Jonah said, quickly grabbing Atticus’s arm as he hauled him to safety. "You have to conserve your strength."

"Whatever for?" Atticus groused out as he barely avoided being decapitated by falling rubble. "The only reason I’ll need my strength is to kill Jean Nott."

He gave a mental note of apology to King Calarian― there was only so much he could do to save his capital. If King Calarian was a wise man, he would have retreated to safety already. Cities could be rebuilt, but a king was harder to replace.

"Less talking, more running to safety," Sirona said.

The streets were littered with rubble, and if Sirona focused, she could see the blood seeping through the fallen buildings, along with scattered pieces of dead human bodies lying around. Those were the unlucky civilians who didn’t manage to seek shelter in time.

Her stomach turned as she forced herself to look away; there was nothing she and the rest could do for them anymore. Sirona couldn’t even stop to check for survivors.

To their utmost surprise, when they rounded a corner, their eyes spotted a figure walking in the distance. Judging from the height, he was a man. Said man was wrapped up from head to toe, presumably to shield himself from the sandstorm.

Before Sirona and Jonah could react, Atticus snarled and immediately flung debris at him― only for the man to parry back with his own powers. Shards of ice ripped through the air, and it was only Atticus’s quick thinking that saved the three of them from being stabbed through all over like pincushions.

He immediately used his powers to summon a soft layer of sand to stop the ice in its tracks, sending it straight back to the strange assailant, who merely leaped out of the way as he created a path of ice to skate on.

"Jean Nott! You bastard!" Atticus roared. There was only one cyromancer that would do something like this.

The mysterious man landed on Sirona’s side with a flourish and dragged her up onto his makeshift platform, forcing her to her knees. Two ice broadswords caught her neck in a headlock, while a knife carved from ice dangling from his hand, pointed straight at the top of her head. Sirona gulped as she caught sight of the sharp edge. This close, she could feel the icy sting of the blade on her scalp.

"Isn’t this a little too much?" Sirona couldn’t help but ask. "Are you overcompensating for something, Jean Nott?"

Jean laughed uproariously. "You should ask Daphne that question. She’ll know if I am a man that requires such a crutch."

Atticus snarled, rage filling his body that his vision darkened at the edges. How dare this man imply that he and Daphne―

Atticus didn’t want to complete that thought. What he wanted — needed — was to use his powers to squeeze the living daylights out of Jean Nott and pop his insufferable head off like a cork from a bottle of champagne.

"Even if she did see it, she never mentioned it," Sirona breezily replied. "Maybe because there wasn’t much to see in the first place. Must have been too small―"

But before Atticus could reenact all the thousand ways to kill this bastard, Jean easily stabbed Sirona in the arm with his dagger and twisted it mercilessly, causing her to scream in pain, her eyes wide with surprise and terror. Blood slowly dripped down her arm, pooling on the platform.

"Should’ve kept your mouth shut," Jean said right by her ear. "Good little ladies should learn to be seen but not heard."

He then turned his attention back to Atticus and Jonah.

"Use your magic on me and I’ll lop off your healer’s arm the same way you lop off that griffin’s wings," Jean Nott warned with a cheerful smile as he summoned yet another dagger made of ice. "Do we have a deal, King Atticus?"

"Let her go!" Jonah and Atticus both shouted at once.

"Tsk tsk, this isn’t very polite of you," Jean Nott said, sounding remarkably aggrieved. "You make it sound like I love to kidnap women, and nothing could be further from the truth. I was hoping to have a civil conversation with you. We haven’t caught up in such a long time. How could you simply attack me without rhyme or reason?"

Atticus growled. "You and I have nothing to say to each other. Now unhand Sirona at once and I’ll make your death as quick and painless as possible!"

"I beg to differ, King Atticus," Jean Nott shook his head. "You and I have been after the same things for a very long time."

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