The Guardian gods
Chapter 554

Chapter 554: 554

Kaelen stayed quiet for a bit, the metallic tang of fear a subtle but growing presence on his tongue. He weighed his words carefully, the hum of the air-circulators the only sound in the sterile chamber. Finally, he spoke, his voice betraying a hint of desperation he immediately regretted. "Will doing these... these tasks... absolve me of my supposed crimes against the empire?"

In response, a heavy pressure descended upon him, not just in the air, but in his very bones, threatening to crush him. He buckled, gasping as if the oxygen had been sucked from the room. The air grew thick, charged with an unseen energy, and the eyes of the higher-ups — glowing pinpricks of light from within their shadowed cowls — flared with an icy, merciless brilliance.

One of them, a figure whose presence alone seemed to leach warmth from the environment, spoke, their voice a low, resonant thrum that vibrated in Kaelen’s chest. "Quite presumptuous of you to think that would be the case, dog." The word was spat, laced with contempt, and each syllable landed like a physical blow.

Kaelen struggled to push himself upright, his muscles screaming in protest, but the invisible weight held him fast. He could feel the cold, unyielding gaze of the others, like predatory beasts assessing their trapped prey.

"You are now the Empire’s dog," another voice chimed in, equally devoid of warmth, "and you shall do as you are requested. Since you have offered no defense, no denial of the charges levied against you, the Empire has deemed it so: you are to work for us until you take your dying breath." The final words hung in the air, a chilling, absolute decree that sealed his fate. There was no appeal, no negotiation, only a grim, eternal servitude.

The words hung in the air, a death knell thinly veiled as a reprieve. Four months. Severed head of a prominent demon. Impossible feat. The calculated cruelty of it finally snapped the last thread of Kaelen’s composure. A muscle in his jaw twitched, then his entire body tensed, the shackles biting deeper into his wrists, unnoticed. His gaze, which had been so steady, now narrowed, a sudden inferno kindling in their depths. The quiet intensity transformed into something raw and dangerous.

"An impossible feat?" Kaelen’s voice, when it came, was a harsh rasp, strained from the sudden surge of adrenaline. It was louder than anyone expected, cutting through the whirring device and the stifling courtroom air. "And you call this ’benevolent grace’?" A bitter, incredulous laugh escaped him, devoid of humor. "You condemn me to eternal servitude in a shadowed room, then parade me here only to send me on a suicide mission! For the Emperor’s grace? Or is it merely to clean up your own mess on the front lines, hoping I’ll die gloriously for your propaganda?"

His eyes swept over the impassive, cowled figures, lingering on the old goblin woman. "You want a show, old hag? Here it is! I’m Kaelen of the Ogres, falsely accused, stripped of dignity, and now ordered to deliver my own head on a platter!" His voice was rising, echoing off the high ceilings. "Do you truly think a ’severed head’ will prove my loyalty? Or just how easily you can dispose of anyone who becomes inconvenient?"

A collective gasp rippled through the mages, a mix of shock and the perverse satisfaction of finally getting the reaction they craved. The burly goblin mage grunted, a wide, predatory smile spreading across his face, his burning scalp seeming to glow brighter. The recording device whirred faster, capturing every syllable of Kaelen’s outburst, the perfect damning evidence.

The old goblin woman, however, simply allowed a slow, chilling smile to ghost across her lips. "Ah, so the dog finally barks," she murmured, her voice laced with triumph. "Good. Let the Empire hear it all. Let them see what happens to those who defy us, even in their last, pathetic throes."

Her gaze hardened, losing any last pretense of feigned kindness. "Your words are recorded, Kaelen. Your defiance is noted. It will only serve to further justify the Empire’s judgment."

Kaelen scoffed, a raw, guttural sound that seemed to tear at his own throat. "Justify? You think you need justification for anything you do?" His eyes, still burning with a cold fury, dared them to meet his gaze. "You don’t want loyalty. You want obedience. And a corpse to hang your false victory on." He finally sagged slightly, the fury still simmering, but the futility of his protest crashing down on him. His muscles ached, his head swam, but a spark, cold and resolute, remained. "Fine. You want a head? I’ll bring you one. But don’t expect it to be the one you think."

The old woman’s smile vanished, replaced by a flicker of irritation. The burly mage’s grin also tightened, recognizing the nuanced threat.

"Enough," she snapped, a sharp gesture cutting Kaelen off. "The terms are set. Guards, prepare the prisoner. His journey to the front lines begins at dawn." She turned her back to him, a dismissal as absolute as the sentence itself. The other mages began to stir, their silent delight now more overt, a low buzz of conversation starting to fill the grand chamber as the recording device finally clicked off.

Kaelen felt rough hands seize him, hauling him to his feet. He didn’t resist, didn’t fight. His outburst was done. His fate was sealed.

He wasn’t taken to a cell, or even a typical prison block. No cold iron bars, no stern guards barking orders. Instead, the soldiers who escorted him down the silent corridors led him to a small, nondescript room tucked behind a rarely used loading bay. The walls were bare stone, dimly lit by a single flickering overhead light. There were no windows. The only furniture was a long steel table bolted to the floor and a single chair.

The door shut behind him with a heavy thud. And then... nothing. Silence.

No guards remained. No orders were given. No chains, no restraints. Just the low hum of old wiring and the stale scent of dust and oil. Kaelen sat still, unmoved by the theatrics. He knew this wasn’t the punishment most expected.

Minutes passed, maybe longer.

Then, without a sound of approach, two figures emerged from the far shadows of the room, as though they had been waiting there all along.

The Emperor stepped forward first, draped in his heavy crimson robes, golden sigils softly glowing across the hem. Beside him walked Vellok, The air grew heavier with their presence.

Kaelen didn’t flinch. He wasn’t surprised. He never was, not anymore.

Vellok’s face was tight with restrained anger, his voice calm but cold.

"You gave us no choice, brother. You should’ve stopped when we first warned you."

Kaelen let out a scoff and looked away, biting back the sharp reply forming in his throat. He didn’t need to say anything. The fact that they were here, speaking in private, said enough about the truth behind his so-called ’arrest.’

The Emperor, didn’t waste time. He stepped forward and tossed a small, metallic device onto the floor between them. With a soft hum, it activated, casting a blue-tinted hologram above the floora battlefield, unfolding in real-time.

"Your target is the demon king Vorenza," the Emperor said without emotion, his eyes fixed on the projection. "She is still recovering from her battle with Gurnak. Vellok had brief contact with her, he noticed then she was injured, weakened. This is our best chance."

Kaelen’s eyes narrowed at the image. He didn’t look at the Emperor.

He didn’t have to. He knew the real reason they were offering this.

"You wanted to prove to the citizens that the ogres are not the brutes they are made out to be," the Emperor continued. "That they have honor, loyalty... intelligence. Here is your chance. You’ll have an army of ogres under your command. The ratfolk will march beside you, and our empire mages will lend their strength."

He turned to Kaelen finally "This mission is important—not just to you, but to the Empire."

Vellok stepped closer, his tone harder than before "We must show the citizens that the Empire was never idle. That when we move, we move with strength. With precision. And with purpose."

He gestured toward the image "This will be our statement. We are not weak. We never were."

Kaelen stood slowly, stepping toward the hologram. The image of the battlefield loomed before him, a terror to behold.

"And what happens if I succeed?" he asked, finally speaking, voice low.

The Emperor’s expression didn’t change "Then they’ll finally see what you’ve seen all along."

Kaelen’s lip curled, half amusement, half contempt "And if I fail?"

Vellok didn’t blink "Then you die a traitor. Silently. And we disavow it all."

Kaelen gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

"Of course. A win-win for the Empire."

The Emperor raised a hand "You wanted to matter, Kaelen. Here’s your war."

Vellok squatted down beside the kneeling Kaelen, his robe creaking softly as he shifted his weight. The faint scent of incense and iron still hung in the air from the Emperor’s arrival, but all Kaelen could focus on now was the condescension in his brother’s voice.

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