Chapter 162: The Bloodbath

Chapter 162: The Bloodbath
Lucy's POV

I struggled to keep pace with the intensity of it, but it fed my own resolve. There would be no mercy.
At the edge of sight, King Pontionne’s command cut through the link, and we halted as one. There he stood—a burly man adorned in a king’s regalia, still in human form. Relaxed. Arrogant. He hadn’t even bothered to shift. Others would fight and die for him.
His voice carried across the field, barking orders, and the sound of it made my blood boil. I charged forward without thinking, fury overriding sense.
Zeus appeared instantly, blocking my path.
'Get out of the way,' Lira snarled, muscles coiled to strike.
Calm down,' Kenneth’s voice cut in, steady and commanding. 'Don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing us act without thought. He’s baiting us. And you wouldn’t want to deny him a slow, painful death by killing him too quickly.'
His words hit hard—and true.
'Lucy,' he added gently but firmly, 'help Lira focus. We need to see what this fake king is hiding.'
I forced myself to breathe. Forced Lira to do the same. Bloodlust would not win this war.
Not today.

Kenneth’s POV
I released a slow breath as I felt Lira’s fury finally begin to settle—not vanish, but coil inward, sharpening rather than spilling over. Her murderous glare softened just a fraction, the violent storm in her eyes shifting hues in a way I had never noticed before. Gold bled into darker shades, power folding in on itself like a blade being honed. I took note of it, filed it away for later. Right now, there were more immediate dangers breathing in front of us.
“Hahahaha!”
The sound split the charged air like a blade dragged across stone.
It was ugly. Grating. A laugh stripped of warmth, stripped even of madness—just cruelty laid bare.
“Well, well, well! What do we have here?” Bratton’s voice rang out, thick with mockery. “If it isn’t the self-made king of the universe!”
His gaze was locked squarely on King Pontione, and the contempt etched across his face was so raw it was almost physical. “I should have known you were behind this farce all along,” he continued, sneering. “You always had a habit of imposing your weak authority on everyone in the universe.”
Not a single sound answered him.
No roar. No retort. No shift in stance.
King Pontione stood unmoving, regal even in his lion form, his silence far louder than any insult. Around us, warriors tensed, claws flexing against the earth, but no one broke rank. We all felt it—the pressure, the invisible weight of a confrontation that had been brewing for decades finally colliding.
Beside me, Lucy trembled.
Not with fear.
With rage.
Through the bond, I felt it surge—violent, scorching, restrained by sheer force of will. If hatred could take shape, it would have worn her face in that moment.
‘That would be exactly what I need right now,’ Lira’s voice hissed through the link, cold and deliberate. ‘Bullets of fire, piercing him slowly. Letting him feel everything. Letting him watch his lion die first, helpless, screaming.’
I snarled inwardly. ‘Zeus! Enough. Stop feeding that fire,’ I snapped sharply through the mindlink. ‘And stop projecting your own violent fantasies into her head.’
A low, offended scoff answered me. ‘Excuse you. Those weren’t mine.’
Lira shot me a sideways look, sharp and unapologetic. I grimaced but let it go. This was not the time.
Pontione finally moved.
“Donald,” he said calmly, his voice carrying with unnatural clarity. “You truly are too dull to catch on quickly. How did you even survive this long with a mind that small? Did you finally have a revelation, or did the cow kingdom knock some sense into you?”
A ripple of tension rolled through the field.
Bratton’s chest heaved as fury twisted his features. He lunged forward—
—and stopped dead.
The old man standing beside him lifted a single hand.
Nothing touched Bratton, yet something held him, an unseen force locking his limbs in place. The air itself seemed to tighten around him.
Pontione stepped forward leisurely, his massive mane thickening, rising as his authority surged outward in visible waves. He shook his head once, slowly, deliberately.
Then he roared.
The sound was not merely loud—it was fundamental. It shook the ground beneath our feet, rattled bone, vibrated through blood and soul alike. The earth itself seemed to bow under the force of it.
In a blink, he shifted.
Human once more, but no less imposing. If anything, his presence doubled, his aura blazing so intensely that every being without royal blood instinctively lowered themselves in submission.
Almost every being.
My eyes narrowed as I took it in.
Bratton did not bow.
Neither did several among his army.
‘Why?’ The question burned in my mind.
Zeus snorted. ‘Slow as ever.’
‘Don’t start,’ I growled back.
‘You forgot what Pontione and Mayi told you after seeing Lucy’s family,’ Zeus pressed.
The realization struck like ice water.
Panic flared hot and sudden. ‘Zeus—please,’ I begged, abandoning pride entirely. ‘If Lucy realizes I knew and didn’t tell her—this will destroy her. Don’t let it slip. Not now. Please.’
A pause.
Then a sigh. ‘Relax, you overgrown worrywart. I’m not stupid. And she’s our mate.’
Relief flooded me—until his next words.
‘Besides… Lira already knows.’
My heart stuttered. ‘What?’
Before I could push further, I felt eyes on me.
Lucy.
Her head tilted slightly, concern threading through the bond. We had blocked her from the internal exchange, but she could sense something was off.
“Are you okay?” she asked softly.
I forced a smile. “Yeah. Zeus was just asking something ridiculous.”
A growl echoed faintly through the bond, and Lucy laughed quietly, easing the tension—for now.
Pontione stepped back, deliberately yielding space.
Bratton mistook it for fear.
“Oh? What happened to the mighty king?” he jeered. “Suddenly helpless?”
Pontione merely stared at him.
Then light exploded.
The old man beside Bratton began to glow, arcane symbols flashing briefly across his skin. His lips moved in a rapid chant—
—and screams erupted behind us.
I spun, heart slamming, as our warriors collapsed, bodies convulsing, cries tearing from their throats.
‘Spell,’ Lira said coldly. ‘Disabling magic.’
Lucy moved instantly.
She shifted mid-step, flesh reforming, power surging. I barely had time to register my own instinctive reaction—stepping in front of her, shifting as well, shielding her with my body.
Magic rippled.
Cloth appeared.
Shorts clung to my hips. A simple dress covered Lucy, and I exhaled in relief.
I didn’t care who did it.
Lucy’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp as a blade. “You vile old man! What gave you the audacity to think your magic could stand in the presence of true royalty?”
She pointed at the sorcerer.
“Nelly. Katty. Now!”