Chapter 7: The Diplomacy of Fists (Part 2)

"You are not only petty, ignorant, and incompetent but also utterly depraved—completely unfit for the throne. You must step aside and let your brother manage this kingdom instead," Grutt said coldly, his gaze shifting to the three tribal leaders seated nearby. "You can rest assured. You all know prince Tazir's capability and character quite well. Even if you have opposed him in the past, it was merely a political choice favoring the stronger faction. He won't hold grudges. When the throne changes hands, neither your personal interests nor your tribes' rights will be harmed; in fact, they'll likely prosper."

The three tribal leaders sat there dumbfounded, unsure of how to respond.

"As for the arrogant and lawless Hari Clan, some penalties will need to be imposed. Your tribe will have to return all the property and rights you've stolen from others," Grutt continued, turning his icy gaze toward the Hari Clan's leader, who also happened to be King Brown's uncle. "But the specifics of that can wait until the next king addresses you."

"Hahaha!" Prime Minister Rosco suddenly burst into laughter, his voice echoing maniacally through the hall. "I never thought a general from Orford could be such a lunatic! Hahaha..."

The Hari Clan leader joined in the laughter, and even King Brown forced out a twisted smile.

"What if I told you this was the will of the Shadow Sage?" Grutt asked, his tone and expression as cold and unchanging as ever.

The laughter stopped abruptly.

Rosco immediately laughed louder, almost hysterically. "To think you'd come up with such an absurd lie! Why don't we assign a palace guard to become a general in Orford tomorrow? That'd be just as believable!"

Grutt reached into his cloak and pulled out an object, tossing it onto the conference table. The laughter died completely, replaced by stunned silence.

It was a gray jade pendant, strung on an impossibly delicate chain that seemed to be carved from the same flawless piece of jade. At first glance, the pendant appeared unremarkable, but those with keen eyes could see that the gray color was not natural. Instead, it was an illusion created by an intricate web of interwoven black and white lines, impossibly fine and evenly spaced. The black was the blackest of blacks, and the white, pure as snow.

This jade pendant, whether naturally occurring or man-made, was a priceless treasure. But what truly shocked the room were the carved words following the lines of the pendant: Tatalia, Heart of Shadow.

"The Shadow's Token," Rosco stammered, his voice trembling alongside his expression. He didn't even need to inspect it visually. The faint magical aura emanating from the pendant was enough for him to recognize it as the personal emblem of the Shadow Sage, Nimbras, something the great sage never parted with.

"The Shadow Sage entrusted this to me and tasked me with coming to Tatalia to oversee this matter," Grutt said, his voice as calm and frigid as ever.

"This… this... how could it be? The master… the master would never…" King Brown was shaking all over, his face drenched in cold sweat.

"This is impossible!" Rosco shouted, snatching the pendant from the table. His own sweat poured down in rivulets as his face twisted in disbelief. "This pendant—it must've been stolen… no, snatched… no, it's impossible!" He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

The Shadow's Token had always been worn around the Sage's neck, never removed. If someone had managed to take it, they would have had to take the Sage's head along with it. But the idea of someone killing the great Shadow Sage was unthinkable.

"Regardless, this is absolutely impossible!" Rosco screamed hysterically.

"And why not?" Grutt replied. "Because your master helped you assassinate the old king and install this buffoon on the throne? So now you think he'd never undo what he helped create?"

The hall erupted in gasps. Grutt's casual tone and calm expression remained unchanged, but his words had hit like thunderclaps.

Rosco's face froze, turning an eerie shade of green, and then dark red, as if it were about to boil over. His voice cracked as he shouted, "Guards! Guards! Arrest this madman immediately!"

The great doors of the hall were already open, and before Rosco's voice had fully echoed, figures began to step inside.

King Brown finally snapped out of his shock and shouted, "Guards, kill him!" Immediately, four figures emerged from the shadows of the grand hall and surrounded the king. Tatalia, having endured years of war with Alrasia and constant harassment by northeastern monsters, was home to many battle-hardened warriors. Since his struggle for the throne began, King Brown had carefully selected several elite fighters, each a rare talent among thousands, to serve as his personal bodyguards. Although Prince Tazir's style had rendered them largely ineffective so far, this moment seemed to be their true test.

Yet Grutt didn't move. He didn't even glance at the four men. Instead, he spoke calmly: "He will no longer be king. You are not obliged to follow his orders." He paused briefly. "Of course, if you wish to die voluntarily, that's up to you."

His tone remained indifferent, but the sheer calmness carried a far greater sense of intimidation and dread than any violent outburst could. It wasn't the kind of threat exchanged between equals baring their fangs at each other. It was the composed serenity of a lion confronting a mouse.

The four guards looked at Grutt and didn't move.

"What are you doing?!" King Brown roared in fury and panic. He remembered how these men had been as ferocious as wolves and as fearless as tigers when dealing with others—just as they had been during their negotiations for payment. He shouted, "Whoever kills him will get 500 gold coins from me!"

Yet, the four guards still didn't act. While wolves may be fierce, they are not brainless. They knew exactly when their prey was a rabbit they could devour or a beamon that would crush them into paste. Looking at the man before them, who neither spoke nor even looked their way, the four sighed in unison, turned, and walked away.

King Brown was utterly dumbfounded.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the hall, several individuals entered through the open doors, apparently unhurried by the prime minister's frantic cries. They walked neither too fast nor too slow. The prime minister's expression darkened even further when he recognized the newcomers. Behind them trailed long, thick tails. Whether they were lizardmen, who were supposed to have vanished from the northeastern borders, or Grutt's followers brought from Orford, the fact that they could stride openly into the hall spoke volumes about just how dire the situation had become.

Leading the group of lizardmen was a man clad entirely in animal hides. He looked to be in his thirties, with brown hair blending seamlessly with his earthy attire. His face was strikingly ugly, his features haphazardly arranged in a way that made it seem as if he was perpetually laughing.

"Prince Tazir," the three tribal chiefs exclaimed simultaneously in shock.

Unnoticed by the others, a shadow moved silently behind Grutt—it was the chief of the Hari clan. Seizing the moment when Grutt appeared entirely focused on addressing the others, the chief stealthily left his seat, drew a blade from his waist, and lunged at Grutt.

The terror and intimidation of a giant beast may indeed cause wolves, leopards, and other predators to shrink back in fear, but that doesn't mean everyone will be afraid. For instance, creatures like maggots, ants, and mosquitoes are entirely indifferent to such threats and will always be bold enough to attack or challenge. Ignorance, after all, was the root of fearlessness.

But such fearlessness rarely ended well. Just as the leader of Hari clan sprang up, his face full of murderous intent, Grutt turned slightly, stretched out his arms, and effortlessly pressed the chief back into his seat. The motion was light and casual, devoid of any aggression, as if he were repositioning a motionless doll.

The Hari chief slumped back into his chair, completely still. In that blink of an eye, no fewer than twenty bones in his body had silently shattered. The sudden, excruciating pain left him unable to even let out a groan before he lost consciousness.

At the same time, another figure leaped at Grutt. Despite his slightly portly figure, the man moved with startling agility. It was none other than King Brown, who had been sitting on the throne moments ago, his face contorted in fear and trembling uncontrollably, giving every impression of a cowardly and inept ruler.

But King Brown had been raised as a monarch and trained from a young age. Even in the face of this unexpected crisis, he had not lost his fighting spirit. As his slightly plump frame launched forward, he drew a dagger from his side. His timing was impeccable, and his attack swift and vicious.

No matter how fierce and ruthless an ant might be, it was still just an ant. Grutt didn't even spare King Brown a glance. With a casual wave of his hand, the king was sent flying headfirst back onto his throne. Unlike his uncle, however, King Brown's plump face now resembled a squashed tomato.

The three tribal chiefs gasped in unison, and one of them even stood up. However, none of them had any intention of siding with the "ant." As tribal leaders, they might not have been the most brilliant or capable individuals, but they were unquestionably adept at assessing the situation. The moment Prince Tazir appeared, they all immediately understood the implications.

"The king is already dead," Grutt said flatly, turning his attention to prime minister Rosco. "It seems we can even skip the formal abdication ceremony. Don't you agree, prime minister?"

Grutt's gaze had never strayed from Rosco, who was far from being an "ant" and significantly more dangerous than a wolf. He was the one Grutt had been most focused on.

Rosco stood frozen like a wooden puppet, cold sweat dripping from his chin. In fact, he had been the first to take action, but his movements were so slow that it was only now his turn to face Grutt.

Both of his hands were clasped tightly against his chest, readying a Shadow Dagger spell. The magic was already like an arrow pulled taut against a bowstring, requiring only the smallest motion to release it. Its lethality was beyond question. Yet, as Grutt's dark, abyssal eyes locked onto his, Rosco found himself unable to summon the courage to cast the spell.

"Why have you stopped? Don't you want to try?" Grutt asked with a faint smile.

Prince Tazir and the lizardmen who had entered the hall had all halted in place, refraining from moving any closer. Even the three tribal chiefs had left their seats, unwilling to approach a court magician poised to unleash his magic at any moment. Their fear of the destructive power of court magicians was well-founded.

Rosco didn't move. Instead, his face twisted in desperation as he shouted, "Prince Tazir, how dare you conspire with outsiders to assassinate the king and interfere in Tatalia's internal affairs? Do you think the tribes will acknowledge you, a traitor to the kingdom?"

Even as he yelled, Rosco's eyes never left Grutt for a moment. The man standing there, making no overt moves and barely taller than Rosco himself, had not only immobilized him physically but also crushed his spirit and will entirely.

"Silence!" Prince Tazir roared, his voice like thunder, revealing his immense agitation. However, his peculiar, grotesque appearance made his angry expression appear almost comical, as though he were smiling. "You dare call me a traitor? You murdered our father in secret and propped up my brother as a puppet king. You are the true scourge of Tatalia! Without you and the tyranny of the Hari clan, the other tribes would finally have a chance to prosper!"

"The Shadow Sage will never forgive you!" Rosco's voice became a feral growl, resembling the howl of a wild beast.

At the mention of the Shadow Sage, the expressions of Prince Tazir and the three tribal chiefs visibly darkened. To them, that name carried a status akin to a deity, yet its influence was far more terrifying than any god.

"Enough talk. Fight me," Grutt said coldly. "Let's see how much of Nibras's skill you truly possess."

Rosco's face turned even paler than that of a corpse. Though he didn't want to believe it, he could vaguely sense the truth behind Grutt's words. A wave of despair and terror surged within him, confirming what he already feared: the one he had revered as a god was, indeed, dead.

His complexion shifted rapidly—from white to green to red—before finally becoming so red it seemed as though blood might drip from his face. Then, as though erupting like molten lava, all the emotions he had been suppressing exploded forth. Summoning every ounce of his strength, he roared, "You're lying!"

As his deafening scream echoed through the hall, Rosco unleashed the magic he had been preparing. A gray beam of light shot from his hands, hurtling toward Grutt.

"HAH!" A roar erupted, far mightier and more commanding than Rosco's. If Rosco's shout was like the beating of a drum, this was thunder, a tsunami—a force of nature. The entire hall trembled faintly with the sheer power of the voice. Everyone, including those not directly involved, instinctively covered their ears. Even the lizardmen, who lacked external ears, frantically pressed down on the small openings on their heads.

At the same time, the entire hall was flooded with a brilliant white light. Grutt hadn't moved an inch or even raised his hands. The light radiated from his body as he let out the earth-shaking roar. This energy, his battle aura, flared only for the briefest moment—brighter than a meteor yet far shorter in duration. The gray magical beam, aimed directly at Grutt's chest, evaporated in an instant as if swept away by a sudden storm.

But Rosco didn't care about any of this. The moment he cast his spell, he had already begun retreating. Clutching the Shadow Medallion tightly in both hands, he raised it above his head and screamed maniacally, "All of you will die!"

The glow of battle aura vanished. Everything in the grand hall—people, walls, furniture—lost its original color, replaced by the lifeless gray of a corpse's skin. The Shadow Medallion in Rosco's hands glowed with an eerie brilliance, exuding a massive magical pulse. Every inch of Rosco's body seemed saturated with that gray, so intense that even his eyes resembled cold, lifeless stones on a gravestone.

Prince Tazir and the three tribal chiefs froze, their faces stiffening with dread. Even though they weren't versed in magic, they could sense that the gathering energy heralded a catastrophic magical storm.

"I offer the flame of life to fuel the burning!" Rosco shouted as he retreated, his voice tinged with madness. Grutt hadn't just overturned the entire situation with a simple gesture—he had shattered Rosco's most unshakable belief, leaving his worldview in ruins. Driven by despair, Rosco was ready to sacrifice his life to unleash a devastating forbidden spell sealed within the Shadow Medallion by his late mentor.

The entire hall blurred, as though it was dissolving into the swirling gray energy. Even Rosco's voice took on a deadened tone, his vocal cords shredding under the strain as he bellowed the incantation: "Come forth, Sea of Shadows!"

Then, silence.

Prince Tazir and the others lifted their heads from where they had shielded them with their arms. To their astonishment, nothing seemed to have happened.

Rosco looked around, equally bewildered. The hall had returned to its original state, with colors and shapes fully restored as though nothing had occurred. This wasn't the outcome he expected. He knew the forbidden spell's effects, and they should have been catastrophic.

Looking down at his hands, Rosco froze in horror. His wrists were empty. Not only was the Shadow Medallion gone, but so were his hands.

"How dangerous... how dangerous." Grutt shook his head, his granite-like face showing an expression of irritation and regret for the first time. "I hadn't anticipated this medallion hiding such tricks."

Hearing Grutt's voice, Rosco spun around. Only then did he notice Grutt standing behind him, though he had no idea how or when he got there.

Grutt held the Shadow Medallion in one hand and gave it a shake, dislodging a mess of flesh and blood that had fused to it, which splattered onto the ground. The turbulent magical energy emanating from the artifact quickly calmed and dissipated. Grutt let out a sigh of relief. "Good thing Nibras didn't use this back then. Clearly, I'll need to be more cautious when dealing with mages in the future." He then reached out and placed a hand lightly on Rosco's chest.

Rosco's body, which had been standing firmly in place, suddenly shot backward like a bolt from a crossbow. Mid-air, as his rapidly fading life force burned away, he could feel his lungs almost bursting from his mouth and his heart seemingly surging into his brain.

Thud. The prime minister and court magician slammed into the wall of the grand hall, leaving behind a bloody smear as his body slid lifelessly to the floor.