Chapter 37: Rendely

Dune and his friends, led by Cel, approached the towering gate of the outer wall. Two giant guards, each standing three meters tall, with imposing bodies clad in silver armor, flanked the entrance.

Cel casually walked between them, barely acknowledged by the sentinels. As they crossed into the city, Dune was struck by the stark contrast of their surroundings.

Beyond the wall lay the outskirts of Rendely, a bleak and desolate landscape. People lay on the ground with their emaciated, hungry bodies, their clothes in tatters.

The air was thick with the stench of decay and the metallic tang of blood. As they continued, more and more homeless souls huddled in the shadows, their eyes empty and resigned.

"This is bad, right?" Cel said, breaking the silence. "But it will change soon. A new ruler shall give everyone fair judgment. But I don't want to spoil anything for you guys."

The further they walked, the more the scene began to change. The streets gradually became cleaner, the people healthier and more cheerful. As they traveled deeper into the city, the signs of wealth and prosperity grew more evident.

They finally approached another wall, this one a hundred meters tall. Outside this second gate stood hundreds of soldiers in gleaming silver armor, their presence a testament to the importance of what lay beyond.

Passing through this gate, they entered a world of opulence. The inner city was a realm of noble grandeur, a giant City that seemed to stretch endlessly. In the heart of this inner sanctum stood a third, even higher wall, surrounding an enormous castle.

This would be their new home. Rendely was vast, its expanse seemingly without end.

Dune and his companions were awestruck by the sheer scale and splendor of it all.

Approaching the castle walls, they were greeted by a host of servants who led them to their quarters.

Dune found himself in a luxurious room, unlike anything he had ever known. The walls were built from pristine white stone, and the interior was adorned with golden ornaments.

Beautiful couches, intricately carved tables, and plush beds filled the space. It was a dream house, yet Dune felt a deep unease.

He knew that appearances could be deceiving and that their journey would be fraught with challenges.

As he sat, trying to take in his new surroundings, a knock came at the door. "Mr. Dune," a voice called out. "I'm Selena, a servant. The King is calling for you Zetens. You should appear as fast as possible."

Dune nodded and followed her, his mind racing with questions and doubts.

The opulence of his new room and the poverty of the outskirts weighed heavily on him, a stark reminder of the complexities and inequalities of the world he was a part of.

Dune found himself standing before King Aramir Murderthrone. The King sat on a towering 10-meter tall throne, a macabre structure fashioned from the bodies of countless human statues.

Their frozen expressions and outstretched hands formed the steps leading to the throne, creating a terrifying sight. Aramir wore a red and black crown, and his long black beard and hair added to his menacing appearance.

Beside Aramir stood three individuals. To his left was a tall, handsome man with black hair and red eyes, wearing glasses and dark clothing.

To the right stood two boys, one with long golden hair and sharp teeth, dressed in green and yellow noble clothes, and the other with short golden hair and golden eyes, wearing brown and black clothes adorned with golden ornaments.

Cel leaned in and whispered to the crew, "They are the sons of King Aramir. The one with the short golden hair is the prime candidate to be the next king."

Dune nodded, just as the King began to speak. His voice boomed through the chamber, authoritative and powerful. "Zetens, from now on, you will reside within these castle walls. You are forbidden from leaving for the time being.

We intend to mold you into our most formidable weapons. I see you've already pieced together my plan to kill Matiane, so there is no need for further explanation.

It is far more advantageous to rule my continent without the gods' watchful eyes and meddling control.

"In one month, there will be a grand tournament in our city, an event that occurs only once every ten years.

You will be trained by the finest masters from the city to prepare for this competition.

We will also conceal your Zeten marks; remember, if you reveal them to anyone outside this circle, you will face death.

My sons will provide you with the necessary details. Now, leave and prepare."

The King's words were delivered with a mix of authority and menace. Dune and his friends understood the gravity of their situation and the dangerous path ahead.

Atlas, Ezra, Liam, Ned, and Dune followed one of the king's sons, the enigmatic figure with red eyes and black hair who exuded an air of mystery.

As they trailed behind him, the man began to speak. "My name is Damion Asus Murderthrone. You may call me Damion."

Their path led them to an academy situated within the walls, not far from the castle. The structure loomed grandly, an architectural marvel dedicated to honing the skills of those who entered its gates.

"This is the academy where you will master your powers," Damion continued, his voice steady and authoritative. "I will assist you in your training."

Despite Damion's calm demeanor, Dune couldn't shake the uneasy feeling gnawing at him. There was something off about this man, something that made Dune's instincts scream to be wary.

Damion guided them through the academy, pointing out the training grounds, the shops stocked with weapons, and the areas designated for recreation and drinking.

Each location seemed meticulously designed to cater to the needs of the academy's inhabitants.

As they walked, Damion's measured pace and the cool, calculating glint in his eyes made the team increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, they arrived at a stopping point. Damion turned around, his piercing red eyes scrutinizing each member of the team.

"Rest for today," he instructed. "Tomorrow, either I or one of my brothers will explain everything to you in greater detail. If you require any assistance, speak to your servants."

As he began to walk away, Damion paused and lowered his voice to a whisper that sent chills down their spines. "Remember, they are always watching."

The cryptic warning hung in the air, wrapping the crew in a shroud of confusion and fear. They felt an ominous presence, as if unseen eyes were indeed monitoring their every move.

Damion continued his deliberate pace, hands clasped behind his back, and chuckled softly to himself as he disappeared into the shadows.

Dune tilted his head back, gazing up at the vast sky. The weight of their situation settled heavily upon him, and he realized with a sinking feeling that nothing about their new life would be easy.

The path ahead was fraught with peril, and they would need to be constantly vigilant if they hoped to survive.

Cel stood in front of King Aramir, his hands casually stuffed in his pockets. He spoke with his usual nonchalance, "Thanks for letting Cadogan escape. I will never forget your kindness, Mr. King."

Aramir sighed, a weary look crossing his face. "Stop calling me that and grow up already, Cel. You're almost twenty."

Cel chuckled, ignoring the reprimand. "Anyway, I want to visit Seraphein soon. When can I go? Man, Seraphein is so amazing.

The food there is incredible, and they have this weird technology. The bathrooms are something else, i could spend hours there and never get bored.

When I go, I'll bring back ice cream for you, Aramir. Sitting on that throne everyday, you'll get fat anyway, so why not get fat eating yummy things? Haha."

Aramir covered his face with his hand, sighing deeply. "Why are you even asking me that? You can go whenever you want.

I can't control you..."

Cel laughed, "Don't say that. If I'm asking, it means I want to hear your answer."

The king responded calmly, "I would prefer if you leave after the competition. I need you here to protect us during that time.

My crow and Cassius both told me that someone is planning to assassinate me.

I trust you the most, Cel. I might die the moment you leave."

Cel groaned in annoyance, "Oh man, this is so annoying. But alright, I've found something interesting to do here anyway."

As Cel left the king's room, he gritted his teeth and walked away, clearly irritated.

Cel walked into the dimly lit room, his frustration palpable. In front of him stood a boy clad in black, with matching hair that fell over his piercing red eyes.

Cel let out a heavy sigh, "I'm really tired of this... I'm at my limit. I just want to get out of this damned city. This whole place disgusts me. Damion, I need you to complete your plan faster.

Come on, turn on your brain. I could just go and kill anyone you want. Wouldn't that be easier to make you king?"

Damion chuckled, a sound that echoed sinisterly in the room.

"Are you serious? I know you're strong—"

"Strongest," Cel corrected him sharply.

Damion's annoyance flickered across his face. "Strongest, alright. It doesn't matter."

"It matters," Cel interrupted again, his tone firm.

"Let me talk," Damion snapped, but quickly regained his composure, his voice dropping to a menacing calm. "We can't do it like that. I need to receive the throne in the right way, without any suspicion.

If we act rashly, everything we've built will crumble. So, Cel, I need you to wait a bit longer until I use the entirety of Rendely for my benefit."

Damion's lips curled into an evil smile, his eyes gleaming with a mix of ambition and malice.

Cel sighed, the anger slowly dissipating from his face. "Alright, Damion. I trust you. Just make sure it'll be worth the wait."

Damion nodded, his expression softening slightly. "It will be. And when it's all done, I'll reshape this kingdom into something far greater than it ever was."