Chapter 182: The Death Alarm of Prince Kuril!

Chapter 182: The Death Alarm of Prince Kuril!

Prince Kuril was dead, but his demise was just the beginning of chaos brewing in Base 137. As King Rhopgin's favorite son and the heir apparent, Kuril's death created a seismic shift in the dynamics of succession. King Rhopgin, ruler of the Kaelrians and a lesser god, had seven sons. Now that Kuril was gone, the throne was up for grabs, and the remaining sons were circling like vultures around a carcass.

The death alarm blared across Base 137, its deafening sound a proclamation of Kuril's importance. In Kaelrian society, every individual had their unique death alarm, its intensity determined by their influence. For Kuril, the sound was so thunderous that it reverberated across neighboring bases, a chilling herald of the prince's fall.

The purpose of these alarms was clear: to alert the realm and prevent such events from cascading into chaos. For King Rhopgin, the death of his most cherished son meant that chaos was already at his doorstep.

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In the grand palace of Rhopgin, the king lounged amidst a circle of maids, indulging in idle pleasures. The alarm shattered the ambiance, yanking him out of his revelry. His reaction was immediate and visceral.

"Kkkkkkuuuuuurrrrriiiiiiilllllllll!" he bellowed, his voice trembling with anguish and rage. The maids shrank away, cowed by the storm gathering within him. His face, usually calm and authoritative, contorted with raw emotion. The pain in his eyes mirrored the fury swelling in his chest—a boiling pot on the brink of spilling over.

Shoving aside the maids, King Rhopgin dressed in an instant, his movements a blur of purpose. Without hesitation, he summoned his remaining sons—Tumil, Turil, Turk, Turner, Egler, and Derek—and vanished from the palace in a flash of divine speed.

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The six sons followed their father, each processing the news of Kuril's death in their own way. Tumil, Turil, Turk, and Turner, the quadruplets born on the same day, exchanged worried glances. At 18, they were still finding their footing in a world dominated by their older brothers; Egler, Kuril and Derek.

Egler, aged 19, remained silent but alert, his sharp mind already calculating the implications of Kuril's death.

Then there was Derek, the eldest at 21. Unlike the others, Derek wasn't born of the queen but of a fleeting tryst with a maid. This origin had made him the black sheep of the royal family, dismissed by his father as unworthy despite his princely title.

Derek, however, was the only one who welcomed Kuril's death with a dark satisfaction. One less obstacle in his path to the throne and also a welcome good news at a time like this, it was really a good time to be alive.

Though Kuril had been stronger and more favored, Derek had endured years of torment under his younger brother's shadow. The bullying, the humiliation, and the constant reminders of his lesser status had all disappeared the moment Kuril's heart stopped.

Whoever did this, Derek thought with a smirk, deserves a handshake, a bear hug, and a drink.

As they approached Kuril's palace, Derek lagged slightly behind, lost in his thoughts. Meanwhile, King Rhopgin was a blur of motion, his focus sharp and deadly. The group moved with an intensity that matched the alarm's urgency, their emotions a cocktail of fear, rage, and anticipation.

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Kuril's palace loomed ahead, its grand façade now overshadowed by the grim reality of death within its walls. The answers lay beyond those gates, but they would bring more questions and perhaps a reckoning. King Rhopgin's divine power crackled around him, and his sons knew that his wrath would be unleashed upon whoever had dared to harm his favorite child.

But for Derek, the storm ahead might just be his opportunity to seize what he believed was rightfully his.

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Tessa stood amidst the chaos, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to the trembling guards around her. The air in the inner palace hall was thick with dread and confusion.

The death of Prince Kuril, the crown prince of Base 137, was a monumental event, and the guards, though armed and trained, were paralyzed. None could muster the courage to explain how such a powerful figure had been reduced to floating ashes—ashes that swirled ominously as though marking the enormity of the deed.

Tessa took a step forward, her gait unnervingly steady. It defied logic for a woman so visibly pregnant. To an untrained eye, her movements might suggest she carried nothing more than a bundle of cloth. Yet, her presence was suffocating, a silent storm that demanded attention without uttering a word.

As she approached the grand exit, a voice thundered from beyond the palace walls, shaking the very foundation of the hall.

"WHO KILLED MY SON?"

The booming voice reverberated through the air like a decree from the heavens. Tessa paused mid-stride, a slight shiver betraying her otherwise stoic appearance. She stepped back instinctively, granting the storm that approached its due space.

King Rhopgin stormed into the hall like a tempest unleashed. His imposing frame radiated authority, his golden eyes burning with fury and grief. Behind him trailed the six remaining princes—Derek, Turil, Tumil, Turner, Turk, and Egler—each a picture of power and composure, though their expressions betrayed growing unease.

The king's gaze swept across the room, finally landing on the faint traces of disintegrating matter that hung in the air. He didn't need confirmation; he knew. That had been his son. The remnants of Prince Kuril's energy still lingered, fragile and fleeting, a cruel reminder of his demise.

"What exactly happened here?" Rhopgin's voice was quieter now but no less intimidating, a controlled wrath that made the guards flinch. His sharp eyes scanned the room. Twenty-nine guards stood frozen, their weapons useless at their sides, fear etched into every line of their faces. His gaze fell on Tessa, her swollen belly impossible to ignore.

The absurdity of the situation was not lost on King Rhopgin. He scrutinized the trembling guards, all of whom were visibly weaker than Prince Kuril had ever been. The thought of them overpowering the crown prince was laughable. They would have been obliterated the instant they tried, and even if some suicidal alliance had formed among them, their cowardice would ensure they quickly turned on each other to shift the blame.

That left only one other person in the room— the pregnant woman.

Rhopgin's eyes narrowed as he studied her, his thoughts racing. She stood apart from the chaos, her composure unsettling. Her swollen belly made her appear vulnerable, fragile even, but her calmness was unnatural.

At first glance, he assumed she might be one of Kuril's many flings, perhaps here to demand acknowledgment of her condition. But the situation felt wrong. Something about her defied explanation, and that nagging instinct refused to be quiet.

The king's unique sight, as a lesser god, allowed him to see the energy levels of those beneath him. As his gaze swept across the room, the guards' fear and weak auras confirmed their insignificance. But when his focus shifted to the woman, he was met with... nothing. A void. She gave off no energy signature at all, as if she didn't exist in the natural order of things.

"This is absurd," Rhopgin muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief. His grip on his scepter tightened, though he hadn't yet pieced together the full picture.

The guards were another matter entirely. They were shivering violently, their fear so palpable it was almost pitiful. It was as though they had been plunged into an icy lake, left to sink beneath its frozen surface with no chance of rescue. The sight of them disgusted Rhopgin, but it also added to the mystery. What had happened here to reduce trained soldiers to quivering wrecks?

Prince Derek, standing closest to his father, shifted uncomfortably. The dissonance in the room clawed at him, and his own confusion deepened as he scanned the space. His sharp eyes moved from the ashes of his brother to the guards, then to the pregnant woman.

"What exactly happened here?" Derek muttered, his voice barely audible but loud enough to echo in the unnervingly silent hall.

The other princes—Turil, Tumil, Turner, Turk, and Egler—were no less bewildered. Their collective gazes moved between one another, each silently questioning the reality before them. They were warriors, strategists, and scholars in their own right, yet none could decipher the enigma that had unfolded in the inner palace hall.

It didn't make sense.

The tension in the room thickened with every passing second, the weight of unanswered questions pressing heavily upon them all. All eyes, hesitant and searching, eventually turned toward Tessa. She remained unbothered by their scrutiny, her expression unreadable, her hands resting lightly on her pregnant belly.

Her silence was louder than any confession could have been.