Harem Of Eternal Yandere Beasts: My Legendary Wives

Chapter 92: The Forgotten Authority

The battlefield froze.

It was not because of the enemy beyond the fracture, nor the grinding structure of the prison, nor the reality collapsing around them. It froze because the First King sounded afraid.

A single word had echoed through the Kingdom network, flat and filled with foreboding: "Oh."

The Queen stiffened. The Founder stopped breathing entirely, his translucent shoulders locking in place. The Old Bastard’s expression darkened into something uncharacteristically grave, all trace of his former levity washed away in an instant. Beside the First King, the silver-haired woman narrowed her golden eyes, her playful demeanor vanishing like mist under a sudden frost.

Orion broke the heavy silence with a direct, calculated question. "What shouldn’t be awake?"

Nobody answered immediately. The heavy quiet stretched for several long, suffocating seconds before the First King let out a long, shuddering sigh that carried the crushing weight of uncounted eons.

"One of the Nine," the First King whispered.

The revelation hung suspended in the air, cold and terrifying. One of the original Authority Bearers—the foundational architects of reality who had sealed the primordial calamity—was waking up inside the very structure designed to hold the end of all things.

The Queen’s expression hardened instantly, her jaw setting into a tight line. "No," she said. The word was sharp, immediate, and absolute, carrying the full force of her absolute refusal to accept the reality unfolding before them.

The First King offered no denial. He remained silent, his consciousness quiet within the network link, which was an admission far worse than any confirmation.

Then, the deep prison shook violently.

The black fracture exploded outward as darkness surged across reality. The ambient temperature plummeted, and space groaned under a sudden, staggering shift in mass. Beyond the rift, the titan-sized entity did something that stunned every cultivator and ancient presence remaining on the field: it retreated. The architect of destruction for countless worlds, the master of the Hunger Beyond, actively pulled its massive, pale limbs back from the split, shrinking its presence into the deep shadows of the void.

It was a staggering sight. The primordial horror that had laid siege to reality for ten thousand years was actively pulling back.

Deep within the prison, something stirred inside the absolute darkness—something massive, ancient, and deeply, unreservedly furious.

The Kingdom network reacted instantly to the localized shift in pressure. Golden chains brightened until they bled blinding white light across the darkened sky, the Foundation trembled down to its core geometry, and the ancient containment cage groaned under the sudden spike of internal stress.

Orion felt a distinct frequency surge through the central link. It was pure, unadulterated Authority, but it was neither the broad, commanding presence of the King’s Right nor the soothing, restoration-focused wave of the Queen’s Mercy. It was an old presence—one that felt buried, forgotten, and thoroughly erased from every public record preserved in the modern world.

The First Sovereign’s eyes widened as his spiritual senses registered the signature. "Impossible," he muttered, taking an involuntary step back onto the cracked stone.

The Founder cursed under his breath, his hands trembling as he tried to stabilize his projection, while the Old Bastard muttered an even harsher, more explicit string of profanities that echoed across the quiet plaza.

"He’s awake," the silver-haired woman said quietly, her voice devoid of its usual warmth.

A single, hairline fracture cracked across the open air above the academy plaza. It was small, barely three feet in length and almost insignificant compared to the massive void rift nearby, yet every single Authority Bearer on the field reacted immediately. Their eyes snapped to the small tear, because the crack was not in the physical prison wall—it was a structural tear in the conceptual fabric of reality itself.

A deep, cold voice echoed from the dark depths of the seal, vibrating through the bones of every living creature on the continent.

"Finally."

The battlefield trembled under the weight of that single spoken word. Distant mountain ranges crumbled into dust, the remaining stars in the darkened sky flickered like dying candles, and the local space-time framework groaned under the raw weight of the presence behind the voice.

Then the voice let out a terrible, lonely laugh—the hollow, rasping sound of an entity bound in total, absolute isolation for ten thousand years.

The First King whispered a single name across the link, his voice laced with an emotion Orion had never heard from him before: "Ragnar."

The name landed like a thunderclap across the plaza. The Queen closed her eyes, letting out a breath she seemed to have been holding for centuries. The Founder looked utterly devastated, his shoulders slumping as if his physical form had aged a thousand years in a second, and the Old Bastard folded his arms in grim silence. Everyone present on the field recognized the name—everyone except Orion.

The Kingdom network pulsed, generating an immediate system query response to identify the foreign signature overriding the localized field.

◈ UNKNOWN AUTHORITY IDENTIFIED ◈

*Designation: RAGNAR*

*Status: Former Authority Bearer*

*Classification: EXPUNGED*

*Reason: RESTRICTED BY HIGH COUNCIL*

◈ ◈ ◈

Orion processed the entry with cold, analytical speed. Expunged did not mean dead, nor did it mean lost to the passage of time. It meant the individual had been deliberately, systematically removed from the historical record, their achievements, name, and legacy scrubbed from existence by those who survived.

Ragnar’s laugh echoed through the bond once more, laced with cold, cutting mockery that seemed to slice through the golden chains binding the sky. "Restricted," he repeated, his voice filled with venom. "They still hide the truth, even now. Even with the world burning around their ears, they maintain the grand illusion."

"Enough," the Queen commanded, her voice ringing out like a golden bell. Authority exploded from her form in a massive, shimmering shockwave. Golden light flooded the ruined plaza, stitching together the torn fabric of space and stabilizing the surrounding realm instantly.

Yet Ragnar only laughed harder, the sound reverberating through the newly repaired air. "You never could accept what happened, Mercy. You always believed that if you built enough walls and told enough lies, the foundation would hold."

The crack in reality widened slightly, revealing a brief, terrifying glimpse of what lay beyond the threshold. A massive silhouette stood deep within the dark interior of the prison. The entity was bound by colossal black chains, each link the size of a mountain range, and wrapped in layer upon layer of ancient, glowing seals. Each individual seal was powerful enough to contain an entire world, yet they hummed and strain under the mere act of him breathing.

The silhouette shifted, slowly lifting its head. Through the vast, unmeasurable distance, through the heavy layers of suppression seals, and through space itself, Ragnar’s gaze locked directly onto Orion.

Their eyes met across the impossible divide. Orion braced his core for an assault of malevolence or madness, but as the connection solidified, he felt no mindless cruelty across the link—only a profound, ancient, and crushing sadness that rivaled the void itself.

Ragnar offered a tired, bitter smile that showed sharp teeth. "So... you are his successor."

The King’s Right brightened in response, its golden chains humming in a defensive posture as Orion’s soul core flared to absorb the pressure.

The ancient prisoner watched the golden light with a slow, deliberate nod. "Much better than the last candidate, at least. This one actually has a spine."

The Old Bastard groaned loudly, rubbing his temples with a ghostly hand. "Do not remind me of that disaster."

The Founder looked thoroughly embarrassed, averting his eyes, while the Queen turned her gaze away in mild, cold annoyance. Apparently, there had been previous attempts across the millennia to pass on the foundational Authority—attempts that had ended in catastrophic failure.

Ragnar’s attention shifted away from Orion, turning toward the black fracture where the primary enemy lurked in the dark. His tired smile vanished instantly, replaced by a cold, dangerous aura that made the local atmosphere heavy, sharp, and suffocating.

"You are still alive," Ragnar said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming cold enough to freeze entire oceans solid.

The enemy beyond the rift offered no verbal reply, its absolute silence serving as its own terrifying confirmation.

Ragnar let out a short, amused laugh that carried zero warmth. "Pathetic. Ten thousand years, and you are still skulking in the dark, waiting for the cage to rot."

The black fracture exploded as dark energy surged outward in a violent spray. For the first time since the battle had begun, the primordial enemy displayed genuine, unbridled rage. The air turned slick with black bile as the entity’s pressure spiked to hazardous levels.

Scanning the emotional and energetic signatures across the battlefield, Orion noted a critical distinction: the enemy feared the First King’s absolute order, but it hated Ragnar with a visceral, personal fury.

The First King’s voice returned to the central network, heavy and measured. "Orion."

"I am listening," Orion replied calmly, keeping his focus locked on the system metrics.

"Listen very carefully to what I am about to tell you," the First King warned, his tone causing every ancient entity on the plaza to tense in anticipation. "There were originally Nine Authorities established during the First Era. You already know this history from the records."

Orion nodded silently, his mind organizing the historical fragments he had gathered.

The First King continued, his voice echoing with profound regret. "What was kept from you... what was scrubbed from every tablet, scroll, and memory stone... is that there was almost a Tenth."

The battlefield fell into a dead silence as the Kingdom network pulsed in rhythm with the First King’s words. Even Ragnar ceased his movement inside the deep cage, listening to the truth being spoken aloud for the first time in millennia.

Orion pieced the data together instantly, the analytical framework of his mind locking the variables into place. Ragnar was the forgotten Authority—the expunged candidate meant to hold the Tenth seat of power before being forcibly erased from history and locked inside the very cage he had helped design.

"And if he breaks his remaining bindings now," the First King finished quietly, his voice trembling slightly, "the prison will transform into something it was never designed to be. It will cease to be a containment lock... and become a weapon of total destruction."

The Queen looked pale, her golden radiance dimming slightly. The Founder looked deeply concerned, his projection flickering with static, while the silver-haired woman remained completely still, her eyes locked on the tiny crack in space.

Deep within the dark interior of the prison, Ragnar smiled—a subtle, secret-filled expression that promised absolute ruin to anyone standing in his path.

"It is too late to worry about design parameters, brother," Ragnar whispered softly into the void.

Then, with a sharp, deafening metallic ring that echoed through the souls of everyone present, one of his massive black chains snapped in half.