Supreme Bloodline Evolution System

Chapter 184: Rest in Peace

It did not take long before the two of them arrived above the Thunder Dragon capital city.

But the moment the city appeared beneath them, both Max and Freya felt something was wrong.

An eerie silence filled the air.

There were no guards shouting from the walls, no dragons flying through the sky, no thunderous roars rolling from the palace, and no heavy pressure of an empire ready to defend itself.

The capital stood beneath them like a corpse pretending to be alive, its streets too still, its broken buildings too quiet, and its skies strangely empty.

Freya’s fingers curled against Max’s chest.

A bad feeling settled in her stomach, cold and heavy, and judging from the way Max’s expression darkened, he felt it too.

The first thought that entered his mind was Henry.

That rotten bastard might have beaten him here. He might have already killed Thor, claimed his corpse, and turned the Thunder Dragon Emperor into another weapon before Max even had the chance to force the empire to kneel.

Max’s black wings carried them down toward the half-broken citadel. The closer they came, the heavier the silence became, pressing against their skin like the air before a storm.

The moment his feet touched the shattered stone, Freya pushed herself out of his arms.

"Thor!" she shouted, rushing toward the entrance before Max could stop her.

Max followed behind her, his black eyes sweeping across the ruined halls while his senses spread outward through the citadel. Yet even as danger filled the air, his gaze still lowered for a brief moment, possessively following the sway of Freya’s butt as she ran ahead of him.

His eyes narrowed.

No matter what happened here, he had no intention of ever letting Thor have her again.

And if the Thunder Dragon Emperor was already dead, then in Max’s mind, that would only make things easier.

The entire place was empty. There were no bloodstains either. Almost nothing indicated that Thor had fought anyone here.

So what happened? Max thought to himself. His eyes narrowed as he slowly sniffed the air. Something was wrong. There was a faint smell of sulfur lingering in the air. It was sharp, rotten, and unpleasant, clinging to the back of his throat.

Something was rotting.

When Freya reached the main hall, her steps suddenly stopped.

For a moment, she only stood there, frozen in place, her shoulders stiff, her hands trembling at her sides as if her body had understood what her mind still refused to accept. Then her knees buckled beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground, one hand pressing against the stone while the other slowly rose toward her mouth.

Max did not rush forward.

He walked toward her slowly, his black eyes narrowing as the rotten smell grew stronger with every step. It clung to the air inside the hall, thick and disgusting, mixing with the cold silence that had swallowed the entire citadel. But when he finally saw what Freya was staring at, even Max felt something twist in his stomach.

Thor was sitting on his throne.

Or at least, what remained of him was.

His body had been left there like a mockery of a ruler, dressed in torn royal robes that no longer carried any pride. His hands rested stiffly on the arms of the throne, his chest sunken, his body already beginning to rot. But his head was not on his shoulders.

His head had been placed on the tip of a Wind Dragon spear beside the throne.

The flesh was already rotting, crawling with maggots that moved through the torn skin and empty sockets where his eyes had been gouged out. His mouth hung open as if even in death he had tried to scream, but no sound had remained in this hall except Freya’s broken breathing.

And where Thor’s head should have been, there was a sign hanging from his neck.

Only two words were written on it.

[Hello Max]

Max’s eyes narrowed.

There was no doubt anymore. This was Henry’s work. He had known Henry was dangerous. He had known Rosalia’s father had become twisted after everything that had happened, but he had never expected the old man to fall this far.

It made Max wonder if Henry had always carried something broken inside him, something hidden beneath the face of a kind village chief, or if Max himself had helped turn him into a man with nothing left to lose, nothing left to fear, and no reason to remain human.

Freya’s fingers scraped against the stone beneath her.

"Thor..." she whispered, but the name came out hollow, almost unrecognizable.

Max let her weep.

It was true that he had taken another man’s wife. It was true that he wanted her, that he had no intention of letting Thor have her again, and that a part of him had even thought Thor’s death would make things easier.

But in a moment like this, standing before the ruined body of a man who had once ruled an empire, Max was not rotten enough inside to drag Freya away before she could mourn.

He was a killer himself. True. His hands were soaked in more blood than he could ever wash away, and many of the people he had killed had never received anything close to a proper burial. He knew that.

He was not foolish enough to pretend otherwise. But even so, something inside him still tightened at the sight of Thor being left like this, humiliated after death, reduced to a message nailed into his own throne room.

Maybe that meant a small part of Max was still human.

Or at least, he hoped it did.

Freya cried until her voice broke. Eventually, the grief took what little strength remained in her body, and she fainted there in the eerie darkness, her tears still wet on her face.

Only then did Max move.

He walked toward her, lowered himself beside her, and picked her up carefully in his arms. He carried her away from the main hall and found a room nearby where the smell of rot had not yet reached. The room was dusty and abandoned, but the bed remained intact.

Max laid Freya down on it and pulled a cloak over her body, allowing her at least a little rest.

He did not fear Henry’s surprise attack.

If that rotten old man had wanted to ambush him, he would have stayed. But Henry had done exactly what he came here to do. He had killed Thor, left his message, and vanished without a trace.

Max stood beside the bed for a moment, looking at Freya’s pale face, then turned on his heel and walked back to the throne room.

Step by step, he approached Thor’s remains. His expression did not soften, but it also did not twist with disgust anymore.

Slowly, Max took down the sign from where Thor’s head should have been and burned it. Then he pulled the spear from its place and carefully lowered Thor’s head from the tip of it.

It was disturbing. But Max still picked him up.

He carried Thor’s body and head out of the citadel with the cold respect one enemy could still give another after death.

Outside, beneath the open sky, he found a place where the ground was the most charred by lightning. He dug the grave with void magic until the hole was deep enough.

Then he placed Thor inside.

He set the head near the body and covered him with what remained of his royal cloak.

Thor had been cruel. He had been proud. He had ruled badly in many ways. But he had still been an emperor. He had still carried thunder in his blood. And whatever hatred existed between them, Max would not leave him to rot on a throne like a butchered animal.

He buried him slowly.

Stone by stone, earth by earth, Max covered the corpse until nothing remained but a fresh grave beneath the dark sky. There were no priests here. No thunderous ceremony. No army kneeling in farewell. Only Max, the wind, and the silence left behind by a dead empire.

When it was done, Max stood before the grave for a long moment.

They had been enemies since the very first time they met. If Thor had lived, Max would have broken him himself. There was no lie in that.

There was no false sadness in his chest, no sudden forgiveness, no grief for a man he had never respected as a ruler.

But there was pity.

"No man should be left to die in shame like that," Max said quietly, his voice rough but steady. "Not even an enemy."

He looked down at the grave, his dark-brown eyes cold beneath the fading light.

"I’m sorry it happened to you, Thunder Dragon Emperor. Whatever kind of man you were, whatever kind of ruler you became, this was not the end you should have had."

The wind moved across the broken citadel behind him.

Max lowered his head slightly.

"Rest in peace."