The Lustforged Hero

Chapter 33 - Palace Brief

Updat𝓮d from frёewebnoѵēl.com.

Dust clung to Liam's boots as he strode into the palace's grand hall, the clatter of hooves fading behind him on the cobblestone courtyard.

The air shifted from Drenvar's coal-streaked bite to polished stone and incense, heavy with the weight of old banners swaying above. His cloak hung stiff with sweat; his sword rested at his hip, its grip still warm from the ride south. The hall stretched long—marble floors gleamed under torchlight, and guards in stag-emblazoned tabards stood rigid along the walls, their eyes tracking him.

Lysandra walked beside him, her silver hair loosened from its tie, catching flickers of firelight as her armor clinked softly with each step. Selene followed, her tail swaying slow, claws tapping her thigh; her tan skin bore faint red streaks, a grin tugging her lips as she eyed the guards with lazy defiance. Erynn brought up the rear, her golden curls spilling free; her staff clicked against the floor, her green eyes wide but steady, drinking in the hall's grandeur.

The king sat atop a raised dais—his throne carved from dark oak, antlers branching behind him—his gray beard framing a face lined with strain. His crown gleamed dull under the torches; his voice rolled out, deep and weathered, as they approached. "You've arrived," he said, leaning forward, his hands gripping the armrests. "Thalrune holds; Drenvar stands—because of you. Reports say the Hero carved through Maltheris' dogs like a storm."

Liam stopped at the dais' base, his jaw tightening as he met the king's gaze. "We did what we could. They're safe—for now," he said. His hands flexed; the fight lingered in his bones, a restless hum he couldn't shake.

The king nodded, his eyes narrowing as he rose, pacing to a map sprawled across a table—parchment creased, ink marking towns in jagged strokes. "More than Thalrune and Drenvar have been attacked now," he said, tracing a finger along the border. "Kaelridge fell three nights ago. Vyrn's scouts vanished yesterday; we have not heard a word from them. Maltheris' chaos spreads, and I see no pattern yet—just ruin." His voice grew taut, his knuckles whitening against the wood.

Lysandra stepped closer, peering at the map; her silver eyes traced the red-smeared marks. "No pattern. But why is he attacking just the borders?" She asked, her voice low and sharp.

Selene snorted, leaning against a pillar. "Or he's a mad dog biting everything—makes him harder to sniff out," she said, her crimson eyes glinting as her tail flicked.

Erynn clutched her staff, her brows knitting as she studied the map. "So many towns—he's fast, too fast, he isn't giving us time to ," she said, her voice soft but firm, green eyes flickering with worry.

"Hmmmm..... that might be it," the king said. "He must be planning something he wants to keep us oblivious to. But what??" The king thought to himself stroking his beard.

The king turned to Liam, his gaze heavy. "You've struck him twice—Thalrune, Drenvar. I commend you, Hero; your blade's kept us breathing," he said, his tone warming briefly before hardening. "But there's a shadow now. Word spreads—a summoned Hero walks again. Maltheris might know you exist."

"Good—let him know. I'll cut deeper next time," Liam said, his voice dropping low, a grin tugging his lips. Drenvar's fight flashed in his mind, the roar of the crowd naming him Hero. It wasn't enough; he craved more—steel, chaos, the kill.

The king's brow furrowed, his hand lifting as if to temper him. "Caution, lad. He's no fool—sending his lieutenants like that beast girl Torren spoke of mean he's building something big," he said, his voice steady but grave. "Rest here; we'll plan at dawn—try to figure out his plans before it's too late." He waved a dismissal, turning back to the map with his advisors clustering close.

Liam's fists clenched; rest sounded like chains. The hall's air pressed in—too still, too thick—his skin itched under his cloak, his sword's weight begging to swing.

Lysandra caught his eye, her smirk faint but knowing; Selene tilted her head, claws tapping air; Erynn frowned, stepping toward him, but he shook his head. "Need air," he muttered, his tone clipped as he turned, boots echoing on marble.

He slipped past the guards, their stares trailing him, and found a side corridor—narrow, shadowed, lined with tapestries of old battles. His pace quickened; the palace felt like a cage, its walls too close after Drenvar's open dust. He pushed through a wooden door, stepping onto a balcony overlooking the courtyard; night air hit him, cool and sharp, carrying the scent of hay and distant forge smoke.

The sky stretched black above, stars faint through clouds; below, horses stamped in the stables, and a lone guard paced the wall.

Liam leaned on the stone railing, his breath fogging as he gripped it hard, knuckles whitening. His last fight pulsed in his veins—he was finally doing something that made him feel like the hero they said he was—fueling a hunger he couldn't name, a need to do more , to strike.

The king's warning rang —Maltheris might know him now, might hunt him back. Good, he thought, his grin sharpening; let the bastard come. His hand drifted to his sword, fingers tracing the hilt; Drenvar's miners had seen him, named him—Hero—but it wasn't enough. He needed more—blood, steel, the clash.

Liam chuckled, low and rough, easing his grip on the railing. "Fight's still in me—Drenvar lit something," he said, his voice thick, eyes flicking north.

He exhaled, the night air cooling his skin; Maltheris was still out out there, chaos spreading. He nodded, short and tight. "Dawn, then—I can wait for a few more hours," he said, his voice low, sword hand twitching—needing air, needing more.