In the shadows of the S Ranked Main character
Chapter 51: No way out(5)

Chapter 51: No way out(5)

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Twenty years had passed.

June’s kingdom — the Roan Kingdom — had been carved out by his own hands.

He wasn’t a leader by virtue or diplomacy.

He was a ruler by force.

By sheer survival.

Twenty years ago, he had been a nameless slave, thrown into the dirt, beaten, mocked, and crushed under the boots of masters who saw him as less than an insect.

But June had refused to stay there.

He rose.

Not by inspiring others.

Not by uniting the slaves in hope or righteousness.

He rose by domination.

By systematically killing the masters one by one, draining their power, taking their resources, stripping their strongholds.

He became something feared — not loved.

He didn’t lead as a noble or a general.

He ruled as a tyrant.

The Roan Kingdom wasn’t vast, but it was solid.

A human foothold on the edges of the demon lands and dark elf territories.

June had smashed through countless forces to carve out enough land —

small demon clans, roaming ghouls, scattered succubi bands.

Not grand armies, but lethal, tricky enemies with local advantage.

He beat them.

Sometimes through brute strength, sometimes through clever ambushes, sometimes through sheer stubbornness.

When demons underestimated him, they fell.

When succubi tried to seduce or trick his troops, he crushed them.

When neighboring monsters circled, he hit first — fast and brutal — leaving shattered corpses as warnings.

By now, his forces weren’t made up of loyalists or patriots.

They were made up of people who feared him.

Mercenaries. Cutthroats. Former slaves. Survivors.

They didn’t follow June because they believed in him.

They followed because no one wanted to face his wrath.

He wasn’t a politician.

He wasn’t a strategist sitting behind polished maps.

He was a brute force personality — arrogant, ruthless, obsessed with power.

He saw himself as untouchable, a self-made god among worms.

He called his kingdom a monument to his will.

He referred to himself as the builder, the breaker, the remaker.

He didn’t care about administration.

He left that to harsh lieutenants and cruel overseers.

He cared about expansion.

Where could he push next?

Where could he plant a flag?

Where could he remind the world that June, the once-forgotten, once-chained, now ruled?

The Roan Kingdom was nestled close to the demon frontiers and the outer edge of dark elf lands.

The human kingdoms further north eyed him with suspicion but hadn’t dared challenge him yet.

June didn’t waste time negotiating.

He focused on solidifying his borders — building walls, fortifying strongpoints, raiding enemy outposts for supplies and slaves.

If he could, he would turn every enemy stronghold into another extension of Roan.

He walked the streets of his capital in person sometimes, grinning faintly, hands behind his back, sharp-eyed as workers cowered or rushed aside to avoid his gaze.

He loved watching them react.

He loved seeing the power he’d built.

It fed his arrogance, fed his sense of invincibility.

This wasn’t a golden kingdom of justice or prosperity.

This was a kingdom built on raw, unrelenting domination —

And June reveled in it.

Because no matter how many years passed, no matter how far he climbed, no matter how much territory he gained —

he never forgot where he started.

And he swore —

no one, ever again,

would make him kneel.

After twenty years of conquest, June had learned to ignore most rumors.

Whispers of assassins, whispers of rebellions, whispers of enemy warbands — he’d heard them all. And he crushed them all.

But this rumor was different.

It reached him through three separate channels:

⏤ a trembling slave captured from the southern demon lands,

⏤ a mercenary group returning from a failed scouting run,

⏤ and one of his own overseers, pale-faced, reporting "strange disturbances" in the far southeast.

They all spoke the same name:

Veldax.

The Dragon Lord.

June sat on the rough-hewn throne of Roan’s central fortress, legs draped over the side, his sharp golden eyes flicking lazily over the latest reports.

"Tell me," he said with a crooked grin, "is this supposed to scare me?"

The overseer swallowed hard.

"Sire, they say Veldax is not like the minor drakes or hatchlings we’ve encountered."

June tilted his head slightly. "Oh?"

The overseer’s hands twisted nervously.

"They say... Veldax is ancient. Older than the demon kings, older than the elf wars. A relic, sleeping under the Ashen Peaks for centuries. But something has woken him."

June’s grin widened.

"A dragon lord, huh?"

He stood, the hem of his long coat brushing the floor, his booted steps sharp on the stone.

He walked slowly down the steps of the throne platform, forcing the overseer to look up, stiff and pale.

"And why," June murmured, "do you look like you expect me to back down?"

The overseer hesitated, his mouth dry.

"Sire, if the rumors are true, Veldax could raze this entire region. The dark elves fear him. The demons won’t challenge him. Even the old human kingdoms"

June’s laugh cut him off.

It wasn’t loud.

It was sharp.

"Let me explain something to you," June said softly, leaning forward just enough to make the man flinch. "I didn’t claw my way from slave to god-king by running from monsters."

He straightened, cracking his knuckles once, a sharp grin cutting across his face.

"I will face him. I will meet this Veldax. And if he’s half the legend they whisper about —" his eyes gleamed — "then I will claim his territory too."

He turned sharply on his heel.

"Prepare my war band. Only the best. We leave at dawn."

The overseer hesitated. "Sire, the council⏤"

June shot him a glare.

"The council obeys or dies."

Without waiting, June strode from the hall, his boots echoing down the long stone corridor.

Behind him, the overseer swallowed hard and rushed to carry out the order.

In the cold southeastern distance, the Ashen Peaks loomed.

And somewhere deep beneath those mountains, the dragon lord Veldax stirred, his vast body coiled, his eyes burning faintly under the weight of centuries.

June didn’t know the details yet.

Didn’t know the scale, or the danger, or the history.

He only knew one thing:

There was a throne to challenge.

And June, god-complex, arrogant, relentless,

never walked away from a throne

June stood at the high stone balcony of Roan’s central keep, his sharp golden eyes sweeping across the courtyard below.

The war banners of his kingdom — black cloth with gold serpents — snapped and rippled in the wind. Rows of armored soldiers stood at attention: his elite. His bannermen. His top commanders.

These were not the ragged slaves he’d clawed his way up with two decades ago.

These were hardened warlords, blooded captains, champions of countless skirmishes against demons, elves, beastkin, and human rivals.

And yet, when June stepped to the edge, arms casually crossed, there was a hush — a tight pull of tension — because even they knew:

When June called his banners, it meant blood.

"Listen up," June called, his voice cutting across the open air, cool and sharp.

The captains straightened. Some raised fists to their chests in salute.

June’s crooked grin twitched onto his face.

"I know you’ve heard the rumors."

He took a step forward, boots clicking against the stone.

"About a beast. A dragon lord. Veldax."

A murmur rippled faintly through the lines, but no one dared speak.

June kept his grin sharp.

"They say it’s suicide to challenge him. That no warband has come back alive. That even the demon kings and dark elf lords avoid his territory."

He let that hang. Let the weight of the words press down.

Then:

"So?"

He spread his arms slightly, his voice turning sharper, colder.

"Are you afraid?"

The bannermen stiffened.

"I didn’t build Roan on fear," June went on, voice rising. "I didn’t shatter chains, tear through demon hordes, or burn the black hills of the elf lands just to cower when a big lizard growls at the edge of our borders."

He let his golden gaze sweep across them, one by one.

"I will face Veldax."

He let the words slice the air.

"I will break him, or he will break me."

He jabbed a finger forward.

"And I will not ride alone."

The bannermen raised their fists, one by one, some shouting, some pounding gauntlets to chests, the tension cracking into sudden, fierce energy.

June nodded once, sharp and satisfied.

"Prepare your warbands. Heavy units. Scaled armor. Bring the siege breakers. We leave in two days."

He turned on his heel, heading back toward the keep’s inner stairs.

As he passed under the stone archway, his voice floated back, dry and cool:

"Oh, and someone tell the cooks to load extra supplies."

He grinned faintly.

"If we win, we’ll need the wine."

Behind him, the war camp exploded into motio orders flying, weapons prepared, banners unfurled

and the name of Veldax, Dragon Lord of the Ashen Peaks,

was set to be challenged

June had long lost himself in this fake world

Only tiny hints remained but it all felt like a great blur anyway