The Kingmaker System
Chapter 258 - 257. Crimson Reckoning (1)

Chapter 258: 257. Crimson Reckoning (1)

I stared at Benedict, my eyes boring into him. Judging by his trembling form as he prostrated himself, he must have misunderstood the look I gave him. Awe, not fear, now dominated his expression as he pressed his forehead to the ground.

"I-I knew it!" he stammered, voice shaking. "We... We have committed a grave sin by harming the Dragon’s descendant! Denril... Denril will be destroyed!"

A Dragon’s descendant?

The words hit me like a tidal wave. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. The strange pull, the restless stirring in my blood every time I was near the child—it all made sense now. My blood had never reacted to anyone like that before. The realization surged through me, fierce and undeniable. He wasn’t just special. He was one of us. He was a Dragon, too.

A low, simmering rage bubbled beneath the surface. Was this why I had those recurring dreams? The ones that left me with a sense of longing and unease? Had the curse clouded my vision, blinding me to the truth all this time?

I clenched my fists, the weight of the revelation crashing down. The child wasn’t just a victim of circumstance—he was kin. And they had dared to harm him.

Was this why I had been haunted by those recurrent dreams about him? The visions had always been fragmented, shrouded in shadows and distortion. Perhaps the curse had clouded my senses, blurring his features so I wouldn’t recognize him. But now, clarity struck with brutal force—it had always been him.

A surge of fury coursed through me.

Without hesitation, I closed the distance between us, my body moving on instinct. In one swift motion, my hand shot out, wrapping around Benedict’s throat. His eyes bulged as I lifted him effortlessly, slamming him against the cold stone wall. The impact echoed through the room like a crack of thunder.

His legs kicked wildly, scraping against the wall in a futile attempt to free himself. His face drained of color, turning an alarming shade of pale. Desperation flickered in his wide, terror-stricken eyes as he clawed at my wrist, nails raking against my skin.

"P-please..." he gasped, his voice a strangled whisper. His eyes pleaded, shimmering with panic and silent begging.

"Please... Please don’t kill me! I-I never did anything on my own... I was ordered... Please!"

"What did you do to him?" I sneered, my voice low and venomous, each word laced with the promise of pain.

Benedict’s gaze darted downward, unable to meet mine, as though the weight of his guilt had finally crushed whatever courage he had left. His face darkened to a sickening shade of purple, veins bulging at his temples. The sound of his heartbeat echoed in the tense silence, each thud loud and frantic, like a drum heralding his demise.

For a moment, I wondered if his heart might give out entirely—shatter under the relentless grip of fear and my power. Deciding he hadn’t earned such a swift end, I released his throat.

He crumpled to the floor in a heap, gasping and retching as he clawed at the ground, desperate to fill his lungs with air. The impact of his fall reverberated through the room, a pitiful sound against the unforgiving stone.

"Tell me, and I might let you live," I said, my voice cold and deliberate. The flicker of hope in Benedict’s eyes was almost pitiful, tangled with the despair that clung to him like a shroud.

"R-Really?" he whispered, his voice barely above a gasp.

"Are you going to make me wait all night?" I snapped, and he swallowed hard, trembling.

"H-His Holiness... he received a recipe—a potion—from someone. The key ingredient... it required the blood of a Dragon. Specifically, a Blue Dragon. The one known as the Healing Dragon," he stammered, each word punctuated by shallow breaths.

My fists clenched at my sides, the revelation like a blow to the chest. A potion for immortality. And they were draining a child to achieve it.

"Who gave him this recipe?" I demanded, my voice a low growl.

"I-I don’t know! O-Only His Holiness knows! I swear on my name!" he blurted out, his eyes wide and pleading.

I narrowed my gaze, scrutinizing him. His heart was racing, pounding so fiercely I could almost hear it. The veins in his neck pulsed erratically, his body teetering on the brink of collapse. One more push, and he might suffer a brain hemorrhage.

I let the silence stretch, the weight of my presence suffocating him. "You’d better pray you’re not lying."

"I’m not! I’m not!" Benedict shouted, his voice cracking in desperation. His body jerked back as I stepped forward, the fear in his eyes growing as he tried to escape me, but the wall stopped him cold.

I crouched in front of him, my gaze fixed and unrelenting. His eyes were wide, his pupils trembling, and every shiver of his body spoke of pure terror.

"I will come for the child in a couple of days. Till then keep him safe and treat him like you treat the new Saintess. And when I come, you better hand him over. If you don’t," I leaned in closer, my voice cold and final, "I will burn this entire Temple down, along with every last one of you."

His throat worked, but no words came. His mouth opened, but nothing more than a shaky breath escaped. He closed it again, his mind clearly torn, the conflict evident in the frantic movements of his eyes. I could see the hesitation in his gaze, the war waging within him.

But it didn’t matter. In the end, even Benedict couldn’t choose anything over his own life.

I reached out to him, and he gasped, instinctively raising his hands in defense. I gripped his hair tightly, forcing him to meet my gaze as he whimpered, trembling beneath my touch. But instead of tearing him apart, I healed him—restoring his body with a surge of my power.

He stilled, bewildered, as the pain and wounds vanished. He stared down at his hands, disbelief in his eyes as he gingerly touched his head, almost as if testing the reality of his restored body.

I stood up slowly, the silence heavy between us, and turned toward the open window. My gaze lingered on him for a moment, watching him as he processed the sudden change.

Without a word, I unfurled my invisible wings, the air around me shifting as they spread wide. I leapt into the midnight darkness, my form vanishing into the shadows, leaving Benedict behind in the stillness of the room.

I returned to my room and lay on the bed, the silence pressing down on me as I awaited the morning. The revelation about the Pope being the true villain weighed heavily on my mind. He was the one torturing the child—the one I had yet to fully understand. But why? How had this twisted path unfolded?

The next night, I sat in my room, the chessboard before me, the pieces arranged in perfect order. I had positioned my pawns, set my plans in motion, with only a few moves left to make. The groundwork was complete, thanks to Lyall and the support from the Nobles’ faction.

"Master?" Lyall’s voice broke the silence, and I picked up the communication device, its soft glow illuminating the otherwise dark room.

"What is it?" I replied, my voice steady.

"I found the man who sold the boy to the Pope," Lyall answered.

I was on my feet in an instant, my heart pounding with anticipation.

"Where?" I demanded.

"I’m leaving to get him now, Master. I’ll bring him to you soon."

"No. Share the location now. I’m coming with you." I insisted.

"Pardon?"

"Now." My voice held authority.

"Yes, Master. I’ll tell you," he said, quickly relenting.

Half an hour later, I was walking down the shadowy paths of the black market, Lyall leading the way. He didn’t question why I was accompanying him; he simply followed orders. But I had to see the man who had dared to sell a Dragon’s descendant. The labyrinthine alleys twisted around us, and my senses sharpened, aware of every shadow and every sound as we approached our destination.

Lyall stopped in front of a door and knocked. The door opened after he spoke a password, and we were led inside, deeper into the maze of the market. A man at the front guided us further into the tunnels, and soon, I felt the heavy presence of countless others around us.

We arrived at an auction hall.

Rows of people were already seated, their eyes fixed on the large stage, where goods—or rather, people—were being prepared for sale.

"I’d like to see what you’re selling before the auction," I demanded, my voice cold. The man looked at me and then at Lyall. With Lyall now the new boss of the underworld, there was no room for refusal, and they complied.

We were led to the jail cells, where humans, elves, dwarves, and even shapeshifters were held captive. They looked up at us, some rushing forward, hoping for rescue, others cowering in fear.

"I want all of them," I ordered, my gaze unwavering.

The man stared at me, disbelief flashing across his face before he let out a nervous chuckle. "Pardon? These aren’t for sale as a single lot, My Lord. Besides, you might not even have the funds to buy them all."

His words fell flat as I met his eyes with an icy glare. "There will be no one else here to buy them," I said, my voice as cold as the void.

The laughter died in his throat, replaced by realization. I wasn’t joking.

Within moments, I made good on my promise. The auction hall was painted red, the floor slick with the blood of those who had dared to trade in others’ suffering. One by one, the lives of those who had wronged me were extinguished, as the once-bustling hall was reduced to a slaughterhouse.

They had messed with a Dragon. And for that, they would pay—every last one of them.