Chapter 62 – Rotten Victory

  Prince of Hell

  The dust hadn't settled.

  It hung.

  Heavy.

  Toxic.

  Laced with ash and blood.

  In the far corner, a figure dropped.

  Eyes rolled back.

  Foam spilled from his mouth—

  Thick. Violent. Bubbling.

  A dagger still clenched in his fist.

  Another boy, still clinging to the fairy tale of teamwork, shouted—

  “Guys, be careful! Some weapons are laced—”

  CRACK.

  His head burst open mid-sentence.

  A rusted pickaxe—thrown from nowhere—sank into his skull like fruit.

  The silence died again.

  Screams came flooding back.

  The smoke cleared.

  The battlefield was a graveyard.

  Limbs. Flesh.

  More than fifteen dead. Maybe more.

  And at the heart of it—

  Sael.

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  Still alive.

  Barely.

  His body was a carcass.

  Half of it gone—

  Bone exposed, organs hanging, skin blackened like rot.

  But he crawled.

  Dragged himself toward the nearest guard.

  He whispered something.

  Too soft to catch.

  The guard smirked.

  And Sael—

  Didn’t move again.

  Not dead.

  But gone.

  Whatever was inside him just… gave up.

  A few guards chuckled.

  One said, “Well, kid did kill twenty. I promised I’d recommend him.”

  Another laughed.

  “You really think they’d take him?”

  Laughter echoed like bullets.

  Minutes passed.

  Then—

  A gunshot.

  Loud. Final.

  The chaos paused.

  Nine figures remained.

  All drenched in blood.

  Some shaking.

  Some smiling.

  None sane.

  From the far end, the Warden entered.

  That grin again.

  Too wide. Too clean.

  “Ahhh,” he sang.

  “So sad. Only nine? I asked for twenty for the next round.”

  He clapped once.

  “No matter. Guards, clean the field.”

  The guards moved.

  Dragging bodies.

  Wiping blood.

  Some looting—casual, like this was a shift at a grocery store.

  One reached for a limp body near the edge—

  Grim.

  His hand touched him.

  Grim’s arm snapped up. Grabbed the wrist—tight.

  The guard froze.

  Grim stood.

  No shaking.

  No coughing.

  Just rising—slow. Silent.

  The liver wound was nearly gone.

  Muscle stitched. Skin pink with new life.

  He looked straight at the Warden.

  The Warden raised an eyebrow. Smiled wider.

  “Oh. I guess it’s ten, then.”

  But Grim—

  Wasn’t really looking at him.

  Not truly.

  In his mind—

  A voice echoed.

  "I guess you aren't really the Nation Slayer."

  Sael’s voice.

  Sharp. Cruel.

  Right before he left him bleeding in the dirt.

  And something lit behind Grim’s eyes.

  Not fire.

  Something colder.

  Purpose, maybe.

  Doubt, maybe.

  But doubt was better than nothing.

  End of Chapter.