CHAPTER 261: 261. REVOLUTIONARIES

A few days ago, when Willson was captured and tortured by Onalenna and Ivy in the capital city of Eldoria, he did not break. Despite their harsh methods, he never spoke a word about Prince Max, the man who had sent him. He endured it all, loyal to the very end. But loyalty rarely repays itself in gold.

When the chaos died down, and Eldoria’s knights of the Magical Integrity assessed the damage, the bill was swift and merciless: 100 gold coins, a fee for the reparations of buildings damaged when Willson unleashed his strong spell within the city limits. That kind of magical outburst, especially by a foreigner, was considered a direct breach of interkingdom law.

The demand was soon sent to Zephandria, at present where Prince Max sat in the family’s dining hall when the scroll was brought to him. He glanced at the ornate Eldorian seal on the envelope, scowled, and tore the parchment apart without a second thought.

"I ain’t paying shit to Eldoria!" he growled, tearing the letter apart after reading it, and throwing the shreds to the floor.

His mother, the King was seated across the long oak table lined with silver platters and untouched meats, sighed heavily, rubbing her temples. "Max, what were you even up to this time again?" she asked with exhausted patience.

Max didn’t respond. His jaw tightened as he reached for his goblet, only to shove it aside.

"We can’t afford disputes with Eldoria," the King continued. "Our trade alliance is still young. Their crystals fund nearly half of our alchemy. Just pay the damned fine and get your friend out of their prison. And, for the gods’ sake, stay out of trouble!"

He stood abruptly, his tall chair screeching against the floor. "Excuse me," he muttered bitterly, stalking out of the room.

The King watched him go, disappointment thick on her face.

Max stormed through the halls of the marble-clad royal palace, the guards and servants making way with bowed heads and anxious eyes. Everyone knew what came next. The prince’s temper had its routine.

Moments later, from the western wing of the palace, the sound of shattering wood and upturned furniture echoed like thunder.

Smash! Bang! Crack!

Inside his chambers, Max hurled an armchair against the wall. A carved table splintered under his boot. Vases, rare gifts from the Sultanate of Durnan were turned to dust. When the tantrum subsided, he collapsed onto his bed, panting, surrounded by chaos.

"What a disappointment," he muttered to himself. "Should’ve known better than to send Willson, that idiot." He clenched his fists, his voice low with venom. "How do you fail to kidnap one damn woman? A C-rank, at that. And I even gave him a squad of assassins! All that l paid!"

He bit his tongue to restrain a scream. This couldn’t continue. If he wanted the brat’s mother, he’d have to take action himself. No more relying on useless pawns.

A knock interrupted his brewing fury.

"Young master," a voice called from beyond the door. It was one of the maids. "Someone is here to see you."

"Who is it?"

"It’s... Willson’s wife, sir." The maid responded.

Max’s expression changed in an instant. A wicked smile curved his lips. "Let her in."

A few moments passed before the door creaked open and Amanda stepped in. She was a woman of subtle beauty—light-skinned, nearly albino, with short ginger-tinted hair. Her skin was known for its sensitivity: even a firm grip could leave a red mark for hours. She wasn’t the curviest, but her delicate B-cup chest, narrow waist, and balanced figure made her attractive in a modest way. And everyone loved how clean she always was, and her minimalistic fashion sense just added to her allure.

Max’s eyes drifted up and down her body like a snake watching prey. "Yo, Amanda," he said with a cocky grin, shifting aside to make space beside him on the bed.

Amanda bowed respectfully, her posture stiff with discomfort. "Forgive me for the disturbance, my prince."

"Come on, don’t be so formal," Max said, patting the bed beside him. "Sit down. You know I’ve told you before."

She hesitated, visibly disturbed by the wreckage around the room. But she obeyed, settling beside him like someone sitting near a viper.

"I won’t waste your time," she said nervously. "I’m... looking for my husband. He hasn’t returned home for days."

Max shrugged. "That idiot’s rotting in Eldoria’s prison. Caused some magical incident. They’re asking for a hundred gold to release him."

Amanda’s brows creased. "Why? What was he doing there?"

"Who knows?" Max lied with ease. "Probably just pissing off the wrong people." He tilted his head and asked casually, "You got the money?"

She dropped her gaze and shook her head. "We’re broke."

"Pity." Max’s tone dropped an octave. "Guess he’s staying there, then."

Amanda tightened her fingers together, a visible tremble in her hands. "Please... will you lend us the money?"

There it was. The moment he’d been waiting for.

Max leaned in slightly, voice low and oily. "Word is Willson got beat pretty bad. And you... with your fragile skin, there’s no way you can work the hunting raids. Even a scratch would put you in bed for days, right?" His grin widened. "So, how’s your family gonna pay me back?"

Amanda’s heart sank. It was true. Willson had always been the breadwinner. She had no skills for combat or craft. Their daughter needed food, books, tuition. And now, Willson might be too injured to earn anything for months—if he even got out.

She remained silent, staring down at her clenched hands.

"But..." Max slid his arm around her waist. "There’s a simpler way you could pay me..."

Amanda flinched, jerking away from his touch.

"Keep your hands off me, my prince," she said, her voice firm, even if her fear was palpable.

Max stood, chuckling darkly. "This is always your problem, Amanda. You think you’re above everyone else. Some loyal, untouched little wife." He gestured mockingly to the ceiling. "Up on your pedestal, huh?"

He had tried seducing her before—many times—but she always found a way to escape his advances with dignity. And he, despite his temper, had let her go. Forcing himself on a nobleman’s wife would stain his name. But today? His patience had thinned.

Amanda stood and bowed again. "Forgive me if I’ve offended you. But I’m married to Willson. He is your loyal friend. I belong to him."

Her words were like oil to his flame.

"Is it that you don’t want anyone touching you," Max asked slowly, "or just that you don’t want me to touch you?"

She didn’t hesitate. "It’s both."

A chuckle rippled through the air, but there was nothing humorous in it.

"A woman loyal to a man in this world? Rare. Your husband’s a lucky bastard," Max murmured, eyes gleaming with something darker than amusement. "Too bad I can’t help him unless I get a taste of you. But hey... would it really hurt to lie here, take your clothes like a good girl, let me take what I want, and walk away like nothing happened?"

Amanda stepped back, voice shaking. "I can’t do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll take my leave."

She turned—but Max caught her wrist. She gasped at the sting his grip left.

"You know where to find me if you change your mind," he said with a smirk. "And don’t shave. I like my cat fluffy."

She yanked her hand free, red marks already forming. Without another word, she turned and rushed out of the room, nearly sprinting down the hallway.

Max laughed quietly. "So sensitive... just a touch and her skin reddens like fire." He licked his lips. "I will spank that ass red someday. Fucking my friend’s wife—how poetic."

But his grin vanished as his thoughts shifted back to the real problem.

"That woman..." he muttered, pacing toward the far side of the room. "That brat’s mother... if I don’t get her soon... I’ll probably get crazy!."

He approached the wall and pulled a bronze lever hidden behind a tapestry. With a mechanical grind, the wall lifted upward, revealing a hidden chamber beyond.

Inside was a small lair—lined with enchanted books, magical artifacts, masks, maps, and a circular floor etched with forbidden runes. A single book sat on a pedestal, its cover adorned with red symbols and the image of a three-horned humanoid beast.

’The Revolutionary’s Guide to Power’ was boldly written on the front cover.

Max took the book, sat cross-legged within the rune circle, and flipped it open to a page inscribed in an arcane tongue. As he began to chant, the magic flared.

Dark light flickered. Shadows gathered.

Moments later, shimmering holograms appeared before him—three figures, cloaked in illusion. His brothers in revolution.

Each had secured power through their own dark pacts with devils, forgotten gods, or ancient relics. Men with influence hidden behind masks and wealth.

"Sorry to summon you without warning," Max said, smirking. "But I need help. It’s time we finished what that idiot Malak Rembrandt couldn’t. We may be scattered... but it’s time to remind this world why they once feared us... the revolutionaries! But first, l need help with catching a certain woman!"

TBC