CHAPTER 33: CHAPTER 32. HOW TO

Erengrad Main Palace, Emperor’s Office, Erengrad Empire

Dietrich sat behind his massive oak desk, his fingers drumming impatiently against the polished surface. The air in his study is suffocating; he’s been waiting for the news of the first shadow knights group he sent.

Then suddenly a group of three people shows up in front of him, coming from nowhere and now bowing in front of Dietrich. Their black cloaks were torn and frayed, and their boots were caked with mud and frozen blood. The smell of iron and death clung to them like a curse.

Their leader stepped forward, dropping to one knee before the emperor, his expression grim and pale. In his trembling hands, he carried a small, bloodstained satchel.

"Well?" Dietrich’s voice was low and dangerous, his eyes narrowing like a predator about to strike. "Tell me what you found."

The leader swallowed hard before speaking, his voice uneven. "Your Highness... we tracked the first unit you dispatched into the Dreadfang Mountains." He paused, as if gathering courage. "What we discovered was... a carnage. Their bodies were mutilated beyond recognition. The snow was painted red with their blood. Probably the monsters feasted on them, tearing them apart and leaving nothing but scraps."

His hands shook as he opened the satchel, revealing ten metal identification tags. They glinted faintly in front of Dietrich, smeared with dried blood. "We couldn’t recover their full remains, but we found these. All ten tags. There is no mistake; all of them are dead."

The room fell utterly silent, the weight of the report hanging heavily in the air. Dietrich’s jaw tightened, his crimson eyes burning with restrained fury as his fingers dug into the carved armrests of his chair. The tension in the room was suffocating, thick enough to choke on.

His alpha power surged violently, roaring like an invisible storm. The pressure radiated outward, crashing over the space. Outside the chamber, every alpha and omega within range would have felt it, an instinctive, primal fear that made their bodies tremble and their throats tighten. The very air seemed to thrum with his rage.

But the shadow knights standing before him remained unnervingly still. They were all born betas, bred for precision and obedience, their bloodlines carefully managed for generations.

In Elderglen, any child born with the scent of an alpha or omega was cast out immediately, discarded like trash. Only true betas were molded into shadow knights, for their neutrality gave them balance, sharp minds, steady hands, and hearts untouched by the volatile pull of mating instincts.

Because of this, they did not bend easily before an alpha’s dominance. Where others would crumble under Dietrich’s oppressive power, the shadow knights merely lowered their heads out of respect, not compulsion.

Dietrich’s rage swirled for a long, suffocating moment before he finally spoke. His voice is flat and cold, each word cutting through the silence like a sharpened blade. "So," he said, crimson eyes narrowing to dangerous slits, "you are telling me... Marvessa is dead."

The lead knight’s head dropped even lower, his shoulders tense, but his voice remained steady. "Yes, Your Highness. There is no doubt."

Dietrich’s breath came heavier, his chest rising and falling as he tried to contain the rage surging through him. Marvessa has always been his finest shadow knight, the leader of his most trusted unit, and the blade he wielded in darkness. She was his pride, his proof that his forces were unmatched.

"Marvessa..." His voice trembled. "My best knight. My weapon in the shadows. And now someone dares to take you from me?" His hands curled into fists, his nails digging into his palms until blood welled beneath them.

The knight leader dared to glance up, his face pale and glistening with sweat. "Your Highness, what are your orders?"

Dietrich rose slowly from his chair. "Send another unit," he ordered, his voice ringing with deadly authority. "I don’t care how many men we lose; just make sure to track the Grand Duke." Hunt her down like the animal she is. Bring me her head..." He paused, his tone dropping to a chilling whisper. "...and bring me the Grand Duchess alive."

The knight hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak, but Dietrich’s crimson glare cut him down before a single word could escape. The sheer intensity in those eyes was enough to make even a trained killer shrink back.

"I do not need your excuses or doubts," Dietrich snapped, his voice sharp and final, leaving no room for debate. "Just do it."

The room fell into suffocating silence. No one dared to breathe too loudly as the lead knight bowed low, then turned on his heel to carry out the order.

When the heavy doors shut behind him, the sound echoed like a death knell through the chamber. The chancellor, who had been standing off to the side, finally stepped forward. His aged face was creased with worry, his eyes filled with something close to sorrow.

"Your Highness," he began carefully, his voice quiet but urgent, "at this rate... you will empty the entire ranks of the Shadow Knights." His hands trembled slightly as he clasped them together. "You’ve already lost one group, and now you send another into certain death."

Dietrich’s head snapped toward him, his jaw clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack. "Why?" he spat through gritted teeth. "Because Roxanne is strong? Because she has demon blood?" His voice rose with every word, his alpha power spiking until the torches along the walls flickered violently.

"She’s in Dreadfang Mountain, Chancellor! Even she can’t fight endlessly. The monsters there will tear her apart and exhaust her, and when she’s weak, the Shadow Knights will do their job! They are called Shadow Knights for a reason, they are the shadows of the throne!" He shouted angrily.

The chancellor’s expression twisted, his worry deepening into something heavier, like dread. For a long moment, he seemed to hesitate, as if debating whether or not to speak the truth. Finally, he took a deep, shaky breath and said, his voice grave, "Your Highness... they cannot betray royal blood."

Dietrich froze, his rage faltering for a heartbeat. His brows furrowed as he stared at the older man, confusion clear in his crimson eyes. "So what?" he said harshly, his tone sharp and impatient.

The chancellor looked at him as though he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His hands shook as he tightened them around the sleeves of his robe, and when he spoke again, his voice cracked with disbelief.

"Your Highness," he said slowly, carefully enunciating every word as though speaking to a child, "the Grand Duke is royal blood. She is your cousin, born of your father’s younger sister, the late princess of the empire."

The words struck Dietrich hard, his breath caught in his throat, and for a heartbeat, the world around him blurred. The grand chamber seemed to tilt and twist, the heavy velvet drapes and towering pillars closing in as if to suffocate him. All he could hear was the furious pounding of his own heartbeat.

His lips parted, but no sound emerged. At first, there was only disbelief, a silent, desperate hope that he had misheard. But as the chancellor’s solemn expression remained unchanged, confusion bled into something far darker.

Finally, his voice tore through the room, sharp and vicious. "So you are saying," he growled, every word shaking with fury, "no matter how many of those knights I send... they cannot kill Roxanne?!"

The chancellor swallowed hard, trembling under the weight of his king’s wrath. "They cannot, Your Highness," he said, forcing the words out carefully, like stepping through a minefield. "Even the moment their weapon touches the Grand Duke, it would invoke the blood oath embedded in their lineage. It would turn their own bodies against them and lead to certain death. That is why..." He faltered, lowering his eyes. "That is why all ten of them were found dead, their remains torn apart, their bodies half-devoured by the mountain’s beasts. They were probably destroyed by the very oath they swore."

Dietrich’s hands gripped the armrests of his chair so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Veins bulged at his temples, and his entire frame trembled as his fury swelled. "Then how," he roared, the sound reverberating through the chamber like a storm, "how can we kill Roxanne de Borgia?!"

The chancellor’s knees buckled under the force of his alpha power, the crushing weight nearly forcing him to the ground. His voice wavered as he answered, pleading, "You cannot, Your Highness. No mortal means can touch her while the blood of the royal line protects her. Please—please, abandon this path before you destroy yourself and the empire. Forget Lady Vivianne. She now belongs to the Grand Duke. Marry Lady Liselotte as planned, unite the noble houses, and secure the empire’s future."

"Nonsense!" Dietrich spat, his voice like a whip crack. His fury boiled over, spilling into something wild and violent. In one swift, explosive motion, he struck the chancellor across the face with the back of his hand.

The impact is deafening in the silence that followed. The old man staggered, clutching his cheek, crimson blood welling at the corner of his mouth. His body swayed, barely keeping upright as he stared at his king with wide, disbelieving eyes.

Dietrich loomed over him, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. His crimson eyes glowed like molten fire, and his alpha power flooded the room, pressing down like an invisible storm.

"Don’t tell me to surrender!" Dietrich snarled, "Vivianne belongs to me! She was mine long before that wretched demon dared to lay claim to her! I will not stand by and watch her stolen from me, not by Roxanne, not by anyone!"

He turned sharply, his mind spiraling deeper into rage and obsession. "If the Shadow Knights cannot kill her, then I will find another way. I will scour this empire for anyone—or anything—capable of bringing her down!"