CHAPTER 81: RULER’S RAGE

[: 3rd POV :]

As the chaos seemed inevitable, a firm hand gripped Caelira’s wrist, halting her deadly movement just inches from the man’s throat.

"Caelira, what are you doing?"

Melira’s voice was steady yet commanding, her eyes cold and threatening.

The power in her grip communicated a strength far beyond mere physicality—a silent reminder of control and purpose.

Caelira’s fingers trembled, her fury battling with the restraint forced upon her.

She glanced at Melira, torn between rage and reason.

Nearby, Kiel was frozen mid-motion, his hand inches from plunging into the leader’s chest.

His father stepped forward swiftly, placing a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder.

"Kiel, don’t do anything foolish," he warned quietly but firmly.

Kiel’s breath came fast, frustration and anger wrestling within him as he reluctantly withdrew.

Kaelgor caught his daughter’s hand just as her claws extended, his grip strong but gentle.

"My daughter, calm down," he urged softly, his voice laced with both concern and authority.

Rika’s sharp gaze flickered with raw emotion, but she slowly relaxed her stance.

Manork’s deadly sword hovered in the air, ready to strike with lethal intent.

The Demon King’s wife, Lilith, moved between them swiftly, her presence both regal and commanding.

"Manork, you need to stop," she said, her tone imbued with quiet power. The sword lowered reluctantly, the tension in his muscles easing as he stepped back.

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath—frozen between the fury that had nearly exploded and the fragile calm now imposed by restraint.

Caelira, Rika, Kiel, and Manork stood frozen, but their eyes burned with a fierce, unyielding rage, an ocean of fury that refused to be tamed.

Every muscle in their bodies screamed for retribution, every breath a testament to the torment they had endured.

The reason to stop seemed impossible to find.

They could feel the heavy weight of restraint pressed upon them like a cruel cage, biting their lips in silent protest.

"Melira... don’t stop me,"

Caelira’s voice cracked with suppressed anger, trembling yet persistent.

Her eyes locked onto Melira’s with a fierce intensity, the hurt and betrayal bubbling just beneath the surface.

"It was him! It was because of him that we became slaves!" she bellowed, the rage spilling free like a tempest unleashed.

The room fell utterly silent—except for the echo of Caelira’s voice reverberating against the walls.

The crowd’s collective breath caught in their throats.

Even Melira, the stoic and composed Empress, staggered in shock.

Her violet eyes widened in disbelief, a rare crack in her otherwise impenetrable composure.

"What?!" Melira’s voice rose sharply, laced with a mixture of fury and incredulity.

"You’re telling me it was this man who made all of you into slaves?!"

She gestured sharply toward the captured leader, her voice trembling with the weight of betrayal and the promise of justice.

The man in question shrank under the weight of their gaze, beads of sweat forming at his brow.

The atmosphere grew thick with tension, the noble families and onlookers frozen by the gravity of the revelation.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, disbelief mingling with fear.

Caelira’s voice cut through the murmurs, unyielding and fierce.

"Yes, and he sold us like mere merchandise to the Ashburn Family."

Kiel’s jaw clenched tightly, the memory of endless suffering flooding his mind, while Rika’s hands balled into tight fists, nails digging into her palms.

Manork’s gaze burned with silent fury, yet the cold control in Melira’s voice anchored them from spiralling into chaos.

The moment Caelira’s words cut through the heavy air, Xerath and Kaelgor, who had remained restrained until now, finally lost their composure.

Rage blazed in their eyes like wildfire, and their bodies tensed as if ready to unleash a storm of vengeance.

"How dare you make my daughter into a slave!" Kaelgor bellowed, voice cracking with raw fury.

His hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles turned white.

"You deserve to die for every moment of pain you’ve caused her!" Kaelgor was ready to transform into a beast bloodline, Fenrir.

Beside him, Xerath growled, his voice deep and thunderous.

"And for what you’ve done to my son, there’s no mercy left. You will pay with your life!" Xerath was ready to transform with his demonic bloodline, Absoulute Genesis.

The trembling leader’s face drained of colour, beads of cold sweat rolling down his temple as he barely managed to urinate in sheer terror.

His legs shook uncontrollably, his breathing ragged.

But before either man could take a single step forward, two imposing figures stepped in with commanding authority.

The Dragon Empress, Sylthara, her regal presence like a living tempest, placed a firm hand on Kaelgor’s shoulder, her voice sharp yet controlled.

"Calm yourself. Though I know little of this situation, you must remember you stand in her territory. Respect must be maintained, no matter the provocation."

At the same time, the Dwarf King, Thrain, grizzled and stern, caught Xerath arm with surprising strength.

"Old demon bastard," he said with a dry, mocking edge, "take a breath and settle your nerves. This is not the time for chaos"

Both fathers glared fiercely at the two monarchs, but, begrudgingly, the fiery heat in their eyes softened just enough to heed their words.

The heated atmosphere thickened, rage and desperation colliding like wild storms in the room.

Just as Rika’s father and Kiel’s father surged forward, ready to unleash their fury, a voice cut sharply through the chaos—cold, unwavering, and filled with a command that brooked no defiance.

"All of you—stop! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!"

It was Melira.

Her voice, usually calm and regal, now cracked with barely contained impatience and a deep, burning pain that resonated in every word.

The air seemed to freeze in that instant, her aura rippling with a raw, potent energy—like a tempest barely held at bay.

All eyes snapped to her.

The Demon King’s shoulders stiffened, his hands clenched into fists, but the fire in his gaze dimmed as he saw the storm brewing within Melira.

The Demi-Human King’s breath hitched, and the taut lines of his jaw relaxed, as if realising that Melira’s patience had finally reached its limits.

The tension drained, replaced by heavy silence.

No one dared speak out or make a move.

Melira took a slow, steadying breath, forcing herself to temper the fury that threatened to consume her.

She let her gaze fall upon the trembling slave merchant leader—the man who had shattered so many lives, who stood now exposed and broken before them.

Her voice softened slightly but remained laced with a hard edge, a voice carrying both the cold weight of justice and the fragile ache of a mother’s torment.

"Caelira," she said, turning her piercing eyes to the Empress, "so you’re telling me... all of you were enslaved by this man?"

Caelira stepped forward, her own face etched with pain and fatigue, the memory weighing heavily on her. Her lips quivered just slightly before she nodded, voice low and steady.

"Yes, Melira. He—and the organisation behind him—enslaved us all. For years, we suffered under their control, powerless and broken."

A tight silence followed. The room seemed to hold its breath, absorbing the magnitude of that confession.

Caelira’s gaze hardened, her eyes narrowing with fierce resolve as she locked onto the trembling slave merchant leader.

A wave of revulsion twisted her features, the memory of torment and betrayal flashing vividly behind her eyes.

"That’s right," she said, voice dripping with disgust, "and I will never forget his face."

The room grew colder, tension thickening as her words settled like a dark cloud over everyone present.

Melira’s eyes flashed with a dangerous intensity as she stepped forward, her voice low but unwavering.

"It’s such a cruel coincidence that this filth right here... holds a clue about my son."

Her words struck like a hammer.

The others—Caelira, Kiel, Rika, Manork, and the gathered rulers—exchanged stunned glances.

The weight of the revelation sank deep, tightening the knot of fear and hope in their chests.

Caelira’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke, a mixture of dread and sorrow in her tone.

"But Melira... that would mean..."

Her words trailed off, unwilling to voice the terrifying implications that clawed at her heart.

Melira’s eyes darkened, a shadow passing over her noble features as if the very thought pained her beyond measure.

She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper yet charged with a storm of emotions—pain, fury, and desperate hope.

Her hands trembled slightly, betraying the calm facade she tried so hard to maintain.

"I-I don’t know..." she whispered, eyes clouded with worry and pain.

"But right now, only he has the clue..."

A flicker of vulnerability crossed her usually stoic expression, and Caelira stepped closer without hesitation.

Gently, she placed a reassuring hand on Melira’s arm, offering silent strength.

’’Don’t worry, Melira, your son will be found’’ Caelira comforted gently.

The room fell into a heavy silence, the gravity of the moment anchoring every soul present.