Chapter 3Posthumous Conquest

True to its nature, the python's venom was potent. The instant its fangs pierced my wrist, a searing numbness shot through half my arm. Master Eldrin, usually so impassive, for once had a face alight with uncharacteristic panic. He rushed forward, shouting frantically: “Elara, are you mad?! To compete for favor, you'd throw your life away?! Your actions are utterly despicable!”

But his curses no longer held any power over me. As breathing became an agonizing struggle, I saw them—Mom and Dad—waiting for me at the end of a long tunnel of pure white light. Seeing my lips turn a deep, ominous purple, Master Eldrin's eyes hardened with a fierce resolve. With a single, swift stroke, he severed the venomous snake that clung to my arm.

“Elara, don't imagine that dying will absolve you of your supposed debt to Charlotte!”

He then swiftly made an incision on my arm and began to suck out the poisoned blood, spitting it onto the floor. At his urgent command, a palace attendant retrieved the 'Elixir of Nine Revolutions'—a potent draught Eldrin had originally prepared for Charlotte. The ethereal white light receded, and the ornate, carved beams of the Seer's Sanctum slowly sharpened into focus.

Bloody hell, the System never told me killing myself would be this hard!

Just as I wallowed in the bitter frustration of yet another failed attempt at death, a booming announcement echoed from outside the hall:

“His Majesty, the King, approaches—!”

King Alaric stormed in, his eyes blazing. But the moment he saw me lying pale and still on the floor, the fury on his face faltered for a brief, almost imperceptible instant. The next moment, however, he seized my throat with brutal disregard, his voice low and menacing as he spat each word: “Where have you hidden Charlotte?! Why was her handkerchief found in the well near the Shadow Wing?!”

At the mention of Charlotte's disappearance, both Lord Corbin and Master Eldrin blanched simultaneously. Alaric's grip choked me, and my eyes rolled back, but I refused to utter a single word. If he could truly strangle me to death with his bare hands, I'd be grateful to him for sending me home! Just as the last vestiges of air were squeezed from my lungs, King Alaric abruptly released me, letting me tumble unceremoniously to the floor. His voice was laced with dark malice:

“Do you think playing mute will stop me, Elara? If you refuse to speak, I have countless ways to make you suffer!”

Gazing at the King, a man consumed by shadows, my mind drifted back to our first meeting, a decade ago. Alaric was the first 'challenge' I faced. Back then, he had no inkling he would one day return to Solara, let alone elevate it to the foremost power among the three kingdoms. I had stayed by his side through four years of his life as a hostage in Veridia, teaching him many skills from my own twenty-first-century world. Later, he brought me with him back to Solara. Within the kingdom, we battled the treacherous court together. Externally, I aided him in countering the other two kingdoms. He had once promised me that both his kingdom and his heart were mine. But then Charlotte appeared, and I was subjected to his suspicion, even imprisonment.

After his guards roughly bound me to a wooden cross, King Alaric retrieved a long, slender knife from a nearby rack of torture implements. “The Grim Cells hold three hundred and sixty forms of torment,” he murmured, his voice chillingly calm. “One is known as the Thousand Cuts.”

“If you refuse to confess, I will use this blade to slice away your flesh, piece by agonizing piece!”

The revelation that King Alaric intended to subject me to the Thousand Cuts made my eyes widen in sheer terror. I wanted to die, yes, but swiftly, cleanly. This was a torture reserved for heinous criminals—no human being could endure such agony! Ultimately, the primal fear in my heart utterly overwhelmed my pride. I turned, pleading, to Lord Corbin and Master Eldrin, who stood impassively nearby.

“No, please… save me… I can't bear the Thousand Cuts… Please, save me…”

Yet, faced with my desperate plea, neither man moved. Corbin's voice was sharp with impatience: “If you want us to spare you, then tell us where Charlotte is, now!”

“I don't know!” I shrieked, my voice cracking. “I don't know, I don't know! Are you deaf?!”

Seeing my continued defiance, King Alaric brought the slender knife down, drawing a decisive cut across my skin. As he made cut after cut, my plain white nightgown slowly became saturated with crimson. The excruciating, tearing pain across my body tormented every nerve ending.

“Alaric, if you're a man, then kill me…”

“I will never tell you… where Charlotte is…”

To hear me provoke him even as my breath faltered, barely a whisper, sent King Alaric into a blinding rage. His eyes turned bloodshot. With a furious roar, he plunged the small knife deep into my palm. The agonizing, soul-deep pain sent spasms wracking my entire body. Just before darkness swallowed me completely, I saw Charlotte being wheeled into the hall by a palace maid, a vibrant bouquet of crimson winter roses clutched in her arms, her voice light with delight:

“Why is everyone gathered here? Look at the beautiful roses I just picked!”