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78.23% Reawakening of the Nameless Dragon / Chapter 133: Chapter 133: The Chthonic Hunger

Chapter 133: Chapter 133: The Chthonic Hunger

After quickly checking on Raum who was flying above the Keep, scouting and absorbing the negative energy.

Aron picked up the food plate and made his way to the dungeon followed by Keeper Eldarion, while Lieutenant Eamon and a few soldiers—on Aron's command—went to search the prisoners' belongings.

A heavy oak door, reinforced with iron bars, marked the threshold. A single, flickering torch cast grotesque shadows that danced across the rough-hewn stone walls. The air hung thick with the stench of mildew and something far more disturbing – a metallic tang that hinted at blood and neglect.

Keeper Eldarion, his wizened face etched with concern, stood beside Aron. "The dungeons haven't been used in decades, Lord Commander. Tread carefully."

Aron grunted in acknowledgment. The weight of the oak door creaked under his touch, revealing a gaping maw that swallowed the meager light from the single torch. Stepping through, he was met with an oppressive darkness that seemed to cling to him like a shroud.

Eldarion produced a small, glowing orb from his sleeve, casting a pale, ethereal light that illuminated the immediate surroundings. The damp stone floor stretched out before them, slick with grime and moisture. A series of narrow cells, each barred by rusted iron grates.

Aron approached the cell where the prisoners were being held, his crimson eyes piercing through the darkness with an intensity that sent shivers down their spines. The cooks, trembling in fear, looked up as Aron entered, their expression a mixture of terror and desperation.

"Please, Lord Commander, have mercy," the head-cook pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper as he cowered in the corner of the cell. But Aron remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he studied their faces; he noticed the existence of slave collars around their necks.

While there was a special prison cell that could hold anyone with mana, by creating a force shield of energy that could disrupt the mana veins, such cells were expensive to make and also extremely dangerous.

To disrupt the mana veins, the energy shield must keep changing its flow to prevent the prisoner from adapting to it. The drawback was that it could lead to the shield being unstable, and if the prisoner possessed a massive mana pool or a skill that allowed him to release his mana outside his body, there would be a higher chance that the cell would explode.

That led many to use the slave collars to seal their magic instead. They are safer and easy to make.

"Please, Lord Commander," the head-cook pleaded again, "It was just a misunderstanding. I wasn't trying to poison you."

"Of course," Aron replied, a slow smirk spreading across his face. The tension in the cell was thick enough to cut with a knife. The head cook's eyes flickered with hope for a fleeting moment before he saw the glint of suspicion in Aron's crimson gaze.

"You weren't trying to poison me," Aron continued, his voice low and dangerous, "you were trying to plant a parasite inside me like you did to everyone here."

"!!!" The realization dawned on the cooks' faces like a horrifying sunrise. Their blood drained, leaving them a sickly shade of pale. The metallic tang in the air suddenly made a horrifying kind of sense. A strangled gasp escaped the head cook's lips. They were caught.

And just as he thought of denying it.

STEP! STEP!

A heavy tread echoed down the damp corridor. Lieutenant Eamon burst into the cell, his face grim. In his hand, he clutched two glass vials, their contents a pulsating, gray mass that seemed to writhe with an unnatural life.

"What have you found, Lieutenant?" Aron's voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade.

Lieutenant Eamon approached Aron with a grave expression, holding out the bottles for him to inspect. "We found these in their belongings, Lord Commander," he explained, his voice low and steady. "I'm getting a weird feeling from them."

Aron narrowed his eyes observing Eamon's chest with his dragon sight; he saw that the parasite inside him was shaking and trying to make contact with what was inside the bottles.

"Lord commander, may I?" Keeper Eldarion stepped forward asking for one of the bottles.

Aron nodded, giving his permission. Immediately he saw Eldarion pulling a small flat stone from his pocket. A strange letter was carved on the stone which surprisingly Aron was able to read.

"Analyze"

As Keeper Eldarion activated the stone with the carved letter, a faint green glow emanating from its surface, enveloping the glass vial in his hand. The air crackled with arcane energy as Eldarion began to chant softly under his breath, his voice resonating with ancient power.

"Interesting." Aron watched with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension as the contents of the vial seemed to shift and writhe in response to Eldarion's magic. The pulsating gray mass within the bottle seemed to pulse with a renewed vigor as if sensing the presence of the arcane energy.

After a few moments of intense concentration, Eldarion's chant ceased, and the glow from the stone faded away. He withdrew the vial from the stone's influence, his expression grave.

"What did you find, Keeper?" Eamon asked, his voice betraying a hint of urgency.

Yet Eldarion didn't respond; he immediately used another stone with the same function on himself.

After a tense moment, Eldarion's chant ceased, and the glow from the stone faded away. He lowered his hand, his expression now more grim than before.

He turned to the cooks, raising the bottle in the air, "Where did you get this?" he said, his voice filled with fury.

The head cook shrank back, his eyes wide with fear as Eldarion confronted him with the bottle. "We... we obtained it from that man over there," he stammered, his voice barely audible in the oppressive atmosphere of the dungeon.

Everyone turned gazing at the man in the opposite cell, the one who tried to escape. He is still alive since Eamon treated his wound just to the point of keeping him alive.

"What's in the bottle, Keeper?" Aron asked.

Eldarion lowered the vial, his face etched with a mixture of disgust and horror. "This," he rasped, his voice laced with barely controlled fury, "is a Chthonic parasite from beyond the wall. It feeds on a host's magic, slowly draining them from within until nothing remains but a hollow shell."

A deep exhale escaped Eldarion's lips as he continued, "This is the same parasite that wiped the Watchers eight hundred years ago."

Aron's eyes widened with shock at the revelation. The Chthonic parasite was the reason for the downfall of the Order of the Watchers.

"And it appears that I am infected with it," the Keeper said, leaning on the cell bars.

"Not just you," Aron suddenly said, causing an expression filled with terror to appear on the old man's face.

"P-Please… don't tell me," he begged.

"I fear so, Eldarion. All the Frostguards are infected with this parasite."

The realization hit both Eldarion and Eamon like a physical blow, their shoulders slumping as the weight of the news settled upon them.

"By the Aspect," Eamon murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "How could this have happened?"

Aron's expression darkened with grim resolve. "We don't have time for questions," he said, his voice tinged with urgency. "We need to act quickly… is there a cure?"

Eldarion, his face pale with despair, shook his head. "I fear not, Lord Commander. The parasite adapts to its host. A cure I might develop based on the one within me might not work for another."

"I see," Aron crossed his arms, thinking of another solution. In truth, things aren't looking bright for him and the Frostguard, and if he didn't act fast and find a cure or something to help, there wouldn't be a living Frostguard left to defend against the wall.

"There has to be something," Eamon said, his voice tight with desperation. He turned to the head-cook, shouting, "Is there a cure? For this," raising the other bottle for him to see. "TELL ME!"

Aron's gaze drifted to the bottle as Eamon held it high in the air, right then he saw hope. Quickly he turned, asking the Keeper, to confirm his theory.

"Eldarion, you said that the parasite adapts to the host, yes?"

"Yes," the old man confirmed, raising an eyebrow as he saw Aron pointing to the bottle in his hand.

"What you have in your hands is a clean sample, right?"

Eldarion's eyes widened with realization. "Yes… Yes!... A clean sample untouched by a host. There is a chance that the cure would work on anyone."

Aron's expression brightened with a glimmer of hope at Eldarion's confirmation. "Then there's hope yet," he declared, his voice filled with determination.

"Old man, do anything in your powers to develop a cure; you have my permission to use anyone and anything, understood?"

Eldarion nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I will do everything in my power, Lord Commander," he vowed, his voice steady despite the weight of the task ahead.

Aron turned to Lieutenant Eamon, his gaze unwavering. "Make sure he's completely safe; our lives depend on it," he commanded, his tone firm.

Eamon saluted crisply, his expression determined. "Consider it done, my lord," he replied, his voice resolute.

"In the meantime," Aron turned, gazing at the cooks, "I have a friendly chat with our friends here."

The cooks tumbled under his gaze; they could feel something cold wrapping around their hearts.

"Lieutenant, seal the dungeon," Aron commanded, his voice firm. "Let no one enter until I finish here."

Lieutenant Eamon snapped to attention, acknowledging the order with a crisp salute. He quickly left the dungeon followed by Keeper Eldarion, leaving Aron all alone with the prisoners.

Aron's gaze hardened as he turned toward the whimpering cooks. These were no longer cooks but traitors who had jeopardized the entire Frostguard. He picked up the food plate from the ground and approached the head-cook.

"W-What are you d-doing?"

Ignoring the head-cook's trembling question, Aron flashed a smile. "Sharing my meal," immediately he grabbed his jaw and forced it open, shoving a piece of food into the cook's mouth. The cook gagged, choking on the morsel as Aron held him firmly in place.

"Enjoying your own cooking, are you?" Aron taunted, his voice dripping with scorn. "Let's see how you like it when the parasite nests inside your chest."

The other cooks watched in horror as Aron continued to force-feed them one by one. Each bite was a cruel reminder of their betrayal, each morsel a taste of their own treachery. The cooks squirmed and gagged, their protests muffled by Aron's relentless onslaught. Their eyes pleaded for mercy, but Aron showed them none.

Finishing up, Aron sat on a wooden chair he found in the dungeon corridor, watching them with his dragon sight, noting the gathering of the parasite eggs inside their chests.

"Now let's see how long this would take."


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Chapter 134: Chapter 134: The Unseen Threat

While Aron was having his 'Friendly' chat with the prisoners, Eryndor woke up with a headache.

"Ugh!...where am I?" At first, he didn't recall what happened and felt confused when he glanced around, finding himself nestled within the familiar confines of his bunk in the barracks.

As he sat up and shook his head, a wave of memories crashed down upon him. His brow furrowed as he recalled the humiliating defeat he suffered at the hands of the new Lord Commander. The man seemed impervious to his attacks as if his skin were crafted from granite.

Yet, the source of Eryndor's fury wasn't the one-sided duel. It was the Lord Commander's direct responsibility for his mission to fail. When that mace fell and caused the magical orbs to explode, it served as a beacon alerting all the monsters inside the great forest.

Only three members of his unit managed to escape with their lives, saved solely by the monsters' preoccupation with devouring their fallen comrades.

A week after the incident, Eryndor dispatched one of the surviving soldiers back to the forest. He was a nimble scout with few skills that helped him traverse unnoticed; that's why he survived in the first place.

The scout managed to find the mace and bring it back. Eryndor hoped to use the mana signature in it to locate its owner, but luck wasn't on his side.

A mere week was enough time for the magical energy within the mace to dissipate entirely. Nevertheless, Eryndor clung to the weapon, a grim reminder of his failure, as he reported back to the Capital.

The King's response was a tempestuous eruption of rage. The news of the mission's failure ignited a firestorm within him. The consequences were dire, extending far beyond the loss of highly trained soldiers. A staggering 30% of the kingdom's annual budget had been funneled into Eryndor's mission, seemingly in vain.

Eryndor's jaw clenched tight as he relived the humiliation of his demotion. Stripped of his rank, he was cast out like a common criminal and sent to serve amongst the Frostguard.

"But I found him," Eryndor muttered, his voice laced with steely resolve.

Crouching down, he retrieved a leather pouch from beneath his bunk. He rummaged through his belongings until he located his prize, quickly tucking it beneath his shirt.

Immediately he made his way out of the barracks. His mind raced with thoughts of vengeance and redemption. He couldn't let his failure define him, couldn't let the disgrace of his demotion consume him. He had to prove himself, had to find a way to make things right.

With quick steps, Eryndor made his way unnoticed through the corridors of the Frostguard barracks. Reaching a certain wooden door, Eryndor glanced left and right to ensure no one was watching before slipping inside.

The room beyond was dimly lit, with only a few flickering torches illuminating the space. It was a storage chamber, filled with crates and barrels stacked haphazardly against the walls.

Eryndor wasted no time, he swiftly hid behind the crates just in case someone walked inside. Then from under his shirt, he pulled out a crystal orb—A communication orb.

With the crystal orb in hand, Eryndor's fingers traced the smooth surface, feeling its cool energy pulsating beneath his touch. Although simple and slightly common, the orb was a powerful artifact, capable of connecting him to others across great distances.

Closing his eyes, Eryndor focused his thoughts, channeling his intent into the orb. He whispered a command, activating its magical properties. A soft glow emanated from the orb, casting a warm light in the dim storage chamber.

With a deep breath, Eryndor began to speak, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "This is Former Commander Eryndor," he said, his words echoing within the confines of the chamber. "I require immediate contact with the King's advisor."

The orb hummed softly in response, its magical energies pulsing with each syllable spoken. Eryndor waited with bated breath, his heart pounding in anticipation as he prayed for a response.

An eternity seemed to pass before a faint voice resonated from the orb, imbued with an air of authority and command. "Eryndor, this is not an opportune moment. I am currently engaged in a critical meeting—"

"I found him," Eryndor didn't care that he just interrupted the King's advisor; what was important for him was delivering the information as quickly as possible and maybe he would get his former rank back.

The voice on the other end of the orb fell silent for a moment, and then there was a sharp intake of breath, followed by a hurried rustling of papers. "Eryndor, what do you mean?" The advisor's tone was urgent now, curiosity mingled with disbelief. "Who did you find?"

Eryndor's grip tightened on the crystal orb, his resolve hardening with each passing second. "The culprit responsible for the mission's failure," he declared, his voice unwavering. "The owner of that mace."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, during which Eryndor could almost sense the advisor's mind racing. Then, finally, his voice crackled through the orb once more. "Who is he? And where can I find him?"

Eryndor took a moment to compose himself before responding to the advisor's urgent inquiries. With a sense of determination, he relayed the crucial information, his voice steady despite the tumultuous emotions swirling within him.

"His name is Aron, and he is the new Lord Commander of the Frostguard. He–" Eryndor began, but he was abruptly cut off by the advisor.

"Wait!...The new Lord Commander? Since when? I haven't received any reports of the King appointing a new leader for the Frostguard."

Eryndor quickly responds, noticing the irritating tone in the advisor's voice. "Just today, and I believe it was the Queen, not the King, who appointed him."

Eryndor's words hung in the air, the tension palpable even through the magical connection of the communication orb. The advisor's silence stretched, indicating his surprise at this revelation.

Finally, a response crackled through the orb, laden with a mix of confusion and urgency. "The Queen? But why would she appoint a new Lord Commander without consulting the King or the council?"

After a moment of deliberation, the advisor let out a heavy sigh. "Anything else?" he inquired.

Without hesitation, Eryndor divulged the information he overheard while sneaking towards the storage chamber. "There was an incident earlier today," he revealed. "The cook attempted to poison the new Lord Commander but failed. They dragged him and three others to the dungeons."

"I see, thank you Eryndor," surprising Eryndor, the advisor attempted to quickly cut the link for some reason; however, before he could, Eryndor swiftly spoke.

"Advisor about me…" he didn't have to finish for the advisor to understand what he meant.

"I'll see what I can do." That's all he said before abruptly severing the connection.

Eryndor sighed heavily as the connection to the communication orb was severed, leaving him alone in the dimly lit storage chamber. His mind raced with a mix of anticipation, anxiety, and determination. He had taken a significant risk by reaching out to the King's advisor, but it was a risk he felt compelled to take in his quest for redemption.

Gathering his thoughts, Eryndor tucked the communication orb back into his shirt and glanced around the storage room. The crates and barrels seemed to loom over him, casting long shadows in the flickering torchlight.

With a determined stride, Eryndor made his way out of the storage chamber and back into the corridors and to his bed. Yet he failed to notice that his shadow didn't follow him. Two violet eyes could be seen for a second in the shadow before it completely disappeared.

"FUCKING HELL!"

BAAM!

"Those little SHIT! I told them to wait for my orders and do nothing!"

BAAM!

"What's wrong?!" a woman's voice came from the doorway, she and two men just entered the room only to see the king's advisor having an outburst.

Standing amidst the wreckage of his frustration, he turned to face the newcomers, his expression a mix of anger and exasperation.

"The Queen," he spat, his voice hoarse. "She appointed behind our back a new lord commander for the Frostguard, and it happens to be the very same individual responsible for Eryndor's mission to fail. Plus he just caught our agents trying to poison him."

The woman's eyes widened in shock at the advisor's revelation. She exchanged a quick glance with the two men accompanying her, her expression growing serious.

"This is... troubling news," she remarked, her voice laced with concern. "We cannot afford to have such disruptions, especially with the Frostguard. They are crucial to our plans."

The advisor nodded grimly, the weight of the situation settling upon him. "Indeed. We've invested a significant amount of time and resources into this operation. We can't afford for it to crumble now.

His gaze swept across the faces before him, searching for a shred of agreement. "I suggest another assassination."

The suggestion of another assassination hung heavy in the air, its implications sinking in among the group. The woman's brow furrowed as she considered the advisor's proposal, weighing the risks and potential consequences.

"It's a risky move," she admitted, her voice tight with apprehension. "But if we don't act swiftly, we risk losing even more ground. We cannot allow this new Lord Commander to disrupt our plans any further."

One of the men chuckled humorlessly. "Relax, advisor," he interjected. "The Frostguard is already compromised. We've infected all of them, their supplies are dwindling, and their manpower is stretched thin. One man can't solve all their problems, especially in such a short time frame before the monster waves begin."

The man's words hung in the air, a grim reminder of the dire situation they faced. The woman's gaze hardened, her resolve strengthening as she processed his statement.

"You may have a point," she conceded, her voice steady despite the uncertainty that lingered in the room. "But we cannot underestimate our enemies; it's clear that the new Lord Commander is on the queen's side."

"Yes," the man nodded. "But our primary concern should be the Queen. Her army outnumbers ours, and she enjoys the support of the populace."

The advisor remained silent, his mind churning with the weight of their conversation. He couldn't afford to abandon their carefully laid plans, especially with only two months remaining. An idea sparked within him, a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

"Actually," he began, a sly grin creeping across his face, "Our plan might be even more advantageous with the new Lord Commander in the picture."

The others turned to the advisor, curiosity evident in their expressions as they awaited his explanation.

The advisor's lips curved into a sly smile as he outlined his strategy. "We've always struggled to find a way to lure the Queen's army away from the capital. Now, with a Lord Commander seemingly loyal to her, we can exploit that to our advantage."

"How so?" the woman prompted, her brow furrowed with intrigue.

"When the Frostguard falls, we can turn the minds of the people against the queen, blaming her for appointing an incompetent Lord Commander who led the kingdom's defense to ruin," the advisor explained, his tone dripping with malice.

"This will pressure the Queen, who cares deeply for her people's well-being, to deploy her army north to defend against the monsters. Leaving the capital exposed and ripe for the taking."

The woman's eyes gleamed with understanding as she grasped the intricacies of the advisor's plan. "Brilliant," she murmured, a hint of admiration in her voice.

The two men nodded in agreement, their expressions filled with a newfound sense of determination. They understood the importance of seizing this opportunity to strike at the heart of the kingdom's power structure.

A wave of satisfaction washed over the advisor as he surveyed his comrades. "Indeed, my friends," he declared, his voice brimming with conviction. "With this plan in motion, victory shall be ours. We will orchestrate the downfall of the Queen and ascend to power, ruling the kingdom from the shadows with our puppet King at the helm."


CREATORS' THOUGHTS
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yO! sup guys doing well?

New chapter enjoy and don't forgot to leave a comment.

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I ask for your support, every Comment, Review and Like, will keep this Novel going. you can also support Us on Amazon or Patreon If you liked

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