The Eight Elites of Velmora—the pride of the kingdom, the iron spine beneath the velvet throne.
Each one was a master in their own right. Warriors, mages, strategists... but none stood taller than their Captain: Liam Sidon, ranked number one.
The Sidon bloodline had served the throne for generations. His father, hailed as the Master of Thunder, had turned the tide in the ancient war against the demons. Their loyalty was carved into their very bones. They lived by one principle:
"If the land bleeds, we bleed with it."
How noble. How poetic.
How utterly tragic... that every last one of them was destined to die—by my hands.
Christopher stood still, gaze locked on the man in front of him. Thunder crackled faintly in the distance as if the world itself knew what was about to unfold.
Liam gave a courteous bow, his eyes calm and respectful.
"Your Majesty, Prince. How may I serve you today?"
Christopher almost laughed. This man—this snake—had been one of the silent daggers in his previous life. A smiling executioner wrapped in a polished uniform.
Behind that innocent smile is a cold heart, Christopher thought. He's always seen me as the outsider. The bastard prince. Unworthy.
He returned a calm smile, eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Hey, Liam."
"Yes, Your Highness?"
Christopher took a step closer. The air between them seemed to tense, coil.
"In a hypothetical situation," he began slowly, "if me and my brother were both dying... and you could only save one... who would you save?"
For a moment, silence. Then Liam's eyes flickered—just slightly. A ripple of thought passed behind them. He wasn't expecting this.
No one ever does, Christopher mused. Not from the 'sweet' prince.
Liam took a breath. Of course, he already knew the answer. He'd never save Christopher—not even on accident. In his heart, he'd let him rot if given the chance. Royal blood or not, Liam had always been loyal to the 'pure' line. Christopher was a stain on their perfect royal family—a bastard raised by chance, not birthright.
Still, Liam kept his smile.
"I would try to save you both, if I could," he said carefully. "But if I couldn't... I would save whoever was closest. Whoever I could reach first."
A safe answer. Too safe.
Christopher's lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. He chuckled—then laughed outright.
"Hahaha... of course. As expected from the Captain of the Elites."
But behind that laugh, something in his eyes turned cold.
In the northern woods of Velmora, the air was thick with the sounds of exertion.
"Huff... huff... huff..."
A girl probably in her twenties, face smeared with dirt and sweat, pushed a heavy rock across the forest floor. She had a good figure her boobs were big a thin waist and an enormous ass .Her feet slipped against the mossy ground, but she didn't stop.
"Yesterday, I made it to that tall tree... today, I'll reach the short one."
She set her goal with determination. Her voice was soft but filled with resolve. Around her, birds chirped in the canopy, and leaves rustled gently in the breeze. The forest was calm—except for her constant grunts and the dull scrape of stone against earth.
Roughly two kilometers behind her, hidden within the trees, stood an old brown mansion—its walls weathered, but strong.
Inside one of the rooms, Aric sat by a window, slumped into a wooden chair cushioned with old fabric. His gaze drifted over the trees, but his mind was elsewhere.
"My coins are running low, having sex with Sarah ,Darcy and Lindy are not giving me good amount of coins even three some or four some i get around 50 coins " he muttered under his breath, tapping his fingers on the wooden armrest. "If this keeps up, I won't be able to afford a single skill, let alone capture more slaves."
He sighed and leaned back.
"At least the mansion came with a full storeroom. Food, tools, furniture... that'll last us a while."
But that was all temporary. Supplies didn't win wars. Skills did. Power did.
He frowned.
"I've got 105 Intelligence. Shouldn't I be having genius-level ideas by now?"
But the only thought that came to him was simple—he had to leave this forest. If he stayed hidden in the woods, he'd stagnate. The world outside was brutal, but full of opportunity.
He clenched his fist.
"No more resting. I'm wasting time. My powers aren't growing just sitting here."
Down below, in the basement level of the mansion, Lindy stood hunched over a long metal workbench. The stone walls around her were lit by soft candlelight. On the table, spread out in front of her, were tools—some rusted, some new—mechanic wrenches, screws, and scribbled notes.
In her hand was a strange diagram on yellowed paper.
It was a design—rough, incomplete, but unlike anything this world had ever seen. Four wheels, a metal frame, a box-like carriage with no horse.
Her brow furrowed.
"No animals? How does it move?"
But she knew the idea had come from Aric. A strange machine from another world, something he called a "car." He didn't know how to build it—just the concept—but it was enough to challenge her mind in a way that nothing else had in years.
She bit her lip.
"If I could really make this... we wouldn't need carriages. We could change everything."
She traced the lines again, her thoughts racing. S~eaʀᴄh the nôvelFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.
Upstairs, Aric sat in silence, still staring out the window.