"That’s enough."
Heinz’s voice cut through the air, sharp as a blade, demanding absolute silence.
Florian stiffened, every nerve in his body taut as he locked eyes with Arthur. Even bound in chains, the rogue held his head high, his lips curled into a smug grin. There was no fear in his gaze, no resignation—just an infuriating sense of amusement, as if he were the one in control.
"Lancelot, Lucius... get more information from this rogue. Use any method necessary."
Heinz’s tone was cold, final, devoid of even the slightest trace of hesitation.
The knights bowed in silent obedience, their movements swift and disciplined, their mere presence an omen of inevitable agony.
Arthur chuckled—a low, grating sound that slithered under Florian’s skin like a parasite. "And you, Your Majesty... always so high and mighty because you’ve scared other kingdoms into submission with your big bad dragon and your fancy powers."
Florian’s brow furrowed slightly. That’s right. Heinz does have a dragon. A beast of such terrifying magnitude should be close by, its shadow looming, its breath thick in the air. And yet... there was nothing. No distant roar. No trembling of the earth. Nothing at all.
Arthur’s voice snapped his attention back.
"You’ve neglected us enough. No matter how strong you are, how many kingdoms you subdue... there will always be someone who’ll stop you. And you know that, don’t you? You aren’t immortal. At some point, someone will kill y—"
The air trembled.
A sickening pop rang out like a thunderclap, sharp and absolute.
Arthur’s head—his smug, sneering head—erupted in a violent explosion of flesh and bone. A grotesque spray of crimson painted the walls, the floor, the very air itself, as fragments of skull and slivers of brain matter splattered in every direction. The scent of blood—hot, coppery, overwhelming—flooded Florian’s nostrils, thick enough to taste.
Something warm dripped down his cheek.
For a long, breathless moment, Florian simply stared. His mind refused to process the sight before him. Arthur’s body, once so full of arrogance and defiance, now slumped forward—headless, twitching, blood still pumping from the ragged stump where his skull had been. The chains that once bound him rattled uselessly, their captive reduced to nothing more than a butchered corpse.
The room was silent. Even the knights—hardened warriors accustomed to death—stood momentarily still. Their shock was not horror, but mild, detached surprise at the sheer suddenness of it all.
Lucius was the first to break the silence. He exhaled, wiping a stray droplet of blood from his sleeve. "Your Majesty, forgive me for saying this... but did you really have to do that in front of His Highness?"
Florian’s lips parted, but no words came. His thoughts felt disjointed, swimming in the thick fog of what had just happened. He should be horrified. He should be trembling, his stomach churning at the sight of the man who had tormented him reduced to nothing but gore.
And yet—
"Pfft."
The sound was small, barely audible.
Then it came again, bubbling up from his throat.
"Pfft—Hahaha!"
Florian’s shoulders shook, his laughter spilling out in uncontrollable bursts. The sound echoed in the heavy silence, grotesque and utterly wrong.
The knights stiffened.
Lucius and Lancelot exchanged wary glances, their previous composure faltering into something dangerously close to unease. Even Heinz, impassive as ever, let his gaze linger on Florian for a fraction longer than usual.
"Your... Highness?" Lucius asked, his voice uncertain.
"Are you okay?" Lancelot took a careful step forward.
Florian gasped for breath between laughter, shaking his head. "I’m fine—pfft—sorry!" He sucked in air, struggling to suppress the hysteria clawing its way out of his chest. "My apologies, I just—"
He pressed a hand over his mouth, exhaling shakily.
"It’s funny, isn’t it?" he whispered, his voice trembling on the edge of something unhinged. "This man—the one who kidnapped me, degraded me, killed the only person who helped me escape—talked all big and bad, and then his head gets blown off in a single move from the king. And look—" He gestured to himself, his tunic stained with another man’s blood. "I’m still standing."
The knights didn’t respond.
Florian’s laughter faltered, his breath uneven. Something cold curled around his spine. ’This is wrong. I shouldn’t be reacting like this.’
And yet, the laughter wouldn’t stop.
Back in his world as Aden, he had always loved writing dark revenge stories filled with gore and violence. There was something cathartic about crafting tales where the weak destroyed the strong. That love for the macabre had been one of the reasons he despised Florian as a character—Kaz had written him to be weak and helpless, existing solely to be rescued.
But now...
Florian was supposed to be weak. Yet here he was, standing amidst blood and carnage, feeling something close to joy. One of his tormentors was dead, and it felt like justice.
Still, that wasn’t how Florian was supposed to act. He needed to apologize, blame his outburst on the trauma of the kidnapping. That was the right thing to do.
However...
"Indeed."
Heinz’s voice broke through Florian’s thoughts. Florian blinked in surprise, turning to see the king staring down at him, a hand running through his long hair.
"If I were in your position," Heinz said calmly, "I would have enjoyed this as well."
’Wow. He’s actually agreeing with me.’ Florian’s lips quirked into a small smile. "But if I may, Your Majesty, how are we going to get information now? He was the only living rogue."
"Mhm. But as you mentioned, he likely didn’t have the information we needed. And based on his demeanor, he probably wouldn’t have spoken even if he did. We already know enough."
"What do we do now, Your Majesty?" Lancelot asked.
Heinz’s gaze flickered to the knights. "Lucius, have someone clean this up and dispose of the body. Lancelot, continue investigating the rise in rogue attacks. Check for signs of rebellion. Based on his words, it seems their group isn’t the only one in motion. The nobility has been targeted multiple times recently."
Florian’s mind raced. ’Rebellions? That wasn’t in the novel. It was mostly political drama and heavily focused on Florian’s personal struggles. Is this a deviation from the plot?’
"And you..." Heinz’s gaze settled back on Florian.
"I want to speak with you in my office."
’Oh.’
"N-Now?" Florian stammered.
"Now." Heinz’s tone left no room for argument. He turned on his heel and began walking away.
Florian hesitated until he felt a hand gently grip his shoulder.
"Be careful, Your Highness," Lucius whispered. "And please, be mindful of your words... I know how you speak when you’re panicked."
"I’ll be fine... I think." Florian forced a smile before hurrying after Heinz.
So far, his interactions with the king had been positive. Maybe this was a chance to strengthen that bond, to prove that Florian was evolving beyond the weak character he had once been.
Still, his heart pounded against his ribs as he followed Heinz down the corridor, his eyes fixed on the king’s imposing back.