Begin (4) 16: Let The Games…
Begin (4) Lucien’s voice cut through the heavy silence that had settled over the survivors after the last echoes of the werewolf faded into the depths of the ruined forest.
“Son,” he said, the word tinged with both concern and the weary caution of someone who had seen too much death in too little time, “did you kill that… thing?” Neon gave a small shrug, the gesture oddly casual amid the surrounding carnage.
“Well, I don’t think he’s dead,” he said.
“At least…
I didn’t try to kill him.” *At this point show as Lucien nods grimly as he thinks to himself almost asking…
no, begging to a god or some higher existence wondering why does Neon has to stand out…
Why can’t he just go back to the unambitious son whom he believed him to be.* Lucien wrestled with his thoughts in heavy silence, while the others were still pulling themselves back together.
All around the shattered forest, bodies lay scattered, and the thirteen remaining survivors made a point of not looking too closely, their gazes skittering away whenever a pale hand or a battered face caught the light.
King Arden stood a short distance away, still holding Lea’s hand.
His eyes fixed on Neon, lingering for several long moments as if silently assessing him, weighing thoughts that remained unspoken.
Finally, he released a slow breath, as though letting go of the last traces of his initial fear.
“Alright…
we can deal with all that later,” he said, his voice carrying a weight that left no room for argument.
“For now, we head straight back to the capital.” The group turned to face him as his gaze swept over the ruined clearing, silently taking in the sheer extent of the destruction.
“Whatever that thing was, it killed dozens of nobles…” he said, his tone grim, and in that moment something else became painfully obvious.
“And…
If I’m right, the guards have been dead for some time.
Whether that monster still lives or not makes no difference now.” His eyes hardened, sharp with the resolve of command.
“Lingering here will only bring more danger.” The Advisor’s hands trembled as he gave a small nod of agreement.
“His Majesty is right,” he murmured, his voice drifting like it wasn’t quite sure where it belonged.
“We still know so little about this new world… and the Kingdom should be the first to make use of what knowledge we do have.” Samuel’s eyes darted toward one of the nearby corpses, but he quickly turned away, his stomach twisting with a wave of fresh disgust.
King Arden straightened to his full height, the movement pulling every remaining gaze toward him.
“We move now.” —- About an hour later, the thirteen survivors returned to the capital and gathered around the long table in the Palace’s throne room.
Most of the faces in the crowd wore the same tense, uneasy look—and really, who could blame them?
For many, they had just witnessed whatever scraps of hope remained for the old world vanish before their eyes, only to realize that the new one waiting for them held no promise of a smooth or gentle transition.
The table’s polished surface caught the dim glow of the chamber’s light, and for a long while, silence hung between them, as if each was still quietly gauging just how much of themselves had been lost back in that blood-stained forest.
It was Lord Shanks who finally broke the silence, and he did so with the careful deliberation of a man who weighed every syllable before releasing it.
His hands rested flat against the table, fingers neither clenched nor fully relaxed, and when he lifted his gaze it settled respectfully on the king.
“Your Majesty,” he began, his tone calm and without confrontation, yet carrying the cool precision of someone already understanding the new balance of power.
“Now that it’s clear the animals here have evolved too… and that anyone present could, in theory, shatter mountains… what’s really the point in sticking to the old ways of rulership?” At his question, the room seemed to sink into an even heavier silence.
Every set of eyes turned toward him in unison.
King Arden’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly, the only outward sign that the words had struck with their intended weight.
The question itself was logical—insightful, even—showing a quick understanding that not only the Kingdom of Arden, but every continent on Earth Prime would face the need for some form of reclamation.
After all, what were status and wealth to King Arden if his life could be threatened at any moment?
Still, given the circumstances, perhaps Lord Shanks had chosen the wrong moment to raise such a point—especially after more than twenty nobles had just lost their lives before everyone’s eyes.
Neon, seated a short distance down the table, regarded the lord with one brow arched in quiet interest.
‘Lord Shanks, huh?’ he mused inwardly, keeping his expression calm and composed.
‘…He’s not simple at all.
‘ Even before everything had shifted, Neon had never been particularly concerned with political affairs.
However, thanks to King Arden occasionally seeking his opinion, he had gradually learned enough to recognize the most significant figures in the realm.
Yet Lord Shanks remained an enigma—never drawing too much attention, yet never fading entirely into the background.
And to Neon, that was… peculiar.
Feeling the weight of those collective stares, Lord Shanks continued without haste, his tone remaining even.
“Let me be clear.
I am fully on board with the Kingdom of Arden.
I speak only from a logical standpoint.
Reestablishing any meaningful law will not be easy, nor will it be entirely political.” He looked slowly around the table, meeting each gaze in turn.
“We may even need to kill a few people before the rest understand the new order.” Duchess Moria released a long, weary sigh that seemed to carry the exhaustion of the entire night.
“Is this… all of this death… truly our new reality?” Atlas answered with a low chuckle that held no real humor, the sound brief and rough.
“Well, I would say it is.” The faint amusement faded the moment his words ended, as he straightened, and the full attention of the room settled on him.
His voice dropped into something harder and more deliberate.
“As I’ve said before….
We all have to prepare ourselves to do things we have never even thought about doing.
And….
Killing is something every one of us should accept sooner rather than later.” Maylene’s eyes flicked to her son, her worry plain and unhidden.
While everyone else was caught up in the looming changes ahead, she couldn’t shake the memory of Neon’s earlier feats.
“Neon… how were you so sure that creature was a werewolf?
And when did you start controlling the darkness like that?” Neon stayed silent at first, lounging in his chair with an easy, relaxed posture, one arm slung over the backrest.
His eyes, however, kept shifting between his father and King Arden, carrying a subtle but unwavering focus that seemed entirely disconnected from whatever was being discussed.
The trait known as Throne Sense was stirring again, and while he understood why the king’s presence hit so hard—after all, he was the King.
But the intensity radiating from Lucien was on another level, as if something fundamental within his father had shifted further than anyone else’s.
‘I…
really need to get out of here,’ he thought, because now the intoxicating rush was gone, replaced by an odd discomfort, like he didn’t belong in a room with people over who held greater authority than him—both literally and metaphorically.
The urge to remove both the King and Lucien was there, quietly simmering, yet it wasn’t a controlling or compelling force—just a strange, unwelcome inclination.
The whole situation felt off, unsettling in ways he couldn’t quite name.
As he drifted off into his own world, Lea caught the faraway look in his eyes and frowned, her tone light but insistent as she broke through his wandering thoughts.
“Neon, come back to Earth, will you?” Neon turned his head toward her, the motion slow, and gave a small shake of his head.
“Mother… those are not immediate issues.” His reply was an obvious evasion, making it clear he had no intention of revealing anything about his powers to anyone.
With that, he turned his full attention to King Arden, as if the previous question had never been asked.
In one fluid motion, he rose from his chair and started toward the exit, hands slipping casually into his pockets.
“I’ll go take a look around, do some reconnaissance.
I’ll be back… eventually.” King Arden’s gaze sharpened as he followed the young man’s movements.
“Hmm… Are you certain?” Neon paused just long enough to glance back over his shoulder, his calm expression unchanged.
“Yeah… I’m sure.” With that, he stepped through the doorway and into the corridor beyond.
The moment the doors began to shut behind him, Atlas shoved his chair back and hurried after him, his voice already calling out.
“Seriously, man?
Wait up!”