Chapter 79: Reaper’s Judgment

The council chamber remained frozen after Darius’s declaration. No one seemed willing to breathe, let alone challenge him. Several councilors exchanged uneasy glances, their faces betraying the shock they were desperately trying to conceal. Others found themselves looking toward the King, as though waiting for him to put an end to the madness.

Basil, however, remained completely still.

He stared at Darius as if he were seeing him for the first time, his mind struggling to process the sheer intensity of what he was witnessing. Why was he going this far for him? After everything Basil had done to him, after every cold word, every bitter look, every moment he had treated Darius like an intruder who had stolen his life, when he was the one who had actually taken the life that belonged to Darius, why was Darius still willing to defend him without hesitation?

A painful knot formed in Basil’s chest.

He had spent so much time resenting Darius for existing, for being the biological heir, for being the person who had unknowingly turned his entire life upside down. He had convinced himself that keeping Darius at a distance was easier than facing everything he felt. Yet here Darius was, barely strong enough to sit upright without trembling, still recovering from a coma, and somehow he was fighting for Basil’s place in the kingdom as though it were his own.

I’m such a fool.

For the first time, Basil felt the full weight of how unfairly he had treated him. He lowered his eyes for a moment, shame prickling beneath his skin.

The King finally moved, stepping closer to his son with a deeply troubled expression. "Darius, son, you need to calm down. You have only just awakened from a long coma, and you are still recovering. You cannot simply threaten members of the council like this."

Darius slowly turned his head toward him. "Does that mean I can threaten them if I hadn’t been in a coma, or if I had awakened long before now?"

The King’s expression tightened.

"Father," he said, his voice quiet but firm, "you are the King. I don’t understand why you continue to sit back and allow your council members to override your authority and dictate how you should rule."

The King opened his mouth, but Darius continued before he could answer. "You told me yourself that there are certain things a King cannot do. That he has to consider the council, respect their positions, listen to their concerns, and maintain the stability of the kingdom."

His eyes swept across the council.

"But there is a difference between listening to your council and allowing them to control you."

The room remained silent. Darius shifted in the wheelchair, suppressing a wince as his weakened body protested the movement.

"I don’t care if they hate me. I don’t care if they think I’m reckless or dangerous. The worst thing they can say is that I’m a tyrant. That I’m too ruthless and not worthy to sit on the throne."

A faint, almost humorless smile touched his lips.

"That’s fine by me, though." He looked directly at his father. "In fact, that’s even better."

The King stared at him in disbelief, clearly struggling to understand where his son was going with this.

"Because if they decide I’m not eligible to take the throne because of the way I’m treating them right now, they can give it to Basil instead. I’m okay with that."

Basil’s eyes widened. "Darius..."

"So, Father, let me do this my way. I have had enough, and I’m not exactly known for being a patient person," Darius said, without looking at Basil.

He leaned back slightly, turning his head toward the heavily tattooed man standing behind him. "Tractor."

"Sir," the man replied, his voice a low rumble.

"Give it here." Darius held out his hand.

Without a second of hesitation, Tractor reached inside his tailored coat, unholstered a matte-black firearm, and placed it directly into Darius’s raised hand.

Gasps erupted across the high council table. Several councilors scrambled backward in their seats, their faces turning pale. Even Basil took an involuntary step forward, wondering what Darius intended to do with the weapon.

"Darius, what are you doing?" the King demanded, his voice cracking as he took a hasty step toward the wheelchair.

Darius’s fingers wrapped around the grip. His arm was shaking, weak from weeks of muscle atrophy, but he forced the barrel upward, leveling the weapon directly at Thompson’s chest.

Every trace of color drained from the field marshal’s face. "Your Highness..." Thompson whispered.

"Repeat it," Darius rasped, his eyes burning as he stared down the sights at the Field Marshal. "Repeat all that bullshit about Basil plotting against me. Say it again right to my face."

Thompson froze, his breath hitching in his throat. Sweat broke out along his hairline, his artificial composure completely shattering under the black steel pointed at his head. "Your... Your Highness," Thompson stammered, his hands trembling as he held them up. "Please... I apologize. I withdraw the statement. I was only acting on incomplete information. I yield to your judgment."

"Darius, lower that weapon right now!" the King barked, stepping directly into his line of sight, his face flushed with panic and anger. "This is Field Marshal Thompson! You cannot bring weapons into this chamber, let alone point them at a senior member of the government! I understand you are frustrated, but you are not in your right mind—"

Darius slowly tilted his head up to look at the King, his expression devoid of remorse. "Oh, really? You think I’m not in the right mind?"

Before anyone in the room could register the movement, Darius adjusted his angle, squeezed the trigger, and fired.

A deafening, thunderous BOOM shattered the quiet of the High Council Chamber.

A sharp spray of crimson painted the mahogany paneling behind Thompson’s seat. The Field Marshal’s head snapped back violently, his body going completely limp before collapsing sideways out of his leather chair and hitting the carpet with a dull, heavy thud.

Panic erupted instantly. Councilors screamed, diving under the heavy table or scrambling blindly toward the back exits. The Prime Minister stumbled backward, his hands pressed over his mouth in sheer horror.

Basil didn’t move. His breath hitched, his eyes wide as he stared at the lifeless body on the floor, then back at Darius. The suddenness of the violence left his mind entirely blank.