The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Chapter 61: The Feast of Shadows

Veylor and Darvok walked in silence, their footsteps echoing across the frozen stone. When they reached their destination, something felt wrong the moment they crossed into it.

The wind did not howl.

It moved soundlessly, drifting across the dark expanse like a breath that had forgotten how to live. Snow lay thick and untouched. No tracks. No signs of life.

Even the world itself seemed reluctant to exist.

At the center of the barren ground stood a lone figure.

Long white hair fell down his back. His pale skin held no warmth, and his sharp yellow eyes carried something colder than rage or madness.

Controlled cruelty.

Before him stood a group of figures in black cloaks, their hoods lowered.

The man spoke without raising his voice.

"Kneel."

The word landed softly.

An invisible pressure descended at once. The air thickened, crushing their lungs as though an unseen hand wrapped around them. One after another, they collapsed, knees sinking into the snow.

None of them resisted.

They remained bowed, trembling, careful not to lift their eyes. Even looking at him felt forbidden.

At last one of them broke the silence.

"We are deeply sorry, Lord Zandros," he said, voice shaking. "The Duke's vassals proved stronger than expected. They destroyed the abyssal monsters, and the others—"

"Who permitted you to speak?"

Zandros did not move.

Yet the interruption cut sharper than a blade.

His gaze settled on the man. The air tightened as though the world itself expected punishment.

The cultist froze, head lowering further despite his effort to remain still.

"Do not offer your worthless voice unless I request it."

Silence returned.

Zandros observed them for a long moment before speaking again, his tone calm.

"The rest of your members are dead," he said. "They were either slain by the vassals... or by the Duke himself."

A brief pause.

"How disappointing."

His gaze drifted across the kneeling figures with slow deliberation.

"For centuries, your kind has remained unchanged. Weak. Replaceable. Compared to you, even my dogs require less constant replacement."

Only then did his attention shift, not toward the cultists, but beyond them.

Veylor and Darvok stood at a distance, unmoving. They neither approached nor lowered their gaze. They simply watched, fully aware of their place.

Farther back, where the dim light barely reached, two more figures stood.

The Shadow Reaver remained motionless, silver armor dulled by darkness, a jagged mask hiding whatever face once existed beneath.

Beside him waited Crulcifer, her dark hood drawn low. A glimpse of pale skin caught the faint light, untouched by frost, as though even the cold avoided her.

None of them spoke.

They did not need to.

Zandros turned back to the cultists and tilted his head slightly.