The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 223 223: Tomb of the beast king - 4

The vaemani stone on his wrist bracelet pulsed with emerald light, visible even from a distance. The wyvern landed with surprising grace before the Godeylet forces, its talons digging into the soft earth of the meadow.

But it wasnʼt just the wyvern that commanded attention.

Behind the Countʼs army, emerging from the direction of the castle and the mysterious pit, came a horde that defied description—beasts of every nightmarish variety.

Giant wolves with eyes of amber and fur matted with what appeared to be moss and vines.

Bear-like creatures twice the size of normal bears, with multiple sets of limbs and antlers sprouting from their massive shoulders.

Serpents that slithered through the grass, leaving trails of strange luminescence.

Winged creatures that resembled a cross between bats and panthers circled overhead.

All moved with an unnatural synchronicity, their eyes occasionally flashing the same emerald hue as the stone on Hamenʼs wrist.

There were hundreds of beasts of various types, all roaring as they moved towards the meadow. They seemed subdued by the green-coloured energy around them, suppressing their state of mind. The sound was reverberating, which made the ground tremble under their might. It was a spectacle to oneʼs eye.

A rare sight to behold.

They were bound by the stoneʼs power—the authentic Vaemani Stone, said to have been extracted from the very forehead of Naʼrajina, the Beast King himself, centuries ago.

There was a long history of how the Count family had obtained the stone from the beast king and how they fought hard with the beast king and subjugated him.

The soldiers of the county have regained their fire and cried in unison seeing their Count land before them. They had seen the beasts before and never lost a fight with them acting on their side. So they werenʼt afraid to go against the army of twenty thousand, even if it was the army of brutal barbarians.

Yilarʼs eyes widened at the sight, his composure momentarily broken by naked avarice.

”There,” he whispered urgently to Dagur, pointing at Hamenʼs wrist.

”The stone. It is real. With that power, you could command not just Chittera but all the southern provinces.” Yilar wasnʼt expecting to see the stone so soon. He thought that Hamen would take it out as a last resort.

Hamen raised his voice, amplified somehow by the power of the stone. ”Dagur of Chittera! You trespass on sacred land with your army of barbarians and brutes.

If you leave this place right now, I will spare killing all of you. Take your men and go back to your frozen wastes!”

The ultimatum hung in the air like a physical thing.

For a moment, there was silence across the meadow—a breath held by thousands.

Then Dagur threw back his head and laughed, a sound like boulders crashing down a mountainside. He raised his enormous battle-axe, its edge catching the sunlight.

”Is that all you bring, Count? Some pets and parlour tricks?”

Around him, the Chitteran army roared their approval, banging weapons against shields with renewed vigour.

Where others might have quailed at the sight of supernatural beasts, these southern barbarians saw only the glory of an unprecedented challenge. They had fought ice giants in their homeland and had survived winters that would kill lesser men in hours.

Beasts, even magical ones, were simply new trophies to claim.

”Your stone doesnʼt frighten men whoʼve drunk the blood of frost dragons!” Dagur bellowed.

”Your beasts will make fine cloaks for my warriors!”

The barbarian leader turned to his men, his massive arms spread wide. ”Brothers of the south! Today we feast on the wealth of Godeylet! Tonight we drink from the skulls of their defenders! And tomorrow, we divide their lands among ourselves!”

A deafening battle cry erupted from thousands of throats, drowning out even the screeches of the wyvern and roars of the beasts.

For a moment, they matched the vigour of the natural beasts.

The Chitteran warriors beat their chests, stomped their feet, and brandished their weapons with bloodthirsty anticipation.

Not a single face showed fear—only a savage excitement that bordered on ecstasy. These were men who lived for battle, who measured their worth in scars and kills.

One of them even started to hum a song that they sing during the rituals of their deity.

The hum, which started as a single personʼs voice, spread throughout the horde, creating a chilling chorus throughout the meadows.

Yilar watched this display with a calculating gaze, his fingers twitching beneath his purple robes where they clutched an amulet of his own—one that glowed with a faint violet light, unseen by the barbarians around him.

Hamenʼs face remained impassive, but his grip on the wyvernʼs reins tightened. Heʼd offered mercy, as his code of honour demanded.

Now, he would unleash war.

He raised his arm, the Vaemani Stone blazing like a miniature sun. The beasts behind him tensed, ready to charge at his command.

—— ∗ ——

Above the battlefield, hidden within the clouds, Inadrys leaned forward on his makeshift throne of thunderheads, his attention fully captured by the unfolding drama.

He just sent Myron towards the castle where Jolthar had disappeared. He had been watching him, and suddenly, Joltharʼs presence had vanished.

Beside him, Ivyonaʼs eyes narrowed not at the armies but at the distant castle where Jolthar had been absorbed into the mysterious pillar.

”That pillar, isnʼt that the tomb of the beast king?” she murmured as the first wave of barbarians began their charge across the meadow.

Inadrys nodded, his gaze solemn. ”I believe so.” He was watching Myron make his way towards the castle. Myron was now determined to challenge Jolthar and kill him. He no longer cared about Inadrysʼ words, and he had taken it as a prideful matter to defeat Jolthar.

Ivyona, who noticed the presence of Myron, narrowed her eyes, wondering what Inadrys was scheming again. Judging by the way Myron was headed to, she could guess he was going towards the castle to meet Jolthar.

Does he intend to stop Jolthar?