Chapter 210: A Beautiful Life
A streak of azure light flashed frantically through the stone forest as Vera drove her wind magic to its limit, leaving nothing in her ears but the scream of the gale.
But from her flank came an even fiercer black shadow, cutting in like a blade.
It was Olaf.
Though he had started later, he arrived first. His iron-hard fist, stripped of all flourish, slammed straight into the center of her back.
“Urgh—!”
The dull crack of bones and elemental shields breaking at the same time.
She flew sideways like a kite with its string cut, crashed hard into a rough stone pillar, and then slid limply to the ground, curling into herself and no longer moving.
Parker strode over at an unhurried pace, his boots grinding over the gravel. Looking down, he saw the girl’s slender back still rising and falling faintly.
He lifted his foot and planted the heavy sole onto her back, slowly adding pressure.
“The greatest genius of the Eastern Territory?” he sneered, grinding his boot down. “This is all you amount to?”
Under the crushing weight, Vera let out a muffled groan. Her deathly pale face was buried in the dust, her fingers unconsciously clawing into the ground.
Parker tilted his head toward Olaf.
The giant man stepped forward in silence, bent down, and brought down a fist as big as a bowl with a howling rush of wind, driving it squarely into the back of her head.
That faint, shallow motion finally stopped.
Parker turned and walked toward the other side.
Hayden had already efficiently wrapped the severed head in a piece of gray cloth, tied it off, and held it out. Not far away, the headless corpse lay twisted at an odd angle, looking almost absurd.
Parker took the bundle and weighed it in his hand.
It was not light. Dark stains were already spreading through the fabric.
“Move.”
Vincent was the first to come forward, slapping him hard on the shoulder with a broad smile.
“Parker, the greatest credit this time is yours!”
Gray silently nodded beside him.
The remaining explorers crowded around almost at once, their fawning praise rising in waves that nearly drowned him.
“Lord Parker is mighty! He killed them in three moves!”
“What threat from the border? In front of you, my lord, they were nothing!”
“That Vera was always so full of herself. In the end, didn’t Lord Parker just grind her into the dirt with one foot?”
Listening to them, Parker could not stop the corners of his mouth from lifting. He glanced at the heavy bundle in his hand.
Ryan Vilt.
The thing His Highness the Second Prince had specifically ordered.
He had it now.
And it had gone far more smoothly than he had expected.
He lifted his head and looked into the depths of the stone forest. There, at the dim edge of the darkness, an odd, alluring gleam flickered faintly, as though it possessed a life of its own.
He started walking toward it.
After passing the last few jagged stone pillars, the view exploded open before him.
Light.
Dazzling, mountain-high heaps of light.
An enormous cavern stretched out before him, and at its center rose a mountain of wealth so vast it stopped the breath in his chest.
Golden vessels were stacked into towers. Mithril armor and longswords lay scattered like a forest. Gems of every color looked as though stars themselves had fallen to earth, rolling everywhere across the ground. Mixed among them were countless elven relics, ancient in form and pulsing with obscure waves of magic.
The old patterns on the gold gleamed beneath some unknown, faint light, flowing like honey. The silver was piled like snowdrifts, every curve worked to the utmost limit of craftsmanship.
And the gems—
Blazing red like the heart of molten lava, deep blue like the eye of the abyssal sea, phantom violet like the core of the night sky, emerald green like spring’s first concentrated life—
They lay there quietly, their radiance concealed within, and every so often a single reflected glint would cut dreamlike halos across the stone walls.
Parker’s pupils lit up completely.
He stepped forward, crouched, and picked up an elven longsword.
The blade was almost weightless, with natural patterns across it like creeping vines, faint luminescence flowing along its length.
Then he snatched up a gemstone the size of a fist, perfectly clear, with a golden flame sealed inside its core, eternally flickering.
Then he unrolled an ancient scroll tanned from the hide of some unknown beast. Its writing twisted like a song. He could not read a single character, yet the desolate, ancient aura pouring off it was enough to make his heart tremble.
He turned back, his voice hoarse with suppressed excitement.
“Pack it up. All of it.”
After a brief moment of dead silence, the cheers and greedy howls that followed nearly blew the roof off the cavern.
Hayden threw himself at the nearest mound of gold, stuffing treasure into a specialized magic bag with trembling hands while frantically scribbling notes into his book.
Vincent had long since forgotten all about dignity. He stuffed the most delicate and ornate pieces into his arms, his coat lining, even down into his boots, until he looked absurdly swollen.
Gray’s bag was quickly crammed full of gems, the cloth letting out faint groans under the weight.
The explorers lost themselves completely to madness. Some bundled up treasure in their clothes. Some tore off their trousers and knotted them into sacks. One man even dropped to the ground and desperately crammed loose gemstones into his mouth, trying to swallow as many as he could.
Parker stood there, watching the feast of plunder he ruled over.
A blazing, swelling sense of satisfaction rose from the bottom of his heart and flooded his limbs.
All of this was his.
...
When he emerged from the secret realm with that staggering fortune, the sunlight outside stabbed at his eyes, and the sky above was clear and spotless.
At the front of the waiting crowd, the Second Prince stepped forward from among the others and came to meet him in quick strides.
“Excellent!” The prince’s praise rang out like a bronze bell, making Parker’s ears buzz. “Well done, Parker!”
Parker dropped to one knee and offered up the treasure, wealth enough to buy several cities outright.
The brilliance of gold and silver, woven together with the splendor of gemstones, rose into a small mountain that made the eyes swim.
The light that burst into the Second Prince’s eyes shone even brighter than the fiercest fire gem.
The reward came at once.
Captain of the Royal Guard, with command over five hundred elite soldiers.
And that was only the beginning.
Then came a flood of rewards so abundant they became impossible to keep track of: fertile lands, chests of gold and silver, carefully selected beauties, and a title that rose higher and higher with every grant.
With each new decree that was read aloud, the satisfaction in Parker’s heart swelled a little more, until it seemed ready to burst from his chest.
Later, the old emperor died on a cold day under a sky heavy with leaden clouds.
White mourning banners were hung at the palace gates, and funeral music sounded without end.
Later still, the Second Prince ascended the throne.
On the day of the new emperor’s coronation, the clouds scattered, and brilliant sunlight poured over the newly adorned palace and the young ruler’s crown.
Parker wore the robes of a duke and knelt at the very front of the gathered officials as the booming proclamation rolled across the square:
“Parker is hereby invested as Grand General of the Empire, commander of the three armies, elevated to the rank of Duke, hereditary without end, granted ten thousand taels of gold, and a thousand qing of fertile land...”
The voice echoed through the air, striking his chest again and again, sending shivers of joy through him.
Unable to help himself, he raised his head and looked toward the figure upon the highest throne.
The one dressed in golden dragon robes and wearing a dazzling crown—
That face blurred for a moment.
Parker blinked instinctively.
When his vision cleared again, where was the Second Prince?
Sitting on the throne was a pale, cold face, wearing the very expression he hated most in all the world.
Ryan Vilt.
Parker was struck like a man hit by lightning, all the blood in his body freezing instantly.
He jerked his gaze down to his own hands.
The sword gripped there was slowly dripping thick blood from its tip.
As if shocked, he looked wildly around him—
The golden hall, the assembled officials, the treasures, the decree—
All the splendor vanished like a receding tide.
What remained were only cold, uneven stone walls.
Only slick vines clinging to them.
Only the secret realm’s eternal dim gray light.
And the face before him, calm and composed, watching him quietly.
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