Chapter 243: Chapter 241 – The Seized Throne, Blood That Still Lingers
Two weeks had passed since that last stormy night. Time moved quickly, but on the Dark Island, the changes felt undeniable. The streets of Anarats had grown livelier, the night market still bustled even with snow piled high, and word of the destruction of all Church branches on the island spread quietly, whispered among merchants.
Celes finally returned to the castle with Aurellia, carrying long reports about the state of the southern border. Likewise, Stacia came back with Alicia after scouring the small villages in the east. For the moment, there were no further movements from the Church. The island was... peaceful, though everyone knew such peace would not last long.
But the most shocking news was not the absence of enemies, but the word from the north: Velthya had seized her throne.
.....
The royal throne room of the lycanthropes was thick with the scent of blood and half-burned incense. The black stone walls rumbled with the voices of gathered nobles, their eyes gleaming between fear and relief.
At the center of the hall, a middle-aged man lay collapsed, his face swollen with bruises, blood dripping from his mouth. He still wore the king’s robe, now torn to rags, and his crown had rolled across the marble floor until it stopped at the feet of his own daughter.
"So... you finally admit it," Velthya’s hoarse voice rasped, broken by rage. Her silver eyes shone with a wild light, her fangs still red with her father’s blood. "You orchestrated Mother’s murder. You had her eliminated... just because you were afraid the throne would be taken from her."
The man, the king, now stripped of dignity, laughed bitterly. "She was too strong... too perfect. I... could never stand beside her. Every suggestion, every decision... always hers. I was only a shadow, Velthya. A shadow beside a queen who shone too bright."
Velthya struck his face again. Thud! Blood spattered across the marble floor.
"A shadow? You were king! You were supposed to stand, to protect, not stab her in the back!" Velthya growled, her whole body trembling with rage pent up for years.
She lowered her head, her breath heavy. "But her body... where is it? What did you do to Mother’s remains?"
The king shook his head weakly. "I... don’t know. I only gave the order... to kill her. After that, her body... vanished. It was never found."
The chamber fell silent. Only the crackle of torch flames echoed against the walls.
Velthya stared at her father, eyes on the edge of madness. "You don’t even... even know where her body went?!"
She seized him by the collar, nearly tearing him apart in front of everyone. But Sylvia, standing at the side of the hall, fixed her with a sharp crimson gaze.
"Enough."
That single word stopped her. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her body still trembling, but slowly she let go of her grip.
Her father slumped back to the floor, frail and broken. Velthya stepped back, closing her eyes for a moment.
When she opened them again, her voice was calmer, yet resolute. "This throne... is no longer yours. You threw away your own honor long ago."
She turned, striding toward the crown lying on the floor. With steady hands, she lifted it, gazing at the object for a long while. Every noble, every general, and even the servants in the hall fixed their eyes on her.
"I, Velthya, rightful daughter of Queen Lyra and King Valrek, hereby claim the throne. Not for myself... but for this nation, which has been led astray for far too long."
There were no cheers, only sighs of relief. Many nodded, some bowed deeply.
They did not resist. They could not. For they all knew over the years, the king had ignored counsel, refused to see the truth, and clung to the shadow of his late queen.
And worse, the Church. The old king had bent too deeply to them, allowing their influence to poison the kingdom’s laws, forcing his people to pay tribute, sending away the kingdom’s brightest youths not as knights of their homeland, but as holy soldiers of the Church.
Now, with Velthya ascending, many felt relief.
An elderly noble rose, leaning heavily on his staff. "We... we accept. A new queen... Queen Velthya."
Another voice followed. "Yes, better to be led by the true blood of Queen Lyra... than by a fool who bowed only to the Church."
Murmurs rippled, but all bent toward one direction: acceptance.
Velthya sat upon the throne, her body still taut, but her gaze steady. "I am not my mother. I am not my father. I... am myself. And I will lead this nation out of the Church’s shadow."
Sylvia folded her arms, standing at her side. "You’ve made your choice. Then be ready to bear it."
Velthya glanced at her, a thin smile tugging her lips, her eyes gleaming. "I am ready, Sylvia. With you beside me... I’ll be more than ready."
.....
That night, the news spread across the land: King Valrek had abdicated, replaced by his own daughter, Queen Velthya. There were no protests. No uprisings. Even the generals once loyal to the old king knelt, accepting their new ruler.
Outside the palace, the people lit small bonfires, celebrating in their own way. Not out of joy, but because an old weight had finally lifted.
In her newly claimed throne room, Velthya still sat, gripping the crown tightly. In her heart, anger had not yet cooled. She still longed to know what had truly happened to her mother.
But for now, she has succeeded.
She had seized the throne.
And for the first time, the nation was led by one who dared defy the Church.
The next morning, the lycanthrope kingdom was no longer the same. The old banners were lowered from the palace towers, replaced with a new emblem: a silver wolf’s head with dark wings spread wide, a symbol of courage and independence.
Velthya, not even a full day on the throne, had no time to rest. From dawn, she was buried in reports from every sector. The throne hall had become a vast chamber of work, filled with scrolls, chests of documents, and the voices of advisers speaking one after another.
"The northern border is short on grain."
"The southern trade route collapsed after the Church army destroyed the bridge."
"The silver mines in the west stopped operating three months ago. The reason they were forced to send everything into the Church’s coffers."
Velthya sat upright upon the black stone throne, her expression stern. She clapped her hands for silence. The noise ceased at once.
"We will no longer depend on the Church," she declared, her voice ringing across the hall. "For too long my father let them strip away your labors. That ends today."
Some nobles shifted uneasily, others looked relieved.
Velthya continued, "The royal vaults are filled with filthy wealth from corruption. Silver, gold, even supplies that should have been given to the people. I will open them all. From this day forward, those funds will repair roads, rebuild bridges, and restore the mines. I want every province to stand on its own again."
Scattered cheers rose, especially from the generals and younger nobles who had long opposed the old king’s policies. They bowed lower, offering their respect.
Velthya rose from her throne, her hand resting on the hilt at her waist. "Remember this well. This is not charity from a queen. This is my duty. I will return to you what has been stolen."
Her words were met with a resounding cry from guards and officers: "Long live Queen Velthya!"
.....
Meanwhile, far from the thunder of that stone hall, Sylvia walked her own path.
The vampire kingdom, hidden beyond the dark forests and misty chasms, now lay silent. Their palace towers of obsidian and red glass still reeked of fresh blood from the previous night’s battle.
Sylvia sat upon a tall black throne, her gown trailing down the steps. Her crimson eyes glared coldly at the dozens of vampires kneeling in the grand hall. The flicker of blue torches cast trembling shadows over their terrified faces.
At the center of the chamber, the body of the old vampire king lay sprawled. A black wound split his chest, the mark of Sylvia’s death chains. His blood still dripped slowly, running down carved channels in the stone floor, as though the throne itself had been designed to drink from death.
"Your king has fallen," Sylvia’s voice rang calm, flat, yet every word weighed like iron. "From this day forward, you are all under me."
Several vampires bowed lower, their faces pale. But one dared to lift his head, red eyes blazing with defiance.
"Impossible," he rasped, his voice thick with hatred. "Zombies are nothing but slaves. Walking flesh, shields for others. You are unworthy to sit on a vampire’s throne!"
Sylvia did not move. She only stared. In an instant, black chains erupted from the air, coiling around him. Crack! His bones snapped all at once, his body twisting before crumbling into dark ash.
Silence. No one dared breathe too loudly after that.
"Whoever disagrees," Sylvia raised her hand, the black chains quivering around her, "will share his fate."
Two more who had tried to speak fell silent, their faces bloodless. They bowed deeply, burying their terror.
Sylvia leaned back against the throne, her cold voice filling the chamber again. "I do not need your blood. I do not need this throne. But my army... requires strength. And your blood will serve as sustenance for them. Those who resist... already know the price."
Some vampires hissed low, but none dared speak against her. One by one, they lowered themselves until their brows touched the floor, a gesture of complete submission.
Sylvia closed her eyes briefly, whispering faintly almost only for herself. "Zombies are not slaves. Not shields. Not tools. They are my army. My family."
Her crimson eyes opened once more, sweeping across the silent hall. "And now... you will be part of them too."
The black chains faded slowly, dissolving into the empty air.
Sylvia rose, her gown swaying with the motion. "Stand. Grow used to your new ruler."
The vampires rose slowly, still pale with fear. None dared oppose.
Outside the palace, the red moon hung high, its light washing over the obsidian towers that now bore a new power. The vampires knew their era had changed. From a kingdom that once deemed itself most noble, now they bent under a zombie queen who knew no mercy.
And Sylvia knew one thing: with them under her command, her army was now complete.