The mausoleum.
This architectural marvel was nestled just north of the palace and radiated a serene yet striking presence. Its white marble walls featured carvings of celestial patterns and golden inscriptions that paid homage to Altherion Arcanis Aurelian Ainsworth—the benevolent founder of the Arcanium kingdom, and a ruler who had been seen as a god during his reign.
The gilded domes atop the mausoleum glimmered under the sun. The sapphire accents along the roofs and arches mirrored the heavens. A sprawling stone courtyard flanked by fountains and manicured hedges led to the entrance of the mausoleum. Here, golden doors embossed with the emblem of the kingdom stood tall and unyielding.
Surrounding the sanctuary were vast burial grounds stretching across several acres, with rows of white marble gravestones for the people of Lunarel.
The mausoleum itself served as both a tomb and a sanctum for prayer, its halls echoing with silence and reverence. Inside, the central chamber housed the founder's sarcophagus. It rested beneath a massive stained-glass dome that cast iridescent light across the polished stone floors. The inner sanctum was reserved for royal and noble burials where the achievements of the deceased were immortalized in engraved plaques along the walls.
Former Commander Leopold's gaze trailed along the line of portraits paired with each plaque until his eyes eventually settled on the vacant tomb prepared for the current king.
A bitter taste filled his mouth at the sight. To see the man's final resting place so meticulously arranged felt almost like an admission of defeat. Yet, unless the king mustered the strength to cast off the demons that bound both him and his sovereign, the tomb's occupancy was only a matter of time.
Shaking off the unsavory thought, Leopold turned his focus forward. The air grew heavier as he strode purposefully toward the rear of the mausoleum that served as mortuary.
"Commander, wait up!" a young man called out, struggling to match his superior's brisk pace in their heavy, full-plated armor. "What's the rush?"
"Lieutenant Blazin—or perhaps I should simply call you Blazin now," the older man replied without breaking stride. "You were my most trusted and capable officer during our service to Lord Alaric, and while I've always appreciated your untiring loyalty, there's no reason for you to keep following me."
Blazin frowned. "But Commander—"
"Most of the soldiers willingly pledged their loyalty to Lord Ignatius when our lord's estate and lands were handed over to him," the man interrupted. "You shouldn't hesitate to do the same. You're the sole provider for your siblings, and I promise, I'd never hold it against you."
Blazin offered a faint, melancholic smile, his chest tightening at the thought of such dishonor. "I won't bend the knee, especially with the war approaching," he said, his voice heavy. "After my parents passed, I stayed in the military only because of you and Lord Alaric. But now… everything's changed."
"I understand," Leopold said quietly, his tone softening. "So, what will you do now?"
"I'll pursue my passion for carpentry," he replied firmly. "It'll allow me to stay close to my siblings. They've already lost our parents—if something happens to me on the battlefield, they'd have no one left." He straightened his back, meeting Leopold's gaze with quiet resolve. "So, Commander, once we've finished laying Lord Alaric and his family to rest, that's where our paths will diverge. I regret that I won't be able to stand by your side for whatever you have planned next."
Leopold tilted his head back, his gaze fixed on the glass mural stretching across the vaulted ceiling. In all honesty, fury churned within him at how readily the other soldiers had pledged fealty to Lord Ignatius, despite the man's underhanded tactics to bribe and disgrace Alaric Beaumont.
Though lacking concrete evidence, his instincts screamed that Ignatius Pembroke was the architect of his lord's demise—and if it was the last thing he did, he would uncover and expose the truth for all to see. But before seeking justice, his duty was clear: to ensure his lord and his family were laid to rest with the honor they deserved.
"I wouldn't have allowed you to be part of this," Leopold finally said. "…Even if you had asked."
Both men became quiet as a flight of stairs led them to an underground sanctum. The air was cold yet dry, and the chill felt more like a calming presence than discomfort. A faint mist clung to the floor, swirling gently with every movement.
At the center of the room was a massive crystalline obelisk made of mana crystal. This spire radiated a faint bluish glow and pulsated gently like a heartbeat. The high ceiling was an arched dome made of dark, polished obsidian with embedded mana crystals akin to stars. These crystals illuminated the chamber in a dim, ethereal light that mimicked the night sky, giving the sense of an eternal rest under the cosmos.
Tall, frosted stone pillars encircled the room, each inscribed with the names of the deceased preserved within the chamber. As both men approached a pillar that had names categorized in alphabetical order, Blazin's gaze drifted to the most captivating spectacle in the chamber.
Orbiting the mana crystal obelisk in concentric rings were the bodies preserved within floating sarcophagi made of a translucent crystal. These were suspended mid-air by magic circles powered by the obelisk. The crystals shimmered and radiated a cool mist, creating the illusion of being encased in ice.
Without a word, Leopold's fingers traced the names etched into the stone pillar. In response to his unspoken command, three translucent sarcophagi descended gracefully from their symmetrical arrangement among the others. Silently, they came to a stop in an upright position beside him. The man's gaze hardened with chagrin as he observed the pristine bodies, completely healed of their mortal wounds.
The same magic circle that kept the capsules afloat also conjured a freezing aura, which preserved the bodies in a state of stasis. This, in turn, halted the natural process of decay, ensuring the bodies remained untouched by time's cruel grip.
"I'm surprised you're able to afford the cost of keeping them here for so long," said Blazin in a hushed tone.
Despite the massive size of the mana crystal obelisk, its power was far from infinite. Every few months, it required manual recharging by skilled magic users—a service that came at a steep price. This expense was reflected in the exorbitant cost of maintaining bodies in cryostasis, a luxury only a few could afford.
Leopold's armor clinked softly as he raised his arm. Frost crept along his metal-clad fingers as his palm came to rest against the crystalline capsule encasing his late lord. He was regretful he wasn't able to uphold his oath to protect the man and his family, nor did he felt the capital was still worthy of serving as their final resting place.
The king, consumed by his own despair, had abandoned his people, and Leopold knew deep down that Lunarel would never recover from its downfall. After making Ignatius Pembroke pay for his crimes, he would leave the kingdom behind and find a new lord to serve—one who was just as powerful and compassionate as the founder.
***
Dim lighting. Soothing incense. Silken sheets. Swollen breasts swayed enticingly, and pink-tipped nipples reflected warm candlelight. A man, a predator, aggressively ravaged the body of a young woman, pure, unfiltered hedonism radiating from his every fiber, from his every movement.
The razor's edge loomed, and his eyes became wild, his muscles taut, rigid fingers gripping fabric. Yet the woman did not mirror his fervor, did not share in his mindless and glorious pursuit. Frustration swelled into rage as he hovered at the brink of climax. Succumbing to his base instincts, his arm lashed out like a striking viper, his jaws parting, teeth bared in a savage display.
"KYAAAAA!"
A pained scream pierced the air. At the sound, the man roared, throwing his head back in a surge of twisted ecstasy. Just as he had anticipated, the woman's once feeble grip convulsed around him in an agonized response, heightening the intensity of his euphoric release.
Moments later, a rapid series of bangs echoed against the door, but the man outside didn't wait for permission. The oriental-style door slid open with evident urgency as he stormed inside, his curious gaze immediately falling upon the motionless and bloodied prostitute on the floor.
"Wh-What did you do?!" Milton shouted, rushing over to the futon.
The other man scoffed, slipping into his pants. "Your merchandise as of late," he remarked nonchalantly, "has been sorely lacking in key areas."
Milton frowned in disgust, eyeing the man's bloated frame, particularly his swollen stomach spilling over his pants. "And that justifies pulling out her fingernail?"
The man grinned, a smug gleam in his eyes. "Your establishment had the gall to deliver subpar goods, so I took the necessary steps to ensure my money's worth. Or were you planning to offer me a full refund instead?"
Milton's lip curled in anger. Sick bastard! He's done this—and worse—to every woman he's been appointed, even the courtesans with little to no experience.