Chapter 142: The Tyrant-King of Dregaria
The Empire of Dregaria was different.
A land where mercy was outlawed and obedience enshrined, it stood as a testament to raw power. And at its apex sat Emperor Velkarth, a ruler whose eyes burned with cold ambition.
His advisors were relics of war, his ministers cowed into silence. He ruled with a word and punished with a glance.
Velkarth studied Sharath's blueprints not with awe, but with hunger. "If a child of eight can remake the world," he sneered, "I shall rewrite its bones."
Under his decree, grand infrastructure projects launched overnight. Roads sliced through forests. Towers rose from deserts. Canals bled rivers dry to fuel his vision. But the purpose was singular — to elevate the throne. His throne.
Peasants starved beneath the weight of stone they laid. Cities gleamed above sewage-laced slums. A facade of prosperity — gilded rot.
And yet, Velkarth grew restless. For all his work, admiration did not follow. His people grew quieter, not in respect — but in dread.