The man forced me to walk beside him toward the palace, no restraints or chains holding me, which only made my thoughts churn harder because I couldn't understand what the hell was going on. If they weren't planning to cage me like a dog, then what was the purpose of dragging me here?
Though my expression stayed calm and unreadable, I couldn't deny the strange feeling creeping into my chest as I stared at the colossal sight rising ahead. The palace towered like a monument carved out of divine arrogance—majestic, radiant, overwhelming, guarded by thousands of soldiers lined in perfect formation like statues carved from steel.
But as grand as it looked, something felt wrong.
There was no life inside.
No sound.
No warmth.
It felt like the place existed only to show power—not to hold it.
We moved through endless hallways, and every guard we passed saluted the man walking beside me, their respect sharp and absolute. I lifted an eyebrow, amused.
"Whoa," I muttered with a mocking grin, side-eyeing him. "I thought you were just some mercenary, but looks like you're a big shot here, huh?"
The man chuckled—slow, deep, mocking.
"A kid who doesn't understand the world dares to claim it as his own," he said, laughing loud enough to echo along the marble halls, his voice dripping condescension that made my blood simmer.
We kept walking, and I tilted my head back as my eyes took in the massive ceiling towering above us—painted murals depicting cosmic history. Meteors crashing into Earth. Humanity rising from ashes. The birth of the divine man, Dhruva. The awakening of chakra across the species. And finally—Dhruva vanishing into mystery.
I smirked, unable to resist.
"What a great tale."
Sarcasm heavy enough to crush stone.
His expression darkened instantly, and before I could blink, his fist slammed into my abdomen, forcing the air out of my lungs. Pain ripped through me and I coughed hard, warm blood splattering onto the polished floor.
I wiped my mouth and glared up.
"Don't give me that crap," I hissed.
"You'll regret it soon enough."
He leaned forward, eyes like sharpened steel.
"I'm waiting for it."
Moments later, we stopped before a massive golden door so huge that even giants would feel small before it. Two guards pushed it open with visible strain, and a flood of blinding light burst through. I raised my hand to shield my eyes as the deafening hum of something powerful filled my ears—a massive spinning force like a colossal disc tearing through the air, roaring with unstoppable energy.
And then the shouting started.
---
Inside the Royal Chamber
A furious voice crashed through the hall like thunder.
"HOW CAN YOU MAKE AN OUTCAST PRESENT IN THIS HONORABLE ROYAL CHAMBER? AND EVEN ANNOUNCE SUCH A THING!?"
Varuna Khuraar—cultural head, 37 years old—roared with fury, his voice trembling with rage.
"Yes! I am with Mr. Khuraar."
Devashish Aarin, 46 years old, state representative and head of the Aarin household, spoke with sharp authority, his tone cutting through the air.
Samrat Rathore, 52, the highest legal authority and head of the Rathore household, slammed his palm on the throne's armrest.
"How much do you think we can tolerate this!?"
"And without our consent, you can't decide whatever you wish," Jai Singh Senapathi, 58, military advisor and head of the Senapathi household, roared with burning resentment.
"It hugely disrespects us!"
And then a colder voice sliced through them all.
"And we never bothered what you think and speak."
Aravindan Velkar stood there—Grand Chancellor, strategic mastermind—his words sharp enough to draw blood. The four household heads froze in humiliation as he continued casually,
"So, make yourselves comfortable and fit into it."
Laughter erupted from others in the chamber, echoing like cruel bells.
These bastards… mere sub-branch families of the Vellory household daring to humiliate the great houses equal to Vellory? One day, I'll burn your pride to ash.
The man and I stepped inside, and immediately the atmosphere shifted.
Dozens of nobles stared at me—cold, disgusted, furious—like they were looking at something filthy stuck to the bottom of their shoe. Their eyes screamed the words they wouldn't dare speak aloud.
Dog. Trash. Outcast.
Everyone in the chamber rose to their feet—backs straight, shoulders stiff, expressions forcibly neutral.
Not for me.
I'm just an outcast dragged in here like a dog on a leash.
No—their eyes were fixed on the man beside me.
The man whose presence felt like a storm pressing on my skull, whose every step echoed like thunder inside the hollow palace.
Rudra Shakthiraya.
War General of the entire Indravana Dominion.
The man who personally captured me.
And the state representative, Aravindan Velkar, greeted him with a sharp bow.
"Welcome… seems you retrieved him, War General Rudra Shakthiraya."
My mind froze.
War General.
The strongest spear of the Dominion.
A monster who belonged on the battlefield, not escorting a nobody like me.
What the fuck is going on here?
Why would someone like him come for an outcast?
Something here is way bigger than revenge.
Bigger than humiliation.
And then I felt it—a piercing stare sinking into my spine.
I turned.
Arjun Vellory.
Brother of the Hammer Saint.
Probably Substitute Saint of the Royal Assembly.
His eyes were wide, trembling, filled with disbelief—like he had seen a ghost wearing my skin.
Something was wrong with him. Something twisted.
I could feel his aura like a blade against my neck, threatening to split me open.
But everything changed in the next heartbeat.
THE GROUND TREMBLED....
A heavy, spine-breaking weight slammed through the hall, shaking every pillar.
An aura so suffocating it felt like someone crushing my lungs from the inside.
And then—
All of them dropped to their knees.
State representative, Aravindan Velkar.
War general,Rudra Shakthiraya. And other three royal council members on their knees out of respect and admiration,
But,
Samrat Rathore.
Varuna Khuraar.
Devashish Aarin.
Jai Singh Senapathi. All the heads of the strongholds and puppet nobles of royal assembly out of fear and humiliation because if they don't who knows what will happen to their strongholds. Maybe wipe out from map.
Every great pillar of power bent their heads to the floor.
Not out of loyalty. Not out of honor. But pure, bone-crushing fear.
Their bodies trembled.
Their hands dug into the polished floor.
The sound of teeth grinding echoed like broken glass.
And then I saw him.
Rajendra Vellory
Hammer Saint The strongest wielder of the Vellory bloodline.
He entered without a word—no speech, no declaration.
Just footsteps heavy enough to break worlds.
A monster of legend.
A tyrant dressed as a hero.
A father by blood—but never by heart.
His face was carved from stone—cold, unforgiving, unreadable.
Every noble glared at him behind lowered heads—forced to kneel, but dreaming of tearing his throat open.
Their hatred choked the air, thick and violent.
For years I dreamed of this moment.
For years I wanted to stand upright while they kneeled.
I looked straight into his eyes—those same eyes I inherited.
For the first time in years, we stood face to face.
Father and son. Predator and prey. The saint and the outcast.
But all I could think was:
"Face to face with the man whose existence ruined my life, whether he knew who I am, or they made me to stand here because of the ruckus I made at the arena "
But who cares about it now,
My fists tightened.
My blood burned.
My heart screamed.
This time, I won't kneel.The king doesn't kneel. Make others kneel.