The Armory Lord's mistake

Even chained to the cold, blood-stained floorboards, Victor’s arrogance refused to die.

Despite his shattered hands and the heavy, rune-carved iron pressing his neck into the dirt, the bruised ego of an Alpha heir pushed him to keep talking. He was terrified, trembling like a leaf in a winter storm, but he was desperately clinging to the only leverage he had left: his family name.

"You are a dead man, blacksmith!" Victor spat, coughing up a mouthful of blood as he glared up at Lycan. "My own father runs the Silver Wolf King’s royal armory! He supplies the weapons for the entire royal guard! You just picked a fight with the absolute wrong guy. When he finds out what you’ve done, he will have your head on a spike!"

Lycan didn't flinch. He didn't shout. He just stood there, a towering god of war draped in midnight-black armor, looking down at Victor with an expression of cold, terrifying amusement.

"Oh, yeah?" Lycan murmured, his deep voice dripping with lethal sarcasm as he tilted his head. "I am all ears, Victor. Please, tell me more about what your father will do to me."

Victor opened his mouth to bark another threat, but the words died in his throat when Lycan turned his gaze away from him and looked back at me.

I was still shaking in the armchair, my hands weakly clutching the fabric of my dress where Regina’s silver dagger had pierced my skin. The glowing warmth of Lycan’s magic was keeping the worst of the bleeding at bay, but my skin was bruised, battered, and pale.

As Lycan stared at my wounds, the temperature in the room plummeted again. The terrifying crimson light reignited in his amber eyes. His jaw clenched so tight I could hear his teeth grinding together.

"My wife has so many wounds," Lycan whispered. The quietness of his voice made it infinitely more terrifying than a shout. He slowly turned his head back to Victor and Regina. "She is bleeding. She is in pain. And because you dared to lay a hand on my Queen... I want to see ten times as many wounds on both of you."

He didn't draw a weapon. He looked at the elite royal guards standing at attention by the ruined doorway.

"Outside," Lycan commanded, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "Throw both of them into the Blood-Thorn patch behind the cottage. Do not let them out."

The guards didn't hesitate. They hauled Victor and Regina up by their iron chains, dragging them mercilessly toward the door.

The Blood-Thorn patch was a massive, overgrown thicket of wild, razor-sharp briars that grew at the edge of the woods. The thorns were as long as daggers and coated in a natural, burning sap that felt like liquid fire when it pierced the skin.

Realizing exactly what was about to happen, Regina’s fragile bravado completely shattered.

"No! No, please!" Regina shrieked, her voice pitching into a hysterical, ugly sob as her velvet dress dragged through the dirt. She violently thrashed against the guard’s grip, her eyes bulging with terror. She looked at the man she had proudly claimed as her powerful Alpha. "Victor, save me! Do something! This is your last shot; tell them to let me go!"

But Victor couldn't save her. He couldn't even save himself.

"Get your hands off me!" Victor screamed, his voice cracking as he scrambled uselessly against the chains. "My old man is on his way! He received my distress link! He will slaughter every single one of—"

His threat was cut short as the guards forcefully threw them out the door.

I winced as the sickening sound of snapping branches and tearing fabric echoed from outside. A split second later, a chorus of agonizing, blood-curdling screams pierced the morning air. Regina and Victor thrashed blindly in the deep thicket, but every movement only drove the razor-sharp Blood-Thorns deeper into their skin. The burning sap did its work, and their arrogant threats quickly devolved into pathetic, desperate cries for help.

"Help us! Somebody, please!" Regina wailed, her voice hoarse from screaming.

Lycan stood perfectly still in the center of the room, his hands clasped behind his back, listening to their agony with a mask of cold satisfaction.

Suddenly, the heavy thud of marching boots and the terrifying roar of a high-ranking wolf echoed from the edge of the forest property.

"Hold!" a booming, authoritative voice shouted over the chaos.

Through the shattered window, I could see a squad of heavily armed silver-clad soldiers rushing into the clearing, their swords drawn. Leading them was an older, imposing man wrapped in an expensive, fur-lined velvet cloak. The crest of the Royal Armory was proudly pinned to his chest.

It was Lord Silas. Victor’s father.

Silas took one look at the bloody, mangled state of his son crying in the thorn patch, and his face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated fury. He puffed out his chest, completely unaware of the elite midnight-black guards standing in the shadows of the cottage.

"Which blind brute dared to lay a finger on my son?!" Silas roared, his voice booming with the arrogant authority of a man who was used to everyone bowing to him.

"Dad!" Victor sobbed from the thorns, his face scratched and bleeding profusely. "Dad, save me! He crushed my hands! Kill him! Kill that worthless blacksmith!"

Silas’s eyes locked onto Lycan’s broad, armored back visible through the ruined doorway. Lycan hadn't turned around yet; he was still facing me, ensuring I was safe in my chair.

"You filthy bastard!" Silas spat, storming toward the cottage with his sword drawn, his personal soldiers flanked behind him. "How dare you mess with my boy?! He is the Silver Wolf King’s golden heir! You are going to pay for this! Turn around and face me so I can separate your head from your shoulders immediately! Immediately!"

The heavy, suffocating silence that fell over the property was deafening. Even the wind seemed to stop blowing.

Lycan let out a slow, dark sigh.

Then, with agonizing, terrifying slowness, Lycan turned around.

The morning sunlight hit the midnight-black, impenetrable royal armor. It illuminated the dark iron crown resting upon his head. And then, the crushing, godly, demonic aura of the true King violently exploded from Lycan’s body, slamming into Silas and his soldiers like a physical tidal wave.

Lord Silas stopped dead in his tracks.

The arrogant fury on the older man's face instantly evaporated, replaced by a pale, sickening shade of absolute horror. His eyes darted from the royal crest etched into the black chest plate, up to the terrifying, glowing crimson eyes of the man he had just threatened to kill.

Silas’s sword slipped from his trembling grip, clattering loudly against the dirt path.

He didn't just recognize the armor; He recognized the face of the god of death himself.

Victor, still completely oblivious in the thorn bush, continued to cry. "Dad, what are you waiting for?! Kill him!"

But Silas couldn't even breathe. The Armory Lord’s knees violently buckled beneath him. He collapsed into the dirt, pressing his forehead directly into the mud in an act of total, desperate submission. His entire body was shaking so violently it looked as though he might have a heart attack right then and there.

"P-Prince Lycan..." Silas choked out, his voice a pathetic, trembling whisper that barely carried over the wind. "My King... mercy.”