Too Late, Prince! I’m No Longer Your Chubby Luna의 모든 챕터: 챕터 141 - 챕터 150

ALEXANDER POVI descended the grand spiraling staircase leading down into the subterranean royal armory, my iron scale mail clinking with a rhythmic, measured cadence against the dark granite walls. Six paces behind me, Lieutenant Daniel shuffled with the erratic, jerky gait of a condemned man walking to the gallows. He kept his eyes glued to his steps, trembling every time a low, subterranean groan echoed through the mountain bedrock.The armory was not merely a storehouse for polished broadswords and chainmail coats.It was built directly over the central Ley-line keystone—a cavernous vault of black basalt, supported by twelve colossal octagonal pillars of iron-reinforced granite. For eighteen years, Patrick had kept my father sovereign sword locked within a heavy lead-lined velvet display case at the far end of the hall, displaying it like a conquered relic to every Beta lord who came to pay homage to his usurped throne.As I stepped across the iron threshold into the vault, the he

PATRICK POVThe heavy bronze lantern in my left hand shook so violently that its yellow light danced in wild, frantic arcs against the damp granite walls of the lower gallery.I shuffled along the subterranean corridor, my dark velvet cloak dragging through the thick, oily slush that seeped up from between the flagstones. My right hand, wrapped in blood-soaked linen, throbbed with a sickening, rhythmic heat that reached all the way up to my shoulder blade.Every bone in my body ached. For seventy-two hours, the very air inside Silverfang keep had felt as dense as river mud. The stone beneath my boots groaned incessantly—a low, deep, subterranean grinding that sounded like giant jaws chewing on mountain iron."Where are the mages?" I growled, my voice raspy, dry, and hollow as an unburied tomb.Standing two paces behind me, Kael moved through the dim torchlight like an unyielding shadow. His broad, iron-clad shoulders were completely stoic, his dark cowl pulled so low over his jaw that

ALEXANDER POVEight days before the Blood Moon, Patrick lost the ability to distinguish between the living and the silent stone.He ran through the grand gallery at midnight, his linen-wrapped right hand trailing dark drops of blood across the polished black flagstones. He wore no velvet mantle, no silver-embroidered tunic—only a tattered white undershirt soaked through with dark, oily sweat. His eyes were wide, glassy, and bloodshot, darting from column to column as if invisible specks of dust were lunging at his throat."I saw him!" Patrick shrieked, his voice cracking against the high, vaulted ceiling of the upper grand hall. "He stood in the subterranean vault! He took the blade! He took Adrian's blade!"He grabbed Captain Torin by the lapels of his uniform. Torin, staggering drunk on northern brandy and smelling of stale sour mash, blinked at him with dull, dead eyes."High Alpha..." Torin slurred, his head swaying heavily on his neck. "The Sentinel... Kael is on the landing... H

ALORA POVSix days before the Blood Moon, the air within the high eastern tower did not merely warm; it shimmered like liquid amber, so dense with kinetic resonance that every exhale felt heavy, metallic, and sweet with the smell of unspent lightning.I stood at the absolute edge of my chamber floor, where the ancient stone threshold met the heavy oak of the landing.The silver runic engravings inside the stone were no longer bright or cold. They were dull, charred, and flaking away into dark grey ash under the quiet, relentless heat radiating from my skin.I lifted my right foot, hovering my toes half an inch above the ruined lintel.Zzzzz-pop.A single, pathetic spark of blue static flickered against my heel, whimpered, and dissolved into nothingness.I stepped down onto the oak landing outside my room.The wood beneath my foot gave a deep, satisfied groan, as if welcoming the weight of its rightful mistress after Weeks of silent imprisonment. The ward was dead. The leash was broken

ALORA POVFour days before the Blood Moon, the air within Silverfang keep stopped moving altogether.It was no longer mist or sulfur that hung in the grand vaulted corridors; it was a pure, visible haze of pale violet static. It clung to the carved stone arches like spun silk, humming at a pitch so high and sweet that every glass pane remaining in the lancet windows vibrated in continuous, silent resonance.I stood in the high gallery above the grand feast hall.My bare hands rested against the cold iron balustrade. Down below, the massive mahogany trestle tables—where three hundred lords and their vanguards had once feasted on roast boar and spiced wine—lay utterly abandoned. The tall bronze chandeliers were dark, covered in thick webs of grey soot, but the hall was not dark.The floor itself was bleeding light.Every seam between the black granite flagstones shone with a deep, pulsing crimson-and-gold brilliance. It looked as though a vast, subterranean river of liquid metal were fl