Chapter 231: Nephirid Prince
Inside the room, a Velmora woman sat on a rough stone bench, her wrists still bound by silver-threaded shackles, her gown little more than silk strips dyed in red. Even with gri streaked across her skin, there was no mistaking her origin. smooth features, soft white markings curling along her neck like flowers, and violet eyes, set in a gaze that refused to lower.
Most people won’t recognize it but Taleth does, he know that marking. She had once belonged in the high halls, maybe a descendant of one. A noble of velmora kingdom in the past, but now nothing more than a slave.
The heavy tal door clanked open, and in swaggered a Nephirid gladiator. His na was Craze. He tossed his helt aside and locked the door behind him.
“Finally after all this ti,” Craze growled, voice low and thick with lust. “You know I have taste almost all species, but you Velmora always out of my reach…”
The Velmora didn’t move. She sat still, chained but upright.
Craze stepped closer, his heavy boots grinding against the stone floor. His gauntleted finger traced the line of her jaw.
“Look at you… all wrapped up as my prize,” he murmured, breathing deep. “Makes wonder, how many bled just to buy a night with you?”
She turned her face away. That small gesture was enough to make craze feel annoyed.
Still smiling, but with sothing darker behind it, Craze leaned in, his breath warm and reeking of iron.
“Still pretending you’ve got pride? You’re nothing more than second hand noble toys?” he whispered.
“Let tell you a secret, pretty thing. No one cares. You’re a trophy. A living, breathing plaything soone stuffed into a ribbon so the crowds feel even more excited watching you cry.”
When she didn’t respond, he grabbed her wrist roughly and yanked her to her feet. She gasped as the shackles yanked taut, her balance slipping, shoulder crashing back against the cold stone wall.
Craze lood over her, one hand pinning her by the throat, the other brushing her hip. “I said, play along.”
His voice dropped lower, almost a purr. “You see, I don’t mind a little fight. In fact… I like it better that way. Makes the breaking sweeter.”
She trembled under his weight, but her eyes still refused to look away. And then, without a word, she spat, sharp and clean, right onto the center of his chestplate.
The glob hit with a wet smack, streaking down the iron.
Craze froze. Then he laughed. “Oh… oh, you’ll regret that.”
He reached down, hand fumbling at her waist, starting to pull at the silken dress, but before he could go any further,
BAM!!!
The door burst open again. A rotund figure entered, robed in blue-gold leather armor embroidered with arena laurels, the arena’s match manager, Jhaurus, flanked by two guards.
“Craze,” he said smoothly, “did I not say you could only taste? And be gentle even renting her is very expensive!”
The gladiator froze, caught halfway through pulling the sash loose.
Jhaurus stepped into the room, folding his hands behind his back. His eyes flicked from Craze to the Velmora.
“She’s not so drunk prize girl from the rchant tier. She cost us eighty obsidian marks, and another twenty just for few days That’s more than the bounty on your head the last ti you lost.”
Craze straightened, breathing heavily. “You said she was mine.”
“She will be,” Jhaurus said with a smile. “If you win the next match. And if you can make her owner happy, maybe he will really give her to you.”
Craze blinked. “You an the Royal pit? The one against the Ashking’s beastmaster hounds?”
Jhaurus’s grin widened. “Exactly. A full duel. You give spectacular fight, and the prince will make the Velmora’s yours.
No conditions. No ti limits. She’ll be branded and bound under your na.”
The gladiator’s knuckles cracked, eyes glinting with anticipation.
“And if I lose?”
Jhaurus shrugged. “Then she goes to Varnak’s nephew, Malvek.”
The Velmora’s hands trembled slightly, but she said nothing.
Craze gave her one last glance, then stepped back, jaw tight. “Fine. I’ll win. Then she’s mine.”
“Of course,” Jhaurus said pleasantly, motioning for the guards. “Now go sharpen your blades.”
As the heavy door shut behind them, the Velmora collapsed onto the bench. Her hands were shaking, chains rattling softly, but her eyes remained forward.
Above her, hidden in the ceiling’s shadows, a Krell Ant clung to the stone, recording everything.
“A Velmora that still fights back…?” Taleth muttered, surprised. “Who the hell is she?”
He had never seen one like her. Not in all his years. Not even among the defiant.
Velmora were trained from birth, disciplined, molded into perfect ornants. Passive by nature, broken by design.
Even the most ‘rebellious’ among them would obey if told to strip in public. Dance afterward? They’d smile while doing it, their sha buried so deep it barely showed.
But this woman?
She spat in the gladiator face. She fought back.
‘Is this because she was a descendant of Velmora royalty?’ he wondered.
Taleth than ask trough the hive mind. “What should I do next, Master?”
Miles away, through the thread of the parasite link, Ben saw everything.
“A Nephirid prince,” he murmured, eyes narrowing with interest. “The son of the Ashking, playing gas in the pits…”
By Ben’s knowledge, royal family of the Ashking rarely ddled in politics. Most were too busy indulging in luxury, far from the warfronts and city struggles.
Why? He never understood it. The system seed built to keep them docile.
But now?
“Interesting…” Ben said again, leaning forward. “Maybe this one will help understand the Ashking better.”
Ben had always found it strange. In a race that worshipped strength above all else, where warriors were revered like demigods, why were the royal families never seen?
Why had no mber of the royal family ever stepped into public view?
No feats. No conquests. Not even fabricated stories.
Occasional rumors surfaced, but none were ever confird. Even Draeven, an Ashborn warrior with deep ties to the capital, knew nothing about them.
Ben smirked. “Get into the coliseum,” he said through the link. “Find out more. That woman, she might know sothing.”
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