The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 203

The night had passed in eerie silence after the tavern brawl. Dawn light seeped through the cracks of the worn wooden shutters, casting narrow beams across the battered floor. The scent of blood, burnt meat, and spilled ale still lingered.

Kael stirred awake on the creaky bed, letting out a low grunt as he stretched his limbs. His body ached slightly from the fight, but a good sleep had numbed the soreness. He yawned and cracked his neck lazily.

Beside him, Lyria lay sprawled on the mattress, her hair a fiery mess and her mouth open slightly. Soft snores escaped her lips, one leg tangled in the bedsheet, the other dangling off the edge. A half-empty mug sat on the floor beside her, long gone warm.

Kael stared at her, bewildered.

"How can one be this drunk from one sip…" he muttered, running his hand through his messy hair.

Shaking his head with a faint smile, he grabbed his shirt and walked out of the room. The hallway of the inn was silent, most patrons still unconscious or nursing bruises from last night's chaos. He made his way to the rear yard where an old, cracked tub stood near the well.

He filled it with cold water, steam rising slightly in the morning air. Just as he cupped some water in his hands, he noticed something—a faint glint. A flicker, too sharp for morning dew.

Kael's muscles tensed. In that instant, he twisted his torso just as a thin, almost invisible dagger sliced past his ribs. A black-cloaked figure, face covered, had appeared from behind the shed like a ghost.

Kael ducked under the next swipe and rammed his shoulder into the assassin's gut, sending him staggering back. The assassin regained balance and lunged again—fast and silent. Kael caught his wrist mid-air, twisted it violently, and brought his knee into the man's chest.

CRACK! The sound of ribs breaking echoed across the yard.

Before the assassin could scream, Kael grabbed his head with both hands and slammed it into the edge of the stone basin. Blood splashed the tub. The skull gave in like crushed fruit, brain matter seeping out as the lifeless body dropped beside the water.

Kael exhaled slowly, staring at the corpse.

"No good morning for me, huh…"

He wiped the blood off with a rag and stepped out of the yard into the front of the inn. But just as he turned the corner, his steps halted.

In front of him stood the scar-faced man from the night before, surrounded by a fresh group of mercenaries—rough, armed, and clearly more skilled than the rabble Kael had wrecked earlier. Their armor gleamed in patches, faces hidden beneath hoods or helms. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

The scar-faced man grinned, the bruise on his jaw still fresh from last night.

"I was wondering where you crawled off to," he spat. "Turns out, just outside… bathing like a pretty boy."

Kael's brow twitched. His fingers clenched into fists.

The man continued, raising a hand to signal the others, "You really made a mess yesterday. Killed a lot of good-for-nothing I used to order around. But that's fine. I bought better ones. Trained blades. You're done now. No more spoons or forks to save your ass."

Kael cracked his knuckles and stepped forward, unfazed.

"So that's it? You're back with dogs on leashes. Should've just run with your tail tucked."

The scarred man's expression twisted into a sneer.

"You killed my men. Humiliated me. But don't worry—" his gaze flicked toward the upper window where Lyria still slept, "I'll make sure your whore gets used before I gut her."

Kael's eyes darkened instantly.

The wind stilled.

"You shouldn't have said that."

He stepped forward.

"Luckily you saved me a great deal of trouble by coming here on your own. After all, it's a waste of effort to look for a small fry."

"What did you say?"Bob shouted and pointed at Kael.

"Go and kill him.You will have your shares."

Kael's eyes narrowed as the swarm of thugs charged at him like rabid animals. His breath steadied, his foot slid back, and then—

CRACK!

His elbow shot back and shattered the nose of the man behind him. Blood sprayed in the air like a mist. The man stumbled and collapsed, screaming, hands covering his mangled face.

Another swung a rusted axe at Kael's side.

Kael caught the handle mid-swing, twisted his wrist, and yanked the attacker forward. His knee slammed into the man's stomach, knocking the wind from his lungs. Without hesitation, Kael grabbed him by the neck and slammed his skull down on the edge of the table.

The crack of bone echoed. The man didn't get up again.

One of the larger thugs screamed and lunged with a spiked mace. Kael sidestepped, grabbed a broken stool, and rammed the sharp end into the man's throat. The thug gagged, choking on his own blood. Kael drove the stool further in, piercing through flesh, until the man collapsed, twitching.

A sword slashed at him from the left. Kael ducked, grabbed a chair leg, and swung it hard across the attacker's knee. The joint snapped backwards with a sickening POP, followed by a howling cry. Kael kicked the man's other leg, sending him face-first into a shattered bottle of ale.

Another came at him with a broken spear, aiming for Kael's chest. Kael twisted his body and grabbed the shaft mid-air, then yanked the man forward. With one brutal motion, he flipped him and brought his boot down on his arm.

CRUNCH!

The arm bent the wrong way. The man screamed in agony, but Kael didn't stop. He took the spear, jammed it straight into the man's thigh, pinning him to the floor like meat on a spike.

Kael's cloak flowed like a shadow as he spun, dodged, and danced through the chaos. He delivered a palm strike to a man's chin so hard it cracked his jaw. Another got his ribs shattered by a side kick that sent him flying across the tavern.

The scar-eyed leader, seeing his men getting destroyed, roared in rage and charged at Kael with a greatsword. Kael waited, eyes calm, and at the last moment stepped aside. He slammed his palm into the back of the man's head, dazing him. Then he grabbed the man's wrist, twisted, and with a savage SNAP, dislocated it.

The sword fell. Kael caught it and drove it through the scar-eyed man's leg. The thug screamed and fell to his knees. Kael didn't wait—he grabbed the man by his greasy hair and smashed his face into the wooden floor again and again until teeth flew and the floor turned red.

One final fool tried to run. Kael grabbed a fallen meat cleaver, turned, and threw it.

THUNK!

The blade embedded itself into the man's spine. He collapsed like a sack of flesh.

Silence followed.

The tavern was painted with blood. Moans of the wounded echoed, some clutching their limbs, others lying motionless. Tables and chairs were broken, food and ale soaked into the wooden floor, mingling with blood.

Kael stood in the center, panting lightly, clothes torn and fists bloodied.

He cracked his neck and muttered coldly, "Fucking animals."

Lyria still slept beside the table, untouched by the carnage.

No one dared move. The survivors stared at Kael with horror and awe, trembling.

As Kael finished things, he looked at the pitiful scar-eyed man and spoke.

"Thankfully you aren't dead.I need someone to speak."