The Play-Toy Of Three Lycan Kings-Chapter 433: Last Mission III

SAGE

Thick silence fell over the hall after my narration.

It was not the restless, breathing quiet of a crowd waiting for the next spectacle. No. This silence was dense. Heavy. It pressed against my skin like cold water, like the moment before a storm finally broke.

No murmur. No shuffle of feet. No cough. Nothing. Everyone was staring at me.

I felt their gazes move over me slowly, carefully, almost greedily—as if they were trying to peel me apart layer by layer. They were measuring the slope of my shoulders, the glow that still clung faintly to my skin, the unmistakable celestial weight of the power I now carried.

They were comparing the girl they remembered... to the being standing before them. They were comparing Dora to Sage.

Their eyes narrowed. Widened. Flickered with doubt, with awe, with fear. And then—

The murmurs began.

Soft at first. A ripple. A crack in the glass. Then the hall filled with whispers.

"She... she does look different..."

"But the aura—did you feel that?"

"No one can fake the First Queen’s presence."

"Or maybe it’s illusion magic."

"Where did she even come from?"

"I thought Dora died—"

"The Queen said she was dead!"

"But what if—"

"No. No, something is wrong here."

"I felt the shift when she spoke..."

"That glow—gods, did you see her eyes?"

"Proof. We need proof."

"I’m not convinced."

"She carries power... but power can be stolen."

My lips almost curved. Good. Doubt was fertile soil. Confusion even better. Let them wrestle with it. Let it spread.

"ENOUGH!" The Queen’s voice exploded across the hall. Magic rode her words like thunder. The force of it slammed into the walls, ricocheted through the high arches, and spilled beyond the open doors into the courtyards outside. The torches along the pillars flickered violently. A few people flinched.

I didn’t. I only watched her.

The Queen rose slowly to her feet, her face arranged in a mask of offended disbelief—though the tightness around her eyes betrayed her. Then she laughed. A boisterous thing laced with mockery.

"My people," she called, spreading her arms wide, her smile dripping with sarcasm, "have you all truly lost your senses?"

Her gaze swept over them, deliberately dismissive. "Since when did we begin believing every stranger who walks in from nowhere and starts spurting rubbish?"

A ripple of uneasy laughter moved through part of the crowd. But not enough. Not nearly enough. Good.

Before she could continue, an elder stepped forward. His voice rang clear despite his age. "She bears the mark."

The hall stilled again.

The Queen’s smile twitched.

The elder lifted his chin, eyes fixed firmly on her. "She carries the ambience of the First Queen. That cannot be disputed—at least."

For a fraction of a second, something ugly flashed across the Queen’s face. Then it vanished.

"Sit down," she snapped. Magic sharpened her tone into a blade. "Unless you wish to be charged for treason."

The threat rolled through the hall like smoke.

The elder’s jaw tightened. Slowly... reluctantly... he stepped back. But oh... the dissatisfaction on his face was delicious.

I almost smiled. Almost. Because as he moved, he leaned toward the man beside him. And with my heightened hearing, I caught every word.

"I have always suspected something was wrong about the Queen," he muttered under his breath.

My pulse flickered. Did I believe him? Not entirely. But honestly? A win was a win.

Let him doubt. Let him whisper. Let him plant those seeds deep into the cracks already forming. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

My attention snapped back to the platform as the Queen continued, voice rising with venom.

"This girl is a liar."

Her finger jabbed toward me. "A brute. A nobody."

Her lips curled. "She isn’t even who she claims to be."

Then, with dramatic finality: "Dora is dead."

A charged pause. Her eyes glittered. "The werewolves made sure of that."

For one long heartbeat, the hall held its breath.

Then... I laughed. The sound slipped out of me softly. Several heads turned toward me, some staring, some glaring...

I let my gaze sweep slowly across the crowd. "Yes," I said calmly, "I know I have changed." I lifted one hand slightly, letting a thread of celestial light ripple faintly across my fingers.

"Considering the power the Goddess entrusted to me... I would be surprised if I hadn’t."

A few more murmurs. More shifting. More doubt cracking open. Then I pointed deliberately. First at Diana. Then at Peter. Then at Laura.

"But surely," I continued smoothly, "my presence with them... should tell you I am exactly who I say I am."

Right on cue, Peter stepped forward.

My stomach tightened. Just slightly. I did not let it show. Could he do it? Could this quafar truly mimic Peter perfectly?

If he slipped now, if his voice wavered, if his mannerisms were even slightly off, everything could crumble.

But then he spoke... And my breath eased.

Because gods, It was Peter.

Not just the voice. Not just the tone. Everything. The familiar timbre. The measured cadence. The subtle lift of his brow. The precise way his hands moved when he spoke.

It was flawless. Chillingly so.

"I was there," he said steadily. "When the Queen failed the test."

Gasps rippled through the hall. He continued smoothly, confidence unwavering. "The white hair you see..." he gestured lightly toward the Queen, "...is nothing more than dye and magic."

The Queen’s head snapped toward him. Too slow. Far too slow. Because I had already moved. With a sharp move of my fingers, I flung disillusion magic across the platform.

The spell struck before the Queen could react.

For one suspended second, nothing happened.

Then her perfect white hair warped, collapsed, and turned.

Brownish-black strands spilled into view, dull and uneven, the roots unevenly tinted, the texture rough and poorly maintained—hair that had been forced into deception for far too long.

The hall exploded for the umpteenth time. People physically recoiled, feet scraping loudly against the marble as they backed away from the platform—as if the deception itself might leap at them.

As if the Queen herself had become something contaminated.

I didn’t give her time to recover. I stepped forward. "I have recorded most of what happened since my return," I announced.

The Queen’s eyes snapped to mine—wild now.

Good.

"Because," I continued coolly, "I anticipated something like this."

I lifted my hand slowly and gestured outward. "The Queen desires the werewolves’ lands."

Murmurs surged again.

"For one reason," I said.

My gaze locked on hers. "The Abstenum mineral."

That stirred the room properly.

"Known for longevity," I added. Then, softly, deadly... "Because she is not a true queen... and does not possess the natural longevity of one."

Her aura spiked violently... but it’s too late my dear.

I flung my hand to the left. Dark smoke curled outward, folding into itself until a large, shimmering screen formed in midair—like a television woven from mist and memory.

The crowd collectively leaned forward.

"These," I said evenly, "are memories."

I let the words settle.

"When I chose to approach the Queen—despite being warned—I prepared a safeguard. The past had taught me a lot after all..."

My fingers brushed lightly near my temple. "I infused magic into my eyes... to record everything they saw."

Another ripple of stunned whispers.

"And now," I finished softly, "you will see why."

The memory play began.

And the first image appeared: The blood inside the Queen’s cabinet.

A horrified murmur swept through the hall.

I spoke over it, "The Queen drinks blood..."

The Queen’s children visibly stiffened where they stood, huddled together now, their earlier confidence gone. Their faces had gone pale, uncertainty flickering across their expressions.

They knew of this, of course, but they hadn’t known of Ruelle, or the fact their mother had been an adulteress... They had believed Ruelle died naturally. Believed their mother had only done what was necessary to secure the lineage.

Naïve fools. Just like I had once been in the Queen’s hands.

The recorded memory shifted to reveal the dark chambers opening. My steps inside. The trap. The betrayal. Each reveal pulled louder reactions from the crowd.

Shouts, horrified whispers, even as the Queen’s own words spilled into the open air.

Her taunts. Her schemes. Every carefully buried secret dragged brutally into the light.

It was appalling. Disgusting. Monstrous. But as I stood there, watching the horror dawn across face after face, I knew I had won the people.