Fantasy World: I Can Travel To Cultivation World

Chapter 143 Under Command

"My body changed," Asmon said. "I became a Blood Race—a pure one. Along with the transformation, an immense amount of knowledge was forcibly injected into my mind."

He paused, his expression unreadable as he finished his story.

Luis nodded thoughtfully, his gaze steady. "A compelling story,"

"Now, tell me—will you swear your allegiance and serve under my command?"

As Luis spoke, a sudden change happened in the room. Thick roots burst from the Vortex behind him, weaving and twisting as they spread, their presence engulfing the whole room.

----

The bleak autumn wind swept through Silvermoon City, lifting a cloud of dust that shrouded the streets and gave the city an even gloomier appearance.

This once-vibrant garden city, recently alive with festive cheer, had been plunged into an oppressive silence overnight.

Though the tragic events in Queen Elsa's bedroom were known only to the half-elf nobles, the tension was palpable even among the common folk.

The tightly sealed city gates, the prohibition on entry and exit, and soldiers patrolling every street were unmistakable signs that something serious had occurred.

At eight o'clock in the morning, Duke Miller, sleepless and haggard, followed Prince William into the palace's grand hall.

Despite his exhaustion, Duke Miller felt a small sense of relief when he learned of the king's summons.

To him, the very act of being called into the king's presence meant that the Miller family had not yet been entirely cast aside. There was still a glimmer of hope to hold onto.

The Miller family, reeling from an unprecedented crisis, was desperate for any lifeline.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," Duke Miller greeted, placing a hand over his chest in a formal salute. He did his best to appear composed, but the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled hair betrayed his inner turmoil.

"Good morning, Duke Miller," the old king replied from the high platform of the hall. He leaned heavily on his scepter, his gaze distant yet sharp as it settled on his old minister.

The old king had always held Duke Miller in high regard.

After all, it was this man who had been entrusted with the role of Prime Minister of the Half-Elf Kingdom, a position he had fulfilled admirably for over a decade. Under his guidance, the kingdom had flourished and remained orderly.

The king's decision to marry Elsa Miller and crown her queen had been a strategic move, meant to solidify his alliance with this capable minister and secure the future of his lineage.

Otherwise, there would have been no need for him to marry Elsa.

Of course, Elsa was beautiful. But at over seventy years old, her beauty meant little to him—he could only admire her from afar. What use was mere admiration?

Moreover, from the very first day Elsa entered the palace, the old king had noticed the hatred in her eyes.

No matter how carefully she masked it, her resentment could not escape the old king's sharp gaze.

Still, he hadn't paid it much mind. To him, it was only natural. A beautiful young woman forced by her father to marry a dying old man—how could she not feel bitter?

But never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that this resentment would bring such ruin to him and the Modiwen family!

Yes, although he hadn't gleaned much from Queen Elsa last night, the old king was convinced she was lying.

Whatever had happened in the queen's chambers was far from simple.

This wasn't mere suspicion—it was the instinct of a seasoned politician who had weathered the storms of the political arena for decades.

He had no evidence, but evidence wasn't necessary for him.

"Didn't sleep well last night?"

"I…"

"When you get older and experience more, sleepless nights become common," the old king mused, his tone almost casual.

His relaxed demeanor left Duke Miller perplexed. Was this really the time for small talk?

Yet the old king appeared entirely at ease, as though he had no greater concern than chatting with his minister.

"I recall you once mentioned having two sons," the old king continued.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Duke Miller replied cautiously.

"And a grandson?"

"One, Your Majesty."

"How old?"

"Just a month."

"A month old," the old king repeated softly, stepping down from the platform and closing the distance between them. His voice turned deliberate, almost ominous.

"Such a young child. Not many people know of him yet, do they?"

Duke Miller's head shot up abruptly, his eyes locking onto the old king. In that instant, he seemed to grasp the unspoken message.

His lips quivered slightly, and a storm of emotions flickered across his face—pain, resentment, and an unexpected glimmer of gratitude.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, his voice trembling. "Of course... He is just a child, after all, and hasn't met many people yet."

The old king nodded thoughtfully, letting out a weary sigh. "Yes, indeed. Children grow so quickly. They change with every passing day. Even if someone saw them as infants, they'd hardly recognize them a year or two later."

With those words, the old king's meaning became crystal clear.

Duke Miller understood entirely. The Miller family was beyond saving, but the king was offering a sliver of mercy—he would ensure the survival of Duke Miller's newborn grandson.

A lifeline, fragile but precious.

Duke Miller's composure shattered. Tears streamed down his face as his entire body trembled uncontrollably. It was impossible to tell if it was from fear, gratitude, or a mixture of both.

"Your Majesty… Thank you," he choked out. "Thank you for all you've done for the Miller family!"

The old king placed a firm but gentle hand on Duke Miller's shoulder. His voice was soft, yet carried a weight that seemed to press on the room itself.

"I hope you don't resent me."

Duke Miller forced a bitter smile through his tears. "I could never hate you. This is the fate of us half-elves. Sandwiched between giants, we're destined to be crushed to pieces."

The old king sighed heavily, the lines of his weathered face deepening. His silence conveyed agreement, a shared acknowledgment of their grim reality.

The old king's demeanor shifted. He extended his right hand and spoke coldly, his voice devoid of its earlier warmth.

"You are my knight. If you wish to die, it will be by my hand."

Duke Miller froze for a moment, the weight of the words sinking in. His trembling hands gripped the hilt of his sword, and after a brief hesitation, he offered it to the king.

Closing his eyes, he stood tall and waited.

Chi!

The blade plunged into his chest with precision.

---

Outside the palace, Prince William stood with the Pros siblings, trying to maintain a calm demeanor.

"Your Highness, when will His Majesty meet us? We've been waiting forever," Anna asked impatiently, idly tossing a small stone she had picked up off the ground.

"Soon, I promise!" Prince William replied quickly, flashing a reassuring smile. "Father is meeting with Duke Miller right now. You'll be next."

Earl Evan, lounging nearby with a wine bag in hand, took a long sip before speaking. "Your Highness, what exactly happened yesterday? Are you still not going to tell us?"

Prince William chuckled nervously and waved a hand. "Oh, you'll find out soon enough when you meet His Majesty."

"Fair enough," Earl Evan said with a shrug, taking another swig from his wine bag.

Time dragged on until a guard hurried up to Prince William, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

Prince William straightened and turned to the siblings with a formal tone. "Earl Evan, Lady Anna, His Majesty will see you now. Please, follow me."

Without hesitation, the two siblings strode towards the grand hall.

As they reached the entrance, Earl Evan glanced back. "Prince William, aren't you coming with us?"

The prince shook his head with a practiced smile. "No, His Majesty only requested to see you both."

"Alright, then," Earl Evan replied, turning back towards the hall.

The siblings stepped inside, the heavy doors creaking shut behind them. But the moment they entered, they froze.

The hall was empty. Not a soul was in sight.

"Your Majesty?" Earl Evan called out, his voice echoing off the high stone walls.

Anna wrinkled her nose, her expression shifting to one of confusion. "Why does it smell like blood?"

"Blood?" Earl Evan's eyes widened as he caught the faint, metallic tang in the air. His body tensed as unease crept over him.

Something was very wrong.

"In that direction," Anna whispered, her voice tight with unease as she stepped deeper into the hall.

They hadn't gone far when their breath caught in their throats. A bloody corpse lay sprawled on its back, a long sword protruding from its chest.

Moments earlier, the beams and pillars had obscured their view, concealing the grisly scene.

Anna gasped, but Earl Evan reacted instantly, grabbing her arm. "We need to leave. Now!"

"What's wrong, brother?" Anna stammered, her wide eyes still fixed on the lifeless body.

"It's a trap!"

Before they could reach the exit, a calm voice echoed through the hall.

"Two distinguished guests, where are you going?"

Prince William stood in the doorway, his expression neutral but his presence menacing. Behind him loomed several members of the Silver Moon Guard, their hands resting on their weapons.

Earl Evan halted abruptly, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "Your Highness, to be honest, this plan is a bit... amateurish."

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Prince William raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. "What do you mean? I don't quite follow."

He took a few measured steps forward, glancing around as though searching for answers. "Where is His Majesty? Why are there only the two of you here?"

Anna instinctively started to respond, but Earl Evan squeezed her arm, silencing her.

By now, Prince William had stepped further into the hall. His eyes fell on the body, and his expression darkened as realization struck him.