Ragon had returned home but chose not to take the direct route. He wanted to test the city's level of peace, to see if there were any signs of rebellion brewing. A ruler who desired a state free from betrayal had to be vigilant, even in moments of peace.
Standing at the edge of the dark forest, Ragon extended his palm, where a golden energy began to swirl and condense.
Within seconds, it shaped itself into a mask. Placing it over his face, his features shifted, becoming unrecognizable.
"Time to root out any unnecessary treachery," Ragon said, a wicked smirk tugging at his lips.
************
The bustling city was livelier than before, with streets filled with merchants, children playing, and the distant various conversations.
It had been a week since Ragon had left, and on the surface, everything seemed well. Ragon observed carefully as he strolled through the streets.
Soldiers he had recently appointed patrolled the area, looking noticeably different from the elite squad he had assigned prior to his departure.
Something about their demeanor felt... off. His suspicions were confirmed when he overheard an argument near a small stall.
"Please, I don't have any money," an elderly woman pleaded, her voice trembling. "This business is all I have, and it barely provides enough to live on. I can't pay the tax." One of the soldiers sneered, gripping a stick in his hand.
"You filthy old hag," he spat. "Either pay up or watch us destroy all this junk you sell." He raised the stick, ready to smash her groceries, but before it could land, a hand shot out of nowhere and caught the stick mid-swing.
In the blink of an eye, Ragon appeared, having covered a distance of 100 meters so swiftly that no one saw his approach.
"You won't be doing that under my watch," Ragon said coldly, yanking the stick away effortlessly.
"What do you think you're doing, you filthy bastards?" The soldier, shocked by the stranger's sudden appearance, took a step back.
Regaining his composure, he scowled and snarled, "Who the hell do you think you are to give me orders?" Without hesitation, Ragon grabbed the man's ear and twisted it, forcing him to bend toward the ground. The soldier winced in pain, his bravado faltering.
"If I were you," Ragon said with a dangerous calm voice, "I'd apologize to this lady immediately."
The old woman tugged on Ragon's pants, her voice trembling.
"Young man, it's okay. Please, don't get yourself into trouble on my account." Ragon glanced at her with a polite smile.
"Don't worry, ma'am. I'll take care of this." "Watch out!" the woman suddenly yelled. Ragon turned just in time to catch a sword aimed at his head, his palms snapping shut on the blade with an audible clang.
Sparks flew, but Ragon held it firmly as if it were a mere twig. "You have the nerve to point a sword at your king?" Ragon said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl.
"I suppose that means you've just signed your death warrant." Ragon yanked the sword from the man's grasp and, in the same motion, grabbed the attacker's wrists. With a sharp twist, there was a sickening crack.
"AHHHH!" the soldier screamed as his arms bent at unnatural angles, his bones clearly dislocated. Ragon flung him backward with a powerful kick, sending him crashing into the ground several meters away.
The other soldiers froze in terror, their earlier bravado evaporating. Without waiting for further confrontation, they dropped their weapons and fled, leaving their injured comrade behind. Ragon dusted off his hands and turned back to the old woman, who was staring at him in shock.
"Oh, I didn't realize I had so much strength," he said, feigning innocence. "My bad."
"Young man," the old woman said shakily, "thank you. But you need to run. If they come back, they'll seek revenge."
Ragon smiled reassuringly, his voice steady. "Don't worry about me, ma'am. I'm more than strong enough to keep them at bay." She hesitated, then nodded, gratitude shining in her eyes.
"May the gods bless you, young man." Ragon's expression softened as he handed her a small pouch of gold coins.
"Here, take this. Use it to rebuild what they destroyed-or to start fresh," The woman's hands trembled as she accepted the gift.
"Thank you. Truly, thank you." Ragon turned and began walking away, heading towards he castle.
Ragon moved silently through the halls of the castle.
In the throne room, Thera sat on the throne, though her face betrayed the strain of holding her ground. The gathered crowd of village leaders and self-proclaimed advisors were being disrespectful to her.
"You're nothing more than a placeholder," one man barked, "His Majesty is gone—probably dead. You should step aside and let someone more capable lead."
Another, a burly man with a booming voice, added, "The village has grown into a kingdom, and we need strong leadership, not a caretaker playing queen. You're out of your depth, Thera."
Thera's hands clenched the armrests of the throne. "Ragon appointed me for a reason," she said firmly. "Until he returns, I will ensure his vision for this kingdom is upheld."
Her calm response only seemed to embolden the dissenters.
One man, standing at the edge of the group, shifted closer, his hand resting on a hidden dagger. His eyes darted to Thera with barely concealed malice.
"Maybe it's time we stopped pretending and took matters into our own hands."
Here's the corrected text:
The orc Grel'thak, who stood at their position, instantly appeared at the man's location. He pressed his massive hands against the man's head, causing it to burst. Without a word, the orc zoomed back to Thera's side.
Despite never having witnessed such a brutal killing before, Thera showed no reaction, determined to portray herself as a no-nonsense queen.
The others, seeing this display, were terrified.
Thera's father, the former patriarch of the village, stepped between the mob and the throne, raising his hands to silence the chaos.
"That's enough!" he said, his voice firm. "His Majesty entrusted my daughter with leadership because he saw her strength and wisdom. She has done nothing to warrant this disrespect."
But his words only fueled the crowd's anger.
"Of course you'd defend her," one man scoffed, his voice low as he glanced nervously at the towering orc. "She's your daughter. Your judgment is biased."
But his words only fueled the crowd's anger.
"Well, well," the figure said, his voice cold and laced with sarcasm. "So this is how you behave when I'm barely gone. Scheming, insulting, and threatening the very person I entrusted to lead in my absence."
The room fell into stunned silence.
"Who are you?" one of the men demanded, trying to mask his nervousness.
The figure chuckled and reached up to remove the mask. Gasps rippled through the crowd as Ragon's face was revealed.
"Ragon..." Thera whispered, as she is was relieved tears flooding her face. She had feared he was dead.