The grand throne room of Astria was filled with silence.
Not the silence of peace.
Not the silence of hesitation.
But the silence before a massacre.
At the center of it all—Arthur knelt before the King.
Behind him, the captured men of Eldoria were lined up in chains, their eyes empty, their fates already decided.
The King sat upon his throne, his massive frame towering over the chamber, his orange eyes cold and unmoved.
Arthur's fists clenched at his sides. This was wrong.
And yet—no one else seemed to care.
---
THE PLEA
Arthur raised his head. His voice was steady, but his golden eyes burned with desperation.
"Your Majesty… spare them."
The words hung in the air.
No one reacted.
Arthur inhaled sharply. "They were soldiers, yes. But they were only following orders. They were defending their homes, their families. We've already taken their kingdom, their leaders, their honor. What else is left to take?"
He gestured toward the captives. "If we kill them, we're no better than the gods we seek to defy."
The room remained deathly still.
Then—the King exhaled, rising from his throne.
His presence crushed the air itself.
"And?"
Arthur's breath caught.
The King stepped forward, his gaze like a burning abyss.
"Did they hesitate when they slaughtered our people? Did they hesitate when they bent the knee to the Pantheon?"
Arthur's jaw clenched. "But not all of them chose that path—"
"And yet, they let it happen."
The King's voice rumbled like thunder.
"Weakness is a crime in this world. One we do not forgive."
Arthur's heart pounded.
The King's massive hand rested on the hilt of his blade.
"They do not deserve mercy. They deserve what they allowed to happen to others."
Arthur trembled. "Then what makes us any different?"
The King paused.
For a moment, there was only the sound of distant torches crackling.
Then, the King's lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl.
"The difference, boy… is that we win."
---
A ROOM OF SILENCE
Arthur turned desperately.
The Commander of the Valkary stood nearby, arms crossed. His face was unreadable.
"Do you believe this is right?" Arthur asked.
The Commander sighed, shaking his head. "Right? Wrong? None of that matters."
Arthur stepped forward. "Then what does?"
The Commander's gaze darkened.
"Survival."
Arthur turned to Xeraniel, Dante, and Fenrick.
"None of you care?" His voice cracked. "Not even a little?"
Dante scoffed. "Would they have spared us?"
Xeraniel smirked. "It's a bit late for morals, Arthur."
Fenrick didn't speak. But his silence was an answer.
Arthur's shoulders trembled. "Is this who we are?"
No one responded.
Because the truth had already been spoken.
---
MODRED'S VERDICT
Arthur's breath was shaky as he turned to the last person who could stop this.
Modred.
He stood at the center of the room, watching everything in silence.
Arthur met his gaze.
"...Modred," he whispered. "Tell me this isn't necessary."
The room was still.
Then—Modred finally spoke.
"You can take the women and children."
Arthur froze.
Modred's crimson eyes glowed in the dim torchlight.
"The men stay."
Arthur's heart sank.
"...That's it?"
Modred didn't answer.
Arthur took a step closer, his voice raw. "You really don't care?"
Modred exhaled slowly.
"I stopped caring a long time ago."
Arthur's chest ached. "...What happened to you?"
Modred's eyes flickered.
For a split second—something unreadable passed through them.
Then—it was gone.
"Make your choice, Arthur."
Arthur turned away, his stomach twisting.
He had won.
But at what cost?
---
THE EXECUTION BEGINS
Arthur watched from a distance.
The women and children were led away, spared.
But the men—they never even had a chance.
The first sword fell.
Blood splattered the stone.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
Arthur's hands trembled.
His legs felt weak.
He could still hear the screams.
The pleas.
The begging.
And no one listened.
No one ever did.
---
AFTERMATH
That night, the Valkary gathered at their fortress.
No one spoke about what had happened.
Dante, Xeraniel, and Fenrick acted as if nothing had changed.
Modred was as distant as ever.
Only Arthur sat alone, staring at his hands.
He felt sick.
And for the first time—he wondered if they were really the heroes they thought they were.
But deep down, he already knew the answer.