The Grand Duke's Son Is A Heretic-Chapter 200

The town stood at the edge of two worlds—where the icy lands ended and the warm plains of Heinzen began.

There was no mention of it on the map, just whispers passed between travelers, traders, and thieves.

Ice Elves lived nearby but never bothered anyone. They crossed the area now and then, silent and peaceful.Ice Elves lived in snowy regions just like elves inhabiting forests.Unlike humans, they weren't greedy enough to start a war of conquest.

Because of this, no one ever built forts here, no patrols, no guards.

The Empire decided to put off the efforts to the other places sharing the border rather than this barren place.

It was a forgotten place.

This neglect made it a perfect hideout for criminals. Thieves, murderers, and runaways called this town their home. They came here when the law chased them too hard elsewhere.

The streets were filled with shady inns, brothels, and dim taverns. The smell of sweat, booze, and blood lingered in the air. You could hear loud laughs, shouts, and sometimes screams from every corner.

Soldiers and nobles avoided the place. Not because they didn't know what went on, but because they could use these people. With enough gold, you could order anyone here to do anything—smuggle goods, kill someone, steal secrets. But there was one thing that made this place worse.

The people here couldn't keep their lust in check.

Inside one dimly lit tavern, a man with a scar across his eye looked up from his drink. He squinted when Kael spoke. The scar twitched a little as he frowned.

"Don't you know who I am?" he barked, his voice rough and soaked in pride.

Kael raised an eyebrow and scoffed. "What! You don't know who you are, and now you're asking a stranger? What a dickhead."

The whole place fell silent.

Even the music from the corner, where dancers swayed their hips, faded. The dancers paused mid-twist, giving each other nervous looks. They started to step away, used to what was about to come. Fights and blood were a daily sight here. In fact, the day was considered

more rare when someone didn't die.

Kael didn't even look up as he bent down to grab Lyria, who lay slumped beside him. Her red hair glinted under the lantern light. Just then, a man from another table let out a yell and leaped toward Kael, swinging a curved scimitar.

TANG!

The sound of metal hitting metal rang out. The attacker's eyes went wide. In front of him, a spoon was held up, stopping his blade.

"Wh---"

Before he could finish the word, a silver fork shot forward and pierced his eye.

"Akaaaahhhhhhh!" he screamed, staggering back. His body trembled, hands reaching up to the fork now sticking out of his bloody socket.

Blood poured down his face, dripping onto the floor. His scream turned into a whimper, cracked and full of pain.

"Shut up!" Kael yelled and kicked the man in the chest. The man flew back like a ragdoll, slamming into a table and crashing into another. Wood splintered, bowls clattered, and the smell of meat and beer filled the air.

The injured man rolled over, clutching his face, crying. "My eye... My eye!"

Blood soaked his hand, and the fork still stuck out, trembling with each of his shakes.

Beer spilled onto the floor, mixing with blood. Roasted meat and soup splashed across the broken table. Other men at nearby tables stood up, wiping food off their shirts, angry.

"Bastard..."

"You ruined our food! You better pay for it!"

Chairs scraped the floor. Feet shifted. The air turned thick with tension. The scar-eyed man stood up, his hand on his blade.

"Everyone, grab that bastard! Let's kill him! I'll share the woman with you all!"

All eyes turned to Lyria.

She still lay on the ground, but even in that state, her beauty was sharp. Her face was pale, almost glowing. Her red hair spread across the floor like fire. The room filled with low gasps and thick gulps.

Lust painted their faces—smirks, drooling mouths, eyes full of hunger. Some men stood up, ready to join in. Others stayed seated, uncomfortable but too weak to stop what was unfolding.

Just then, an old man with a weathered face stepped forward. His back was bent, and his eyes were tired. He placed a shaky hand on Kael's shoulder and whispered, "Little boy... it seems you are new here."

Kael didn't answer. The old man continued.

"You don't know it, but these people are worse than wolves. They pounce the moment they smell something weak. I was like you once. I came here full of dreams with my wife. But we had to give up. Now my wife works in the brothel nearby... I gave her up to survive."

Kael's eyes narrowed.

"Hey," he said, cutting the old man off. "First of all, I am not a little guy."

He stood up, slowly. His fingers curled as he picked up another spoon on the table.

"And second..."

SWISH!

A crimson line flashed through the air. It was quick, too quick for everyone to react. Blood sprayed out like a red mist. It splashed across the floor and the faces of those too close.

"Don't lump with yourself bastard."

Everyone froze in shock seeing this.

The line of blood slowly spread across the throat of one of the standing men. He touched it with trembling fingers, then collapsed. His body hit the floor with a heavy thud.

Some gasped. Others backed away, fear now mixing with lust. One man vomited. Another fell to his knees.

Kael stood in the middle of it all, his face cold, his eyes sharper than steel. The blood dripped from the spoon, pooling near his boots.

Lyria opened her eyes slightly, just enough to see Kael standing over her like a wall. She blinked, weak but calm.She tried to get up but her consciousness was too groggy and she felt asleep again.

No one moved.

The dancers were long gone. The bartender crouched behind the counter. The scar-faced man now hesitated, his earlier pride slowly turning into dread.

Kael didn't say a word. He looked at each of them, one by one. His gaze was heavy, pressing down like iron.

No one dared to take a step forward.