Chapter 332: Claiming the Seat

Darion and Seren were led through the streets of Vrethka by the surviving guards.

The atmosphere had changed completely compared to earlier. These same streets had been filled with warriors fighting for Dross only hours ago. They had been loud, chaotic, and violent. Now, the silence was heavy and suffocating.

As Darion walked, warriors stepped aside, their eyes glued to the cobblestones. Weapons remained lowered, resting against the walls or on the ground.

People avoided eye contact with him at all costs. The surviving soldiers were visibly nervous, their hands twitching, their bodies tense, as if they expected him to suddenly order his undead to finish the slaughter. Nobody knew exactly what Darion would do next.

He noticed the fear, the way the crowd parted for him like water around a stone. He didn’t comment on it. He just kept walking, his face unreadable.

Seren walked beside him, her bow resting against her shoulder. She quietly observed everything, her sharp eyes cataloging the fear, the subjugation, the shift in power. She didn’t say a word, but Darion could feel her presence. It was grounding.

They reached the palace.

It was an imposing structure compared to the rest of Vrethka. The thick stone walls were dark and weathered, built to withstand a siege.

Large wooden doors, reinforced with heavy iron bands, stood open, guarded by nervous sentries. Torches burned brightly along the entrance, casting dancing shadows across the stone pillars. Wide corridors stretched out beyond the doors, decorated with expensive tapestries and trophies from past conquests.

It was clearly built to make visitors feel small. It was a monument to Dross’s ego, a place where the Chief had ruled from.

Darion felt the bitter irony of it all. Only minutes ago, Dross was alive and ordering thousands of warriors around. Now Darion was walking into his palace after personally taking his life. He thought about how quickly power could change hands. Dross probably never imagined someone would walk into his palace after killing him. Yet here Darion was.

He wasn’t particularly sentimental about Dross’s death. He had killed him because leaving him alive would have been dangerous. It was a tactical necessity. But standing inside his palace made the reality of what had happened feel heavier.

Darion was brought into the main throne room.

The room was massive and impressive, designed to intimidate. At the far end, elevated on a stone dais, was Dross’s throne. It was carved from dark wood and accented with iron, large enough to make the person sitting in it appear imposing. It was decorated in Vrethkan colors and positioned so that everyone entering the room naturally had to look up toward it.

Darion stopped to look at it. He remembered Percvale. He didn’t actually have a proper throne there. Percvale was still much rougher, more recently rebuilt. He had a castle, a seat of power, soldiers, and authority, but not something like this. Something that screamed absolute superiority.

Seeing Dross’s throne gave him a strange realization. A throne was technically just a chair. But sitting on one made the difference between being a lord and looking like a ruler feel much more obvious.

Darion imagined what it would look like from the perspective of everyone in the room. Someone sitting here wasn’t merely another warrior. They were the person everyone else had to obey.

After a brief hesitation, Darion walked toward it. He climbed the steps of the dais and sat down.

The moment he did, the room felt different. The cold wood of the armrests, the height of the dais, the way the room stretched out before him. Seren noticed the change too, her eyebrows rising slightly.

Darion internally admitted that he understood why rulers liked these things. It made him feel more powerful than he actually was. Even though he knew he was still the same Darion, sitting on Dross’s throne made the entire room seem like it belonged to him.

He thought about Percvale. Maybe one day he would have something similar there. But for now, this would do. At least until he figured out what he wanted to do with Vrethka.

The guards who had brought Darion into the palace remained nearby, shifting their weight awkwardly. They didn’t know whether they were supposed to stand guard, kneel, leave, or do something else. They looked like frightened children waiting to be punished.

Darion looked at them. He realized he needed to start establishing authority immediately. If they saw him hesitate, they would smell weakness.

He gave his first order. "Find Marrick. Bring him to the palace immediately."

The guards hesitated for only a moment before obeying, clearly relieved to have a clear command.

Before they could leave, Darion gave them another order. "Tell the surviving warriors and civilians this: nobody needs to panic. I will address everyone in the morning. Everyone should remain where they are tonight."

He paused, letting the silence stretch. Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping into something cold and lethal. "And tell them that anyone who tries to escape during the night will be dealt with by my undead."

The guards paled, quickly nodding before scrambling out of the room.

Darion knew the threat wasn’t entirely necessary. His undead probably weren’t going to hunt down every person who walked outside to relieve themselves in the night. But he needed fear right now. Vrethka had just changed rulers. If everyone believed they could simply run away during the confusion, the territory could collapse before he even organized it. Fear bought him time. And right now, time was exactly what he needed.

Once the guards were gone, Darion’s expression became more serious. Despite sitting on the throne, he wasn’t completely comfortable. This was enemy territory. Dross was dead, but Darion didn’t know every surviving warrior. He didn’t know which ones might still be loyal to Dross. He didn’t know what hidden dangers remained inside the palace.

He reached into his inventory. Green necromantic energy flared, and Ghet Ulg materialized beside him. The massive undead commander stood near Darion like a silent executioner, his heavy armor creaking in the quiet room. Then, Darion summoned Edric Vorne. The second commander appeared on the opposite side of the throne.

With Ghet Ulg and Edric Vorne flanking the dais, and Seren standing nearby, it created a very deliberate image. Darion seated in Dross’s throne, Seren beside him, two elite undead commanders standing guard. Anyone entering the room would immediately understand who controlled it now.

Darion admitted internally that he felt more comfortable with them there. He may have conquered Vrethka, but he wasn’t stupid enough to assume everything was safe just because everyone had surrendered. Until he fully understood the territory, he wanted his strongest protection within reach.

After some time, Darion heard footsteps outside. The heavy doors groaned open, and Marrick entered with the guards.

Marrick immediately saw Darion sitting on Dross’s throne, flanked by the towering undead commanders. The image was terrifying. Marrick stopped in his tracks, his face paling as he took in the sight. The throne said everything that needed to be said.

Marrick approached carefully, bowing low before the dais. He kept his eyes on the floor.

Darion looked at the guards. "Leave us."

They hesitated, exchanging nervous glances, not knowing if what they were about to say would offend their Necromancer Lord.

"M’lord... we are supposed to protect the room."