Chapter 163: Duke Oliver Norton
Kenyaza City, within the Duke’s Residence.
Duke Oliver Norton trembled from head to toe, his voice quivering with fear. A descendant of the Val Barbarians, the Norton family was said to carry the bloodline of giants. Duke Oliver himself stood over two meters tall, his beard a pale white. Yet now, wrapped in opulent robes, his massive form radiated no trace of the savage strength his ancestors were famed for.
“What… what do we do? The Kingdom of Ashen has invaded!”
“It’s over… completely over!”
He had never imagined the Kingdom of Ashen would strike like lightning.
For years, Norton Duchy had lived under the protection of the Bosk Duchy. Lionheart Knights were stationed regularly within its borders, and few dared to challenge such a power—after all, one doesn’t attack a dog without fearing its master. No one dared provoke the Bosk, the dominant force of the Northern Regions. That was precisely why Oliver had dared to provoke so many times.
But now, the Lionheart Knights had been recalled, and the majority of Norton’s own local forces had been sent to the Tiriel Battlefront. In this moment of weakest defense, Dolo’s Ashenkin had struck without warning—sweeping through the city like a storm and capturing Kenyaza City in a single, brutal assault.
Oliver turned to his Adjutant, grasping his shoulder like a drowning man clutching a lifeline, shaking him violently.
“Quick! Gadel, go find Duke Leo! The Bosk Duchy must have a way out!”
“Hurry! Now!”
But Gadel stood motionless, his face etched with despair.
Enraged, Oliver shoved him to the ground, roaring, “Damn it! Can’t you understand words? Go contact Duke Leo—now! Immediately!”
Gadel lay sprawled, voice heavy with resignation:
“Your Grace… it’s too late. They’re already inside. How can Bosk’s reinforcements fly here in time?”
Gadel, the family’s longtime steward, had long held a pessimistic view of the future. After the disaster at the Tiriel Battle, he had repeatedly warned Oliver not to get involved in this war. But Oliver, emboldened by the protection of the Bosk Duchy, had still sent over a hundred elite warriors into the fray.
Now, fury consumed Oliver. He seized Gadel by the collar, hauling him up with a brutal yank, spitting curses.
“Then what? Do we just sit here and die?”
Gadel, trembling, offered weakly, “Perhaps… perhaps we should surrender.”
Oliver slammed him back down, then burst into a cold, bitter laugh.
“Maybe you can surrender. But what about me? Do you think I have that luxury?”
He leaned down, eyes blazing. “Don’t forget—the Lakanman Family is wiped out. The nobles of the Duchy of Lakanman were slaughtered en masse. Do you really think a Duke like me—leader of a duchy—can surrender without being mocked, without being dragged through the streets as a traitor?”
He drew his battle-axe from his belt, stepping forward with slow, deliberate strides. His towering frame loomed over Gadel, casting a shadow that swallowed the man whole. His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
Gadel lay on the floor, his senses screaming danger. Yet he didn’t panic. Instead, a faint, bitter smile spread across his face.
“Perhaps you do still have a chance,” he said softly. “After all, a dog is a dog—whether it serves Bosk or the Kingdom of Ashen…”
Swoosh—
Without warning, Oliver raised his axe and severed Gadel’s head in one clean stroke. Blood splattered across his face, staining his robes.
“Hmph. A contemptible traitor.”
He sneered, his expression twisted into something even more monstrous.
Oliver knew full well he had provoked the Red Dragon on multiple occasions. And with the Red Dragon’s infamous thirst for vengeance, there was no way he would be allowed to live. He might even be dragged to the guillotine, forced to face a public “Judgment”—a spectacle for the masses, a laughingstock. That was an end he could never accept.
He turned to his personal guards, his voice icy and cold.
“That is the fate of those who seek surrender. Do you understand?”
The Frost Giant bloodline in him seemed to awaken. He held Gadel’s severed head high, breathing heavily, his face smeared with blood, a faint blue hue glowing beneath his skin. Combined with his towering height, he looked every bit the monstrous, wrathful Frost Giant.
The guards, whether out of fear or reverence, nodded silently. Not a single voice dared to speak.
…
After a long silence, the captain of the guard finally steeled himself and asked, “W-what shall we do next, sir?”
Outside, chaos reigned. Wails, screams, and the deafening crack of gunfire echoed through the city. The Ashenkin had breached the walls, and now they were methodically killing every last defender. They wouldn’t last much longer.
“Damn it,” Oliver growled, dropping Gadel’s lifeless head. His face darkened, shadowed by a thick veil of gloom.
Then—suddenly—a memory surfaced.
A legend from the Norton family’s past, passed down for generations since their days as chieftains of the Val Barbarians. Four hundred years had passed, and even his own father had dismissed it as myth. But now, with the Red Dragon’s followers drawing near… perhaps this was his final chance.
His eyes lit up.
“Move,” he ordered. “We’re going to the Norton Family Mausoleum.”
“Yes, my lord.”
With his personal guard, Oliver slipped through a hidden passage behind the residence, emerging into the secluded Norton Mausoleum at the rear of the estate.
The cemetery was richly adorned, lined with flowers symbolizing eternal peace. Tombstones bore intricate inscriptions—names of past Dukes, their life stories carved in stone. Deep underground, vast burial chambers stretched beneath, each one reserved for a ruling Duke.
After centuries of assimilation, the Norton funerary style had become indistinguishable from that of other Northern nobles.
“This is it,” Oliver said. “You may wait outside. Stay at the entrance.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The guards took their posts, alert and silent.
Oliver stepped forward into the largest chamber, its walls engraved with the name of the first Norton to be granted the title: Kawahha Norton.
“According to the secret texts… this is how it should be.”
He followed the ritual from the Norton Family Secret Codex. With a knife, he sliced his palm and let his blood—red with a strange, whitish tinge—fall into a hollow carved into the stone coffin.
The blood seeped in. A faint, icy ripple spread through the air.
Boom—
A deep, resonant rumble echoed as the hidden stone door slowly creaked open. Behind it, a dark, ancient passage stretched into the abyss.
“Impossible… it’s real!”
Oliver’s eyes sparkled with disbelief and hope. “The legends were true!”
He stepped forward into the secret passage, his massive frame moving with ease—though the corridor had been built for a man of his stature, as if designed specifically for him.
(End of Chapter)
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