Dragon's Awakening: The Duke's Son Is Changing The Plot-Chapter 187 - 186 - Lorian Velmoria.

The tension wrapped the air in chains.

Damien didn’t breathe.

Couldn’t.

Not when ’he’ was looking at him.

Argon Von Vaise stood motionless, his gaze pinning Damien like a spear through the spine.

It wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t dramatic.

But it was final.

Then, in that silence, the entire courtroom felt it: Judgment.

Argon’s lips parted. "...You are no longer an elder of our house."

His voice wasn’t deep.

It wasn’t thunderous.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

A verdict whispered from the mouth of a god.

Just like that... it was done.

No appeal.

No protest.

No chance.

Damien opened his mouth. "I—"

But Crisaius appeared before the guy in a heartbeat, waving a hand with a smile that could skin mountains.

"Ah, ah, ah. Shhh, now." He placed a single finger in the air like a teacher announcing recess.

Damien, however, clenched his asshole, fearing that the fart he’d been holding in would be released.

After all, Crisaius had popped up before him like a jumpscare from a scary movie.

"You heard him," Crisaius continued as he grinned, turning toward the courtroom with theatrical flair.

"Now, I understand some of you might be confused by how fast that was." He chuckled, gesturing broadly like a stage magician finishing a trick.

"Let me explain what just happened for the slow ones in the room—and yes, I’m looking at you, Minister Lardens."

The minister flinched with a muffled squeak.

Crisaius continued, pacing with dramatic slowness. "In the Vaise family, titles don’t come from bloodlines or birthrights or how many demons you backstab on weekends."

He turned toward Damien. "They come from respect. Earned. Maintained. And not—" he flicked Damien’s forehead lightly, "—whored out to whatever secret alliance you were dancing with under the table."

Damien was angry, but he still didn’t move.

Not with Crisaius so close to him and Argon’s gaze still weighing on him like the sword of Damocles had a big brother.

Crisaius pointed back toward Argon with an exaggerated bow. "That man just revoked your title. Which means..."

He turned back to the court. "There is officially no longer a Vaise elder present who approves of this hearing."

Gasps.

Whispers.

Panic.

Jessy blinked. "Wait, does that mean we can leave?"

Clara nodded. "That’s exactly what it means."

Rufus threw a fist in the air. "Court adjourned, baby!"

"Hmph, no blood spilled," Siris muttered.

Alex leaned toward Nibbles. "What does adjourned mean?"

Nibbles gave a chitter and a salute as if he’d just ended a war treaty.

Argon, meanwhile, gave a single glance toward Raven.

No words.

Just a flash passed through his red eyes.

Raven’s gaze met Argon’s at that exact moment as he mouthed, ’Thank you, Father.’

Seeing Argon turn away without any change in his expression, Raven rubbed his chin. ’Was that not enough for the stimulation?’

Then, he merely shrugged.

Argon’s emotional state could be changed later.

So, he turned toward his group. "Right, well—since no one left here has a valid reason to judge us, and our terrifying murder-grandpa and dragon-slayer dad agree..."

He clapped once, loudly. "Let’s go."

He turned and began walking toward the exit, his group falling in line like a parade of chaos politely exiting a tea party.

Crisaius followed, arms folded behind his back, still talking like he was narrating a history documentary that would one day be played in terrified classrooms.

"And so," he said to no one in particular, "with a snap and a nod, the Vaise left the royal court as they arrived—uninvited, underappreciated, and utterly uncontested."

He gave a mock salute to the ministers. "Do send us a pigeon next time. Preferably one that doesn’t explode on arrival."

The room didn’t speak.

They couldn’t.

Argon walked last, behind everyone.

His eyes never left Damien, who didn’t move a single step.

Squeak.

It was then that Nibbles squeaked at Raven, and Alex, his official translator, spoke, "He says, ’What about the plan?’"

"Oh, yeah." Raven’s eyes sharpened as he recalled the plan he had made with Nibbled. "We need to—"

Before he could complete his words—

SLAM.

The throne itself shook.

The King stood, his fist embedded in its armrest, having driven it down like a Warhammer.

His fist embedded into the throne’s armrest wasn’t just an outburst—it was a declaration.

It was a final warning.

Cracks veined out from the point of impact, and the ancient stone—meant to symbolize unshakable rule—groaned under the weight of his fury.

"ENOUGH!!"

The word thundered through the courtroom like a vengeful god slamming the heavens shut.

Even the most battle-hardened knights flinched.

The guards, trained to move at the hint of danger, now stood frozen.

The nobles sat stiffly in their seats, spines locked straight with dread.

Raven stopped walking mid-stride. His hand was still halfway raised toward Nibbles.

Clara reached instinctively for her sword.

Jessy had already placed one boot forward, angling her body sideways in preparation to intercept.

Siris grinned with interest, her blue eyes gleaming like a predator seeing a meal try to roar.

"This court," the King growled, voice like cracking mountains, "is not over."

Glaring at the Vaise groups’ backs, he snarled. "This is the Royal court, not the Vaise backyard. You can’t come and go as you wish!"

Soldiers moved again—hesitant, yet bound by duty. They encircled Raven’s group, though none dared step too close.

Argon, who had been walking in absolute silence at the rear, halted.

He turned—slowly.

His crimson eyes locked onto the King.

Then... he spoke.

"Lorian."

The King stiffened.

So did everyone else.

A name. Spoken softly, yet with the weight of decades behind it.

Raven blinked.

Crisaius turned with theatrical slowness, eyebrows raised so high they threatened to escape his face.

"Well, well," Crisaius whispered, sidling up to Raven. "Is the glacier about to speak more than a sentence? I thought the apocalypse came with trumpets, not royal tantrums."

Raven muttered, "He just said the king’s name. That’s basically a declaration of ’square up’ in noble."

Crisaius snorted. "Oh, I know. I’m tingling."

Argon didn’t blink as he continued.

"Neither I," he said, his voice low, controlled, yet sharp enough to cleave kingdoms, "nor the Vaise family is your plaything to be summoned and dismissed at whim."

Gasps echoed.

Nobles gawked.

Ministers turned pale.

Even Damien flinched harder than a peasant caught stealing bread.

The king’s eyes darkened.

He didn’t yell this time.

He merely raised his hand... and with it, his ring.

A black-gold sigil set with a crimson jewel gleamed in the court light—nothing ornate, yet unmistakable.

The air shifted.

The mana in the chamber constricted as if drawn inward.

Every instinct in the room screamed danger.

Even the squirrels stiffened, Nibbles twitching with instinctive alarm.

"Do not forget who wears this ring, Argon."

The King’s voice was quiet now.

Quieter than Argon’s had been.

But every syllable felt like it was gouged into the floor.

"I don’t care if the court sees it. I don’t care if the world sees it. The illusion of alliance between our bloodlines ends here if you wish."

"But you..." He clenched his fist, pointing the ring at Argon. "Do not forget who holds control."

No one spoke.

No one understood.

But Raven did.

His lips parted slightly, mind racing.

There it was again—the weight behind the King’s words.

That unspoken truth only he, Argon, and Crisaius knew.

The kind of truth that ended wars... or began new ones.

’He isn’t going to use it right now, is he? We are not ready yet!’

Then there was Crisaius, who had finally stopped grinning.

"Oh," he whispered, eyes gleaming now with real heat. "I was hoping you’d flash that toy, you royal bastard. You only have one use left anyway."

His hands moved.

No chant.

No warning.

But his swords were drawn—appearing in his hands like a conjured blade from myth.

They weren’t glowing.

They weren’t flamboyant.

They were silent.

That silence, however, screamed danger.

Argon stepped forward.

A snap echoed as his own sword hit the ground, cracking the marble tiles beneath with the sheer pressure of its aura.

It wasn’t polished.

It wasn’t ceremonial.

But it still seemed like it was built to kill gods.

The moment it hit the ground—

BOOM.

A wave of raw pressure exploded outward.

Guards dropped to one knee.

Ministers fell out of their seats.

One noble outright fainted with a strangled cry.

The air was thick—unbreathable—like molten stone pressing on every chest.

Only Raven’s group stood unbothered, merely adjusting their stances.

"Is it just me," Jessy huffed, "or did the air just get heavy enough to cook a steak?"

Siris cackled. "Delicious tension."

Even Nibbles stood straighter now, eyes narrowed as he readied himself. Without a word, he slapped Alex’s head, and the guy quickly took out an acorn helmet from his pocket and passed it to Nibbles.

Squeak.

Nibbles patted Alex’s head and donned the helmet, getting ready in case the ceiling fell above them.

But just as chaos loomed—

A figure leaped from behind the King.

Then three more rose up from among the noble seats.

They weren’t guards.

They weren’t ministers.

They were monsters.

The other three dukes.

Each one exuded a presence that punched back against Crisaius and Argon’s combined pressure.

Waves of mana clashed, twisted, and locked like dragons in the sky.

The first to speak was the woman among them.

Tall.

Elegant.

Eyes like frozen sapphire—but her voice?

Fire.

"Argon!"

Her tone cracked like a whip.

She stepped forward in front of the others, throwing her coat back.

"I am asking you, not as a duke, but as someone who’s known your stone-faced ass for thirty years—don’t you dare draw your blade fully in this court."

Argon didn’t reply.

The woman turned to Crisaius next.

"And you!"

Crisaius blinked, one of his swords resting on his shoulder, while the other hung down from his hand, its tip kissing the ground. "...Me?"

"For the sake of my grandmother—who still thinks you’re some charming gentleman—don’t make me fight you."

Crisaius scratched his chin. "Which grandmother? The tall one with the crow fetish?"

"The one who thinks you’re a war hero, you damn lunatic."

"Ah. That one. She sends lovely death threats."

The tension remained.

Blades were still drawn.

Auras were still clashing like invisible hurricanes.

But now... now everyone was listening.

Every breath drawn was a gamble.

Every heartbeat echoed louder than war drums.

R𝑒ad lat𝒆st chapt𝒆rs at f(r)eew𝒆bnov𝒆l.com Only