Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 102: [The Throne of Kharnath-Dur 5] Scandal in The Shadow

Two figures entered—not one, as Raven had expected. He crouched lower behind the bookcase, perfectly still, every breath shallow. From his position, he was too close to see without risk, so he only listened.

The door creaked but didn’t close completely. Instead, it remained ajar, just enough for sound to leak through.

A breathy laugh. Then the rustle of silk. Low murmurs. Lips meeting in a kiss.

"You’re bold to walk these halls at such an hour, my king," came a voice smooth as polished stone—Maeryn’s.

A low chuckle followed. "And you’re too tempting to resist, my High Speaker. Always waiting in the shadows with that silver tongue."

Another whisper. The rustle of fabric. A low sigh.

Raven’s eyes narrowed. Carefully, silently, he shifted just enough to glimpse between the books.

There they were—the King of Kharnath-Dur and High Speaker Maeryn—entangled in a private embrace.

This wasn’t passion.

This is a scandal.

Raven clenched his jaw—not out of prudishness, but recognition. This, more than any dungeon boss, was dangerous.

A priestess, sworn to celibacy. A king, entangled in her arms. Both pretending no one else could see the cracks they’d carved into their own thrones.

Their lips parted only for Maeryn to whisper, her voice honey-smooth, "The outsider arrived earlier today. Curious, isn’t he?"

The king’s voice was muffled, distracted. "I’ll meet him. Let him feel welcome... before we cut the thread he walks on."

She chuckled against his skin. "He didn’t wear the ring. Either too clever... or too cautious."

The king grunted, hands tightening on her waist. "Mmm... Of course. Let him feel welcome—before the blade finds his back."

She nuzzled close to his ear. "He knows nothing of the Velkarin Axis movements... Do you?"

The king chuckled low. "Of course I know. Everything is moving according to plan. The Axis will strike when the Temple screams the loudest—then we’ll call it mercy. A righteous strike. Just the justification our grand design needs."

Maeryn purred, pleased. "Your plan, your Majesty."

But Raven wasn’t listening anymore.

He’d heard enough.

While their voices sank again into murmurs and rustling fabric, he was already gone—slipping through the door’s edge like breath on cold glass, vanishing down the hall.

He didn’t breathe until he reached the edge of the hall. He vent his anger in moving faster, climb through the carve back to fifth floor, the abandoned warehouse.

He crouched at the edge of the window. The grand city of Kharnath-Dur stretched before him—ancient, intricate, its foundations laced with enigmatic dwarven engineering.

This city reeks... he thought grimly. Foul. Rotten. Dressed in gold and hiding rot beneath every stone. And the most rotten thing is—

He looked at the document in his hand.

Project Gravewake Hollow: Dwarven-Controlled Autonomous Dungeon Militarization Protocol

He scoffed. There is only one sovereign in the dungeon.

"Me."

Raven leaned back against a stack of supply crates as the caravan envoy prepared to return to the elevator gates. The soft rumble of loading wheels echoed through the cavernous hall.

Across from him, Commander Ironsong stood silent, eyes scanning the stolen document. The seal broken, the truth laid bare.

"This is insane," Ironsong muttered, his voice low and sharp. "Militarizing a dungeon? Have they gone mad? What are they planning to do with it? If they fail, Kharnath-Dur is doomed. If they succeed... are they planning to destroy Emberwatch?"

Raven’s tone was even. "No idea, Commander."

The soldier’s jaw tightened. "Tensions are already boiling over. The last diplomatic mission ended in chaos. The dwarves want safer routes. Velkarin wants cheaper tools. Both are willing to bite."

Raven didn’t speak for a moment. Then, coolly, "And? Which side are you on?"

Ironsong didn’t answer.

"Thank you for this," he finally said, folding the document. But Raven pushed again.

"You’re stepping outside your jurisdiction, Commander. You’re just a border patrol officer. What are you trying to gain?"

Ironsong met his gaze. "And you? What are you after? Gold? Glory?"

Raven offered a faint smile. "A quest. Just clearing out the depths of Kharnath-Dur."

Ironsong snorted. "That’s it?"

"Contract is a contract. I was assigned to investigate. That’s all. No politics, no side-taking. Just a clean objective—and a clean finish." He let the words linger. "But you, Commander. What’s your reason?"

A long pause followed. Then Ironsong exhaled, quiet, and said, "I was raised in this city. Orphaned. Taken in by the dwarves. Learned their machines, their culture. They gave me everything. If it weren’t for their kindness, I’d be dead in some frostbitten ditch."

He looked away, voice quieter. "Sad, isn’t it? A human raised by dwarves. When my own kind left me to die."

Raven nodded once, and fell silent. No judgment. No pity.

Now all variables were clear.

The board was set. Time to make his next chess move.

And now is just the right time, the King ask for an audience with him.

Raven was summoned to the throne.

The grand chamber of Kharnath-Dur was no less intimidating on second glance—etched runes glowing faintly in the walls, braziers casting long shadows across intricately-carved stone pillars. At the far end sat King Orzag, robed in ceremonial armor, a crown of blackened steel resting heavily on his brow. The High Speaker Maeryn stood at his side like a stone statue—tall, poised, and brimming with quiet pride.

He gestured as Raven approached.

"Ah, the outsider who took such initiative," the king said, his voice smooth, practiced. "You have my gratitude. Neutralizing the convoy threat was... admirable. A failure of border security, if I’m honest. Especially one particular commander."

Raven stood still. Not rude. Not submissive. Listening.

"Ironsong," the king added, his tone growing sharper. "A man of some loyalty, I’m sure. Loyalty does not always reflect capability—and it can be dangerous for my city-state."

Then came the ask. "You’re human. A neutral party. I’d like you to travel to the capital of Halberd Waste—Oathsend. Deliver this letter to the Velkarin Axis Army Legate. It’s an official request for border personnel review. Discreet, but essential."

Raven didn’t blink. His mind moved.

So that’s the game. This isn’t about starving the city. The Ashen Knives were never meant to cripple Kharnath-Dur—they were hired to remove Ironsong. Quietly. Bloodlessly. Politically. With the price of his own citizen well-being.

He met the king’s eyes, voice polite, measured.

"With all due respect, Your Majesty... I’m not the best choice. I don’t have ties with the Velkarin Axis. And there are others—far better suited—to act as your courier."

The king’s eyes narrowed. His smile didn’t move.

But Raven had already turned the move away.

His mission had just grown sharper. The puppet strings were clearer now. And the hand behind them was wearing a crown.

Outside the throne hall, Raven made his way down the spiraling lift tower. He hadn’t made it halfway when a voice called out from behind the stone column.

"Raven," Ironsong said, stepping from the shadows.

Raven turned. "Commander."

"No need to look so formal," Ironsong said. "We’re far past that."

They walked. Stone corridors stretched long, torchlight flickering against iron wall-plates. No guards. Just the low hum of the city’s pipes below.

"I got your message," Ironsong said. "The king asked you to go to Oathsend?"

Raven nodded. "He wants the border guard replaced."

Ironsong let out a breath that was part laugh, part bitterness. "So that’s the angle. Remove me without a fuss. Let someone more... pliable man the gates."

"They used Ashen Knives to do it before," Raven said. "Now they’re trying paper and pen."

Ironsong’s gaze darkened. "Then we’re out of time. The Velkarin Axis is already preparing a military force. Word came in through my scouts an hour ago. They’re using Maeryn’s channels to justify intervention."

"Maeryn?" Raven’s brow arched. A new thread had appeared—one that didn’t match what he had assumed.

Durnehra, walking quietly behind them, added in a low voice, "The temple’s messengers were seen delivering sealed scrolls to the outer watchtowers. I don’t like it. Feels like she’s playing both sides."

Ironsong nodded grimly. "It’s starting to look like she’s not just whispering in the king’s ear. She might be feeding intel to the Axis, too."

Raven didn’t respond. But in his mind, the web of manipulation had grown more tangled—and the High Speaker sat comfortably at its center.

They ducked into a quiet corner near one of the old furnace shafts—no guards, no echo, just the hum of pipes running under the stone.

Ironsong kept his voice low. "One of my scouts spotted Maeryn’s messengers often heading toward the outer watchtowers. Sealed letters. Not logged in any official records."

Raven narrowed his eyes. "She’s not just using the king—she’s playing both sides. Seducing him to get influence here, while whispering into Velkarin ears behind closed doors. She’s building her own power from both thrones."

Durnehra nodded slowly, arms crossed. "I always had a bad feeling about her. She talks like a priestess, but act like a politician."

Raven pulled out the scroll he’d taken earlier. "Look at this," he said, tapping the inked lines. "This isn’t a temple document. It’s military protocol. Velkarin format. Supply markings, command flow, even the encryption. Someone from their side helped write this."

Ironsong scanned it, then let out a breath through clenched teeth. "If this plan goes through, they don’t need an army. They’ll just control the dungeon—and let it do the work."

Durnehra looked between them. "Then she’s not just manipulating the king..."

Raven shook his head. "She’s playing both courts—and building her own."

Ironsong slammed a hand against the wall. "And the king? All it took was her body to turn him into a puppet. He doesn’t even see it."

And then, in the heart of the commercial district, the calm shattered.

A thunderous blast tore through the air—stone cracked, metal screamed, and fire roared up from the market square. Screams followed, scattered and panicked, echoing off the ancient walls of Kharnath-Dur.

Raven instinctively turned toward the smoke, his fingers curling around the Dominion Chain.

A soft ping echoed in his HUD.

[System Prompt: Quest Finished – " Enter the Depth of Kharnath-Dur" (1/1)]

You have uncovered the forces that pull this city apart.

Another ping followed, this one colder.

[Optional Quest: "Pick a Side – Decide the Fate of Kharnath-Dur"] (0/1)

Every throne has a cost. Choose wisely.

Raven exhaled through his nose, unreadable.

"You want me to pick a side?" he muttered, more to the HUD than anyone around him.

Raven stared at the screen.

So that was it.

The system had seen enough. The war behind the war, the rot behind the stone. The quest no longer cared about bosses or loot.

It wanted allegiance.

Velkarin Axis, with its iron order and political claws.

Kharnath-Dur’s citizens, too proud to kneel yet too fractured to stand.

King Orzag—just a puppet in a golden seat.

Or High Priestess Maeryn—the priestess whose snake’s lips whispered lies into every throne.

And him?

A bug in the code. A sovereign not meant to exist.

His lips curled into a slow smile.

You want me to pick a side?

I am not one of your pawns, he thought coldly. I am the Sovereign. The system bent to me once—it will bend again.

Let the others play their games. Let them squabble over thrones and borders.

I am not on the board. I am the one who flips it.

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