Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 108: [The Throne of Kharnath-Dur 11] Seravelle Unleashed

Raven didn’t flinch when the sovereign dial snapped off. He saw Seravelle the moment the bond shattered.

Her chains are off. She’s not healing to preserve... she’s healing to purge.

He didn’t wait. Whispered across the bond:

"Warden, lock Orun. Widowvine, take the outer ring. AX-K9, with me. We’re going in."

Chains whirred. The last light from the throne flickered out.

She didn’t scream.

She smiled.

Seravelle straightened, her posture graceful as if preparing for a ballroom step. Her cracked golden armor shimmered under fractured light.

"Oh, darling," she purred, brushing radiant blood from her chin with the back of her palm. "It seems the king’s leash just slipped."

Her halo flared once more, tilted and unstable—like a crown daring to fall but never quite dropping.

"And me? I’ve been ever so patient."

She moved forward like royalty—barefoot now, robes drifting like smoke behind her. Her voice was velvet and knives.

"Shall I show you what devotion really means?"

She raised her arms in a smooth, practiced arc, fingers glowing with stored agony.

[System Warning: Suffering Reserves 100% – Mass Resurrection Triggered]

The pulse didn’t rise—it sank into the bones of the earth.

Then they rose.

From dust and blood and spent faith:

Thistlecreep’s husk was the first to twitch—its petals once vibrant now darkened to rot, thorns splitting from its sides like broken bones. It stood, not with instinct, but compulsion—its eyes glazed, mouth agape in silent growls. From its chest, a red glyph pulsed like a second heart.

Velitha followed, her reformed body hovering inches off the floor. Her tome no longer floated—it had fused to her arms, pages etched into her skin like scripture burned into parchment. Her lips moved, but no spell formed—only whispers of servitude.

All of them marked by the same crimson brand that pulsed in time with Seravelle’s breath.

All marked by red glyphs on their chests.

[Bloodbound Husk Countdown – 15 seconds to detonation]

Raven felt it—just for a moment. That twist in his gut. A ripple of desperation clawing at his resolve.

He knew this ultimate. Sanctify the Broken. Seravelle’s last devotion. Every dead ally, every fallen summon—dragged back into undeath as a Bloodbound Husk.

Fifteen seconds. That’s all the time they had. Each husk, if not slain within the window, would explode—inflicting damage scaled by how much health remained.

It wasn’t just a resurrection. It was a game of number.

But he shook his head. No.

He couldn’t afford to crack. Not now. Not with the throne broken. Not with the team counting on him.

He had to win this. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

His fingers tightened around his chain.

And then, between the screams and system warnings—an idea sparked.

Small. Reckless.

But maybe... just enough.

Meanwhile, the King shouted something unintelligible from behind, but Seravelle ignored him completely. She turned slowly in place, her arms wide, as if preparing to dance.

"Don’t run now, dear Raven," she said sweetly. "This is a dance for two—and your team is already so... fatigued."

The sovereign device began to spark violently.

A bolt of mana lashed out and struck one of the support pillars. It cracked with a deafening moan. Part of the wall gave way.

But it wasn’t enough.

The floor glyphs blinked—red to black.

The dungeon was rejecting the override.

Stone dust rained like ash. The walls of Gravewake Hollow shivered like an old beast turning in its sleep.

And in the center of it all, framed in firelight and chaos—

Seravelle grinned.

Blood on her lips.

"Catch me, sovereign. Or die tired."

Raven didn’t look back. He didn’t have time.

"AX-K9," he said over the link, calm and razor-sharp, "press her."

The hound responded with a mechanical growl, flames already venting from its chassis.

"Flood her zone. Deploy flame traps, scatter your units—don’t give her space to breathe, let alone heal. I want her spinning."

The hound howled, and within seconds, the battlefield lit with rings of molten fire, laying down scorched no-go zones around Seravelle. Mini-units emerged from its core like ironspawn, sprinting toward her from all angles.

Raven narrowed his eyes.

She needed to be distracted, pinned, harassed—anything to keep her casting out of rhythm. He didn’t need her dead just yet.

He needed her perfectly out of place.

Then he shifted his gaze to the smallest Husk—the twisted form of Thistlecreep—already twitching toward him.

His fingers flexed around the chain.

Almost...

The countdown ticked. 8 seconds.

Thistlecreep’s form twisted erratically, eyes locked on Raven. But Raven wasn’t retreating.

He lashed out—one precise flick. His chain snapped forward, wrapping cleanly around the husk’s torso mid-charge. The force yanked Thistlecreep off its feet with a guttural snarl.

But it wasn’t enough.

"Warden—now!"

The Silent Warden, silent as ever, pivoted from his clash with Orun. He dropped his lantern and charged—full weight, armor and blade—into Thistlecreep’s airborne body.

4 seconds.

The combined impact launched Thistlecreep like a cursed projectile straight across the scorched hall.

Seravelle’s eyes widened.

Her hand rose. Too slow.

Thistlecreep struck her directly in the chest—thorns clattering against plated gold.

1 second.

Then—

Detonation.

A burst of corrupted energy engulfed the dais.

Seravelle was thrown from her pedestal, her robe half-burned, blood trailing in the air.

Her halo sputtered, one side gone entirely.

She didn’t rise.

But she wasn’t dead either.

Just furious.

And drained.

But the price of victory had already been paid.

As the light of the explosion faded, Raven heard a sound he hadn’t expected.

The low, grinding drag of a sword.

Orun.

He was already behind the Silent Warden.

The knight’s charge had left him open, and Orun—free of all chains now—struck like a guillotine.

Final Rite.

Steel tore through the Warden’s back.

His lantern fell, flickering one last time before extinguishing.

The towering knight collapsed, his great sword clattering beside him. No scream. No last words.

Just silence.

Raven’s heart locked, but he didn’t hesitate. He turned, chain already flaring with power.

Phantom Bind.

The spell wrapped around Orun mid-lunge, locking his limbs with spectral force.

Raven stepped into the space between them.

"You’re fast," he said coldly. "But you’re predictable."

Both daggers plunged forward—one into Orun’s chest, the other straight through the glyph at his throat.

The knight gurgled.

And then he fell.

Only Raven and AX-K9 remained.

Seravelle staggered, panting, her radiant aura sputtering. Her body trembled from exertion. The ultimate had drained her reserves, leaving only cracked brilliance where once divine fury burned.

Raven saw the opening.

"AX-K9," he growled, "target Velitha’s husk. I’ll finish her."

The robotic hound howled again and lunged across the chamber toward the hovering priestess. Fire bloomed beneath its paws as it vaulted into a burn-trail leap, charging through echoes and embers.

At the same moment, Raven moved.

He ran forward—then vaulted, catching AX-K9’s armored back mid-stride as the hound crossed before him.

A single step.

The chain flicked.

Phantom Bind.

It caught Seravelle’s shoulders and neck mid-chant. Her arms jerked backward.

Raven twisted in the air and slammed both boots onto the temple floor behind her. His blades slid forward—one striking through her backplate, the other lodging deep into the seam beneath her ribs.

"Oh no you don’t," Raven hissed against her ear.

The chain lashed again—this time not to bind a limb, but to wrap around her neck and bust like a constrictor. The binding glowed with command sigils—beginning the subjugation.

Seravelle screamed—desperate, venomous, no charm left. Her wings flared... then collapsed

Her wings flared, trying to rise. But there was no power left.

Raven gritted his teeth. His muscles were screaming. Dust and debris rained around them as the ceiling above cracked with mana stress.

The dungeon was dying.

But Raven didn’t care.

If the ceiling collapsed, so be it.

The system would reset. He’d respawn if it came to that.

But this moment—this exact moment—was real.

"Bow down to me, paladin," he snarled, every word forged with exhaustion and fury.

Seravelle shrieked as the chains coiled tighter, drawing her closer to her new sovereign.

And the subjugation began.

[Subjugation Attempt – Initiated]

Target: Lady Seravelle, the Last Benediction

Condition: Final Phase, HP < 8%

The sigils on Raven’s chain flared—twisting tighter around Seravelle’s chest, shoulders, and throat. She struggled, arms jerking weakly against the binding.

"I will not bow to anyone," she hissed. The words tried to rise with power, but cracked on her tongue. Her voice, once velvet and poison, was now frayed silk—still proud, but fading.

[Warning: Target Resistance Holding – Subjugation at Risk]

The floor beneath them cracked again, a jagged scar across the ancient stone. Raven grunted as Seravelle’s body resisted—her wings flaring one last time, blood and ash peeling from their seams.

He didn’t loosen his grip. Didn’t let the pressure break him. He pressed both feet into the floor and hauled the chain backward, shoulders trembling with strain.

The glyphs flared again—then flickered.

Seravelle screamed, her back arching, lips parting in a furious sob.

But the light behind her eyes dimmed.

Her aura collapsed in on itself.

And at last—her body sagged.

Down to her knees.

[Success: Dungeon Boss Subjugated]

[Lady Seravelle – Bound to Sovereign Raven]

His vision tunneled. He dropped to his knees. This was his limit.

He fell to his knees.

This... was his limit.

As soon as Seravelle’s body went limp in the chains, the summoned husks flickered and vanished. Velitha’s remnants crumbled to ash, their sigils pulsing once before fading to black.

But the dungeon wasn’t finished.

The rumble intensified. A fracture tore through the dais beneath him.

He forced himself to stand. Staggered two steps toward the edge.

A shadow fell over him.

He looked up.

A giant slab of the ceiling, cracked loose by the throne’s collapse, had come free.

"Oh shi—"

The ceiling collapsed.

White. Then black.

[You have died from environmental damage]

[Critical Quest – There Will Be Only One Sovereign (1/1)]

[Kharnath-Dur Hidden Quest Cleared]

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