Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 744: King Silmarien Must Die.

One of the elders suddenly looked around the chamber, his sharp gaze sweeping over every face present.

"If these are the conditions," he said slowly, voice edged with unease, "then… who will do it?"

The question hung in the air.

"In the past month," he continued, "who among us has accomplished an act of true bravery? One worthy of such a sacrifice?"

Silence answered him.

They were preparing for war, yes—but no one had yet marched beyond their borders. No one had fought.

No one had bled. No one had performed a deed great enough to justify offering their life.

The elder scoffed bitterly.

"And even if there were such a person," he said, glancing at the long table filled with wrinkled faces and jeweled robes, "would it be any of us?"

Old men who loved comfort. Loved safety. Loved life.

"No," he said flatly. "Not one of us would."

The truth settled heavily over the gathering.

Silmarien knew it.

So did the Regent, who remained utterly silent.

Then—without warning—Silmarien rose from his seat.

The scrape of his chair echoed through the chamber.

Slowly, deliberately, he reached up and removed the crown from his head.

Gasps erupted.

"I will do it," Silmarien said.

The words struck like thunder.

"I will offer myself as the sacrifice."

"No!" several elders cried at once.

"Your Majesty—!"

"You were only just crowned!"

Silmarien raised a hand, silencing them.

"This," he said firmly, "is precisely what a just king must do."

He placed the crown gently upon the table.

"I meet every qualification," he continued. "Not long ago, I personally captured the intruder who endangered our people—the one the kingdom now hails as a great threat subdued. That was an act of bravery. One witnessed. One you all remembered and great enough."

His gaze hardened.

"And I am willing."

The chamber trembled with whispered protests, but none stepped forward. None offered themselves in his place.

Silmarien saw it clearly.

A thousand years hiding within the Forbidden Cardinal Zone of Pride had not forged strength.

It had bred fear.

Cowardice, wrapped in tradition and titles. And this old men wore it like a badge of honor.

Of course the public did not see them that way.

But having had to play this political game for a long time now, he knew.

He knew them like the back of his hand.

And like any good leader, he knew what made them tick like a clock, and sway like the wind.

Finally, Silmarien extended his hand.

"Spread the word," he commanded. "To every corner of the kingdom."

His voice rang with solemn resolve.

"By the end of this week, all who can should gather. Let them bear witness."

He paused.

"Their king will give his life to the Great Mother Tree—the one that has sustained us in this world."

The chamber fell into a stunned, reverent silence.

And no one dared to object further.

.....

In the dead of night, when even the forest seemed to hold its breath, a lone figure moved silently beneath the towering canopies.

A hood was drawn low over their face, swallowing their features in shadow. Not a single moonbeam touched their skin.

Yet their steps were confident—measured—unhesitating.

This was not the movement of an intruder, but of someone who knew the forest intimately.

Roots, hidden paths, warded clearings—none slowed them. It was as if the land itself parted to let them pass.

They reached a stone outcropping half-swallowed by moss and ancient vines. To any ordinary eye, it was nothing more than a natural rise in the earth.

To those who knew better, it was the entrance to the underground prison.

The figure descended the narrow stair carved deep into the roots of the forest. Pale mana-lamps flickered to life as they passed, illuminating smooth elven stone etched with old runes of restraint.

At the guard post, two sentinels straightened instantly.

The hooded figure gave a single, subtle nod.

Without question, the guards snapped to attention and saluted—an unspoken display of loyalty. No names were exchanged. No permissions requested.

The figure passed.

Deeper still, the air grew colder, heavier. The corridor narrowed until it opened into a secluded chamber—far removed from the common cells. This place was quiet. Too quiet. A private prison meant for royal blood.

The figure stopped before a single set of reinforced bars.

Only then did they reach up and pull back the hood.

The flickering light revealed a lined face and weary eyes.

The Regent.

He stepped closer to the cell.

Inside, Prince Aetherion sat slumped against the cold stone wall. His once-pristine robes were torn and dulled, his hair unbound and unkempt. Dark shadows clung beneath his eyes, yet there was still steel in his gaze.

Seeing the Regent, Aetherion slowly pushed himself upright and approached the bars.

"…You're back," he said hoarsely. "Have you confirmed it? My innocence?"

The Regent's expression twisted into a bitter frown.

"At the time of your arrest," he replied quietly, "there was nothing I could do. The evidence was overwhelming. Too clean. Too… complete. To have argued otherwise would have only sealed your fate faster."

Aetherion's fingers tightened around the iron bars.

"But," the Regent continued, lowering his voice, "after witnessing what Silmarien has done this past month—preparing for war, stirring the elders, and now this madness with the Mother Tree…"

His eyes darkened.

"Blasphemy," he spat. "All of it."

Aetherion's gaze sharpened.

"You believe he is unfit to rule."

"I believe," the Regent said slowly, "that your brother is hiding something far more dangerous than we realize."

Aetherion exhaled, then asked, "Then what are we supposed to do?"

The Regent hesitated—only for a moment.

"There is a way," he said. "A way to return you to the throne."

Aetherion stiffened.

"But," the Regent added grimly, "Silmarien must die."

The prince's lips curved into a faint, knowing smile.

"I've heard the rumors," Aetherion said. "About the Mother Tree. About the so-called sacrifice."

His eyes gleamed with something cold and familiar.

"I know my brother. We share the same inheritance. If he says he will die, then it means he has already planned to survive."

The Regent nodded slowly.

"I know," he admitted. "That is what troubles me most."

He turned slightly away, jaw tightening.

"I don't yet know how he intends to escape death," the Regent said, "but I have a dreadful feeling…"

His gaze returned to Aetherion.

"That it involves the human who walks freely through our kingdom."

"…Chiron."

The name lingered in the air like a curse.