Taming the Beast World with a Frying Pan-Chapter 131: King of Ruins

Vex’s words echoed in Kael’s mind over and over, bouncing around his skull like a trapped bird as he marched through the dense forest.

"She intends to claim both."

Kael let out a sharp, incredulous huff, snapping a low-hanging branch out of his way with unnecessary force.

He refused to believe it. He refused to entertain the notion that Ren—his sweet, fragile, warm Ren—could possibly desire the Snake King.

"What could that slithering tube possibly have that I don’t?" Kael muttered to the trees, his insecurity masquerading as rage.

He was the Tiger King! He was the apex predator of the land. He was stronger. He was bigger. And most importantly, he didn’t live in a disgusting, rotting, smelly swamp where the water tasted like mud and everything was covered in slime!

"Snakes are vile," Kael growled, kicking a rock with his bare foot, ignoring the sting. "They are selfish, cold-blooded creatures who would murder their own mothers for a shiny rock. They don’t know loyalty. They don’t know warmth."

Kael touched his chest, remembering Ren sleeping in his arms.

"I am warm," he argued with the invisible image of Syris in his head. "I have fur. He has scales. Who wants to cuddle with a cold rock?"

No. It didn’t make sense.

Kael’s pace quickened, his fists clenching. Syris must have poisoned Ren’s mind. He must have used some venomous plant or threatened her life to force her into submission. The idea of Ren being coerced, of her being touched by those cold hands while she secretly longed for her Tiger, made Kael’s vision swim with red.

He was going to find Syris. He was going to rip his fangs out one by one. And then he was going to—

Kael stopped.

His bare feet skidded to a halt on the dirt, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

To his left, overgrown but unmistakably familiar, was a path.

The anger that had been fueling his march subsided for a moment, replaced by a cold bucket of dread.

It was the path to the White Tiger Clan. His home.

Kael stood at the crossroads, his chest heaving. He hadn’t been back since... since he wasn’t even sure. Since the madness began to claw at his mind?

"My clan," he whispered.

He wondered how they were. He wondered how long he had actually been gone. The feral state distorted time; days felt like seconds, and weeks felt like a blink.

A heavy weight settled on his shoulders. He felt he had no right to call himself a King. In his pursuit of his mate, he had left his tribe vulnerable. He was no different from a snake—abandoning his duty for his own selfish desire.

His feet moved before his brain could stop them. He turned onto the path, the twigs and stones of the forest floor digging into his soles, a grounding reminder of his physical reality.

He was nervous. The great Tiger King, who feared no beast, was terrified of what he would find. He wondered if they would hate him. He wondered if they would even recognize him.

The trees thinned. The scent of woodsmoke—faint and stale—hit his nose.

Kael stepped into the clearing.

His heart stopped.

The village was a graveyard of memories.

It was badly damaged. The defensive walls of thorn and log were breached in multiple places, gaping holes like missing teeth in a skull. The small huts, once bustling with life, had definitely seen better days.

It looked as if a herd of Shadow Beasts had rampaged through the center of the village, tearing through anything in their path.

There was no laughter. There were no cubs playing wrestling games in the dirt.

There were only a few White Tiger beastfolk roaming around, moving with the sluggish, heavy gait of the hopeless. They looked tired—bone-deep tired. Their fur was matted and dull, their frames gaunt from extreme hunger. Some of them walked with limps, bandages made of dirty rags wrapped around festering wounds.

Kael’s eyes frantically scanned the area, looking for the familiar grey fur of his allies.

There were no wolves. The Wolf Clan, who had called this village home for a time, was nowhere to be seen. The area where they usually gathered was empty and cold.

Then, Kael’s gaze drifted to the center of the settlement.

His breath hitched.

The home. Their home.

The simple but revolutionary wooden structure he and Ren had built together was completely obliterated.

It wasn’t just damaged; it was erased. The only thing that proved it had ever existed was a pile of splintered wood, broken beams, and shattered clay. It looked like a giant fist had simply smashed it into the earth.

"Ren’s hut..." Kael choked out.

Guilt, sharp and painful, gnawed at Kael’s heart like a physical parasite.

It truly settled in then. He had abandoned them. He had left them to starve, to be attacked, to rot, while he was running wild in the forest.

His anger toward the Snake King evaporated, replaced by a crushing self-loathing.

Kael stepped forward into the heartbreaking settlement, his bare feet silent on the packed earth, his head bowed.

"I am back," he whispered, though no one heard him.

A female tiger beastman, carrying a bucket of dirty water, stopped in her tracks. She looked up.

Her tired, sunken eyes widened as they landed on the massive, muscular figure standing at the village entrance, clad only in a loincloth.

She nudged the male beside her. He looked up too.

Slowly, the movement rippled through the few survivors. They stopped what they were doing. They turned.

They looked at their King.

Kael braced himself. He expected questions. He expected relief.

But then, the female’s lip curled.

The look of surprise on her face didn’t melt into joy. It morphed into a snarl of pure disdain.

"You," a male voice rasped from the shadows, dripping with hatred.

Kael flinched as the collective gaze of his people hit him—not with love, but with the cold, hard stare of betrayal.