The silence that followed Kael’s response wasn’t immediate—it built up. First came the compression of the atmosphere, as if the very air had been pulled into an invisible point in the center of the hall. Then, the weight. Not physical, but present enough to be felt in the way some of the vampires on the sides adjusted their posture, as if, instinctively, their bodies recognized that something had been displaced beyond what was expected.

And then... came the voices.

Not one.

Not two.

But several, arising almost simultaneously, though not perfectly coordinated—which, in itself, already said a lot. It wasn’t an order. It was a reaction.

"Insolent—"

"You dare—"

"Before the King—"

The words didn’t end.

Exelia didn’t move dramatically. There was no announcement, no visible preparation. Just a slight shift in her body weight... and then she was no longer exactly where she had been a second before. The sound of the blade cutting through the air was subtle, almost too elegant for what it represented, and when the movement was complete, three figures in the side rows staggered simultaneously.

The first brought his hands to his mouth.

The second tried to speak.

The third didn’t even understand.

But all suffered the same result.

Tongues severed with surgical precision, dark blood trickling between fingers as the sounds that tried to escape became mere muffled, grotesque noises, interrupted before they even formed. Exelia had already returned to her position beside Kael when the bodies began to truly react to what had been done, her clean blade being withdrawn with a movement as natural as any everyday gesture.

The hall plunged back into silence.

But now...

It was a different kind of silence.

More... conscious.

Kael didn’t look at those who had been mutilated.

Nor at Exelia.

He kept his gaze fixed ahead, directly at the throne, as if none of it had been worthy of his royal attention.

"Much courage," he said then, his voice low—but not soft. There was something about it that didn’t need volume to spread. It simply... got through. "Raising your voice to speak to me."

A short pause.

Not for effect.

But because there was no hurry.

"Especially after what they did."

Now, yes, some looks shifted. Not all. But enough.

Kael took a small step forward.

The change was minimal.

But the impact... wasn’t.

"Several of yours," he continued, his tone still controlled, still steady, "...crossed the borders of a kingdom that doesn’t belong to them."

His eyes didn’t waver.

"Invaded."

The word wasn’t spoken forcefully.

But it was... heavy.

"And they did a lot of shit, like killing INNOCENT CHILDREN."

This time, the silence wasn’t just respectful.

It was... tense.

Because there was something different now.

Something in his voice that hadn’t been there before.

It wasn’t uncontrolled anger.

Nor superficial irritation.

It was something colder.

More... definitive.

And when it spread through the hall, it wasn’t just heard.

It was felt.

Some of the vampires on the sides took an almost imperceptible step back. Others stood completely still, as if any movement could be interpreted as a provocation.

Even the man to the right of the throne slightly hardened his expression.

And the woman to the left...

Stopped smiling.

Kael tilted his head slightly.

"So, honestly..." he continued, and now there was something almost curious in his voice, as if he were really trying to understand, "...where did you get the idea that you could raise your voice at me?" The air seemed to vibrate.

Not from active magic.

But from... presence.

And then he breathed.

Slowly.

Like someone organizing a thought before continuing.

"I didn’t come all this way..." he said, now a little quieter, "...to waste time with a bunch of demented old men hiding behind young faces."

The words weren’t shouted.

But they hit as if they were.

Direct.

Unfiltered.

"I want an explanation."

And then—

The atmosphere changed.

This time, undeniably.

A sudden chill began to spread through the hall, not from the walls or the floor, but from a specific point... right behind Kael. The temperature dropped abruptly, the air becoming denser, visible in small vapors that began to form around their breaths.

Exelia didn’t move.

But her eyes gleamed slightly.

She knew.

Of course she knew.

The ground behind Kael began to shift.

First, a thin layer of ice, emerging as an extension of his own shadow. Then, more defined structures, growing with absurd precision, as if every detail had been pre-designed. The ice wasn’t opaque—it was translucent, deep, reflecting the dim light of the hall in a way that seemed... alive.

And then the throne took shape.

Tall.

Elegant.

Sharp in its lines, yet perfectly balanced in its construction.

A throne that didn’t imitate the king’s.

It didn’t need to.

It existed on its own.

Kael didn’t look back when it was complete.

He simply... sat down.

Naturally.

As if that were the most obvious place for him to be.

One leg crossed over the other, an arm resting in a relaxed position, the gaze returning to the throne before—but now from a different position.

No longer below.

But... level.

And then—

The circles appeared.

First one.

Small.

Almost imperceptible.

Then another.

And another.

And then dozens.

Hundreds.

Thousands.

Spreading across the hall, filling the air, the floor, the walls, forming complex layers of symbols and magical structures that were not merely decorative. Each circle carried a different pattern, a distinct function, and all of them vibrated with such dense energy that the space itself seemed... to react.

There was no attack.

There was no activation.

But there was power.

And it was not a little.

It was... absurd.

The kind of power that didn’t need to be demonstrated.

Because its very existence was enough.

Exelia remained motionless beside him, her posture impeccable, but now there was something more in her—a restrained, almost imperceptible satisfaction, as if she were observing exactly the scene she expected to see.

The entire hall felt it.

Not just those present.

But the atmosphere itself.

And, for the first time since they entered...

There was fear.

Real.

Not widespread.

But present.

Kael rested his chin slightly on his hand, his gaze still fixed ahead.

And then he spoke.

Without haste.

Without raising his voice.

"Are you out of your mind, Vlad?"

The question didn’t echo.

It... settled.

In the air.

In space.

In the mind of everyone who heard it.

Not as an empty insult.

But as something far more dangerous.

A question coming from someone who clearly... wasn’t at a disadvantage.

And now—

The answer... wasn’t optional.

For a moment—just one—the hall ceased to be a space of consolidated power and became a field of pure tension, where every presence there needed, consciously or unconsciously, to recalculate their own position in relation to what was happening. There was no longer any doubt that Kael wasn’t there to negotiate on their terms. He hadn’t crossed that kingdom to fit into an already existing structure. He had simply... placed another one above it.

And that changed everything.

The name thrown into the air—Vlad—was not ignored.

It couldn’t be.

There was a reaction, albeit restrained, in the rows closest to the throne. Not a direct movement, not an attack, but an almost imperceptible shift in posture, as if that single word had pierced layers of formality and reached something more personal, more ancient. The man to the right of the throne narrowed his eyes, his jaw clenching with a tension he didn’t bother to completely hide. The woman on the left tilted her head slightly, her gaze now fixed on Kael with a much more direct, much less disguised interest.

But the King...

The King didn’t move immediately.

Vlad remained exactly as he was, his body erect, his gaze fixed on Kael, absorbing every detail—not just the ice throne, nor the magic circles that now filled the hall like an entire system ready to be activated, but the way it had all been done.

Without apparent effort.

Without visible preparation.

Without... clear limits.

His fingers, resting on the arm of the throne, moved slightly, a gesture too small to attract the attention of an inattentive person, but enough to indicate that, inside, thought was happening. Calculation. Adjustment.

And then he breathed.

Slowly.

Controlled.

When he finally spoke, his voice wasn’t filled with anger.

Nor with submission.

But with something far more dangerous.

Clarity.

"You enter my kingdom," he began, his deep voice filling the space without needing to compete with anything, "...you breach my defenses, eliminate my soldiers, disrupt my patrols... and sit before me as if this were a conversation between equals."

A short pause.

His eyes narrowed slightly.

"And yet... you expect answers."

It wasn’t a refusal.

But it wasn’t acceptance either.

It was... a delimitation.

Kael didn’t react.

He didn’t smile.

He didn’t provoke.

He just observed.

And that, in itself, was more unsettling than any immediate response could be.

Because there was no pressure on him.

None.

Vlad tilted his head slightly, his eyes drifting briefly to the magic circles scattered around the hall. He didn’t need to fully understand them to recognize what they represented. This wasn’t an empty display. It was a functional structure.

Ready.

And then his eyes returned to Kael.

"You ask a direct question," he continued, now with a slightly different weight in his voice, as if choosing each word more precisely, "so I’ll do the same."

A pause.

"Who do you think you are... to come in here and talk to me like that?"

Silence.

Dense.

Expectant.

Exelia didn’t move, but her eyes briefly slid to Kael, not out of doubt, but out of anticipation. She knew exactly the kind of answer that would come. Not the exact words—that was never predictable with him—but the nature.

And she wasn’t disappointed.

Kael tilted his head slightly to the side, as if considering the question, not with absolute seriousness, but with the kind of interest one shows in something... curious.

"Me?" he repeated, in a low, almost casual tone.

His fingers tapped lightly on the arm of the ice throne, a slow, carefree rhythm.

"I am the problem you still haven’t understood."

The answer wasn’t elevated.

It wasn’t aggressive.

But it was... definitive.

The man to the right of the throne stepped forward.

Finally.

"Your Majesty—" he began, his voice firm, laden with an authority that was clearly not small within that structure.

He didn’t finish.

Not because he was physically interrupted.

But because... something stopped him.

One of the magic circles, floating near his shoulder, glowed for an instant—not intensely, not flashy, but enough for him to feel it. Enough for his body to react even before his mind fully processed it.

He stopped.

Not out of obedience.

Out of instinct.

His eyes turned to the circle for a fraction of a second, and in that brief moment... he understood.

It wasn’t decorative.

It was active.

And he was... inside.

Exelia watched this with a slight renewed interest, her lips almost curving into a smile she didn’t let fully form. It was precisely this kind of perception that separated those who merely existed on that level... from those who survived on it.

Kael didn’t even look at the man.

"You’re getting too big for your britches," he said, still looking at Vlad, "You must have forgotten that your equals only have a home because we allow it. Perhaps you want me to cancel the dome that protects you from the sun~" He said, smiling.