Absolute Cheater-Chapter 274: Fantasy Dungeon XIII

The ballroom was frozen.

Not a whisper stirred. Not a cough. Even the music had died, the musicians standing pale and stiff behind their screens.

Valeris descended the steps from the ruined Winter Garden, glass crunching beneath her boots. Smoke curled from her shoulders where the assassin's curse had tried—and failed—to burn her.

Every noble's eyes were glued to her.

Some were afraid.

Some were calculating.

And a few were already preparing their next move.

They will never stop unless we teach them what fear truly means, Asher thought, standing at her side once more.

Valeris lifted her gaze, her voice cold and cutting.

"Tonight is not the first attempt on my life. Nor will it be the last. But let it be known:

Each assassin you send will cost you blood.

Each betrayal will cost you legacy.

And when I find the hand behind the blade—"

She let the words trail off deliberately, her eyes sweeping across the gathered court like a knife's edge.

"—I will not stop at you. I will burn your house, your bloodline, your memory from these stones."

The nobles bowed.

Low.

Because not bowing now was to sign your death sentence.

A herald, pale and shaking, stepped forward.

"M-my Queen... shall we—shall we adjourn the festivities?"

Valeris smiled slightly.

"No."

"Bring wine. Bring music. Let them dance."

"Let them wonder who will be called to kneel first."

**

The Blood Pact

Later, in her private council chamber—high in the Tower of Suns—Valeris sat at the head of a blackwood table carved with scenes of conquest.

Only a handful of trusted knights and advisers had been summoned.

Asher stood at her right shoulder, silent, watchful.

Before her knelt three nobles—the ones whose houses had refused to attend her coronation.

House Veylor. House Sorran. House Bellcrest.

Two men and one woman, all of them cloaked in fine velvets, all of them wearing expressions carefully neutral.

But their fear stank.

"House Sorran," Valeris said first. "Your absence from my coronation was explained as 'illness.'" ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

The man, Duke Callen Sorran, bowed low.

"A...a grave fever struck our retainers, Your Grace. We dared not endanger—"

"You risked nothing," she cut in. "You merely bet against me."

He said nothing.

Valeris's fingers tapped once against the table.

"House Veylor," she continued. "Your lands sent no tribute. Your banners did not rise."

The woman—Lady Marisse Veylor—lifted her chin.

Brave. Foolish.

"We were uncertain where loyalties would settle, Your Grace. Many voices urged caution."

"You listened to cowards," Valeris said simply. "You chose poorly."

Lady Marisse said nothing more.

Valeris turned her gaze to the last noble: a boy, no older than sixteen, trembling in his House Bellcrest colors.

"And you, young lord?"

He stammered. "M-my father said... he said to wait... to see if you survived."

The room fell silent.

The honesty of youth was a dagger sharper than any lie.

Valeris smiled—a slow, terrible thing.

"Good," she said. "Then let all three of your houses learn what loyalty means."

She stood.

"You will swear yourselves to me tonight. Oaths sealed not by word, but by blood. Soul-bound."

Gasps filled the chamber.

The nobles paled.

Soul-binding was an ancient, nearly forbidden art. It meant total loyalty—not just in word, but in spirit. Betrayal would shred the soul from the body.

"You have until the second moon rises," Valeris said, voice like a bell tolling doom. "Swear—or perish."

***

Later, after the nobles had been dragged away to prepare their binding rites, Asher poured two cups of blackwine and handed one to her.

Valeris accepted it wordlessly, gazing out over the dark towers of Mimir.

Beyond the palace walls, the city glittered like a sea of stars—and in its depths, the sharks circled.

"You were perfect," Asher said quietly.

She didn't respond for a long moment.

Then, almost to herself, she whispered:

"I wonder how long I can dance with them before I have to kill them all."

Asher set down his cup.

He turned her gently to face him.

"As long as you want," he said. "But when the time comes—I'll be there. We'll end it together."

A fierce, weary smile touched her lips.

And for the first time that night, she allowed herself to lean into him—not as a queen, not as a conqueror.

But as Valeris.

The storm outside battered the tower windows.

The storm inside had only just begun.

The Soul-Binding

The chamber chosen for the rite was buried deep beneath the Tower of Suns, in an ancient sanctum carved from obsidian and white quartz. The air here was old—thick with incense, memory, and the restless echo of spells spoken by forgotten mouths.

Valeris stood at the head of a ritual circle inscribed with silver runes. Her gown was shadow-black, stitched with shimmering blood-thread, and her bare hands were painted in crimson oil—symbol of judgment and pact.

A high priest stood beside her, ancient and hollow-eyed, robed in whispering silk.

Three nobles knelt on the polished stone: Duke Callen Sorran, Lady Marisse Veylor, and the young Lord Elias Bellcrest.

None of them dared meet her eyes.

"You are here," Valeris said, voice ringing like steel drawn from its sheath, "because you chose doubt over duty. You watched from the shadows and hoped I would fall."

"But I did not fall."

Her hands spread over the circle, fingers glowing faintly with ethereal fire.

"Now you will swear—not to a crown. Not to a name. But to me. Body. Mind. Soul."

The priest began to chant in the old tongue.

The runes ignited—silver light flaring into arcs that tethered the nobles to the circle's center.

The first to speak was Duke Sorran, his voice steady but tight.

"I, Callen of House Sorran, do bind myself to Queen Valeris. My strength is hers. My line is hers. My fate is hers."

He bit down on the offered blade, slicing his tongue, and spat blood into the flame.

The light surged, and a sigil branded itself on his palm—permanent, seared in pain.

Lady Veylor followed, her voice cold as marble.

"I, Marisse of House Veylor, do bind myself to Queen Valeris. My will is hers. My life is hers. My legacy is hers."

The cut, the blood, the fire.

Another brand. Another soul locked.

Then came Elias. The boy trembled as the knife was held to his lips.

He looked up at Valeris with eyes too young for war.

"I—I bind myself to you, Queen Valeris. I don't want to die."