Boulder’s pupils contracted sharply.
Elisa turned around.
Her back looked exceptionally cold under the lingering glow of the luminous pearls.
The water-like patterns rippling across her dark gold scale armor slowly faded.
“From this day forth, the Sea Dragon tribe has nothing more to do with you.”
Boulder’s body froze.
His mouth fell open, his lips trembling as a few broken syllables squeezed from his throat, unable to form a coherent sentence.
Elisa did not look back.
“I am going to report this to the Wizard Council immediately.”
As she spoke, a pale gold halo erupted beneath her feet.
Wherever the halo expanded, the seawater parted in all directions.
Her figure flickered in the center of the halo, then vanished on the spot.
Boulder stood frozen in place.
He hung his head, his arms dangling limply at his sides.
The young horns on either side of his forehead went completely dark.
The pale gold light on the horns extinguished bit by bit, leaving only two dull, grayish-white stubs of horn protruding from his forehead.
His lips continued to twitch.
No sound came out.
The Three-Thousandth Prince of the Sea Dragon tribe.
This was the identity he had lived with for all these years.
All of his guards, attendants, resources, status, and glory were built entirely upon this identity.
The guards who had knelt on one knee before him, bowed to him, and obeyed his every command did so solely because of this identity.
Now, that identity was gone.
Boulder suddenly thought of something and whipped his head around.
The guards were still standing there.
They hadn't even dared to raise their heads under the pressure unleashed by the Eighteenth Princess earlier; only now, with the pressure gone, did they slowly straighten their backs.
Boulder’s gaze swept over them.
He wanted to see something on their faces. Loyalty, hesitation, or even anger.
He saw nothing.
The guards' faces were completely devoid of emotion.
There was no anger or hesitation in their vertical pupils, only a cold, calculating scrutiny.
Boulder recognized that look.
It was not the look of a subject serving their lord, but of a merchant evaluating the price of goods.
Boulder’s heart sank.
“You...”
He spoke, his voice incredibly hoarse.
It felt as if something was lodged in his throat, forcing him to strain to squeeze out every single word.
“What are you all still standing there for? Clean this place up for me!”
No one moved.
The hall was terrifyingly silent.
A guard clad in battle armor took a step back.
His movement was slight, but the scraping of his armor sounded exceptionally harsh in the dead silence.
He took one step back, then another, before turning around and walking toward the corridor at the side of the hall.
He left.
He did not bow, did not ask for permission to leave, and did not even spare Boulder a glance.
The sound of his footsteps gradually faded down the corridor.
Then, a second guard moved.
Lowering his head, he pulled his cloak’s hood down to cover most of his face.
Without turning around, he simply backed away step by step out of the hall. Only when he reached the entrance of the corridor did he suddenly turn and vanish into its depths with hurried steps.
A third.
A fourth.
A fifth.
The guards left one after another.
No one spoke, no one looked at Boulder, and they did not even exchange glances.
They were merely executing a decision they had already calculated in their minds.
Boulder was no longer the Three-Thousandth Prince of the Sea Dragon tribe. Following him now was equivalent to tying their futures to a sinking ship.
Anyone could do that math.
A short, stout guard paused as he reached the side door of the hall.
Boulder stared at his back.
This guard had followed him for fifty years.
The guard paused for a second.
Then, he pushed open the side door and walked out.
The door closed behind him.
Not many guards remained in the hall.
Those still standing there were also hesitating. Their feet shifted slightly on the stone floor, their weight swaying from one foot to the other as the light in their vertical pupils flickered.
An attendant slipped out from a corner.
He wasn't even a guard, just a servant responsible for serving tea and water.
As he left, he snatched the unfinished bottle of Coral Brew from the low table, stuffed it into his robes, and slipped out through a small door at the back of the hall with his head low.
Boulder watched the small door, which was still swinging slightly, his lips twitching.
Then, he whipped around, glaring at the remaining attendants and guards standing in the corners of the hall.
“Go! Go call your clansmen!” Boulder’s voice rose to a shriek. “My guard detail is more than just you few! Go call them! Bring everyone here!”
The remaining guards in the hall exchanged glances.
And then, they left too.
Not to call anyone.
They walked toward the corridor, toward the side door, and toward the small door at the back of the hall.
Their footsteps overlapped on the stone floor, growing more distant and faint.
When the last footstep faded, Boulder was left entirely alone in the hall.
All that remained were the shattered stone slabs scattered across the floor, the luminous pearls embedded in the stone walls, the small puddles of seawater that had poured in onto the floor, and the empty coral cup on the low table.
Boulder stood in the center of the hall.
His arms hung at his sides, his fingers curling slightly.
He opened his mouth, squeezing out a muffled, incoherent sound from his throat.
There was no response in the hall.
Only the sound of seawater churning through the rupture in the dome remained.
Boulder took a step forward, raising his foot to walk toward the throne.
The coral throne still stood atop the seven steps.
Boulder stepped onto the first stair.
His legs were trembling, and his knees buckled so badly he nearly knelt on the step.
Reaching out to steady himself on the banister, his knuckles dug into the crevices of the blood coral.
He climbed to the second step.
The third.
He moved very slowly.
With every step, he had to pause to catch his breath. His chest heaved violently, and his throat wheezed like a ragged bellows.
The fourth.
The fifth.
The sixth.
The seventh.
Standing before the throne, he turned and sat down.
The back of the coral throne was bone-chillingly cold, the icy sensation seeping through his short robe and into the scales on his back.
Leaning back against the throne, he rested his arms on the armrests, his fingers unconsciously picking at the patterns on the blood coral's surface.
His gaze swept across the hall.
The shattered stone slabs were still there.
The luminous pearls embedded in the walls were still there.
The empty coral cup on the low table was still there.
The guards were all gone.
Just then, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor.
Boulder snapped his head up, a tiny spark of light igniting in his pale blue eyes.
Could it be that someone hasn't abandoned me?
Indeed, after all the favors I have bestowed over the years, there is still someone loyal to me.
The footsteps drew closer and closer.
A figure rushed out from the corner of the corridor.
It was his personal attendant, a slender Sea Race youth.
The youth was running frantically, his legs moving in a blur as he clutched a bulging bundle tightly to his chest. One corner of the bundle was loose, revealing a silver candlestick.
The youth rushed into the hall and locked eyes with Boulder.
The youth's steps faltered for a moment.
Lowering his head, he pulled the bundle even tighter against his chest, shoving the exposed candlestick back inside. Then, he turned and dashed toward the small door at the back of the hall.
He ran even faster than he had entered.
The crisp sound of the small door closing behind him was exceptionally sharp.
Boulder stared at the door for a very long time.
His lips twitched, and a few muffled syllables squeezed from his throat, but he could not form a single coherent sentence.
Silence reclaimed the hall once more.
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