Devouring Dragon Heir

On the curfewed entrance of the capital of the Riverdale Kingdom, the air was thick with tension and quiet.

The streets, which would normally be bustling with merchants and citizens, were now eerily empty. Every person who entered had to show their citizenship proof of some kind.

Plus, it was an established rule that once someone entered, they would not leave the boundaries of the capital city.

Due to these strict rules in place, the merchants and other traders, who feared the sudden curfews and the danger of being trapped in a city under military control, were avoiding entering the new capital.

The influx of people had been minimal, reducing the city's usual vibrant energy to a somber quietness.

On this usually empty gate, a huge, black carriage, adorned with royal sigils and gems engraved on its sides, arrived.

It moved with a smooth speed, but its way was halted by the guards on the gate. The guards were just following orders; their faces were grim as they crossed the spears in front of the carriage.

But they did not know that following orders would come with a heavy price.

The driver of the carriage was a heavy-built muscular man with a curved blade by his side. As soon as the guards approached, a flash of motion was all that was seen.

Sling!

The heads of the two guards who were at the front fell apart on the ground before the carriage continued its way towards the central area of the capital.

The man had moved with a speed that defied their perception; his strength was immense, clearly above SSS rank.

Due to the curfew, a lot of personnel were on duty. Some were in their official uniforms, while some were even disguised, mingling among the few citizens still on the streets.

When they saw this scene, their blood turned cold as they realized that the strength of the person who had entered was unfathomable for mere soldiers like them.

The guard captain, who was a seasoned warrior with a face full of scars, simply ordered a soldier to take the message to the royal palace about the arrival of such an individual.

Inside, he was boiling with rage as he saw his men killed like that just for the sake of a show of dominance. His anger, however, was mixed with a deep, consuming fear.

Silently, the captain sent up a prayer, his lips barely moving.

"Oh Lord Almighty… As You once sent the Messenger to cleanse this land of demons, I beg You to let the same fate fall upon these monsters, who walk among us in the skin of humans."

This captain had lived through six long decades of hardship, and he had borne witness to the crushing weight of noble corruption upon the common people.

He had learned, over many bitter years, to accept the unfairness of the world as an unchangeable truth until a spark of hope had arrived in the form of the Messenger.

But today, there had been no warning, no attempt at peaceful entry, not even an introduction, only an unidentified visitor whose first act within the capital was to casually slaughter two guards.

Meanwhile, the black carriage rolled ever onward through the city's winding streets. The further it traveled, the closer it came to the central district, which was a place of immense power and wealth, where the towering royal palace cast its shadow over the mansions of nobles and influential ministers.

The streets here, too, were empty. The rhythmic clack of the carriage wheels over the cobblestones was the only sound, echoing between the tall, silent buildings.

Eventually, the carriage drew to a halt before a sealed mansion that was once the residence of the marquess (the duke's sister).

A sprawling, elegant structure whose every column and arch spoke of a time when its owner wielded enormous influence. The gates were shut, the grounds overgrown, but the grandeur of the estate still lingered like a ghost.

Inside the carriage, a man lounged with a casual air, slowly fanning himself with a royal-blue fan decorated with golden embroidery.

He was strikingly handsome, his features sharp and refined, but there was something cold and mocking in his smile. His eyes gleamed with arrogance, as though the entire city belonged to him already.

"Lord Duke truly cherished his sister," he said, his voice smooth yet dripping with contempt.

Then his expression shifted, his tone turning cruel. "Unfortunately, she is dead now… and with her death, the Riverdale Kingdom will burn."

He then gave a command to the driver to move towards the royal palace.

At his command, the driver, the same man whose blade had so easily claimed two lives, set the carriage in motion once again.

After several minutes, they arrived at the royal palace's main entrance.

This time, the guards had already been alerted of his identity and the deadly display at the gate.

No one dared to challenge him. They stepped aside without a word, their faces pale with fear.

The man, known as Godwin, the envoy of the Duke, was now being escorted into the grand throne room.

At the far end sat the newly crowned Queen Andrea. Though still young, she bore herself with a quiet dignity and a determined posture that attempted to mask her vulnerability.

Standing at her side was Caesar, the kingdom's army general, his face tense and grim.

Around the queen, Caesar had stationed his most trusted warriors, SS-rank hunters of exceptional strength, ready to defend her life at any cost.

Godwin entered without bowing, without even pausing to acknowledge the queen's authority. His steps were slow and deliberate, his smile condescending as his eyes swept over her.

"Look at you," he said, his voice sharp and mocking. "A fragile little girl, playing at being queen over a kingdom already crumbling into ruin. What a pitiful sight… truly, a tragedy."

As he spoke, he released the crushing weight of his pseudo-transcendent rank aura.

The invisible force struck Andrea like a physical blow, knocking her from her throne and forcing her to her knees on the cold floor as if she were a servant before him.

The young queen gasped, her breath coming in short, pained bursts as her face lost all color. Every muscle in her body strained against the oppressive weight, but it was too much.

Caesar reacted instantly, stepping forward to shield her, but the muscular driver from the carriage, who had remained quietly in the background, moved like a shadow to intercept him.

With a single wave of his hand, he unleashed a force that crushed the general downwards.

The pressure was overwhelming, far beyond anything Caesar's own rank could resist. His knees hit the floor with a dull thud, his jaw clenched in agony.

The rest of the queen's soldiers, frozen by the suffocating presence in the air, could do nothing. They stood motionless, not because they wished to, but because the space itself seemed to deny them movement.

Godwin looked down at the queen and her general, both kneeling before him, and laughed softly.

"Now," he said, "tell me, where is the one who aided you? The person you call the Messenger.

We both know your kingdom lacks the ability to summon such a being on its own. Who are you faking this messenger for?" His smile sharpened.

"Tell me, and perhaps I will consider sparing your lives."

A voice then cut through the tense silence.

"How about you let her go first? That would be in your best interest quite literally."