Chapter 68: The Lion in Chains
Bael Territory – Late Afternoon
News spread through the noble circles of the Underworld like wildfire—Sairaorg Bael and his mother Misla Bael had been officially disowned and exiled from the main family estate.
Whispers filled the halls of power, accompanied by scorn and pity. The heir without Power of Destruction had finally been cast out.
In the Agares Estate, sunlight filtered through the windows of a serene tea room. Volundr sat quietly, a porcelain cup in hand, steam rising from a delicate black brew. A servant entered and whispered the news.
He set his tea down with elegant control, gaze sharpening as if seeing beyond the walls.
"Even lions thrown out of the den," he muttered, voice cold and certain, "still have fangs."
Outskirts of Bael Territory – Dusk
Volundr didn't wait. That same evening, he left with a small escort and made his way to a humble estate far from the grandeur of noble lands. Cracked stone, overgrown grass, and silence surrounded the area. It was a house not meant for royalty—but it stood proud in its humility.
He walked past the rusted gates and paused by the sound of fists slamming into wood.
In the side yard, Sairaorg Bael, just 10 years old, stood shirtless before a thick wooden post, striking it again and again. His hands were bruised, split in places. Sweat poured down his brow, mixing with blood.
Volundr approached slowly, watching.
Sairaorg noticed but didn't stop. Only when his knuckles cracked again did he finally pause and turn.
"You here to mock me like the rest?" he asked, breath heavy, eyes defiant.
"No," Volundr said, voice calm. "I came to see how a lion trains in exile."
Sairaorg stared at him in silence. Then, without a word, he bowed low—out of respect, not submission.
Inside the house, Misla Bael lay pale upon a couch. Volundr checked her condition briefly, frowning at the strain illness had taken on her. He left her with a vial of nourishing potion and a promise to send more.
Later – Under the Moonlight
The two boys sat on the rooftop under a quiet sky. Sairaorg held a cloth around his fists, wrapping them as Volundr watched.
"I don't need your pity."
"I didn't bring pity," Volundr replied, reaching into his coat and unfolding a thin scroll. "I brought opportunity."
It was a support contract—wealth, estate access, resources for training, medical support for Misla. All with no obligation, just the will to grow stronger.
"Why?" Sairaorg asked quietly.
"Because I see a King," Volundr answered, standing. "Not in your blood. In your fists. In how you bleed, and train, and fight when no one watches."
Sairaorg took the scroll.
"I won't forget this."
Volundr's eyes met his—firm, unwavering.
"Then grow into the King I see in you."
They didn't shake hands. They didn't need to.
In Volundr mind, " You will rise again even without my help, and you did in original timeline. After all you are my favourite cahracter in the whole novel.Welcome aboard my ally."
End of Chapter 68