The Unlikely Overlord

Sitting in front of her mirror, Rivera Neon brushed her hair smiling seductively at her reflection.

The enticing scent of her lavender oil glowing religiously on her delicate skin, filled the air.

Her fingers moved with precision as she shaded her brows with pale blue.

Carefully, she drew stars at the corners of her eyes, making them bold and more inviting.

Her red glossy lips complemented her eye shade as she pressed them together, blending the color seamlessly.

As she admired the outcome, a satisfied smile played on her lips.

Her thoughts drifted to the evening ahead. Tonight was her family's dinner banquet at Falcon Hills.

Normally in Gandon, warlords hosted banquets after conquering another empire, but now, celebrations were discreet as the Overlord had forbidden open festivities.

Here were the Neon's indulging in the veto.

Attendance was private, limited to non-rival Lords in the province.

Her clan was highly placed, belonging to the 5th of ten divisions. Ranking 2nd in their division, boasted large mercenaries, vast resources and wealth.

With a beauty like hers, she knew she'd be the spotlight of the event, but there was Mira, her stepsister.

An unavoidable product of low birth.

The cook's daughter, whose existence Rivera always pricked at.

Well, a second was not mediocre, still the spotlight anyways.

A frown settled on her face as she thought of her plus one. Never would she have imagined being married to a commoner as a reward ; more like being sold out.

Her face turned all red as she relived her hatred for him.

She should be out there, married to a top warlord bachelor, prolly Foster Hawk.

Her man before she was sheepishly married off, whose family ranked 1st in the 3rd division.

They were just many better options in the marriage market to choose from.

But here she was, of all the ranks, married to the lowest of the low.

Taking a deep breath for beauty, she muttered "If only Father hadn't sold me out to that fool of a husband".

She heard familiar footsteps through the door, and her back stiffened.

"Talk of the devil," she scorned.

"You've already announced my foolishness countless times, Riv," came a masculine voice from behind.

"Unrelated, but I must say, you look stunning tonight."

The expression in his warm hazel eyes sincere.

She smirked indifferently, keeping her gaze still on the mirror.

Rivera Neon was married to Midas X, a roadside swordsman from a small town in the outskirts of Gandon, who protected travelers from marauding bandits alongside his crew.

He had helped her father, Lord Neon Lucas, years ago during an insurgent conspiracy.

An attack from the inside left Lord Neon a bit vulnerable as the enemies were fully aware of their tactics, sword skills and strategies.

Midas and his crew had fought alongside Lord Neon, defeating the attackers with unpredictable moves, taming them by beheading.

Neon Lucas, a prominent warlord, had led a motley crew of brutal mercenaries, conquered seven rival territories in his time but died a few weeks after Rivera's marriage, harboring a chronic disease.

Placing his coat on the dragon chair, lacquered brownish-blue and gold.

Midas X bounced on the thickly swollen master size bed.

Adorned with silken sheets of gray and deep oxblood.

Placing his big, strong arms behind his head.

He watched her feign disinterest in his presence.

Utterly focused on her beauty, she kept busy, ignoring him.

There was nothing to really touch up per se but she just had to keep busy, triggering him was a go.

With deliberate grace, she dipped her elegant fingers into the exquisite ornate box of lavender oil.

Feeling the cool silky touch of each stroke, she caressed her back gently.

Methodically slothful.

Thoughtfully, she readjusted her décolletage to emphasize her cleavage.

Revealing her succulent ample bosom, a little more.

As she applied more gloss on her red lips, she briefly shifted her gaze to Midas.

He frowned, knowing what she was doing.

Leading him on, to a blunt demise.

Wasn't the first time.

He was naturally drawn to her as his wife, it was a legitimate feeling after all.

Their marriage had lasted two years but had never been consummated.

Tormenting him was her fun.

He got out of bed, walking toward her, somewhat in satisfaction to her intention.

Her face brightened, anticipating his approach.

Drawing near. Closer and closer.

He was now all in her face.

Without caution, she slapped him. "Don't you dare touch me," she snapped, pointing a finger at his face.

"You bas...."

Ignoring her drama, he leaned in, picked out a strand of wool entangled in her hair.

"There you go" he said easily.

"What?" she blanched, soaking it in.

Rubbing the slap-spot on his cheek, he assessed her briefly.

"You're annoying, it's catching.

Turning away, he departed, surprising Rivera.

She felt her teeth grinding.

Irritation crept into her, more like raging than creeping.

She hurriedly stood up, striding toward him.

"Move!" she commanded, shoving him.

Her touch had no effect on him as he was balanced with virility.

However, he stopped, allowing her to brush past.

He watched her reach the door, her ego evident in her steps.

"Listen here."

"You might as well not show up at the banquet.

"It is already enough to share a chamber with you."

"It's a big night for us. We don't have to be associated with a soppy prick like you out there as well."

"Don't you think?"

"I.." he began, but she cut him off by shutting the door.

An ocean of satisfaction washed over her.

He shook his head, a faint trickle of annoyance slithering through him. Then he sighed.

----------------------------------------------

Gleaming white light shone brightly in Falcon Hills. It was the Neon's signature building.

Like other top-ranked Lords in the province, they marked their territory with impressive structures.

The first three parts of it's interior were unremarkable, disguising the opulence beneath.

The underground look was a lavish affair, a stark contrast to the main outlook's intentional dullness.

Shipping their secrecy.

Just in case rival spies hovered, for a go-tell.

Loud chants echoed as warriors raised their goblets in salutation to victory.

"To a step higher," Arthur Neon, eldest son of Lord Neon, declared.

"To a step higher," everyone repeated, chugging their drinks and stamping their feet in unison.

A warrior's ritual, maybe.

The top warlords present took turns making toasts to the domain.

The atmosphere was filled with lively chatter, chugging and chugging again.

New relationships were forged among guests.

Many initiated conversations with warlords who over ranked them, hoping to win over an alliance or establish habitual acquaintanceship.

The event was equivalent to a wedding reception, culminating in a joyous feast.

During the feast, the Matriarch, Olivia Neon, Lord Neon's wife announced gleefully, "My dear Arthur is representing our territory for the Overlord's equerry position."

"Mom, you didn't have to make it grand." Arthur snapped in blatantly, running his hands over his face.

"I know the position is mine, we'll belong to the 1st division soon."

"And why would you think it'll be you?" Lord Frederick interjected, laughing.

"My son will certainly be the equerry."

"It's obvious you can't handle such a role.

"It's not a bribe, don't be so sure." A warrior shouted.

"Such power can't be committed to just anyone." Lord Nathan scoffed at Arthur.

"It goes to who outranks whom."

"You clan just ranks 2nd in the 5th, do better.

The other warlords began spilling their own thoughts and claims.

The merry atmosphere was soon spun out by a hurricane of disagreements and protests.

Of course, everyone wanted the Overlord's equerry to be from their territory, as it'll kick in an higher approval rating for an alliance with the Overlord himself.

Who wouldn't fight for a chance to have a place with the Overlord?

Gallons of tea with his parishad, still you wouldn't get a peek of the great Lord Xzander.

A tablet was sent to all the top warlords ; ranking from 1st to 5th in each division.

Called the Oregon Pass, it included a memo for each territory to select a representative for the equerry.

The chosen one would stamp their crest at the center, with the forepersons of that territory placing a blood thumbprint around it in agreement.

The Overlord's equerry was like the right-hand man of a king.

"No one's interest is disturbing," Lord Fox, 1st ranked Lord of the 9th division, stated without batting a lash.

"It's known, in terms of armaments and skills, I top the list."

Zephyr Neon, the second son of Lord Neon, applauded mockingly.

"An unbelievably impressive acclamation of weaponry."

"May I erase your lack of knowledge."

"The Neon's mercenaries are an absolute death machine, but that's by the way."

"Contextually, an equerry needs brains more than brawn."

"It's obvious their clan lacks there," Arthur added concurrently.

It got heated up.

Ranting and ravings.

At a lone ghosted corner sat Midas X, watching through the entire scenery.

Thoughtfully, he stood up.

Walked to the buffet, picked up a goblet of wine and headed to the center in loud steps.

Raising up his goblet, he clinked it till the uproar lessened. Earning their attention.

His neatly tied brown hair spilled over his broad shoulders, unable to coax the beauty of his masculinity.

Rolling his strikingly calm hazel eyes among the masses, he spoke.

"Gentlemen, it's not a thing of argument.

"It's a matter of betterment to outwit every rivalry and stand a solid chance of winning the Overlord's choice."

"In toast to the victory of my wife's clan, I have a viable initiative that should be considered by them or anyone of interest."

"I..."

"Who is this man?"

"Son of who?" Lord Fox roared cutting him off abruptly.

"Oh this.." Rivera responded tartly, wagging her fingers at him.

"A nobody Father brought in as my husband."

She stared at him, sprouting with rage.

She hated his confidence. Hated his beauty, his entire being.

Had he lost his mind showing up?

Most of the guests stared at him with irritation, offended by his effrontery to interrupt the Lords.

"Let me disabuse you of the idea that your contribution to this conversation is in any way welcome." Arthur snapped.

"Know your place and rot in it."

His eyes flamed with anger.

He had never liked Midas.

Midas was too low and crude, yet Father brought him into the clan, breathing the same air.

"Who dared you, young fellow?" one of the Lords voiced.

"You interrupt an honorable banter, blabbing without fear."

"Goblet-clinking for attention as if you are something." Arnold snorted, folding his arms.

He was the Neon's oldest cousin.

"You always embarrass me, househusband." Rivera puffed out.

"Being nothing. Doing nothing."

"Just leeching off and crossing boundaries."

"Floor men and always doing recklessly too much, 5&6." A warrior chipped in casually, opening a wide path for stones of insult thrown at Midas.

As horribly offended as he was at the hurl of insults, even from his wife, he ignored his irritation.

"My apologies everyone, I didn't mean to come off as disrespectful." he bellowed.

Shifting his gaze briefly to Arthur and back to the gathering, he spoke again.

"I really do have a solid counsel if your kind hearts will grant me a hearing."

Zephyr bursted into heavy rounds of laughter, soon followed by the majority, laughing him into frustration.

An ocean of embarrassment washed him cold and rough.

"A dog really must be tamed" Foster Hawk scorned, crossing his legs as he enjoyed the roast.

He was the grandson of Lord Hawk, fearfully known as the invincible Captain.

Grudging deeply ever since his betrothed was taken away by this low man.

"For someone with no background or power, you really are something, thinking anything you spit out will be feasible." Zephyr grimaced.

"You're quite pigheaded, you'll never beat that allegation." Isabella, Arthur's wife, added, eyeing him.

Everyone reacted with loathing and unacceptance of his presence.

"I'll thank you all not to mock my sense of decency. I sincerely just want to help."

Slowly sipping her wine, Mira stared at Midas with sympathy, surprise and curiosity.

His audacity was somewhat likable.

Help, you say?" Rivera repeated, letting out a loud guffaw utterly perplexed by his response.

How could he think he could be of help. If anyone needed help, it was him.

"You're a joke man, dust the tables or go guard my horse. " Fox shook his head.

Right, of course he'll act all cool or so.

"Let's just hear him out." loosing her tongue-tied mouth, Mira chipped in, perplexed by her own guts.

"Who knows, it may turn out sensible," she said softly, regretting for a split second that she spoke.

She knew they were definitely coming for her.

Her green eyes moistened.

Midas sent an amused look her way.

Was she feeling him?

Mira was the illegitimate child with great ambitions and insight.

She appeared sweet and soft but was a highly skilled strategist, logical and meticulous in her analysis. Exceptionally talented, she was too good at what she did.

There was just everything about her. Yet, her family neither recognized her capabilities nor gave her a place of utility.

Rivera wouldn't even let her into the limelight, always seeing her as unforgivable competition.

"Oh please, it's not your place to speak up."

"This bastard needs to learn." Rivera retorted, aiming venomous eyes her way.

Midas frowned.

Rivera had become so saucy, bitchy even.

Mira's lips moved.

"I'm sor.."

Arthur waved her silent, nothing tender about the gesture.

She gnawed her lips scarlet and retreated into her shell.

"Let's just hear the poor thing speak."

"He belongs, after all." Arthur smirked, folding his arms with an unpleasant smile.

"Go on, dog."

Mockingly, the warriors started laughing.

Midas felt his teeth grinding, but kept his posture slack, suppressing his emotions with a sigh.

"Arthur, let's forge an alliance with my people."

"It's a move that would secure a valuable position and strengthen our mercenaries."

"They are undeniably skilled, possessing unique stunt and handmade arms of osmium and tungsten, which can outperform most weapons in your possession."

"They are virtuosos in tactics, logic and strategies essential in warfa...."

Arthur stood up, enraged, his eyes burning with anger.

In a brisk, spontaneous motion, he picked up his wine goblet and emptied its scarlet content upon Midas.

Mira gasped, looking ready to cry.

"Took you long enough," Rivera grimaced, smiling with sour satisfaction.

"This is the height of it."

"Speaking down on the weaponry of our clan."

"Who do you think you are?" Arthur snapped.

Mira frowned.

She had perceived the diplomacy in his counsel.

It was plausible.

"It was the blunt truth." Midas said impassively, his face darkened with anger, swirling in dark vendetta as the wine dripped from his clothes.

"Riv, you should consider a divorce, this loser has stepped on too many mines." Foster Hawk suggested, not missing the chance to have a bite of his.

"You need not tell me."

"Of course I'll get rid of the pest in due time." she responded icily, looking flirtatiously at each other.

Midas gave them a stern brief look.

He had received the full blast of their surliness.

The other Warlords watched with loathing, exchanging small talks and curses.

"You speak of an alliance as if it were nothing more than a petty trial with just anybody." Olivia Neon shot to her feet, having watched the whole time, too embarrassed this rascal was her son-in-law.

If only her husband had listened when she'd reproved.

"I did not use those terms." Midas responded sullenly, color leaving his face.

Walking briskly towards Midas, Arnold kicked him hard at the back of his leg, forcing him to kneel.

"You stay down when the Matriarch speaks." he thundered, his bloodshot eyes glaring as he pointed a finger at Midas.

Attempting to rise, five warriors of the Neon's rushed at him, their swords pointed at his neck.

"Stay down!" Arthur commanded, stamping his foot.

Aware that he was outnumbered, Midas obeyed, clenching his fist tightly.

"You didn't have to. You meant so," the matriarch continued, unfazed by their treatment of Midas.

"You abused my clan, called our armaments crude and useless."

"Our entirety you termed weak and senseless."

"The audacity to compare a fearsome territory with a mediocre town like yours."

"Who raised you?" She blasted coldly, banging the long ornate table.

"You're exaggerating mother, I meant no such thing."

"I meant to foster synergy..."

"And who is your mother?" Rivera snorted, triggered.

"Yours couldn't even own you.

"I guess she foresaw the failure you are.

Midas gave her a thorough eyeing, raising his brows in disappointment.

"The less you say, the better it'll be for you." Lord Alexander, Isabella's father, said unseemly.

"You're lucky we haven't separated your head from your body." Zephyr added sharply, giving him a death glare.

"We'll show you mercy today. With a snap I could end you. Always remember." he said, idly fooling with his nails, as if he hadn't just laid a threat.

"We're the dogs of the Overlord."

"We're his army."

"We're very skeptical about our every move."

"We do not make alliances with nobodies." Lord Bernard declared dryly, an advisor of the clan and Lord Neon's older brother.

"I apologize," Midas said, clenching his fists tightly. He stood up slowly, wiped his face, and moved his eyes around the room, just enough to capture everyone's faces.

Without uttering another word, he departed.

Leaving Falcon Hills, he went down to the Jagon's Trumbo, his spot of meditation, to resurrect his sanity.

Piling up wood, he set a fireplace.

He sat there, lost in his thoughts, staring hard at the fire and reminiscing about everything, every voice.

His bright hazel eyes burned with fury.

He felt tightness in his chest.

Rapidly breathing, he stood up, walking to and fro in agitation.

An eerie rustling sound from behind the tall grasses halted him.

"Who's there?"

The silence on the other end made him pull out his pocket knife.

Positioning his stance, he was ready to attack.

"I wouldn't resist, you know," a voice said, paving its way to him.

"Huh?"

Trying to identify the figure, he remained alert, still holding his knife.

A tubby, bowlegged, bearded man stood across from him.

"Was applauding your patience," the old man said conversationally.

"If it were me, I would've drawn my sword."

"I don't know you," Midas said indifferently, returning his pocket knife.

"Fair, but I do know you."

"Stalking?"

"At the banquet, I was there."

"So, what's this about?"

"Followed me here to tell me how much of a fool I am again?"

No answer.

"To mock me?"

"To ridicule me?

"Save it, I've heard enough for the night."

Uninterested in talking, he sat back contemptuously, showing he wanted to be left alone.

I'm Gray Montgomery," the old man said, unbuckling his clod-topper and placing his bum on the grass, ignoring Midas's snit.

Midas inched away lethargically.

Gray Montgomery was an ex-warrior in his early 60s. He fought alongside the Overlord of Gandon, Xzander Musk, in the Eld-RE war when Gandon had communally conquered the mighty land of Renagon decades ago.

"You are royal, I can tell," Lord Gray said, hawk-eyeing him.

"What are you, a seer?"

"Just by looking you can tell that, huh?" he scorned at the twaddle.

Intentionally unmoved by what this was.

"Nice amulet you've got there," the old man didn't give up conversing.

"What's the story?"

"Uh," Midas scratched his skin.

He didn't like talking about his amulet, but if it meant getting the old man out of his nose, he would.

"I lived outside of Gandon in a small town."

"The people there found me, they're my family."

"I was left in the woods with only this amulet."

"I've carried it with me all my life, It won't come off nor break."

"My name is inscribed on it, but not my father's."

"Just a letter of his I know, X." he said running his hands over the amulet.

Assessing the old man as he'd suddenly became quiet. He saw pain in his eyes, coupled with guilt.

It was abnormal for someone he just met.

Maybe his vision was tricking him.

It's enchanted with protection," the old man said thoughtfully. "TRT-45, made of pure gems."

"And how would you know all this?"

"I bet you're just a table man, after all."

Moving his mouth some more, Lord Gray laughed at his ignorance. Only if Midas knew who he really was.

"I'm an ex-warrior."

"I'm mostly aware of things you wouldn't know."

"I belong to the 1st division of Gandon."

"I came down here for a personal matter."

Midas cast a sidelong glance at the old man, trying to figure out if he was messing with his head.

The first division was sacred.

It was the heaven of Gandon, where the Overlord and his men abode.

Not just anyone could belong there.

Who was this man?

"It really doesn't concern me in any way whatsoever." Midas said dryly, feigning disinterest.

The old man grinned, showing those gross teeth of his.

Reaching into his pocket, he puffed on his pipe.

"You have his eyes." He blotted, looking stern as if he had given out exclusive information.

"Whose?"

"Lord Xzander's"

Midas's eyes went wide.

Was this man trying to get beheaded?

He dared mention the Overlord's name with defamation.

"Quiet now, old man."

"You don't want to spark trouble."

"Don't you wonder what the X in your name may be?" Lord Gray continued, showing no ounce of fright.

"I dare not imagine it'll be the Overlord's. It's a mere coincidence."

"What if not?"

Midas shrugged, taking time to soak in the wild thought.

"There's only one way to find out."

"Come with me tomorrow."

"I'll be going back to the Dragon's lair."

"I'll need a pass." Midas retorted nervously.

"I am your pass." Lord Gray added.

The Dragon's lair was the Overlord's Fortress.The name alone would send shivers down anyone's spine.

A testament of his influence.

"It'll be a long ride."

"We leave by dawn."

"Uhm..." Figuring there was no room to back out.

His curiosity wouldn't even let him.

He nodded in agreement.

Heading back to his chambers after parting ways with the old man, Midas remained lost in thought.

For 27 years, he had lived without knowing his true identity. Now, out of nowhere, someone suggested he was of royal blood.

He couldn't bring himself to believe it. The cold, hard Lord Xzander, his father?

He'd heard quiet tales of his ruthlessness as no one dared to speak of him openly ; Lord Xzander, the Dread Sovereign of Gandon, a figure of terror and absolute power. Standing at seven feet tall, his presence commands both fear and reverence. His eyes glow a haunting crimson, and his face, though once handsome, is now marred by deep scars and a permanent scowl, a testament to countless battles and dark rituals.

Xzander's armor is rumored to be forged from obsidian and enchanted with dark magic, making him invulnerable. It is adorned with runes that pulse with a malevolent energy, absorbing the life force of those who dare to oppose him. His weapon, a colossal black blade named "Hellscythe" is said to consume the souls of its victims, granting Xzander their strength and knowledge.

Midas folded his arms across his chest, shrugging in doubt. He wondered what he really would look like. No one saw his face except his men from the elite 1st division, so he heard.

At the entrance to the Neon's building, Midas increased his pace in thoughts of meeting an early rest for the day's disdain.

He and Rivera lived in the East wing of the Neon's building. The matriarch resided in the North wing, while the Neon sons occupied the South and West Wings respectively.

Mira was left to abide in the shadow room, a not-so-exquisite area, but she never complained. Who was she to?

Frankly, they were even too kind, letting her stay since Father passed.

As he reached the pavement leading to his quarters, he spotted his wife and her brothers actively murmuring among themselves at the entrance, blocking it.

A cold, soapy feeling filled his stomach. He inhaled deeply, not casually but out of exhaustion, not ready for more drama.

He walked towards them with a steady gait. No one spoke.

Then, out of nowhere, Rivera slapped him. Real hard, with a resounding effect. You could hear the sound like a hot bang.

"You have done some pretty stupid things tonight."

"Bold of you! Yucking my yum all day." she growled.

Midas respiration rate raced ahead of normalcy. With bloodshot eyes, he raised his hands, fists balled, and landed a punch on his other palms instead. He knew he wouldn't hit a woman.

"Aaargh," He panted, breathing roughly.

"What were you thinking?" Both brothers reacted, thundering simultaneously. Pulling their swords, they pointed them at his neck. The air was close and heavy.

"Let me give you some pretty simple instructions, you saucy sod," Arthur started acidly.

"Stay mute."

"Be dead."

"Remain unseen."

"You are irrelevant, so are your ideas. Just keep them to yourself and stop going around sharing them out loud."said Zephyr, wagging his sword at Midas provocatively.

"We could have that town you so highly speak of flushed out and enslaved," they both threatened.

Triggered, Midas drew his sword. He wouldn't take any disrespect towards the people who saved him.

His turn to flush.

Moving two feet backwards with a poised stance, he clinked their swords down, chipping in some more moves as they stirred into a brief fight. He had them defeated, their sword fallen to the ground.

Arthur's stare was uncomprehending. He had always despised Midas prudence in swordsmanship.

"The next time you raise your sword at us will be your last alive."

"You should be smart enough not to poke the bear," Zephyr snorted, trying to save his shame.

Rivera chewed her lips in embarrassment. Ignoring their talks, Midas eyes were fixed on her florid face.

Moving some more, he attempted to enter his chambers. Rivera blocked him sharply.

''I won't have a dog sleeping with me."

"You're the wiliest dog I've ever met."

"Go to the woods where you belong." She turned away briefly from his stare.

The way she sounded was grossly improper.

He assessed her a little too long, like he could tear her down with his stare. She got alarmingly uncomfortable.

"You heard the lady, dog,'' Arthur saved, laughing loudly into his sleeve. Midas didn't talk.

He flicked moisture from behind his ears, turning away in sour arrogance.

"Won't you take all your junk with you," Zephyr called after him.

Without turning back, he headed off.

Light shone from outside the tacky tent he had just built, one of the many skills he had learned from his people.

He sat upright, peeping through to see what was coming. Upon seeing the figure approaching, he felt relaxed for several distinctly miscellaneous reasons.

Feigning sleep, he laid back down in pretense.

Soon, the drape opened and a splendid scent of candlelight wafted inwards.

Cool fingers rested on the back of his neck, tapping him tenderly.

Loosening his muscles, he sat upright, staring at her, irredeemably lost in her beauty.

A pretty looking lady, thin-faced with crystal bright eyes and a pointy cleft chin.

"Looks like you need a place to crash," Mira spoke softly, breaking off the stare.

"What do you think?" he replied, scratching his head.

"That you'll get eaten by roaches." she continued jokingly.

Midas shot to his feet as part of his comic turn, returning the energy.

"I really may get eaten, save me."

"Very well then." A sweet smile tangoed across her lips.

Making her way out, she led him to her quarters.

Standing gracefully in her chambers, he watched her with interest as she kept busy making the bed. Lavender sheets, clean, unruffled.

Wavy blonde hair hung closely to her shoulders, detailing the shape of her round face.

Moving his eyes around, he enjoyed the homely ambiance hovering around the little place. She had led a pretty bare life, he figured.

"I wouldn't mind sharing" she said some seconds after, as she placed the second pillow properly.

Color deepened on her face as she figured it was inappropriate; he was married to her sister. Gnawing her lips, she looked down, knowing she was far from having him, after helplessly falling in love with him since the banquet.

Looking at her slowly with dreamy hazel eyes, he could sense her cringe.

"I'll take the couch if that's okay."

It was a thoughtful thing to say. He knew he'd already liked her. She was tempting and seemingly open-hearted. He had to gamble right.

"Oh..."

"Okay" she stuttered, feeling uneasy, realizing she'd wanted a different answer even if it was wrong.

"Let me get that cleared for you," she hurried off on elegant, bronze legs.

He sincerely hated that he'd made her uncomfortable. He thought about her as he laid down.

He liked that she didn't try talking about the banquet. He didn't want to hear it, at least not from her.

"Goodnight, Mira."

"Goodnight."

___________________________________

Mira woke up to a piece of paper by the bedside table. Reflexively moving her eyes to the couch, she frowned. He had left quite early. Unfolding the paper, it read:

Thank you.

X

She had thoughtlessly wanted more words from him. Squeezing herself under the duvet, she fretfully covered herself top to bottom.

Some time before dawn, Midas arrived at his quarters. Slowly opening the door, he swiped into the room. Rivera was still asleep, beautifully occupying the entire bed.

He quickly washed up and packed a few things, sighing between each activity as he hated he'd reached the point of acting like a thief in his own matrimonial home.

Nevertheless, his thoughts remained fixed on his singular objective: finding his roots.

Rivera drowsily woke up at the sound of the ruffling bag. She screamed a string of obscenities at him.

"Why are you here again?"

"Do you want to die?"

"Calm down Riv, I'm really sorry for everything, okay? I didn't even mean to cause any harm."

"Well, you know me, I really don't care about your sorry-ass."

"Listen here."

"You're a commoner only made relevant because you are my househusband."

"I made you, Midas!"

"Stop horsing around displaying whatever deep fake nonsense...."

"I get the message." He cut in abruptly, triggered by her excessiveness.

"Who do you think you are cutting me off while I'm talking?" She got out of her bed, walking towards him in gradual aggression.

Sighing heavily, he was consciously aware of where this was going.

"I really don't have time for this Riv.

"I said I'm sorry, okay?' he said attempting to leave. She hurried up to him, slapping him hard on the right cheek.

"You! Stay right there when I talk," pointing a finger at him, she breathed rapidly.

Flaming up in murderous rage, he looked at her closely for a few seconds, burning those eyes into his memory forever.

"Are you satisfied now?" he then continued to the door.

"Come back here at once." she commanded, taken aback by his solemnity.

No response.

"Well then, you could kiss goodbye to this so-called marriage." she threatened, hoping to stir a submission.

He simply flicked feloniously and with that was on his way. No further pleasantries required.

As far as Midas was concerned, the faster he was out of there, the better. There was no time to entertain her sauciness.

Rivera grunted in frustration, preparing in her mind to do more when he came back begging.

"Of course he'll come back groveling at my feet."

"He always does."

She affirmed in her thoughts.

At Qin station, the route leading to the exit of the 5th division, Midas met up with Lord Montgomery. They briefly exchanged pleasantries. The stable boy brought their horses along.

"You ready?" sitting on the horseback, the old man asked.

"I hope I am." Mounting his harness, he rode off.

"Hyah."

Everything changed in Gandon after the devastating Eld-RE war, marking the period when the most tragic event struck the Overlord himself.

Lord Xzander suffered an unimaginable loss, as his wife and son fell to the ruthless blades of his rivals. Lord Xzander had lost his wife and son to the hungry blades of his rivals.

He discovered the lifeless body of his beloved wife, leading him to believe his son was also dead, despite never finding his son's corpse.

Since then, Gandon descended into an era of gloom and despair. The once vibrant celebrations, festive events, ranking rituals and what-not ceased under the Overlord's eternal grievance order.

His rule became marked by an iron fist, his cruelty boundless and his merciless nature intensifying with each passing day, rooted in the anguish of his profound loss.

Driven by a thirst for vengeance, he annihilated many entire kingdoms, leaving only desolate wastelands in his wake; one of such was the small town Midas was from.

His subjects lived in constant fear, for any hint of rebellion was met with swift and brutal punishment. No one dared question his rule, and his grip on power remained fixed and unchallenged.

Nothing appeased him-neither the beautiful women he could have at will, nor the enormous wealth and power he had acquired. The loss of his wife and son kept him from truly living, plunging him into darkness over the years.

Now, he is driven by an insatiable hunger for conquest on anything that stood in his way, a relentless force that threatens to engulf the world in eternal night.

His castle, the Dragon's Lair looms over the 1st division, its towers shrouded in perpetual darkness.

"It truly is a long journey, old man," Midas said, spitting out a strand of hair that had blown into his mouth.

A charitable breeze whipped his long black hair across his face as he rode. He had never traveled this far, his life revolving around his town and the 5th division.

"It ain't. It's in your head." The old man scorned, laughing freely as he rode skillfully ahead of him.

"What a show-off," Midas called after him, growing more comfortable around Lord Gray.

As they approached their destination, the landscape transformed into a foreboding terrain. The skies darkened, and the air thickened with an eerie energy.

Midas couldn't help but feel a surge of panic inside, fearing that if things went sideways, it could be the end for him. Shaking off the feeling, he steeled himself.

He had come too far to back out now. If this was to be his last stand, so be it. The ground beneath his feet became dry and cracked, as if the earth was parched and waiting for his blood to revive it.

"We're close, kid," Lord Gray said, snapping Midas out of his thoughts.

Midas didn't say anything, instead smiling sadly and regaining his composure.

The entrance to the 1st division was marked by a massive stone gate, adorned with twisted ironwork resembling serpents entwined around the pillars. The gates was flanked by two imposing stone statues of fearsome warriors, their eyes glowing with an otherworldly red light in the dark.

As they neared, sweat rolled down Midas's chin. He coughed, loosening his muscles and preparing for whatever awaited him.

Hearing the neighing of horses, the gatekeeper-a towering, masked figure clad in black armor-scanned the horizon to see who the travelers were. Two riders approached, their silhouettes growing clearer with each step.

Kryp's breath caught in his throat as the warhorse snorted and came to a halt before the gate.

He recognized the unmistakable crest the rider displayed with a wave. It was Lord Gray Montgomery, the Shadow Reaper.

Lord Gray's piercing gaze met Kryp's and the gatekeeper felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Open the gates," Kryp ordered his fellowmen inside, giving a three bang signal. As the gate swung open, he stepped aside, bowing deeply.

Lord Gray signaled Midas's bewildered face to proceed, spurring his horse forward.

Midas remained puzzled and intrigued. He had expected a thorough search and scrutiny. As they rode in, he voiced his burning question.

"Who are you really, old man?"

Lord Gray chuckled at Midas's rising curiosity.

"The Shadow Reaper," he said casually, without the gruesome aura he had previously had.

"Everyone knows me by that."

Midas coughed loudly in shock, his voice choking in wonder.

Of course, he knew him. Who didn't?

The feared and respected brother of the Overlord, whose exploits were the stuff of legends. A master tactician and a shrewd diplomat.

He manipulates rival factions against each other, owning a vast network of spies and informants, making any dissent nearly impossible to conceal. Rumors claimed he had gained immortality and unparalleled strength through a dark pact with an ancient, malevolent deity.

"Careful there." Lord Gray warned.

"I need to bring you alive to your father."

The eerie energy that had since been weighing heavily on Midas gave way to solemnity.

Collecting himself, Midas spoke as if genuinely requesting to make up for his ignorance.

"My apologies, Lord Gray."

"Don't you have a pocket knife to point at me again?" the old man mocked, smiling at his sudden composure.

Hooking a finger on his forehead as he realized his earlier obscenity, Midas broke into a genuine laugh, riding off ahead of Lord Gray in a race.

"One more thing," Lord Gray said, riding past him.

"Yeah?"

"Stick with 'old man', kid."

"You have it, old man." Midas replied, both smiling in synchronization as they raced forward.

"Hyah!"

----------------------------------------------

Midas stared in awe at the Ooka Pinoit, a long stairway made of hand-fashioned coral stones, paved with precise slate squares. He walked towards the first step, climbing with an unsteady gait as an eerie feeling enveloped him once again.

"You're really not coming with me?" Midas asked, blinking.

"Go on. I'll meet you inside." Lord Gray replied.

"How so?"

"A private passage."

Then why can't I join you?" Midas lifted his brows.

"You'll soon find out."

"I won't dignify that with a show of curiosity. Guarantee my safety," he demanded, somewhat intimidated.

Turning away from his whines, Lord Gray said,

"You're one interesting kid. Meet me at the top."

Gazing up at the Dragon's Lair above, Midas mentally pictured himself for a 100-step climb.

The Ooka Pinoit was a lengthy and frightening ascent, with skulls and shattered bones placed on curving iron rods tangled like octopus tentacles.

His footsteps caused black vultures to storm the edges. Walking fast, clipping past cactus edges and rock walls, he struggled with each step, almost stumbling.

As he neared the top, the terrifying scenery gave way to a ten-foot iron gate. He looked back down for a moment, enjoying the illusion of omnipotence radiating from the climb.

Hooking a palm to the massive iron gate, he pushed it open, and it groaned without tension.

Walking in carefully, he met the dangerous glare of two Cane Corso wardogs. In shock, he retraced his steps backward, his brows lifting as he realized the gates were shut and wouldn't open from the inside.

He stood still, anticipating their approach as they ran wildly towards him.

Hungry-looking, scary dogs, with saliva drooling from their stuck-out tongue. Midas knew that if this was his end, he wouldn't go down without a fight. Bravely pulling out his sword, he held it forward in a tight grip.

"They're immortal. Nothing cuts through them." came a familiar voice that weakened him. "Relax, they know their masters," Lord Gray said, emerging from one of the hallways.

Calmly lowering his sword, Midas closed his eyes, awaiting his reality.

He staggered in shock to the full force of the wardogs' greetings as they jumped on him.

The impact sent him sprawling, his back brushing the cobblestones, echoing through the fortress. Whines of pure elation vibrated from the wardogs' throat as they showered Midas's face with wet kisses, their giant tongue leaving a trail of slobber across his cheek.

Midas chuckled, scratching behind their ears in obligation.

"My instincts don't lie."

"I'm sorry it took this long to find you."

"Welcome home, kid." Lord Gray said, bowing slightly with a genuine smile.

"What if I wasn't?" Midas asked objectively, shading the danger he'd just escaped.

"You'd be lunch then," the old man responded easily, letting out a guffaw.

Midas's shoulders rose and fell in resignation.

From this moment forward, he knew it was a whole new ball game.That nothing would ever be the same again.

The realization of being Xzander's firstborn dawned completely on him, spiking up his confidence and progressing to the release of pent-up emotions. Glaring deadly into the atmosphere, his bloodshot eyes flamed with awakened rage. He resolved into an ominous smile.

Two bulky men in their thirties approached them in synchrony, careful with their steps as if paid to meet unison.

Kneeling simultaneously, and removing their helmet, they bowed deeply.

The older one wore a Samurai Yoroi made of lacquered iron plates tied together with silk cords, a vicious face and a patched eyes. Strapped to his back was a formidable great sword, its hilt wrapped in worn leather.

The younger one was darker, wearing a dragon scale vest crafted from the scales of a fallen dragon, shimmering in various hues. His eyes held sharp intensity, vigilant and ready for the next threat.

"At your service, my Lord" they thundered to Midas.

Placing his sword on their shoulders in response, Midas acknowledged them.

The warriors stood up at an imposing height, their frame both muscular and agile, honed through years of rigorous training and countless battles.

The patched-eyed man spoke first. "I'm Ragnar Thorin, my Lord."

Darker face muttered, "Kaelan Aldrich"

Midas nodded, turning to Lord Gray with a questioning eye.

The old man explained,

"These are your henchmen."

"They'll go with you wherever. Their lives are now yours."

"They have been trained since birth to serve you, waiting on your return."

"Together they call themselves 'the Wolfsbane'."

"Their loyalty is to you and you alone."

"I'll leave you for now." Lord Gray said.

"Why so?" Midas frowned.

"I have a mission to see through," with that Lord Gray departed.

Midas assessed his henchmen briefly, concluding that he'd liked their aura. They were just the right pick for his newfound life.

To Kaelan, he commanded, "Prepare a chamber for me." Kaelan nodded and headed off.

Turning to Ragnar, Midas paused before speaking, "Take me to my father."

"Follow me, my Lord."

Midas nodded, walking forward behind him.

His eyes widened as he took in the fortress's grandeur.

The corridor was dimly lit by torches mounted on the stone walls, their flames casting flickering shadows that danced in his path.

Towering stone pillars lined the hallway, each intricately carved with scenes of past conquests and legendary battles.

They passed by grand archways that led into vast halls filled with armor and weaponry. Every soldier they passed stood at rigid attention, their faces set in expressions of disciplined resolve.

As they ascended a wide, spiraling staircase, Midas's gaze was drawn to a massive stained-glass window depicting the Overlord in all fearsome glory, wearing his full armor and wielding a sword that seemed to cleave through armies.

At the top of the staircase, they reached a set of double doors, intricately carved with images of dragons and mythical beasts.

Ragnar stopped.

"I'll be out here if you need me, my Lord."

Midas nodded, reaching out to the door, he pushed them open, swiping into the room. The room was vast, with high ceilings supported by gothic arches. On the opposite side of all that intimidating outlook, it was beautiful-captivatingly so.

As he waded deeper into the room, he found what he was looking for: his father, standing out on the terrace.

The Overlord stood tall and imposing, his presence commanding the room with an aura of absolute authority.

As he turned to Midas, his cold gray eyes lit up. The wolf-like glare was softened into sincere ethereal emotions, causing his heart to leap.

He could identify those eyes anywhere-they belonged to his son. Looking down at the amulet Midas wore, his heart pounded with a mix of desperation and joy.

They walked up briskly toward each other, and Lord Xzander enveloped Midas in a tight embrace, holding him as if he would never let go.

Tears streamed down Midas's face unconsciously as past memories of survival reminisced.

"I thought I'd lost you," Lord Xzander whispered, his voice choking with emotions.

"I thought I'd never see you again."

"Gray was right all along. He always said he felt your spirit."

"I'm sorry it took this long to find you."

With trembling hands, Midas looked into his father's wet eyes. The Overlord, his father? It felt scripted, dawning on him anew every single time.

This man in front of him was beautiful, his features laser-cut.

His hair, white as snow, flowed down to his shoulders, framing an ethereal face carved with a scar running down the length of his left cheek-a testament to battles fought and enemies vanquished.

The rumors did no justice to his beauty. One couldn't blame the tales, as the face of the Overlord and the entire person's of the 1st division were never seen in the outside world, always appearing only in full armor publicly.

Hence the easy disguise for Lord Gray on missions.

Opening his mouth to speak, the words died in his throat. Midas just hugged his father again, tighter this time, as if trying to make up for all the lost time.

They stayed like that for a long moment, father and son reunited, the world around them forgotten. In that moment, nothing else mattered. The rhythm of their heartbeats matched as one.

As they finally pulled away, Lord Xzander looked deeply into Midas's eyes. "We have much to discuss, but first, you must rest and prepare. You've been through a great deal, and now I'll give you the world as a footstool for the stress."

"I'll make your enemies pay for whatever they have done. Whoever messed with my son, messed with me."

Midas nodded, feeling the weight of the past dying a natural death. "I understand, Father. But I am ready to haunt my foes, my way. They'll grovel at my feet, begging to die, but there will be no sweet release of death, even as they get eviscerated and their hearts stop."

Xzander smiled, a rare and genuine expression. "Good. You are my son, after all."

Letting out his signature sound-the howl of a wolf-for the first time in a long time, he passed a message to the entire division that his son was alive.

As they turned to leave the terrace, Midas felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination.

His journey had only just begun, and with the world in his hands, he was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.