The morning sun had barely begun to rise over Salzahar when the obsidian chariot arrived at the palace gates. Glimmering with runes of protection and pulled by two spectral lions whose eyes burned blue like trapped stars, it was a vehicle fit for royalty—and possibly war.
Renji sat at the edge of the chariot, fingers tapping against the hilt of his blade, gaze locked on the horizon. Mira lay lazily across from him, chewing a roasted fruit she had stolen earlier. Zach? He was humming some bizarre old tavern song, twirling a golden coin like it held the secrets of the world.
"Why do I feel like this isn't going to be a pleasant ride?" Renji muttered, narrowing his eyes.
Zach grinned, flipping the coin into Renji's lap. "Because your 'vibe' radar is finally kicking in. Salzahar's not built for the faint of soul, my prince. It's a paradise of masks, and every smile hides a fang."
Their chariot rattled through cobbled streets polished smooth from centuries of imperial processions. The buildings here were too perfect, the beauty too symmetrical—like a city that prided itself on aesthetic purity and discarded anything that didn't meet the standard.
Suddenly, the chariot halted. The guards muttered, unsure, and the driver looked back, pale.
"What is it?" Renji asked.
No answer.
Then the sound hit him—bone snapping, skin tearing, a scream so raw it clawed at the soul.
In the center of the market square, a massive soldier of Salzahar stood over a frail girl. She was chained to a wooden post, half-conscious, her back lined with lashes and bruises, her lips swollen from crying out too long.
"Entertainment for the nobles," one guard whispered to another. "A test of endurance."
Renji's hands clenched. "This is entertainment?"
Zach didn't answer. He just sighed and leaned back in the chariot. "Whatever you do next, kid… I didn't see a damn thing."
Renji leapt out, aura flaring to life.
He wasn't the same prince who stumbled into this world, confused and cursed. He was becoming. And in this city of gold and cruelty, he would show them what divine justice really looked like.
Renji moved like a shadow with purpose. The hulking soldier, still laughing as he raised a crimson whip, didn't even see the blade until it kissed his wrist—severing the hand in one elegant sweep. The screams stopped, replaced by gasps. The noble audience that had gathered around the spectacle now fell into stunned silence.
Renji stood tall, the girl cradled in one arm, blood painting his sleeves. His aura flared, not crimson, not gold—black and silver, trimmed with the pale hue of exiled wrath. The emblem of the Void flickered on his back like a ghost's curse.
The soldier clutched his stump and snarled, but before he could attack again, Renji whispered:
"Divine Justice: Veil of the Silent Sword."
He vanished.
For a heartbeat, the market was deathly quiet.
Then the soldier's armor cracked open as cuts bloomed across his body like angry petals, divine light slicing through darkness. The crowd gasped, many falling back in fear, others dropping to their knees in awe. It wasn't just strength—it was judgment.
But before Renji could finish it, a sudden pressure filled the air. Like gravity had doubled. No—tripled.
She arrived.
Queen Velahza.
The golden silk of her robe shimmered with infernal regality, her every step causing the cobblestone to echo unnaturally. Her face was the picture of sculpted beauty—eyes that could command empires, lips that never needed to raise their voice.
She raised her hand.
The tortured girl in Renji's arms gasped—and in a blink—her throat was slit cleanly.
Renji's eyes widened.
No blade. No spell. Just a snap.
The girl was dead.
Blood soaked his arms, not from battle—but helplessness.
Velahza finally spoke, voice like poisoned honey:
"You should have stayed in your chariot, little prince."
Renji didn't respond. He couldn't. His fists were shaking. Not from fear… but rage. Cold, ancient rage.
Zach slowly descended from the chariot, his tone casual but his smile absent, "Well… and there goes diplomacy."
Zach placed a hand on Renji's shoulder. It wasn't gentle—it was firm, commanding, the grip of someone who knew the weight of restraint better than most.
"Not here," he said quietly, eyes never leaving Velahza. "Not now."
Renji was still trembling, the girl's blood warm against his skin. His fists clenched and unclenched with every breath. But he nodded. Barely. Like a wolf agreeing not to bite… yet.
Queen Velahza turned with a cold smirk, her golden heels clicking like clockwork death. Her guards followed in perfect rhythm, adorned in silk-draped armor laced with symbols of divine cruelty.
"Since you insist on rescuing rats," she called over her shoulder, "perhaps you'd like to see how royalty keeps its house in Salzahar."
Zach chuckled with a flair of sarcasm, "Ah, hospitality with a splash of murder. Just like old times."
Mira clung closer to Renji, her golden eyes darting around, ears low and tail stiff. She didn't trust this place. The gold was too bright. The smiles too sharp. Even the air smelled like it was lying.
They followed the Queen into the palace gates—where luxury married decadence, and the walls whispered of beautiful things broken just for pleasure. Every corner was draped in gold, blood-red velvet, and paintings of war-masked gods.
Inside her throne room, Queen Velahza turned gracefully, gesturing to her sprawling table of wine, meat, fruit, and women.
"You'll dine with me tonight," she said. "And then we'll talk about this… 'justice' of yours."
Renji met her eyes, silent, unreadable.
But inside, his soul burned.
Zach leaned in with a murmur only Renji could hear.
"Play the game, my prince. We came to steal back your crown, not flip the board just yet."
Renji exhaled, long and slow.
"Then let's eat," he said, "before I lose my appetite for mercy."
The dining hall was a haunting vision of twisted elegance. Crystal chandeliers sparkled above a table so long it seemed to stretch into eternity. Gold-rimmed plates, jeweled goblets, and silverware made from bones polished to a sheen… opulence soaked in sin.
Renji sat beside Zach, Mira tucked by his side, visibly uncomfortable. Across from them, Queen Velahza lounged like a serpent in satin, sipping blood-red wine and watching Renji with that same amused cruelty in her eyes.
Then she snapped her fingers.
From behind her throne, a chained priestess emerged, head bowed, carrying a glowing urn.
"Dinner without entertainment," Velahza said, "is dreadfully boring."
She opened the urn.
A blinding wail echoed through the hall.
It wasn't a scream—it was pain itself. The soul of the girl, the one Renji had cradled in the street, now hovered above the table. Bound in spirit-chains of black flame, her body transparent and trembling.
Her eyes locked with Renji's, "P-Please… make it stop…"
The Queen smiled, and twisted her fingers. The soul convulsed, screaming as spectral lashes tore into her essence. Each crack of pain etched itself across Renji's mind like fire.
His hands shook.
His breath grew ragged, "Zach—"
"Don't," Zach said softly. "Not yet."
"She's just a child…", Renji whispered with a helpless voice.
"You strike now, we all die before dessert. Control it, Renji. Control him."
Velahza laughed. "Oh dear, I thought you'd enjoy a bit of soul opera. This one has such a tragic soprano."
Renji stood up, chair scraping violently behind him
"Restroom," he said stiffly.
He didn't wait for permission. He stormed off.
Zach leaned back, swirling his wine.
"He's got a strong stomach, Your Majesty. But your taste? Bit... rancid."
Velahza only smirked.
"He'll need to get used to it… if he wants to sit on a throne here."