I heard the large golden door being shut behind me.

The large hall filled with men on both sides with a large throne in the middle surrounded by cushions and couple of columns embroidered with gold and gems, reflecting morning’s rays, illuminating the whole area with its purifying whiteness, contrasted with the dark floor giving this place even more of a surreal atmosphere. The moans were a bit of a drag, echoing through from all sides drowning together with other sounds turning mixing into a wave of noise. Not to mention, the air was full of stink and sweat mixed with heat, making it hard for me to breathe. You see it is not my kind of kink so i tried to avoid looking as much as possible. I mean, I knew like this could happen. She did tell me that Seirirg's men are like animals in heat. One thing knowing, other experiencing.

“Darren McCain, quen of the Ko-Dushi Syndicate, an envoy of the city Marjidushi, in the presence of his holiness, Patriarch Ter von Seirirg ruler of the Laeres Dominion.” – said a slender man beside me with an incredibly high-pitched voice. He was probably a (an) eunuch. She told me that governments with harems and such, preferred their male servants to be… focused. Nonetheless, he seemed pretty good for a man who spent half his life in the court. He had only a small rotting blister under his left eye, the skin on his bold head was only just rotting near his forehead, closer to his left temple, his ears were in the same state too and lips, of course, tattered with blisters and gushing with pus.

I bowed the way she taught me. Left hand on my chest, covering my heart, right arm lifted straight forward then in semi-circle to the side, with the palm facing up, body slightly tilted forward, right foot half a step behind the left one and head facing the floor. Ignoring pride and all, I never really complained to be honest; the floors at places like these always were a joy to look at compared to the people that walked on it. This one for example was a black marble, polished to such an extent it seemed like a mirror. A pretty design feature if i may say so. Too bad i hated it, considering i could see everyone and myself without a mask in particular, making a tad too much to bear with.

“I greet his holiness.” – I said loudly, giving the man in the throne and the concubines around a look. Truthfully, I say 'concubines' but these 9 women are in reality his wives. Regardless to my distaste, which ironically was of no matter seeing as how i look down and gag would not be much different from looking up and gagging, well maybe a little bit more severe. Still as a matter of fact it is one of their customs, to always look when you greet the Patriarch.

The gag reflexes rushed in as i was afraid with stronger intensity. Looking at the patriarch and his wives wasn't a particularly horrible experience, the devil lied in the background, in parts where my vision was not focused. Rotting flesh hitting each other, pus flying in the air, corresponding with each moan the woman-like creature was making on top of the bustling flesh i could assume was the man, filled with bleeding cysts. Watching an orgy is a pretty fucking disgusting experience. It's pretty up there on my list of things i would never want to see. Watching an orgy of half-rotten corpses and ghouls is a completely another experience. Not only is it more fun, you also want to blind yourself afterwards. The Patriarch himself didn't seem particularly impressed either, face cold and solid as stone, devoid of any emotion, which coupled with his missing eyes, lips rotten to the gums, a fist-sized ulcer on his neck and his hand, flayed to the bone and covered with pus, lifted up towards his face with fingers missing nails touching his temple, made him look particularly nightmarish. At least his battle wives were covered in dress and cloth from face to toe, only revealing a set of eyes, which ironically were missing in some. I wanted to look down… No, I wanted to run away from here and vomit somewhere in the corner, erasing all memory of this, but I couldn’t. Customs said, one must look before the Patriarch would answer, which was perfectly fine in my opinion. The other kind of custom was pretty bullshit. The king must always share the pleasures and pains of his men. But only 'his' men, not the whole army which is a conglomerate of private forces of each individual noble, and each division designated to different commander or general. I'd assume a 40 thousand men orgy isn't a nice thing, but still to me this 200 man one is by no means great. Well, I had to keep looking, trying to imagine that this mess of decayed meat in front of me were just a bunch mouldy vegetables, quietly humping each other. Get rid of ‘quietly’, they were loud.

Patriarch lifted his hand from his temples up in the air. The hall instantly became silent.

“…Strange name for S’tlkar. An outlander are you, quen of Ko-Dushi?” – he answered coldly with a strong accent on my ears, something middle eastern, yet a gentle soft voice, something a boy would have or a eunuch.

I averted my eyes down as I was supposed to, only then I spoke.

“Yes, your holiness. I come from Roan. I’m here, on behalf of the Syndicate, to renew the trading partnership between our respected governments. ” – she told me that there were many men with pale skin on this so-called Roan. To me it sounded like Europe from her stories, really, and a medieval one to that. But that was irrelevant. I spoke loudly but not too loud, it was against the customs, yet despite that my words still echoed through the hall, his men giving me a special look. I didn't particularly want to anger an elite group of men capable to stand their ground against 40 thousand men.

Hilariously enough, here, in Jokhnaven people view Seirirg almost as God This man here isn't just a 'Patriarch', but, and I quote, The Father of War, the real Holy Warrior. A man capable to overtake the Dominion with just over 200 men. Betrayed and left to die by his own kin, just to return strong with his own harem of monsters and emerge victorious. A hero! And a legend ! But ignoring the sarcastic remarks, his body and his scars tell their own story, well if you can see them behind the cysts and greying flesh.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

I swallowed hard again. The stink in the air, arousing sounds and the imagery in my head were not going well with each other. And his silence… was a little bit sickening. By this point my screws started to get slightly loose and I was getting a little bit tired of this whole painful situation.

My fingers started to move a little, play invisible strings, in the painfully long moment of my impatience. I even thought of forcing it through for a moment.

“I thought Ko-Dushi liked their… er…negotiations to be peaceful,…” – I couldn’t not have looked at him in that, as if there was a shine in his hollow sockets, filled before with the darkness that remained in place of his eyes. I didn't like it. I was really losing it with my imagination starting to play tricks on me. Curious thing, this dark was how I'd imagine his real eyes to be, judging from his voice and his whole atmosphere, his demeanour.

He smiled greeting my look only lips moving, the rest of the face remained cold, his eyes, invisible to me felt to me the same like before, cold.

I wasn’t sure whether I was outplayed at the game I myself set up or whether it was a completely different game that he wished to start with me. But so far the negotiations were peaceful and it was supposed to be such, to a certain point at least, if that point ever reached.

I opened my mouth wanting to speak, but then caught myself. I looked down, inhaled and only then spoke.

“Your Holiness, how could you think that this is…”

“ A farce? I do believe it is a farce, quen. It is only a convenience to me if you refuse to drop the act. Did the Syndicate really think that I would not notice their activities on my border? The spies? The smugglers? The assassins?” – His smile disappeared like it was never there.

Snappy there a bit, eh? I thought for a second, sides of my mouth almost curving up.

The men around us started shuffling, moving, some screaming, some spitting, other cursing but all definitely in my general direction.

“Silence…”- he whispered, and like enchanted they became silent.

“In your land, you live by decisions. Here we speak of options. We are given options, carefully sculpted and presented to us by the destiny, other’s deeds and possibilities and ultimately the tree itself.” – he pronounced, keeping an eye-contact with me.

“Your holiness, as I said, I come here on behalf of the Synd… No, apologies, I come here in place of The Moon Twin of the Marjidushi. Before I ask of you anything let me clarify certain things.”- I took a deep breath. You’ll do that often when 200 hundred commandos stare down your neck. – “While sadly I can see other… branches of our merry conglomerate taking a dire interest in your borders… or lives of you officials… not to mention their great interest in purging the reputation of The Night Ether. You have heard of The Moon and Stars Dancing on the Bleeding Sun. I’m sure Voradushi wish The Eternal River be colored in crimson again…”

This time I didn’t bother looking down keeping the eye contact. Disrespect or not, truths must be told with a straight face, just like lies.

A small grin appeared on his face for a moment, seemingly genuine, not demonstrational.

“How do I know whether you are a liar or a cheat, whether crook or whether the thief? Reassure me, quen.”- he said, rhyming a small pub rhyme.

At that point I couldn’t keep a straight face anymore.

“Easy, I submit my will.”- I said with a grin, mirroring his.

But then I felt the tingle, the heat in my hand, the burning fire, the purging furnaces hidden within my palms. It called, it screamed ‘sinner’, it ate away at me while growling ‘destroy’, hissing ‘purge’, mixing in my mind with the noise of the crowd, their screams of ‘enemy’ and ‘attack’. My skin started to bubble and the hand as if guided by some spirit moved by its will up in the air and straight to the right…

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“Errr… What are you talking about, mate?”-yelled the ghoul sitting next to him. It was a lot louder in tavern now then it was before.

“Ugh. Not again…*sigh*. Never mind man.”- said Darren, finishing his tankard, standing up from his seat, moving for the exit. – “Good day to you, Resal.”

“Aye, you too… err…”- replied the ghoul back, the piece of rotting skin beside his cheek dribbling in confusion.

It was always like that. Whenever Darren spoke to the outlanders or pretty much anyone who was not Syndicate’s noble, a magic would kick in. A minute of conversation would pass and the person would not remember the start. The conversation will finish and within 5 minutes the person would forget even his face. There were exceptions though – mages, rogues with pages of runes inscribed in their minds and people with exceptionally strong willpower. Resal was none of that.

If he was though, he would get in trouble with the Twins, especially The Night one, Margo. And he was always looking for a reason to get in trouble.

The moment he stepped out, he regretted. The tavern at least had some weather enchantments to cool himself down, the outside… oh, the outside! It was insufferable.

He opened up the collar of his cape a little and set out to find his companions. It was going to be a long trip ‘home’ and he was sick of wearing black… especially in this ‘fucking bullshit heat’.

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Alas, we have another mc! Oh no, but he's a douche! Oh well... ;_;

Anyway next chapter is going to come out in 5 or so days so cheers.