Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 199: Greed

The meeting with my retainers has just concluded, and though I’ve managed to calm their nerves, the weight of finding a solution still presses heavily on my shoulders.

I barely take a step when a figure materializes before me, silent as a shadow. I halt instinctively, though my expression remains composed, even if my heart briefly races from the surprise.

It’s her—Leona, one of Thorne’s infamous subordinates. She’s unnervingly quiet, as though she doesn’t breathe or exist in the same realm as the rest of us. The way she moves, it’s no wonder she’s an assassin. Even my own personal assas- I mean knights—trained rigorously for stealth—could learn a thing or two from her. I make a mental note to suggest as much to Thorne later.

"He requests your presence," she says curtly, her voice clipped and efficient. There’s no further explanation, no unnecessary pleasantries.

Before I can respond, she turns on her heel and begins walking away. Her silent, purposeful strides leave no room for questions, and I follow, curiosity piqued. Whatever this summons is about, it must be important if it warrants Leona’s personal delivery.

She leads me out of the main castle building, down the winding path toward the secluded cabin near the edge of the estate grounds. The crisp air bites slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the chill of anticipation settling in my chest.

As we approach, I spot two familiar figures stationed outside. Roman—one of Thorne’s more outspoken subordinates—is leaning casually against the cabin wall, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a lazy vigilance. Beside him stands Raul, the massive, bald enforcer whose mere presence commands attention.

Both men straighten when they see me approach, their demeanors shifting into one of quiet respect. Roman offers a slight nod, while Raul simply steps aside, allowing Leona and me to pass.

I step into the room, my eyes immediately landing on Thorne, who is casually leaning against the wall, exuding his usual air of indifference. But it isn’t him that freezes me in place. No, my attention is captured entirely by the man seated on the small, worn bed, fidgeting like a cornered animal.

"Tarian?!" I blurt, my voice louder than I intended, the shock clear.

The man lifts his head, his green eyes meeting mine, sharp and unsettlingly familiar.

"Remiro," he says with a curt nod, his voice a low rasp.

For a moment, I can only stare, my mind grappling with the impossible. This man—this once-bright sun of Vitra’s royal family—is supposed to be dead. He was executed, or so the stories went.

"Aren’t you dead?" I ask bluntly, my disbelief overriding any tact.

Tarian’s lips curl into a bitter smile. "Ha. I should be," he replies, his voice dry as parchment. His appearance is a far cry from the vibrant crown prince I once knew. Time hasn’t been kind; his figure is gaunt, his posture wary, as if ready to bolt at any moment.

I glance at Thorne, who looks utterly unbothered by my shock. "It took Leona months to catch even the faintest whiff of him," Thorne says, his tone casual, his eyes fixed on Tarian. "Honestly, you’d still be a ghost if anyone else had been searching."

Tarian lets out a hollow laugh, the sound devoid of joy. "And what did that search accomplish? To drag me here? He wants me dead, Remiro. The same as he did all those years ago."

His bitterness is palpable, his voice trembling with the weight of two decades spent in hiding. "For twenty years, I’ve lived like a shadow, always looking over my shoulder, always waiting for the knife in the dark." His green eyes flash with a mix of anger and exhaustion as he gestures vaguely around the small room. "So tell me—why have you brought me out of my grave? What possible use could I be to you?"

I glance at Thorne, who remains stoic, arms crossed, and I realize there’s a plan unfolding here—one I’m only beginning to see.

I scoff softly, a low laugh escaping me as I piece together the puzzle. From what I’ve heard, Thorne is a man of wrath and precision. I had been suspicious when he seemed to do nothing against the king, chalking it up to his recent reunion with his family. But now, as I stand here, it’s clear: he was merely biding his time, weaving an intricate web.

The thought thrills me.

I’ve never liked the king anyway, and watching his empire unravel like this? It’s exhilarating. Aspen is already firmly under my thumb, and now it seems Vitra is poised to follow. All of it falling into place, thanks to the unexpected advantage of Celia’s estranged son.

I glance at Tarian, who still sits stiffly on the small bed, suspicion and uncertainty etched into every line of his face.

"Tarian," I say, his name rolling off my tongue with deliberate weight.

His green eyes snap to mine, wary, guarded. Good. I need him sharp. But I can’t help the flicker of greed I feel beneath my calm exterior—though I hope it isn’t visible in my gaze.

He shifts uncomfortably, his green eyes darting around the room, as if looking for an escape. "Look, I don’t know why I’m here, but I want no part of whatever this is," he says quickly, his voice laced with suspicion and exhaustion.

Thorne, still leaning against the doorframe, crosses his arms and glares. "Listen here—" he starts, his tone sharp and cold, and I know it won’t end well.

"Thorne," I cut him off firmly, raising a hand to silence him. "Let me handle it."

Thorne glances at me, annoyance flashing briefly in his eyes, but he pushes off the wall with a sigh and strides out of the room without another word. The heavy door clicks shut behind him, leaving Tarian and me alone in the tense silence.

I turn back to Tarian, softening my tone. "Don’t mind him," I say calmly, my hands clasped in front of me. I know I need to tread carefully, like calming a frightened animal. "You’ve had a long journey, I’m sure. You must be tired, no? Let me arrange for a bath, some food, and then we can have a proper conversation." fгeewebnovёl.com

Tarian’s jaw tightens, his shoulders stiffening. "I want to leave," he says flatly, his voice edged with defiance.

I exhale slowly, keeping my tone steady but firm. "Please, Tarian. You’ve been through a lot, and your nerves are clearly shot. Let’s take a moment to breathe, to center ourselves. Then, we’ll talk."

He studies me warily, his eyes scanning my face for any sign of deception. For a moment, I think he’ll refuse, but then he lets out a reluctant sigh.

"Fine," he mutters, his voice low, but I hear the resignation in it. I nod, a faint smile playing on my lips. "Good."