Fallen General's Omega (BL)-Chapter 263: Back from the grave

The room smelled of old wine and desperation.

King Aldred sat slumped in his chair, the once-magnificent velvet robes draped carelessly over his body like a funeral shroud. His fingers curled tightly around the stem of his goblet, the wine inside long since spilled over onto the table, staining the fine wood with a dark red hue.

But he hardly noticed.

His green eyes, dulled by drink, were fixed on the large portrait that loomed over his chamber.

Mirelle.

His beloved sister.

His one perfect thing in this wretched world.

Her painted image stared down at him, her emerald eyes capturing that same softness, that same beauty that had once belonged to him. He had dressed her in silks, adorned her in jewels, sheltered her within the palace walls like a delicate bird in a gilded cage. She had belonged at his side—always.

Yet she had run.

She had abandoned him, just as everyone always did.

His gaze drifted to the smaller painting beside Mirelle’s.

Noelle.

A perfect replica of her, right down to those treacherous green eyes.

Aldred’s fingers twitched.

That boy should have been his.

Raised beneath his hand, shaped into his perfect heir.

But just like his mother, he had turned against him. Refused him.

He is mine.

He belongs to me.

And yet, Noelle had rejected his claim, just as Mirelle had. It was infuriating.

Aldred exhaled shakily, pressing his fingers against his temples. He needed to think. Needed to—

A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence.

"What?!" he snapped, barely able to suppress his irritation.

The heavy wooden door creaked open, and a nervous steward entered, bowing quickly. "Your Majesty, the council is awaiting you. Duke Remiro has called for an emergency meeting."

The king scowled.

Remiro. That snake.

That snake never moved without purpose.

With a sigh, he straightened his robes, forcing himself to stand. His head swam slightly, but he ignored it. He could not afford to appear weak.

With a final glance at Mirelle’s portrait, he left the room.

*

The council chamber was already thick with tension when the king entered. The nobles sat stiffly along the long marble table, their expressions unreadable, though he could see the flickers of doubt in their eyes.

Duke Remiro stood at the far end, his face a mask of neutrality, but there was something in the way he held himself—too still, too expectant—that put the king on edge.

"What is so urgent that I must be dragged here at this hour?" Aldred drawled, taking his seat at the head of the table. His voice carried the weight of command, but there was a slight slur to it, a remnant of the wine still clinging to his senses.

Remiro inclined his head slightly. "Your Majesty, there is... a matter of great importance that requires your immediate attention."

Aldred sneered. "Oh? And what matter is so pressing that you summon your King like a servant?"

Silence.

Then, the heavy doors creaked open.

Aldred barely had time to process what was happening before a figure stepped inside, flanked by two armored guards.

A man.

Tall, imposing, dark-haired, with sharp green eyes that were far too familiar.

Aldred felt the blood drain from his face. His breath caught in his throat.

It was impossible.

He was dead.

Yet the man before him—his posture regal, his face composed, the very image of a king—was unmistakable.

Tarian.

His elder brother.

The rightful heir to the throne.

Gasps filled the room as the nobles murmured among themselves, disbelief rippling through the chamber like wildfire.

Aldred gripped the edge of the table, his nails digging into the wood. His mind raced. He had killed him. He had made sure of it. He had ordered his body disposed of, erased from history.

And yet, here he stood.

"Tarian," Remiro announced, his voice smooth, triumphant.

"The crown prince has returned."

Chaos erupted.

Nobles rose from their seats, voices overlapping in shock and confusion. Some turned to Aldred, others to Tarian, their gazes filled with uncertainty.

Aldred’s pulse thundered in his ears. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓

This was treason.

This was impossible.

This was—

A calculated move.

Remiro had planned this.

His fingers twitched toward the dagger hidden beneath his robes, but his body felt frozen.

Gasps and shouts of disbelief filled the air as the nobles turned to one another in stunned confusion. Some recoiled, others whispered among themselves, their voices hushed but frantic.

The king shot to his feet, the blood in his veins turning ice cold. His vision tunneled on the man before him—the brother he had killed.

"No," he rasped, shaking his head. "No, this is impossible."

Tarian’s gaze met his, steady. "Hello, brother."

Aldred’s heart pounded in his chest. He had made certain of it. He had seen the body, watched as his men disposed of him. Tarian had been dead.

And yet, here he stood.

Alive.

Back from the grave.

"NO!" he roared, slamming his fists onto the table. The room flinched.

"YOU ARE DEAD!"

Tarian tilted his head slightly. "Clearly, I am not."

The nobles whispered among themselves, uncertainty dancing in their eyes.

The king’s breath was ragged. His control—his throne—was slipping from his grasp.

He had to act.

He had to eliminate Tarian before this spread any further.

"GUARDS!" he bellowed. "Seize him! Kill him!"

The guards hesitated for a mere second.

Then they moved.

Blades were drawn.

The room descended into chaos.

But before the royal guards could reach Tarian, Remiro raised a hand—

With a sharp flick of his wrist, dozens of men rose from the shadows, their weapons already drawn.

Aldred’s heart clenched.

Traitors.

Remiro had been planning this all along.

The clash of steel rang through the chamber as blades met. Nobles screamed, scrambling away as battle erupted between the royal guards and Remiro’s forces.

Aldred backed away, his thoughts racing. He could not fight here. Not now.

He had to escape.

His survival came first.

His throne could be taken back later.

Turning on his heel, he bolted through the side door, his robes billowing behind him.

"Your Majesty!" someone shouted after him, but he did not stop.

He ran through the corridors, his breath coming in sharp gasps.

He did not spare a single thought for the family he had left behind.