Dragon Monarch System Chapter 1035:- Malakor Madness

A peak 7th-order cultivator's aura burst forth, overwhelming every soul present. His killing intent weighed so heavily that servants collapsed unconscious in an instant. The suffocating pressure from it proved utterly unbearable for them.

Cultivators below 5th-order could scarcely withstand the killing intent. Should the old man desire, he could force them into unconsciousness merely by amplifying its ferocity. To them, it crushed down like a colossal mountain upon their chests, rendering every breath a desperate struggle.

All heads whipped toward the doorway. Simultaneously, many faces twisted in dread without even glimpsing his features. Several began inching backward, desperate to conceal themselves behind other nobles.

Others fidgeted anxiously, mopping sweat from their brows.

A few simply squeezed their eyes shut, their expressions screaming doom over the words they'd uttered against Aditya.

A small entourage strode in from the entrance, spearheaded by an elder gripping a wooden cane. His glacial stare locked onto one figure alone—Sophia.

Even Sophia's face paled at the sight of him. Flecks of terror sparked within those frosty eyes. If any wildcard prowled this vast Empire, it was this elder.

The moniker Untamed Dragon suited this old man for a purpose. Ages upon ages past, a Night Rider Sect disciple nursed an obsessive love for the elder's daughter, whom he adored beyond measure.

Unable to endure endless rejections from Aditya's mother, the disciple schemed to shatter her honor by whispering falsehoods through elite gatherings. Less than a day elapsed before the elder learned of it and charged straight to the Night Rider Sect.

On that crimson-mooned night, the elder single-handedly decapitated 3 Elders who blocked his rampage, slaying hundreds of the Sect's elite disciples alongside them. He seized the disciple and melted into the shadows with him.

Dawn broke to reveal, at the Night Rider Sect's gateway, a skinless form—miraculously alive—suspended from a cross. Despite his shrieks and desperate cries for merciful death, none ventured near. The founding Sect Leader himself stayed absent, offering no aid to the disciple.

Agony intensified as Harrington deployed his top warriors to guard the disciple. Their orders weren't to thwart Sect rescuers or executions, but to ensure ceaseless wails and pleas. On the brink of expiration, healing potions were rammed down his gullet.

Any lapse into silence brought a brutal toss of salt, itching powder, and chili powder across his ravaged flesh. The atrocity etched so deep that it haunts memories to this very day.

His ordeal stretched far beyond that.

The Elders and Sect Leader Sophia bore the deepest scars. The visions so rattled Sophia that Cultivation eluded her focus for the ensuing 15 months.

Only after three full days and nights of hellish agony did Harrington deliver the final blow himself. Yet the saga laid bare Harrington's profound instability—a demon cloaked in draconic hide.

'Why is he here?' Sophia pondered inwardly.

As her eyes settled on the elder, unchanged by the passage of years, vivid flashbacks assailed her: Harrington himself dumping earthworms onto the disciple's flayed body.

Allies the Sect and Empire remained in those days. Sect entreaties to the Emperor fell on deaf ears; even Boris proved powerless against Harrington. Madness had consumed the elder utterly, stripping his reason—he even vowed war upon the Emperor for any interference.

Harrington stands alone as the only living being who dared threaten Boris to his face and escaped unscathed.

The ruin Harrington inflicted on the Night Rider Sect millennia ago loomed so vast and grievous that recovery remains elusive even now. The Sect's prestige lies eternally shattered.

Hundreds of prodigious Sect disciples lost that fateful day—if alive, they might have risen as the Sect's enduring pillars.

Harrington embodied a wild, unrestrained power beholden to none. Family marked his sole frailty. Dare touch them, and the berserk demon surges forth, reason abandoned, unleashing fury on the culprits.

Elder Victor, who had been shooting icy glares at the Emperor's detractors, recoiled sharply the instant Harrington crossed the threshold.

Malakor Harrington—the dragon-skinned demon—reigned as the solitary sentinel and absolute sovereign of the Harrington Family and Harrington Faction.

The elder harbored no inclination to honor the departed.

Harrington arrived at this place intending to pay homage to the fallen General alongside several Dukes from his own Faction. However, the instant he heard someone brazenly insulting his missing grandson— the one he was frantically hunting for— all reason fled from Harrington.

It was already miraculous that Harrington hadn't given in to his urge to slay the wench who had branded his grandson a dog.

"I dare any of you... try harming my grandson."

"In the name of the King of all Dragons, I swear this: if anyone even thinks of laying a hand on him, if anyone so much as dares to speak a single disrespectful word about the youngest member of the Harrington Family... the entire Harrington Faction will hunt that person down."

"And we will not stop."

"There will be no escape... no hiding... no mercy."

"Not for you... not for your bloodline... not for anyone who stands with you."

"If my grandson comes here today, then listen carefully..."

"We will go to war against anyone who stands in his way."

"Anyone."

"Even if it is the Emperor himself."

"And when that happens... There will be no turning back."

"Because I will make sure... that my grandson walks out of here alive."

"And if we find him before that..."

"We will bring him back to the Main Continent with our own hands."

"He is my grandson."

"He is a part of this family."

"And no one..."

"No one touches a member of this family and lives."

As soon as Malakor uttered those words, it felt like the Heavens themselves were stunned. Malakor had descended into such madness that he was ready to wage war on the Emperor if harm befell his grandson.

Just then, torrential rain began pouring outside.

Sophia and everyone else stood utterly shocked.

'He remains as insane as ever.' That was the thought racing through everyone's minds as they gazed at Harrington, too terrified and reverent to budge even slightly.

'I never anticipated his presence here today.' Had she known, she wouldn't have appeared. Even Sect Leader Sophia dreaded Harrington.

'He seems even madder now than before.'

'Not a single Duke in his faction shows any opposition to Harrington's declaration. What Malakor proclaimed stands as the unbreakable will of the whole Harrington Faction.' Victor mused, his face twisted in frustration and dread. He felt both irritated and petrified that this elder might erupt suddenly, dooming him to a torment worse than that disciple who was skinned and left dangling for three days and nights.

'This signals the true start of the Civil War.' A neutral Duke pondered silently amid the chaos.

'How does one halt a madman unstoppable by any force?' Duke Ferdinand, wearing a grin, was among those pleased— for he stood aligned with Harrington.

Even Emperor Boris, the iron-fisted ruler who bent whole nations to his will with one decree, failed to curb Harrington's frenzy millennia ago. That fact spoke volumes.

And now, the stakes were higher. This transcended pride or dominion. It concerned his grandson. With his grandson's life threatened, Harrington wasn't merely furious; he was utterly deranged. Reason, talks, restraints—all were futile.

Even if the Harrington Family perished entirely... even if the last soul fell...

They would never yield.

Not until their final breath.

For devotion to their blood ran deeper than creed; it defined their core being.

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