The Guardian gods Chapter 971

"And the worst part was being thrown to the front lines as a grand commander," Petar continued, his voice trembling with years of suppressed rage. "You probably sat up here, naive as always, thinking he was doing me a favor! That he was handing me a position of power! But all I saw was a bloody excuse. He meant to dispose of me, Magnus! He wanted me slaughtered on the frontlines so he wouldn’t have to dirty his own hands!"

Petar raised a gauntleted finger, pointing it viciously at Magnus’s face, shaking his head in disgust.

"And even now... sitting on his chair, wearing his crown... you still choose to act ignorant. You pretend to be completely unaware of the reality standing right in front of you."

"You claim you don’t want this throne," Petar said, his voice dropping into a tense, measured quiet as he extended his blood-stained gauntlet toward Magnus. "Now you have an opportunity right in front of you. Hand the throne to me."

Magnus looked down at the outstretched hand. His eyes flicked from the dried crimson under Petar’s fingernails up to the empty, desperate hunger in his older brother’s face.

"What does it matter now?" Magnus asked softly, the blade in his grip trembling ever so slightly. "If your words are to be believed... the war is already lost. Father is dead. The enemy is at our doorstep. This crown no longer holds any weight."

"Then hand it to me," Petar snapped, his hand remaining locked in the air, his fingers twitching with impatience.

Silence fell over the high arches of the throne room. Outside, the sky had settled into a eerie, bruised purple, devoid of the roaring gods that had torn it apart only hours before. The wind whistled through the shattered oak doors, carrying the faint, distant smell of ash and ozone. Magnus stared at Petar, then at Einar standing in the shadows behind him, his mind racing through every option, every betrayal, and every life currently riding on his decision.

"What do you plan on doing with the throne in your hand?" Magnus finally asked, breaking the agonizing quiet.

Petar lowered his hand, a sharp, mocking laugh barking from his chest as he shook his head in disbelief.

"If you are so curious," Petar sneered, his grip tightening around the hilt of his own sword, "I plan on saving our kingdom from the mess left behind by our father and from your incompetent hands."

Magnus took a step back, his boots grinding against the polished marble step. "And how do you plan on doing that?"

Petar flashed him a slow, wicked grin, his eyes glittering with cold malice. "By surrendering, of course... and by claiming Lunara as mine."

The air instantly left Magnus’s lungs. He froze, his blade wavering in his grip as if he had been physically struck, but Petar pressed forward without missing a beat, relishing every expression of agony on his younger brother’s face.

"Father wanted the marriage with the princess for the monumental power standing behind her," Petar said, taking another agonizingly slow step up the stairs. "But he was a fool. He could never truly leverage that power for himself. Even in this apocalyptic war, whatever desperate aid the factions behind her threw into the fray did absolutely nothing to change the outcome."

Petar paused, leaning in, his blood stained armor looming over Magnus. "Do you know why that is, brother?"

Not expecting an answer and not caring to give Magnus time to speak Petar continued, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Father’s position as a Paragon made him arrogant. And in that very same way, you are arrogant, fooling yourself into believing that Lunara’s absolute power and backing would simply melt into yours just because of a political contract and sweet, pathetic words of love."

Petar sneered, shaking his head. "That childish arrogance made you both believe you could gain everything in this world without sacrificing a single damn thing."

Looking at the lost, utterly shattered expression on Magnus’s face, the sight of a man whose quiet world of ideal love and soft ideals was caving in beneath him a flash of pure disgust burned in Petar’s eyes.

It disgusted Petra that someone who couldn’t see past the end of his own nose had ever sat upon the throne instead of him. The mere thought that millions of lives, the future of the kingdom, and centuries of history rested in the hands of this pathetic idealist made his back teeth ache with visceral irritation.

Even now, Petra could practically trace the childish turn of Magnus’s thoughts following the news of their father’s death. Magnus would be dreaming of a heroic, desperate last stand holding the line to the bitter end, wallowing in the romantic tragedy of a dying kingdom. He was a fool intoxicated by glory, completely blind to the millions of ordinary souls standing defenseless behind his noble front line.

What made Petra’s stomach turn even more was the sheer, wasted potential standing right beside his brother. Magnus had held the ultimate trump card in the palm of his hand all along, his wife, Lunara. Her background, her heritage, and her raw political backing were more than enough to halt the fall of their kingdom in its tracks and preserve their legacy for generations.

Yet Magnus had squandered her. He had lived under the same roof with one of the most dangerously ambitious figures in the realm and remained entirely oblivious to what she truly was. The idiot had been content to play house, believing her affection was a fairy-tale reward for his charm rather than a calculated pawn placement on a board he didn’t even realize he was playing on.

"Let me spell it out for you, brother," Petra said, his voice dropping into a razor-thin tone that left no room for romantic ideals. "There are two options left to us if we want a roof over our heads and our people to draw another breath."

Petra held up a single finger. "The first option is complete, unconditional surrender to the Bj?rn Kingdom. We hand over our sovereignty in exchange for our survival, remaining intact even if humiliated as a vassal state under their crown."

He caught the immediate, tight knot of disgust forming across Magnus’s brow. Petra gave a dry, mocking chuckle at his brother’s predictable pride. "Knowing Queen Yuki, she would accept without hesitation. A bloodless conquest serves her interests far better than a costly siege."

Before Magnus could interrupt, Petra raised a second finger.

"Our second option centers entirely around your precious princess. Instead of bowing to Bj?rn, we surrender our crown to the Wolflings, the godling power backing Lunara."

Magnus opened his mouth to object, but Petra stepped closer, cutting him off with a look of quiet contempt. "You may sleep in her bed, Magnus, but you do not know the woman. I understand her ambitions, and this is a path she would eagerly march down. It hands her everything she has been playing for."

Petra turned toward the grand arched window, looking out over the realm they were on the verge of losing.

"That single declaration is enough to freeze the Bj?rn army in their tracks. The moment our towers fly the banners of the Wolflings, any strike against us becomes a direct act of war against a godling clan. Neither Queen Yuki nor King Bj?rn himself would dare risk that slaughter."

Magnus’s eyes widened, the shock settling deep into his chest. Silence stretched long between them before he could finally find his voice.

Every word Petra had spoken rang with a brutal, inescapable truth, especially regarding the second choice. Magnus always have known of his wife’s grand vision. Lunara had always preached integration between her people and mankind, a seamless blending of realms. Surrendering the crown to the Wolflings wouldn’t just satisfy her allegiance, it would hand her everything she had ever dreamed of on a silver platter.

The panic in Magnus’s chest yielded to a sudden, desperate ember of hope. He stepped toward his older brother, his expression softening with earnest plea.

"Why must we fight, brother?" Magnus asked, his voice raw with emotion. "If there was ever a time for us to put aside our differences, it is right now. We need to stand together for the greater good, for the survival of our people."

He gestured broadly toward the maps on the grand table, his eyes bright with newfound resolve. "This second option you speak of... it’s brilliant. It is the very path out of the doom hanging over our heads. Join me, Petra. Stand at my side as my high advisor. Together, we can navigate this power, shield our people, and build a kingdom greater than anything Father ever imagined."

A low, dry chuckle echoed from the shadows of the chamber.

Einar, who had been quietly circling Magnus like a patient predator, finally stepped into the torchlight. His gaze was cold, pitying, and utterly devoid of warmth as he looked at the young prince.