King Edmund smirked, his eyes gleaming with cruel amusement.
"Feed them all."
Gilmon grinned, already stepping forward before the remaining four men could react. "With pleasure, Your Majesty."
The Royal Elite held them down, forcing their mouths open as Gilmon shoved the poisoned food inside.
Choking. Coughing. Struggling.
But it was pointless.
One by one—
Their bodies convulsed violently. Their faces twisted in agony. Their eyes bulged as foam bubbled from their lips.
And then—
Silence.
Four lifeless bodies lay sprawled across the floor.
But one remained.
The last man, trembling, drenched in sweat, his breath ragged.
His wide, horrified eyes darted between his dead comrades and the king.
Edmund… smiled.
He picked up the letter—the same fake letter these fools had presented.
Then, in a voice filled with mocking amusement, he spoke. "As for you… lick the letter."
The last man froze.
His breath hitched.
His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his skin.
