The Nameless Heir-Chapter 53: Lust

Before the Demon King passed on his remaining power to Kael, he told him to go north—so that’s what Kael did.

He followed the path, pulled the Helm of Darkness over his head, and walked forward. The helmet swallowed his presence completely. No sound, no light, no weight. He wished he could fly with Cyrus, but he wasn’t sure if it would hide them both. And the last thing he needed was to get spotted from the sky.

So he walked. Slowly. One step at a time.

The gloomy territory behind him started to fade. The black stone turned to dirt. The rotten air lifted. Even the sky began to change—from dead gray to a washed-out blue.

Farmland stretched on both sides of the path. Crops swayed in the breeze—golden, ripe, alive. The sun was sinking behind him, casting long shadows across the fields. For a moment, the air didn’t feel heavy. It brushed against his skin, light... almost soft.

But the people did.

Humans and elves worked the fields, dragging their feet through the soil. Their backs were bent. Their eyes were sunken. And standing over them—watching every move—were men in black robes. Silent. Unmoving. Whips in hand.

Kael’s pace slowed.

He saw one of the robed men strike a worker across the back. No reason. Just power.

The man fell. Tried to stand. Failed.

Another was beaten while pushing a cart filled with vegetables. The worker gasped, but the robed man just laughed.

They weren’t workers.

They were slaves.

Their bodies were starved. Some had bruises wrapped around their ribs. Others limped, dragging bad legs through the dirt. A few were barely standing at all—only moving because of fear. Eyes empty. Lips cracked. Skin pale and dry.

Kael kept walking.

He hated what he was seeing.

But he didn’t stop.

His jaw clenched tighter the farther he went.

The pain in his chest wasn’t from fear.

It was guilt.

He ran—not away from them—but away from the feeling inside him.

Then a voice cut through the wind.

"Please... I need some food. My baby hasn’t eaten anything the whole day..."

Kael’s foot froze mid-step.

His body didn’t move.

The voice trembled. It was real. Not just suffering, but desperation. A woman was pleading. Her voice cracked.

He turned.

One of the robed men had taken her baby.

Held it high.

Threatened to burn it if she didn’t keep working.

Another man beat her husband until he dropped to his knees.

Kael’s hand twitched.

His fists balled tight.

He closed his eyes.

"Lust," he whispered.

His voice was low. Cold.

From the shadows behind him, she rose.

A tall woman. Dressed in white. Her hair fell around her shoulders like silk. Her veil covered her face. She didn’t walk. She floated—silent, graceful. Her steps made no sound.

She didn’t say a word.

She didn’t need to.

She approached the robed men slowly.

Her hand reached up.

She pulled away the veil.

And her eyes—glowing, ocean-blue—looked straight through them.

The moment they saw her, their faces changed.

Their bodies stopped moving.

Their muscles loosened.

Smiles spread across their lips.

They didn’t speak.

She reached forward and touched the man’s cheek. Gently. Her fingers moved slow, soft against his skin.

But Kael saw the shimmer. The moment her touch slipped into his mind.

They shivered.

Their breath hitched.

Their pupils shrank.

She leaned closer.

"Can you kill them for me?" she asked.

Her voice was soft. Like a dream.

"Yes we can, my queen," they whispered in unison.

Their smiles widened like something unnatural—like their forcing their lips to part more than they were supposed to.

The two men stood still—one on the left, one on the right. Both were cloaked in the soft glow of Lust’s spell, their eyes empty, but they had a silverish shine in their eyes.

Then they moved. ƒrēewebnoѵёl.cσm

Silent. Smooth. Without warning.

The right man stepped forward first, drawing a blade. It glowed with blue light. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t loud. He just walked to the nearest robed figure and sliced him open from shoulder to hip.

Blood sprayed. The body crumpled.

The others froze in shock.

The left man moved next—took the whip he was holding and strangled one of them from the back, then plunged his dagger through his back from behind. The robed man gasped and fell forward without a sound.

Then the slaughter began.

The two moved slowly—methodically—like they weren’t human. They acted like undead. One strike per target. Clean. Surgical. Efficient.

Panic hit the remaining men.

They started throwing spells. Fire. Ice. Wind. One robed man screamed while he cast a ball of flame that scorched both of the glowing-eyed killers.

Their clothes burned. Skin blackened. Flesh peeled.

But they didn’t stop. Like they couldn’t feel anything. It only made them charge faster.

The left man with the dagger stepped forward, half his face charred. He ran through the fire, blade dragging behind him, then stabbed his attacker in the neck—twisting once before pulling it out.

Another cast a slicing wind spell that severed the left man’s arm.

The limb hit the ground.

He didn’t flinch.

He simply reached down with the other hand, grabbed his weapon, and continued forward.

The more they were hurt, the worse it got.

Flesh split open. Bones cracked. The right man had both knees shattered by ice magic, but he still crawled—dragging himself to stab his next victim in the heart.

The attackers screamed and begged.

"Stop! Please! What are you doing?!"

But the men said nothing.

Their smiles stayed. Eyes bright. Hands steady.

They were dying—burning, bleeding, breaking—but none of it showed in their movements.

One enemy swung a sword and cut across his chest. He ran toward him—then grabbed the attacker’s hand and snapped his fingers back one by one before stabbing him in the throat with his own blade.

The screams grew louder.

Magic flared everywhere. Ice shards. The ground moved. Fireballs flew.

But none of it worked.

Every time they were hit, more flesh peeled off—but their pace never changed.

Until, one by one, all the robed men fell.

When the last one hit the ground—gasping, begging for his life—the two men walked to him together.

They didn’t rush. They didn’t hesitate.

They knelt beside him, their faces burned and broken, unrecognizable.

"Why..." he whispered. "Why... are you doing this..."

The man on the left leaned in close. His smile was still gentle.

"Because that’s what she desired."

Then he pressed the blade into his chest and twisted.

The last scream echoed across the fields.

And then—both men collapsed.

Their bodies twitched once, then went still.

All at once, the damage they ignored came crashing down. They screamed in agony.

Kael—still invisible—didn’t say a word. He kept walking, eyes forward. And the screams slowly stopped.

Behind him, now it was just silence.

But he didn’t look back.

And when the last scream died down...

All the spellbound men dropped.

Every wound they’d ignored returned at once—crushing them where they stood.

Lust walked calmly back to him, then melted into his shadow like she had never been there.

Kael didn’t say much.

Just, "Good job."

He kept walking. Faster now.

There were still other enemies somewhere out there.

And if they found out what happened here...

If he found out...

Kael’s pace quickened.

He couldn’t fight him yet.

Not without the others.

Not while Liz was still alive. Not while she could still be dragged into this.

So he ran.

Sunlight faded behind him.

Shadows stretched along the trail like they were chasing him.

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