The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 535: You do not want to know

BACK ON LAND

The journey back home should have taken a day.

Instead, it took him almost two.

Not because the road was long. Not because the mountain was steep. Not because he was injured—though one eye had been clawed out and both legs trembled with every step.

No.

He was slow because he was traumatized.

He had run from that cursed village with the spirit of a dying mosquito, collapsing every few hours from fear alone, waking up screaming, scrambling to run again, smelling imaginary panthers breathing down his neck.

Now, two days later, when he finally emerged from the forest, staggering toward his homeland, the sun was already climbing the sky. The village was bright, awake, loud.

And then it went silent.

Mothers froze mid-wash.

Children stopped playing.

Hunters halted sharpening their spears.

Everyone stared.

Because he looked like he had crawled out of the underworld.

Half-blind.

Skin torn.

Blood dried across his chest.

Clothes ripped, smeared with dirt.

Breathing like a dying ox.

And most terrifying... he looked broken.

A man who had seen something that stripped the soul out of his bones.

A woman near a well gasped, scooping her baby into her arms.

A group of young males stepped back, forming a protective circle around their female.

An elder clutched her charm necklace as though warding off evil spirits.

"Is that... Raghul?" someone whispered.

Another voice answered, trembling.

"No... that cannot be him. Raghul was... strong."

Was.

Raghul dragged one foot forward.

Then the other.

He didn’t greet anyone.

Didn’t acknowledge anyone.

Didn’t breathe a word.

He simply staggered onward, eyes wild, toward the only place he could think of.

The Stone Palace.

People parted for him from sheer instinct, like animals making way for a wounded lion.

Guards at the shabby stone gates snapped to attention—then froze when they recognized him.

"R-Raghul?" one guard stuttered.

Raghul didn’t speak.

He just walked past them, steps wavering like he would collapse any second.

The guards exchanged looks—fear, confusion, disbelief—then hurried in after him.

Inside the throne hall, torches flickered along the walls.

In the center sat the king of this village—a tall beastman with strong legs, powerful shoulders, and the unmistakable aura of a kangaroo warrior.

King Rokai.

In human form, he still carried the fierce posture and built tension of his beast. He wore a hide-wrapped skirt and fur mantle, and he sat on a stone-carved throne with pride sharpened like a blade.

But he was not alone.

At his right side—calm, elegant, leaning slightly on the stone armrest—sat a man dressed in deep sable robes.

His presence warped the air.

His aura felt old. Very old.

And it carried weight—the kind that made seasoned warriors lower their gaze.

But Rokai spoke first.

He was mid-conversation when Raghul stumbled into sight.

"...And as I said, Lord Ashur, the matter—"

Rokai’s words died in his throat.

His jaw dropped.

He shot up from his stone throne so violently that the torches flickered.

"Raghul?" Rokai barked.

Raghul collapsed to his knees—his body hitting the stone floor with a loud, painful echo.

Gasps filled the hall as guards rushed forward, but Rokai held out a hand, stopping them.

He stepped down from his throne, his gaze sharp with disbelief.

"What happened to you?" he demanded. "Where are your men?"

Raghul trembled—his voice cracking open like a poorly mended pot.

"We... we reached the village... the small one near the base of the mountain..."

Lord Ashur lifted one brow slightly, interest flickering in his eyes.

Raghul continued, breath shaking.

"W-We found no signs of the rumored goddess... only villagers... and then..."

His throat tightened.

Something in him broke.

And he began to sob.

Rokai stiffened.

Raghul was one of his strongest. One of his most loyal. A warrior who had broken a boar’s neck with his bare hands.

And now he was crying on the palace floor.

"A-a panther..." Raghul choked. "He... he froze us... all of us..."

Rokai’s face darkened. "A panther? One? And he defeated all twenty of you?"

Raghul nodded, shaking uncontrollably.

"He... he smiled, my king. He smiled the entire time. And he... he killed them. He killed them while telling a story. H-He cut off their heads like he was... like he was trimming wood."

Whispers exploded across the hall.

"What kind of monster—"

"Panthers do not wield magic—"

"Cut off heads? Like fruit—?"

Lord Ashur leaned back slightly, expression unreadable. "Go on."

Raghul swallowed, tears streaking blood down his cheek.

"H-He spared me... only me... to send a message..."

Rokai’s eyes narrowed. "What message?"

Raghul lifted his head, fear choking him.

His voice dropped to a trembling whisper.

"H-He said... ’Tell your king that the woman he seeks will be the death of him.’"

Rokai’s pupils shrank.

Raghul continued, hands shaking violently.

"And... ’If I sense any of his men around this village again... I will personally serve his head on a platter.’"

Silence.

A heavy, suffocating silence.

Rokai’s veins pulsed in his forehead. His tail flicked behind him, slamming against the stone floor.

First he was confused.

Then furious.

Then insulted.

Then utterly enraged.

"How dare a nameless village threaten me?" Rokai snarled. "Do they not know who I am? Do they not fear—"

He stopped.

Because Lord Ashur exhaled softly through his nose.

A sound so light and controlled it was almost elegant.

But it made Rokai freeze.

And Raghul fell silent instantly.

Rokai turned to him. "My lord... you look troubled. Surely you do not believe this village poses any true threat?"

Lord Ashur did not speak for several seconds.

He just stared ahead, eyes narrowing slightly—as though seeing something the others could not.

Then he murmured, voice low:

"So... it was all true."

Rokai stiffened. "My lord?"

Lord Ashur’s lips curled faintly—not into a smile, but something colder.

"You said earlier," he continued lightly, "that the rumors were lies. That no goddess existed in these lands."

Rokai swallowed.

"Yes. That is what my scouts reported. That she was a myth."

"Then your scouts were wrong," Ashur replied calmly.

The torches flickered.

Because for the first time since he arrived, Lord Ashur’s aura rippled—faint, ancient, heavy enough to crush a lesser man.

Rokai’s pulse jumped.

Rokai had seen many warriors.

Many beastmen.

Many kings.

But Ashur...

Ashur was something else.

Something not quite mortal.

And now—now he looked afraid.

Ashur rose slowly to his feet, the movement smooth and deliberate, as though he carried centuries in his bones.

"No goddess?" he repeated softly. "No... Rokai. You were wrong."

He turned toward the palace doors, cloak sweeping the ground.

"The goddess exists."

Rokai’s face drained of color.

Raghul shuddered.

Ashur stopped walking—pausing with his back to them.

And he said, voice chilling:

"And if a panther wielding magic is guarding her..."

Rokai tensed.

Ashur looked over his shoulder.

His eyes glowed faintly.

"...then your village may already be in danger."

Rokai’s breath caught.

Ashur gave one final look—sharp, knowing, edged with a fear he did not bother to hide.

"That man—the one who killed your warriors—"

Rokai leaned forward, barely breathing.

Lord Ashur whispered a single sentence:

"—he is not someone you wish to make your enemy."

Rokai’s fingers dug into the stone throne.

Raghul paled.

And the torches flickered violently as if the air itself recoiled.

Lord Ashur’s cloak shifted as he walked away.

Rokai called out, voice trembling despite his fury:

"M-My lord... tell me... who is he? That panther?"

Ashur didn’t pause.

But his voice drifted back—a whisper like a prophecy.

"You do not want to know."

The hall fell dead silent.

Every man inside felt the same icy realization crawl up their spine.

Whoever that panther was...

Whatever he was...

Even kings feared him.