Bound To The Dead: The Deceptive Class-E Farmer-Chapter 58: Thorns of the Throne

The throne room of Bulcan Palace was filled with voices. Servants moved around quickly, adjusting banners and dusting off gold ornaments. Nobles stood in a line, waiting to see how the new ruler would carry herself.

Aiah stood on the red carpet, wearing a simple but clean tunic. Her short blade was still strapped to her side. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable.

"Stand still," Mira said quietly, adjusting the position of Aiah’s shoulders. "This is how queens stand during the coronation."

"This feels stupid," Aiah muttered.

"It’s tradition," Elder Peter added. He was standing nearby, holding a scroll. "People expect you to look the part, even if you already proved yourself in battle."

Aiah rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.

A noble with a long gray beard stepped forward. "She should not wear a sword to the coronation," he said. "It sends the wrong message. Queens do not need weapons when they have guards."

"She earned that sword," Mira said firmly. "It stays."

Another noble spoke up. "She should walk with softer steps. She moves like a soldier, not a queen."

Aiah finally snapped. "That’s because I am a soldier. I fought for this kingdom while most of you hid behind these walls."

The room went silent.

The nobles looked shocked. Some even turned away.

Mira stepped closer and lowered her voice. "I know it’s frustrating, but you can’t talk to them like that. They don’t understand you. Not yet."

Aiah took a breath. "Then they should try."

From a distance, Isaac stood near the side wall. He had watched everything quietly. He didn’t interrupt, but his eyes stayed on Aiah. Her body was tense, her jaw tight.

Peter cleared his throat. "Let’s take a break. We’ll continue after lunch."

Aiah turned and walked out of the hall without saying a word. The nobles whispered as she passed.

Mira sighed. "This will take more than a sword to fix."

Isaac didn’t respond. His gaze followed Aiah as she disappeared around the corner.

The capital of Bulcan lay quiet under the night sky. The sounds of celebration from earlier had faded, leaving only the rustling wind and the occasional call of night birds.

Aiah sat on the edge of a stone balcony that overlooked the capital. She still wore her armor. Her hands rested on her knees, her back straight, her eyes distant. Below her, the streets were lined with broken walls, burnt rooftops, and shattered windows. Parts of the city were lit with new torches and lamplight, but most remained dark.

She didn’t turn when she heard the soft footsteps behind her.

Isaac leaned against the balcony wall, arms crossed. He said nothing at first, letting the silence stretch.

"You’re not going to scold me for snapping at them?" Aiah asked, her voice quiet.

"No," Isaac said. "You were right. They didn’t bleed for this kingdom. You did."

Aiah gave a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. "I thought after beating the monsters, things would be simpler. That we’d win, then rebuild. But now... it feels heavier. Like I’m carrying something I can’t drop."

"Because you are," he said.

She looked at him then. "Do you ever feel it? That maybe this throne isn’t worth it?"

Isaac didn’t answer right away. He walked forward and sat across from her, letting his eyes scan the broken city too.

"I don’t think anyone wants a throne," he said finally. "Not the real ones. Not the kind built on loss. You didn’t choose this."

"I said I would lead."

"Because no one else would," he replied. "That’s the difference. You’re not a queen because you wanted to be. You’re a queen because you refused to leave this place to rot."

She looked away.

"I’m scared, Isaac," she admitted. "Not of ruling. I can learn that. I’m scared of becoming someone else. Of losing the girl who used to run barefoot outside the palace."

Isaac smiled slightly. "Then don’t lose her. Let her remind you why you fight."

Aiah didn’t reply. For a long moment, they just sat there, watching the city that still smoldered from the past.

Far off, thunder rolled softly in the clouds.

"I know I can’t fix everything," she said, standing slowly. "But I’ll fight to keep what we still have."

Isaac nodded. "And I’ll fight beside you."

She gave him a tired, grateful look. "Thank you. For staying."

He stood too. "Someone has to keep you from punching another noble."

That made her chuckle. "They deserved it."

Isaac shrugged. "Not saying they didn’t."

The wind picked up again. This time, it felt a little colder.

Aiah looked at him, her voice quieter. "You haven’t forgotten our deal, right?"

Isaac’s expression hardened for a moment, but then he looked away, toward the dark horizon. "Don’t think about it yet."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Because Bulcan’s got a long way to go," he said. "Right now, we need to make this place strong first. Real strong."

Aiah didn’t argue. But her grip on her sword tightened. "Then let’s make it strong."

Isaac smirked. "Yeah, one kingdom at a time."

—-----

Far from the capital, in the southern part of Bulcan’s territory, a group of riders moved through a quiet, empty village. Their armor clinked softly with every step. The houses were abandoned. Some had broken windows. Others had doors swinging loosely on rusted hinges.

The land ahead looked strange. The green fields, once used for growing rice and vegetables, were now gray and brittle. A thick, low mist crawled across the ground, moving slowly like smoke, yet there was no fire.

An old man led the group. He walked with a cane, wrapped in worn cloth, and wore a brown hood to cover his head. His name was Elder Gido, one of the last villagers still living near the edge.

"This used to be our main farming area," Gido said, his voice raspy. "We grew enough here to feed five villages. Now, nothing grows. And anyone who stays too long starts coughing blood."

The knights glanced at each other, uneasy.

A scout stepped forward and poked a nearby plant with the tip of his spear. The stem cracked like dry bone, crumbling into dust.

"It started five months ago," Gido continued. "Just a small patch. But it spread. Every week, the mist reached farther. We tried to burn it. Didn’t work. Tried salt. Still nothing."

The captain of the knights knelt to the soil, lifting a handful. It was damp but cold, unnaturally cold. His face darkened.

A raven cawed overhead, circling once before flying north.

One of the younger scouts looked pale. "This doesn’t feel right. It’s like... the land itself is sick."

—------

Back in the Bulcan capital, Elder Peter read the first report. His brow furrowed deeply.

He looked at Mira, standing nearby.

"If this spreads beyond the southern fields, we’ll lose a third of our remaining farmland. We can’t afford that."

Mira frowned. "Can the locusts feed in that area? Maybe Isaac can..."

"No," Peter said. "We don’t know what this mist is. Until we do, we don’t risk his swarm."

Peter set the scroll aside and sent for Isaac.

Later that day, Isaac stood by the open window, scanning the report.

"Dark mist," he muttered. "Spreading from the southern farms... no cause, no cure."

He closed the scroll and looked out toward the horizon.

"I’ll look into it myself."