The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 230

Chapter 230: Great Generals of Arshiks
The battlefield stood frozen in collective disbelief.

Transforming between human and beast form was no ordinary occurrence—it was the stuff of ancient legends, a power reserved only for those of true Beast Kin lineage.

Yet here they all were, witnesses to the impossible.

Jolthar looked down at his naked body, a moment of very human vulnerability breaking through his divine transformation.

“Fuck! Where are my clothes?” he muttered.

His wounds were gone, so were the bandages, and he was standing but naked.

His gaze swept across the pit’s edges, where soldiers from Chittera and Hamen’s forces stared with terror and astonishment.

Rows of eyes fixed upon him, mouths agape, bodies trembling.

“What are you looking at?”

The growl that escaped Jolthar’s throat was unlike any human sound.

It rumbled like distant thunder, carrying with it a primal authority that made every soldier stumble backward. The very air seemed to compress around his voice, forcing an instinctive submission.

With a casual wave of his hand, a nearby soldier suddenly floated toward him, lifted by an invisible force of telekinesis, and fell before Jolthar.

The man’s face was a canvas of terror and absolute obedience.

“Strip,” Jolthar commanded.

Without hesitation, the soldier began removing his clothing.

Within moments, he stood in nothing but his underwear, offering his garments to Jolthar as though presenting a sacred offering.

Jolthar dressed leisurely, seemingly unperturbed by the bizarre scenario.

The beasts that had been wreaking havoc moments earlier now bowed in perfect synchronization—recognizing their new monarch.

His gaze swept the battlefield once again, then he raised his hand toward the distant castle. Count Hamen, still stunned, finally found his voice.

“What happened, Jolthar?” he stammered.

“Did the Beast King take over your body? How did you transform?” He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Jolthar or the beast king.

Jolthar remained silent, his hand still extended.

Suddenly, something sliced through the air—a sword flying from five miles away, cutting through space itself.

The long blade landed perfectly in his palm, responding to his telekinetic command.

Knashii, his long sword, had been retrieved from the castle through sheer mental manipulation. The voidwrath power within the blade resonated with Jolthar’s newfound abilities, making the impossible seem effortless.

The beasts around him continued to bow, their collective energy now synchronized with his will. Soldiers from both armies remained frozen, unsure whether to run, fight, or simply stare in awe.

Jolthar’s silver hair caught the light, a hint of emerald still dancing in his eyes—a reminder of the transformation they had all just witnessed.

—— ∗ ——

In the celestial realm that floated far above the midlands, Inadrys and Ivyona stood upon a viewing platform of swirling clouds and crystalline light. Their divine vision pierced through the veil separating the realms, allowing them to witness the events unfolding below.

Inadrys’s normally impassive face betrayed a flicker of genuine surprise—a rare sight for the King of Deities.

“That was… unexpected,” Inadrys murmured, his voice like distant thunder. His fingers tightened, crackling with lightning.

They were watching the young Jolthar, where once stood a mere mortal—albeit one with unusual potential—now stood something far more. Green and silver light emanated from the boy’s form, and the air around him shimmered with raw, untamed power.

Inadrys’ brow furrowed deeply. “The Beast King should have consumed him. I foresaw it clearly—the possession, the transformation, the chaos that would follow.” His voice carried the weight of centuries, of countless predictions that had never failed to materialise.

“Instead, the boy has somehow absorbed the Beast King’s essence completely.”

Ivyona remained silent beside her husband, her regal features revealing nothing of her thoughts. Her eyes, however, never left the image of Jolthar. The young man’s body now pulsed with veins of green and silver light, his muscles more defined, his presence more commanding.

She was completely shocked to see Jolthar with his consciousness intact. She was sure that beast, which had come out of the pillar, was the beast, but to think he even transformed and turned back to his human form, she was astonished, and to think that a mortal made her feel such emotions, a smile hidden from Inadrys crept up her lips as she watched Jolthar and her interest in him grew more and more.

Inadrys paced the clouded floor, his mind racing through possibilities. “No mortal would be capable of taking over the beast king’s power like that. Not even stronger ones can do that. The boy should have been consumed by the beast king, the vessel, not a conqueror. If he has truly assimilated the Beast King’s power rather than being consumed by it…” He trailed off, the implications too vast to articulate.

“Perhaps,” Ivyona finally spoke, her voice cool and measured, “we have underestimated the boy’s lineage.” There was something in her tone—a hint that perhaps she had known more than she had shared.

Inadrys cast a sharp glance at his wife, suspicion flickering across his features. “What do you know of his bloodline that I do not?”

Ivyona merely offered a mysterious smile, returning her gaze to the view below.

Inadrys remained silent as his mind was occupied with various thoughts.

—— ∗ ——

Miles from the county seat in the fertile Midlands, the aftermath of a brutal conflict spread across the once-green fields like an ugly scar. The smell of blood and smoke hung thick in the air, mingling with the groans of the dying and the commands of soldiers attempting to restore order.

Heavenly General Remin stood atop a small hill, his weathered face betraying no emotion as he surveyed the field.

His armour, once polished silver, was now splattered with blood and dirt, but he stood tall and unbroken. Twenty years of military service had taught him to wear exhaustion like a second skin—never showing weakness, especially not in victory.

Soldiers in the colours of the Empire—crimson and gold—moved methodically across the battlefield, separating their wounded from the dead, collecting weapons, and securing prisoners. The forces of Chittera had been formidable, as always, but they had broken against the disciplined ranks of the Empire like waves upon rocks.