The Author's Draft

Chapter 104 - 23: The Bone Throne

Valdris. The Orcish Palace. Throne of Bones.

The throne room was a cathedral of death.

Skulls formed the walls, each one harvested from a different conquered world and stacked with methodical precision until they created pillars that stretched toward a ceiling painted with the blood of fallen champions. Bone chandeliers hung from iron chains—femurs and ribcages twisted into grotesque art pieces that cast shadows shaped like screaming faces. The floor was polished obsidian that reflected everything above it, creating the illusion of standing in an endless void filled with the remains of the slaughtered.

And in the center of it all sat the Bone Throne.

It rose fifteen meters high, constructed entirely from the skeletons of the most powerful warriors Valdris had ever defeated. Each bone had been selected specifically for the throne’s construction—vertebrae from stage three cultivators, ribs from mana-enhanced hunters, skulls from kings and emperors and guild masters who’d led armies against the invasion only to fall and become trophies. The throne pulsed with residual energy, the lingering power of those who’d died feeding into its structure and creating a pressure that made even veteran warriors hesitate before approaching.

The Red Goblin King sat upon it like a nightmare made flesh.

He was lean where most goblins were squat, his body carved from muscle and scar tissue in equal measure. His skin was deep crimson, darker than blood, marked with ritual scarification that formed patterns representing every major conquest he’d led over his three-century reign. His eyes burned yellow-gold, sharp and intelligent in a way that defied every stereotype about goblin intelligence. A crown of sharpened bones rested on his head, each spike taken from a different species he’d personally killed.

Supreme Tier pressure radiated from him in waves that made the air itself shimmer.

He wasn’t just powerful by goblin standards or even by Valdris standards. The Red Goblin King had reached a level of cultivation that transcended planetary classification, a stage where reality bent slightly around his presence and lesser beings felt the instinctive urge to kneel simply from being near him.

Around the base of his throne, arranged in careful positions, sat his harem.

Three female orcs, each one a warrior in her own right, scarred and dangerous with cultivation bases that would make them elite combatants anywhere else. They wore minimal armor designed to display strength rather than modesty, their weapons never more than arm’s reach away even in the throne room’s supposed safety.

Two ogres, massive and brutal, with muscles that could crush stone and cultivation techniques focused entirely on raw destructive power. They lounged on cushions made from the pelts of Earth’s extinct megafauna, their small eyes watching everything with the patient hunger of apex predators.

The Red Goblin King’s gaze swept across the assembled forces filling his throne room.

Eighty thousand elite vanguard warriors stood in perfect formation, organized by species and rank and specialization. Green goblins formed the bulk of the force, small and vicious with poisoned blades and pack tactics drilled into them through brutal training regimens. Yellow goblins served as scouts and skirmishers, faster than their green cousins and equipped with throwing weapons. Red goblins like their king were rare and deadly, each one a veteran of multiple planetary conquests with cultivation bases approaching B-rank equivalent.

Interspersed among the goblin forces stood the orcs, massive and armored, wielding weapons that required superhuman strength just to lift. They were the shock troops, the ones who would break through defensive lines and create openings for the goblins to exploit.

And scattered throughout were the ogres, even larger than the orcs, with cultivation bases that made them walking disasters capable of flattening buildings with their bare hands.

The Red Goblin King stood.

The movement was fluid despite his lean frame, and his Supreme Tier pressure intensified immediately as he rose to his full height. The entire throne room fell silent—eighty thousand warriors going completely quiet in an instant, every eye fixed on their king.

His voice boomed across the throne room, echoing through the massive chamber like thunder.

"Warriors of Valdris!"

The words crashed over the assembled forces like a physical wave, and eighty thousand throats roared in response, a unified sound that shook the bone-lined walls.

The Red Goblin King raised one clawed hand, and silence fell again instantly.

"For one hour we have waited," he continued, his yellow-gold eyes burning brighter as he spoke. "Waited while the Shaman’s ritual tore open the dimensional barrier. Waited while the weak planet across the divide cowered behind their crumbling shields. Waited while their precious seventy-two hours dissolved into nothing because our blood magic proved stronger than their pitiful defenses."

He descended the throne steps slowly, each footfall echoing through the chamber with deliberate weight. His harem rose with him, moving in synchronized perfection to flank his position.

"The bridge is built on the blood of the weak," the Red Goblin King declared, his voice dropping to something quieter but infinitely more dangerous. "One hundred goblin lives purchased our passage. One hundred sacrifices created the hole that even now spreads through their dimensional barrier like rot through flesh."

He reached the bottom of the steps and walked forward into the assembled masses, warriors parting before him automatically to create a path. His pressure intensified with each step until the air itself felt heavy, oppressive, thick enough to choke on.

"This planet calls itself Earth," he said, practically spitting the name. "They have hunters. Mages. Awakened beings with mana cores and skills granted by their pathetic system. They think themselves strong because they survived one awakening and built walls around their cities."

His lips pulled back, revealing teeth filed to points.

"They are children playing at war. Soft. Weak. Unprepared for what true conquest means."

The Red Goblin King stopped in the center of the formation and turned slowly, his gaze sweeping across every warrior present.

"You will show them what it means to face Valdris. You will show them why we are called the Conqueror’s Legion. You will show them that their hunters are nothing compared to warriors forged in the crucible of planetary war."

He raised both hands toward the ceiling, claws extended, power crackling between his fingers.

"Go! Bring me the heads of their hunters! Show me their strongest, their bravest, their most skilled—and crush them like the insects they are! Leave the rest for the chains! Every ordinary citizen you capture becomes a slave, every resource you seize becomes our plunder, every city you raze becomes a monument to our strength!"

His voice rose to a roar that made the bone chandeliers rattle.

"SHOW THEM WHY THEY SHOULD HAVE FEARED THE DAY VALDRIS CAME CALLING!"

Eighty thousand voices answered as one—a war cry so loud and terrifying that it transcended sound and became something primal. The roar shook the palace foundations, sent vibrations through the very ground beneath the throne room, made the air itself vibrate with bloodlust and savage anticipation.

"VALDRIS! VALDRIS! VALDRIS!"