Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband novel Chapter 231

Chapter 231: The Final Boss and the Shadow’s Sentence

The underground dungeons of the Imperial Capital were specifically designed to break the spirits of the worst criminals in the beast-kin Empire. The walls were made of impenetrable black iron, the air was freezing, and the only sound was the slow, maddening drip of water echoing down the long, dark corridors.

But the scarred hyena-kin poacher boss didn’t look broken.

He sat in the center of the interrogation cell, his hands bound with heavy suppression chains, wearing a smug, ugly sneer. He had been sitting there since Rurik’s guards had dragged him and his men out of the coastal woods.

"You’re wasting your time," the poacher spat at the two armored guards standing by the door. "I have backers in the high nobility. Rich men who pay fortunes for rare beast-kin pelts and feathers. My syndicate is a hydra. You cut off my head, two more take its place. My lawyers will have me out of here before sunset."

The guards didn’t reply. They didn’t even look at him. They just stared straight ahead, completely rigid.

Suddenly, the temperature in the room plummeted. The slow drip of water seemed to freeze in mid-air. The torches flickering on the walls instantly snuffed out, plunging the cell into absolute darkness.

"Your lawyers are currently unemployed," a smooth, chillingly calm voice echoed from the darkness. "And your backers are entirely bankrupt."

A single sphere of glowing blue water-magic illuminated the center of the room.

The poacher boss flinched, his smug sneer vanishing as his eyes adjusted to the pale blue light.

Stepping into the cell, looking utterly immaculate in a deep sapphire coat, was King Caspian. The Merman King didn’t look like a benevolent ruler right now; he looked exactly like the terrifying Final Boss that had once brought the entire continent to its knees. His teal eyes were cold, calculating, and completely devoid of mercy.

"King Caspian," the poacher swallowed hard, a bead of cold sweat rolling down his scarred face. "Your Majesty. I... I demand a trial."

"You already had your trial," Caspian replied smoothly, casually brushing a speck of dust off his cuff. "Archduke Cassian audited your wealthy noble backers this morning. He seized all of their assets, revoked their titles, and banished them to the frozen wastelands for funding illegal black-market operations. Meanwhile, Warlord Rurik personally visited your remaining syndicate hideouts. He was... extremely thorough. There is no hydra left. Only a very dead snake."

The poacher’s face went completely pale. His entire empire—everything he had built—dismantled in less than a week.

"Why?" the hyena-kin rasped, his chains rattling as he trembled. "They were just a flock of birds! Why would the Sovereign and the Warlords involve themselves in a minor poaching dispute?"

The shadows in the corner of the cell didn’t just move; they ripped open.

"Because," a low, vibrating growl echoed through the iron room.

Lucien stepped out of the darkness.

He wasn’t wearing a suit today. The Panther Warlord was dressed in his full, lethal combat gear—dark leather armor, throwing knives strapped to his thighs, and his twin wicked daggers resting at his hips. His violet eyes were glowing with a killing intent so suffocating that the poacher actually choked on his next breath.

"Because," Lucien repeated, stepping slowly toward the chained man, "you touched my family."

The poacher boss stared into the glowing violet eyes of the Lord of Shadows. He recognized him now. This was the terrifying ghost who had materialized in the smuggler’s cave, the demon who had caught a heavy iron net with his bare hand and dismantled a dozen men in sixty seconds.

"You... the silver-winged bird is your mate?" the poacher whispered in absolute horror. If he had known the Duck-kin mother was under the protection of the Empire’s deadliest assassin, he would have burned his own ships before ever stepping foot on the coast.

Lucien didn’t answer the question. He didn’t need to. He simply leaned forward, resting his large, leather-clad hands on the table. The shadows around him writhed like hungry, snapping wolves.

"Listen to me very carefully," Lucien whispered, his voice slicing through the cold air like a blade. "The avian flock currently residing on the Warlord estate is under the absolute, permanent protection of the Empire. If a single feather on any of their heads is harmed, if I even hear a rumor of a smuggler looking at the sky... I will not send the royal guard. I will come myself."

The poacher violently nodded his head, his breathing shallow and frantic. "I swear it! I swear on my life! The black market will never touch them! We will put out a continent-wide ban! Just... let me live."

Lucien stared at the pathetic, terrified man for a long, heavy moment. He looked at the scarred hands that had thrown an iron net at Juni’s back. The assassin in him wanted to end it right here. It would be quick. It would be entirely justified.

But then, Lucien thought of the bright, sunlit gardens. He thought of Pip handing him a crushed dandelion, and Juni’s warm, golden eyes looking at him with absolute trust.

He didn’t want to bring blood back to his home. He wanted to bring peace.

Lucien slowly straightened up, the lethal, swirling shadows retreating back into his boots.

"You will live the rest of your days in the deepest cell of the northern ice-dungeons," Lucien stated coldly. "Your survival will serve as a permanent warning to the rest of the underworld. The sky belongs to the Warlords now."

Lucien turned his back on the trembling poacher and walked toward the door.

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