The throne room vibrated with an oppressive energy, as if the very walls held their breath. Rose Kirat wasn't sitting on her throne; she dominated it, her long, black-gloved fingers gripping the seat's arms so tightly that the wood creaked beneath her anger.

Her black dress, adorned with crimson patterns that seemed to pulse like open wounds, flapped slightly, as if her mere fury generated an invisible wind. Her scarlet hair, pulled back with an elegance that contrasted grotesquely with her expression, had the two strands framing her face waving like living flames. Her golden crown shone with an almost aggressive brilliance, each jewel piercing the skin of those who dared to stare at her too closely.

And her silver eyes—cold as the edge of a guillotine—smoldered with pure contempt.

"These insects...?" Her voice wasn't a scream, but a suppressed roar, each word sharp as an executioner's axe. "Do you think you can steal from my kingdom? Sabotage what I've built?"

A guard, too close, took an involuntary step back. The sound of his armor rang out like a gunshot.

Rose shot up in a single motion, her greatsword appearing in her hand as if the air itself had split to deliver it. The normally flawless blade now pulsed with dark energy, the runes etched into the metal glowing a sickly red.

"I'll give you wheat! I'll give you a harvest you'll never forget!"

The ground writhed. Black stalks, thick as arms, burst from the marble, their spines tearing into the peasants' flesh before they could scream. But Rose wasn't done there.

"Look! Look what awaits all who doubt me!"

With a sharp gesture, the vines coiled around the bodies, lifting them like grotesque puppets. The blood didn't drip—it fell in streams, soaking the ground, spattering the faces of the spectators. The roses sprouting from the stems weren't flowers, but creatures with jagged petals, opening to bite.

The guards, now crushed against the walls, were as terrified as the commoners. One of them discreetly vomited into his helmet.

"Any more idiots want to challenge their queen?" Rose wasn't smiling. Her red lips, almost black now, twisted in a gesture that couldn't even be called rage. It was pure hatred made flesh.

The silence was so absolute that the crunch of bones could be heard as the vines tightened their grip.

And then, only then, Rose Kirat laughed—a sound that chilled the blood of even those who had run out of blood to chill.

"Good. Because today... there are plenty of executions."

And the hall erupted in shouts.