Chapter 91: F’N Calloway_The Soul Bound Chronicles: [A Progression Litrpg Fantasy]

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 Chapter 91

 F’N Calloway

 Wow…

 She is gorgeous.

 Is she single?

 Where did that come from?

 The thought flickers and smolders, an ember

 refusing to die—before I shove it into the ash heap. Priorities.

 I steady my breath, forcing my voice into

 something measured, something Elara can grasp without drowning in the horror of

 it all. Words coil in my throat, edged with the raw sting of battle.

 “Elara,” I start, low and reverent, “the

 Broker—that snake draped in velvet—he’s more than just a merchant of dark

 bargains. He’s Soul-Bound. Like my father.” The words burn on my tongue. “His

 essence is steeped in the dark arts, a conduit for the blood-soaked legions of

 the Raiders.”

 The images slam into me. A cavernous lair, thick

 with the stink of blood and brimstone. Shadows slithering over jagged weapons,

 their edges glinting in the sickly glow of the portals. The air itself

 poisoned, thick with whispered oaths of conquest.

 “In a hidden grotto, he kept an army—a horde of

 nightmares made flesh.” My voice drops, the weight of it pressing against my

 ribs. “Blood trolls, ogres, kobolds… things that shouldn’t exist. They moved

 like a plague, their breath a festering rot in the air. And at the heart of it

 all—his portal. A wound in the world. He funneled them through, slipping his

 monsters into your lands like a sickness waiting to bloom.”

 Elara stands there, the illuminous light around

 us turning her sharp features into shifting shadows. She doesn’t speak. But I

 see it—the calculation behind those semerald eyes. She’s already placing the

 pieces, already imagining the battlefield.

 “He thought himself untouchable,” I murmur.

 “Hidden. Safe. A puppeteer in the dark.”

 A voice—thick, resonant, and unbearably

 smug—shatters the tension.

 “Correction, mi’lady.”

 Mr. Spuds, ever the scholar, adjusts his monocle

 with a tuberous little hand. “He had a portal. I am afraid its dimensional

 integrity was… compromised. During Reginald’s demolition run.”

 I blink. A flash of fur, a mad gleam in the

 squirrel’s eyes, tiny paws wielding explosives with entirely too much

 enthusiasm.

 Reginald.

 A slow, grim smile tugs at my lips.

 “Well.” I turn back to Elara. “That’s one problem

 solved.” A beat of silence, then I exhale, the weight of reality settling in

 once more. “But the army remains. And it won’t stay hidden for long.”

 Elara’s breath catches—a soft gasp slipping past

 her lips. Her pupils shrink, like the weight of realization is pressing down on

 her ribs, making it harder to breathe.

 “It can’t be…” she whispers, voice thin, frayed

 at the edges.

 I arch a brow, crossing my arms over my chest.

 “What? Don’t believe me ‘cause I’m rocking the horns-and-tail aesthetic?” I

 flick the tip of my tail for emphasis, letting it curl lazily in the air.

 Mr. Spuds, ever the dutiful potato knight, leans

 forward, his voice a soft, tuberous inquiry. “Mi’lady?”

 Elara doesn’t answer right away. Her gaze drifts

 inward, lost in something old, something heavy. A memory I can’t see.

 “No… that’s not it.” A breath—shaky, like she’s

 trying to steady herself. “I was a child when the Blood Raiders first invaded.

 My mother—the previous Merlin—she took care of them. She…” Elara swallows hard,

 her voice dropping to something raw. “She killed them. Every. Single. One.

 There shouldn’t be any left. They can’t be here.”

 A slow smirk tugs at my lips. “Thought you said

 killing ‘us’ was a major no-no. Like, super taboo?”

 Elara’s eyes snap to mine, brows furrowing—then

 something clicks. The shift is almost comical, like someone just flipped a

 switch in her head.

 “Of course,” she breathes, the phrase ancient and

 out of place coming from her. “Of course. She got rid of the Tethered.

 But not the Bound… or the Touched.”

 Mr. Spuds straightens, ever the eager scholar.

 “The… what, precisely?”

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 Elara exhales and drags a hand through her hair,

 slow and deliberate. She looks… tired. Too tired for someone so young.

 “You, my good knight,” she says, tone laced with

 patient exasperation, “are a Tethered. When you die, you return

 here—waiting in your master’s inner sanctum until summoned.” She gestures

 vaguely at me. “Meanwhile, Ember, our resident demon princess, is Touched.

 Because of her… paternal situation, she ends up here too. Only difference? She

 has to wait for the counter to trickle down before—poof—respawn.”

 I blink.

 I blink again.

 “…Trickle down what now?” The phrase feels absurd

 given our current end-of-the-world situation. “Like, an actual timer?

 Does it go beep when I’m good to go? And what’s the deal with this

 Touched business?”

 Because, honestly? This is a lot of lore to dump

 on a girl who just got wrecked.

 Elara bursts into laughter—a bright, musical

 sound that ripples through the clearing. But beneath the amusement, there’s

 something else. Something sharper. Curiosity wrapped in mischief.

 “First of all,” she teases, eyes glinting, “what,

 pray tell, is your father’s name?”

 I roll my eyes and sigh dramatically. “Grant

 Grayson of Fucking Calloway,” I announce, rattling it off like a grocery

 list. “About thirty, six-foot-six, one-seventy. Claims he’s a Libra—whatever

 the hells that means. Enjoys slow walks on beaches and, apparently, Sex on

 the Beach.”

 Mr. Spuds lets out a heavy, judgmental rumble,

 tilting forward just enough to look like a disapproving tutor. “Mi’lady… such

 vulgar language… it is, shall we say, unbecoming.”

 Elara’s laughter rings out again, rich and

 unrestrained. It fills the space around us, but there’s something calculating

 in her gaze now. “That’s quite the detailed account,” she muses, locking onto

 me. “Almost like you’ve spent your entire life with him.”

 The words send a jolt through me. My grin

 falters. My breath hitches.

 I haven’t spent my entire life with Grant.

 I only just became his daughter. So how—how do I know all this?

 A shiver curls down my spine, cold and unwelcome.

 Elara watches me carefully, her expression

 shifting from playful to knowing. “Tell me, Princess of Calloway, have you seen

 anything… unusual recently? Maybe… floating text? Boxes of information?”

 I hesitate, then nod. “Yeah,” I admit. “How did

 you—”

 She lifts a hand, cutting me off with a smirk.

 “Focus. Think the words Respawn Timer.”

 I narrow my eyes but obey, honing in on the

 phrase.

 A flicker of light. A whisper of motion. And

 then—

 A silvery hourglass materializes in my mind,

 grains of sand slipping downward in a slow, steady stream.

 Five hours.

 “Five hours?!” I yelp, the number blazing

 in my mind.

 Elara’s ears twitch—a small, precise movement,

 but somehow, it says everything. “Five… not one?” She exhales, shaking

 her head. “I see. Then you’ve engaged in PvP.”

 Her tone darkens, heavy as a storm rolling in.

 “That, I’m afraid… is taboo.”

 “Taboo?” I groan, throwing up my hands.

 “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

 Mr. Spuds, ever the picture of disapproving

 refinement—despite being, you know, a sentient potato—lets out a slow,

 gravelly rumble. “Mi’lady… language.”

 I roll my eyes, sighing dramatically. “Oh,

 please. It’s not like I wanted to get dragged into some PvP nonsense! We

 were attacked! What were we supposed to do? Stand there and get turned into

 demon jerky?”

 Elara chuckles again—that same lilting, melodic

 laugh that’s starting to itch under my skin. It’s too amused, too knowing, like

 she’s two steps ahead and enjoying watching me stumble to catch up.

 “I fear you misunderstand, mi’lady,” she says,

 tilting her head just so. “PvP is taboo for the Dragon-Touched.”

 I blink. “Okay? And that’s relevant because…?”

 She exhales, slow and measured, like she’s

 deciding how much truth to drop on me all at once. “Because you are not

 of dragon descent. The world believes your father to be Arthur, yet you have

 set my doubts at ease.” Her gaze sharpens, pinning me in place. “Your father is

 Calloway. The true lord of Castle Camelot. The rightful monarch of this

 island.”

 My breath catches.

 My skin prickles, like the air pressure just

 shifted.

 Wait.

 Wait.

 My dad is what now?

 My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Brain? Fried.

 Thoughts? Gone. Just static and the distant sound of my worldview shattering

 into tiny, irreparable pieces.

 Mr. Spuds, to his credit, steps into the silence.

 “Do you mean…” he starts, voice slow with dawning realization.

 Elara nods, turning to the potato—who, let’s be

 real, is handling this way better than I am. “Yes. You, my good sir, are

 no mere knight. You are tethered to the Paladin Order of Grantdale—its

 founders, the Sages of Chronos and Alchemy, the masters of the Enchanted

 Guardians.”

 Mr. Spuds’s… face? His potato-ness?—contorts

 into pure, unfiltered shock. “Egads!” he exclaims, because apparently,

 we’re doing Shakespeare in the Park now. “I… I had no idea!”

 Meanwhile, I’m still standing here. Brain

 buffering.

 My dad is a king.

 Spuds is some kind of ancient knight.

 And me?

 Shit.

 I’m not just some demon kid.

 I’m a princess.

 This is some next-level, wild-ass plot twist

 action.

AliNovel

Chapter 91: F’N Calloway