Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband

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.

"Ensure the transfer to the North is handled immediately," Caspian ordered the two rigid guards, before turning and following his brother-in-arms out of the cell.

As the heavy iron doors slammed shut, sealing the poacher boss away forever, the suffocating tension in the corridor finally broke.

Caspian fell into step beside Lucien as they navigated the dark tunnels toward the surface. The Merman King cast a sideways glance at the assassin.

"You showed restraint," Caspian noted quietly. "The old Lucien would not have left that room with a living prisoner."

"The old Lucien didn’t have anything to go home to," Lucien replied softly, his violet eyes softening as they reached the sunlit courtyard of the capital building. He unbuckled his weapon belts, tossing them to a waiting attendant. He didn’t need them anymore today. "I do not want to carry the scent of death back to her."

Caspian smiled, a genuine, profound look of understanding crossing his regal features. "A wise decision. Let us go home, shadow-cat. The Sovereign is making fresh bread, and the waterfowl require supervision."

***

An hour later, the magical transport carriage passed through the heavy iron gates of the cliffside manor.

Lucien stepped out onto the gravel driveway. He paused, taking a deep breath of the crisp, salty ocean air. It smelled like blooming night-jasmine and Primrose’s baking. It smelled clean.

He bypassed the front doors, slipping silently around the side of the manor toward the eastern gardens.

The sun was just beginning to set, casting a warm, golden hue over the estate. The Duck-kin pavilions were quiet, the elders resting after a long day of feasting and settling into their new territory.

Lucien found Juni exactly where he hoped she would be.

She was sitting on a thick woven blanket at the edge of the cliff, looking out over the painted sky. Pip was entirely asleep, curled up into a tiny, fluffy ball with his head resting in her lap.

Lucien walked up softly, making sure his footsteps crunched just loudly enough on the grass to announce his presence without startling her.

Juni turned her head. When she saw him, her face completely lit up.

"You’re back," she whispered, a massive smile spreading across her lips.

"I am," Lucien murmured, taking a seat on the blanket right beside her. He carefully folded his long legs, entirely mindful of the sleeping toddler.

He didn’t wear his armor, and he hadn’t worn his suit. He was just wearing a simple, soft dark shirt. He looked relaxed. The heavy, dark burden he usually carried on his shoulders seemed entirely absent.

Juni looked at him closely, her golden eyes tracing the soft lines of his face. She knew where he had gone today. Primrose had told her that Caspian and Lucien were taking a trip to the capital to handle the "legalities" of the poacher attack.

"Is it done?" Juni asked softly, her hand unconsciously tightening on Pip’s little shoulder.

Lucien turned his head, his violet eyes meeting hers with absolute, unwavering certainty. He reached out, gently covering her trembling hand with his large, warm one.

"It is done, Juni," Lucien promised, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "The syndicate is dismantled. Their backers are gone. The boss is locked away forever. The entire underworld has been issued a warning from the Crown. No one will ever hunt your flock again."

Juni’s breath hitched. She stared into his eyes, searching for any sign of a lie, any hidden catch. But there was only the truth.

For two entire years, she had lived with a knot of pure terror coiled tight in her chest. She had forgotten what it felt like to simply exist without looking over her shoulder. But sitting here, on a blanket in the sunset, the knot finally, entirely unraveled.

A single, happy tear slipped down her cheek.

"It’s really over," she whispered, the realization washing over her like a warm wave.

"You are safe," Lucien swore, his thumb gently wiping the tear from her cheek. "You can finally stop running, silver-wing."

Juni let out a soft, watery laugh. She turned her hand over, interlacing her fingers with his. She leaned into his side, resting her head against his broad shoulder.

"I think I found a pretty good place to stop," Juni murmured.

Lucien wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close as they watched the sun dip below the horizon. The shadows stretched long and comforting across the grass, no longer a place for an assassin to hide, but a safe, quiet blanket for a family to rest.