'NO, this is useless!!' The old general thought to himself as he watched the armies cheering in honor of the emperor. 'He is more than a human now, more than a mere king. He is a symbol for humanity. The death of him means humanity losing their symbol.'
'No, this is just rage collected over years, not me.' The general fidgeted with his long white beard. 'Is he still redeemable? Even now?' This long, harsh thought circled around his mind as he was pulled into memories of where things had gone wrong.
His thoughts took him back to 27 years ago, when he was first given the responsibility of the child.
"Sir General Ulysses, holder of the Silver Blade — the blade of the king. From this day onwards, you are given the responsibility to raise the 14th son of the king."
This was the statement given to me by the Empress Mother. At first, I could not comprehend why it was me who was receiving this unusual command. A general like me can only teach one to slay, not to rule.
Even with these complex thoughts weighing on me, I accepted the command and promised with my life to protect him. That was the same day I got to hold the child in my hands.
He was soft, small, and delicate — innocence was the only word that could describe him. His sleep was peaceful and elegant.
"What is his name?"
"He has none."
Strange. This child was around one to two months old and should have had a name by now.
"Why does he have no name? Has the king not seen him yet?"
"No. And that is your second command, Ulysses — under no circumstances must the king be made aware of this child's existence."
The strangest command I had ever received.
"And why is that?"
"You will understand soon enough."
What strange words those were. In time, I came to learn the full situation. The third wife of the king — the mother of this child — had died giving birth to him. With no mother to claim him, and his strangely mismatched eyes likely to stir rumors of a cursed child, hiding him away seemed the only option.
And the king himself was being consumed by the comforts of his throne. The lust of his six wives and fourteen mistresses left him no time to mourn a dead wife or concern himself with a cursed child.
He was simply too arrogant and too lazy.
But soon, I discovered this was not the only reason for concealing the child's identity.
He had blonde hair.
Blonde hair?
The king did not possess blonde hair. Nor did the queen. But the queen's guard did — the same guard who had been imprisoned by the Empress Mother on charges of stealing the royal jewellery.
An affair.
A bastard.
Which means…
17 Years Later
The king was in his council hall, surrounded by booze and women as always, enjoying the pleasures of life — the pleasures of royalty.
"Oh, what an evening it is, my dear ministers."
"Yes, my lord," they all said in sync.
"I am feeling particularly generous today. What do you say — shall we go hunting?"
"Yes, my lord," again in sync. These rats had learned no new words other than this buttered-up phrase.
"Hmm… where is Ulysses?"
"Ulysses?"
"Where is he?"
"Uh, my lord, Sir Ulysses has taken leave today. He went to visit his ancestors' graves."
"Uh, what a slacker he is. Who even made him the Silver Blade?"
"Uh, your father, my lord."
"My father? Is he the king now, or am I?"
"You, my dear lord."
"Then why is it that I must follow his rules, his ethics, and his choices?"
"You don't have to, my lord."
"You are very smart, Louise. What do you say we should do with a slacker like him?"
"Uh… discharge him?"
"Oh, you are a genius!"
"Give him an order that from this day onwards he —"
The king's words were cut short by a soldier who came running in with swift, urgent steps. He was sweating at the forehead and gasping for air, his eyes locked onto the king, waiting for his panting to slow before he could speak.
"Huh? What are you doing here, and why have you come in such a hurry?" the surprised minister asked the guard.
"Si…sir… outside… There is a boy." the guard said between pants.
"A boy? What about it?" the king said with arrogance.
"My lord… he… he demands to be heard by you in the council."
"DEMANDS!! Hahahaha. He DEMANDS." The king grew furious and laughed at the same time, amused by the soldier's foolish words.
"Bring the boy in. Let me see who dared to make demands of the king."
Soon the guard went back and brought the boy before the king and his council ministers. The boy was young — nearly seventeen or eighteen years old. He had an average height and fairly pale skin. He was covered in dirt and wore a worn set of clothes with a rugged leather armour over them. He had lavish blonde hair and a pair of mismatched eyes. In his left hand he carried a black bag that reeked of a foul smell, and in his right hand he held a broken blade. He stood before the king with a cold face.
"Louise, what was the guard talking about? He said a boy was asking to see me."
"Seems like he was blind, my lord. This is clearly a girl. Ha ha ha."
"Right, a poor-looking girl. Ha ha ha ha."
"I —" the boy spoke into the laughing council.
"I DEMAND THE THRONE."
The whole council fell silent. The words were too shocking for anyone to have imagined they would ever come from this boy's mouth — not even in a thousand years.
"Huh? What did you say, insect?" the king said with a boiling tongue.
"I SAID."
"I DEMAND THE THRONE."
"AND YOUR HEAD." He pointed his broken blade toward the king.
"And here I thought you would make a great jester."
"Kill him and hang his head on a spear."
At the command, three soldiers came rushing toward the boy, spearheads pointed at his chest.
The boy moved with swift precision. He jumped backward, grabbed the side of one spear, and yanked the guard toward him by surprise. He drove his broken sword deep into the guard's neck and used his body as a shield to block the other two spear attacks.
He hurled the black bag at one soldier's face, distracting him long enough for the boy to seize the dead guard's spear and drive it into the soldier's eye.
The bag tore open as it hit the ground — and what spilled out was a horrifying sight. There were two heads inside.
One belonged to the tribal leader of a cannibal eastern tribe that had long plagued the kingdom, blocking the trade routes by preying upon merchants who passed through.
The second head was a familiar one. It was the head of the king's eldest son, who had gone hunting that tribe with a fleet of elite soldiers just a week prior.
Seeing his son's head before him, the king felt a sharp pain in his chest — sadness, guilt, and loss all at once. But above all else, what consumed him was anger. Heavy, gruesome anger.
"This puny insect — KILL HIM!!!" The king tore his voice with rage.
The command echoed through the hall. More soldiers poured in at the sound of it — and behind them came a tall man whose shadow alone swallowed the boy whole.
The man was nearly double the boy's height and carried a heavy black sword. He was the grand executioner of the kingdom. Rordrig — Slayer of Heads.
Before the boy's eyes, the giant raised his sword high and brought it down in one swift slash. The boy dodged it by the narrowest of margins. But he failed to notice the spearheads closing in from behind.
He evaded one — but two spears drove into his back. The leather armour dripped red as the soldiers shoved the spears deeper and pinned the boy to the ground.
"Now I see some blood. RORDRIG — CHOP THIS DOG'S HEAD OFF!!!!!" the king commanded.
The executioner raised his sword once more. The chamber of ministers watched in silent horror, too shaken to speak a single word, their lips dry with fear.
Then a strange sound cut through the air — a sharp, wet shunk. A blade driving through flesh and metal.
They raised their heads toward the source.
It was the executioner. A sword had been driven through his back, piercing clean through his chest and out the other side. The blade was silver — blood-soaked silver — and the hand holding it belonged to —
"Ulysses!!!! What are you doing, you fool!!!"
"I am the holder of the Silver Blade, my lord. I cannot permit an unbalanced duel."
"This isn't a duel, you fool — this is an executi —"
"Furthermore —" the general pulled his sword free from the executioner and leveled it directly at the king. "I cannot permit an incompetent ruler such as you to continue either."
"Traitor." The king's face turned red. He ordered the soldiers to cut down both the boy and the general. But the soldiers were too frightened to lay a hand on Ulysses — they knew he was far beyond their league.
The boy tore himself free from the pinned position, seized the executioner's fallen sword, and drove it into the nearest soldier. He rose to his feet and snatched up a fallen spear.
"I — ATLAS DE THEOS, SLAYER OF BEASTS — DEMAND THE THRONE AND YOUR HEAD."
With those words, he hurled the spear with full force toward the king. It drove straight into his chest. The throne was soaked in warm blood, and wine spilled from an overturned glass.