Phillip saluted the guards before his father’s chambers. He smiled when they saluted back, the shine on their armor obvious from the sun’s rays. His orders to have the golden surface cleaned before today had been fulfilled to perfection.

“You can go now,” the Crown Prince said, both guards wordlessly nodding as they left the corridor behind. After two minutes, when their echoing steps became distant, Phillip thought himself prepared enough to enter. He pushed the door open with minimal effort, looking inside and seeing Alin and his father at the table. “I see the two of you are restarting your efforts to learn chess.”

“You make it sound like I don’t know how to play at all,” his father replied, moving his rook into the worst place possible, obvious for the taking without Alin losing anything from it. “I’d say we’re better than him on a good day.”

“It would require that he had a bad day as well, I’m afraid,” Alin said, missing the free piece and letting the game move on without either side winning much of anything. The Crown Prince didn’t know what to say at the display. “Are you interested in playing, Philip? If you want, you could swap with me after this game. I was hoping to find us some tea anyway.”

“Some of Elijah’s wouldn’t hurt if you remember where I put it,” his father added.

“I’m not sure it would be good if I was to play against him,” Philip tried, not wanting too much time spent in here before he did what he came to do. He’d been nervous about it when calling away his guards, and that boiling pot inside his head was only increasing in heat.

“Sorry, did I just hear somebody speaking ill of the king?”

…

I hate you so much.

“Of course not, Your Majesty,” Phillip assured the king, agreeing with himself that obliterating him in one last chess game wouldn’t hurt anybody. “Just to move this along, Alin, I’d suggest you move your bishop over here.”

The greatest Earth Mage in the past two centuries raised an eyebrow in response to his words.

“Are you sure that— Ah, you are a perceptive one, Phillip!” Alin exclaimed with a chuckle as he realized what it did. Even with his father’s complaints raining down at him, another three moves was all it took to get another piece to the proper place and force a checkmate. “Next time, I ask that you allow me to beat your father on my own. His despair is so much sweeter when I manage it without hints.”

“You sadistic prick,” his father cursed, matching the laughter with his own. Phillip only smiled, silently accepting the free seat as Alin left for the other table where boiling water and cups had already been prepared for them. “Now, son of mine, do you intend to let your dear father win or do you intend to show me what you can do?”

“Is it not obvious?” Philip asked, which made his father put his hands in surrender. “Being easy on you will teach you nothing.”

They both began to reset the board, him getting the white pieces and his father the black ones.

“Oh, but being easy on you taught you so many things,” came the counter. “I remember you being rather prideful when I allowed you to win as a kid. Ran all through the castle shouting about your superiority.”

“Please don’t remind me.”

A memory flashed by, of the servants cheering him on as he climbed the tables and shouted about his win to the heavens. They’d laughed back then. His mother… she’d had none of it when she’d heard about what he had done. Though his recounting had made her smile, she had reminded him to be more humble around others.

Pride could get you very far, but too much of it would make it too easy for a dagger to enter your back.

“Make your turn, dad,” Philip reminded the king, when the old man just sat and enjoyed his pain. He could hear a soft chuckle leaving Alin, but he didn’t spare the Mage a thought. “Delaying your defeat doesn’t mean it won’t come.”

“Arrogant, are we?” his father questioned, matching the center pawn with his own.

“Confidence is what I would call it,” Phillip replied, watching as the game quickly began to push in his favor. Blunder after blunder, grimaces obvious on his father’s face as the queen vanished earlier than expected. “I did warn that I wouldn’t go easy on you.”

“I remember,” his father assured him, moving a bishop to the edge of the board. Going through its possible routes, along with the seemingly random placements his father continued to do in the next five moves, Philip realized he was trying to force an unlucky checkmate.

This trick would’ve worked on me as a child, dad, but it’s not something I will fall for now.

He moved his queen forward, intent on stopping any kind of shenanigans, and doubled up by switching over a knight to take care of the bishop. It would simplify getting rid of the other pieces to allow for a more brutal win. While Phillip was relatively sure he could win within six moves if needed, he wouldn’t mind enjoying—

“And, yup, that’s checkmate.”

What?

“I told you it’d work,” his father told Alin, who just shook his head before handing over a small bag of gold.

Phillip had lost? To his father of all people? Looking at the board, where a bishop stopped all movement of the king while a knight threatened the piece, he wanted to slap himself for not realizing it earlier. The random movements hadn’t been random at all, and instead just a jumbled setup for one of the most common ways to lock the king in place. It was a trick that the average-skilled players used on beginners for a laugh.

It wasn’t something he should’ve missed.

Yet he had.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

“Cheer up, son,” his father said, leaning over and tapping him on the shoulder. “We sometimes have good days the same day you have a bad one. These things just happen sometimes.”

A bad day?

Yes… he supposed this was a bad day. The worst of days, second only to when his youth had been cut short.

“Tea?” Alin said as he offered him a cup.

“Yes, thank you,” Philip said, accepting the steaming beverage. Sipping at it, he felt his nerves loosen just a little. “So you were able to find Elijah’s blend.”

“Indeed, though it wasn’t easy. Your father decided to drop it behind the table without noticing,” Alin explained, as the king did his best to look innocent for all his crimes. “Savor it, by the way. The flowers that our Royal Healer has planted for the new batch might be growing at accelerated rates, but it will take a few weeks before they’re ready to be used.”

A rare treat then.

“How many bags do we have left?” his father asked.

“Enough for around twenty cups more. Thirty if we’re using the proper amount.”

“So only enough for twenty cups. What a shame.”

Philip tried to enjoy the tea as the minutes passed. The two old men continued to jab at each other, talking about anything that came to their minds. He was brought in every now and then, but the two could dominate conversation unlike anybody else. It was incredible how their minds could continue to work at such strength when their bodies had deteriorated so much.

In a way, it only made this next part so much worse.

“Do you hear that?” his father asked, as distant thuds reached his ears. It was faint, barely perceptible if not for the open door into the balcony, but some focus allowed all three to recognize the jostling of armor that came with movement. This time, however, it was enhanced by the fact that it wasn’t one guard walking at a steady pace but rather nearly a hundred who took each step in sync. Phillip was rather proud of that, having worked hard with his men to make it happen. “Could the two of you see what’s going on out there?”

“Of course,” Alin replied, rising from the chair. Philip did the same, a step behind the Earth Mage as he walked to the windows. It took the Earth Mage a moment of staring, but, finally, he could see the hundred-strong army of guards walking toward the Academy. A perfect distraction, you could say. “That’s… strange. Guards are leaving— Phillip! What did you…”

Philip caught the Earth Mage before they injured themselves from the fall. Just as promised, the needle entered the skin of the man’s neck without issue, likewise making Alin grow into a deep slumber within mere seconds. There was no chance of fighting back.

Reynold, you were useful one last time.

“I’m surprised, dad,” Philip commented, when he looked back at his father and saw the man pouring some brandy into his tea before taking a sip. “You’re not going to shout for help? No cursing my name? No… anything at all?”

“I wondered what you were going to do when you replaced the guards outside the chamber with your own,” Mason said, ignoring his questions. He sounded so casual about it when Philip approached the table again. “When I heard them leave, I considered my chances and found them lacking. Alin’s, however, didn’t seem as bad. You looked at him differently than normal, in a… softer manner. Whatever you planned to do, it wouldn’t involve his death.”

“But you knew it would include yours?” Philip questioned. His father shrugged, making him shake his head. This was a bluff, though one he entertained. Letting the man who tried to raise him have his moment before the end was only right. “How selfless of you.”

“You become more selfless when the loom of death is already hovering above,” his father explained. “And, well, I will not reject the chance to see my love again.”

“Don’t mention her right now.”

“Why? You think she would disapprove of all this?”

“Just… Please don’t.”

It was not meant to sound like he was begging, but the thought crushed a small part of Phillip. He didn’t need to think of her right now. She would understand once it was all done. His father would as well.

“Fine,” his father said, giving in to the request. “Answer a question of mine instead then. Do you think that whatever you’re doing will work? It’s not common for somebody inheriting the title of king in less than a year to take it by force early.”

“I didn’t want to do it, now that you’re able to leave your bed and talk again, but we were so close to being done that I had to complete it,” Phillip explained. He still believed in the reasons behind his actions, reasons that he hoped he could convince his siblings with, but only time would tell now. “To have it all work, I need to be the king. I need the authority that comes with it, or everything is going to fall apart.”

“You believe what you’re saying so earnestly, but what is it you’re hoping to do?” his father pressed on. “What is so horrible that you think I and the rest of the country will turn against you if you aren’t already the ruler?”

Phillip felt despair as he explained the final step of his plan to his father. The King, the man who had founded this country and was revered as the legend he deserved to be, looked at him with disappointment. Or, no, not just the disappointment of a father but likewise horror at the lengths Phillip had gone to reach his goals.

“I wouldn’t have allowed that for good reason,” Mason, the legend and freer of the people, said. The idol Philip strived to be did not approve of him. And… that was fine. He knew it would be like this. “Please tell me you understand what you’re bringing to the surface of this world.”

“That look of yours is the reason I’m doing this,” Phillip exclaimed. “What will Castilla think when—”

“No more excuses,” his father ordered. His obeyed, tongue growing still. “You did this because you thought it would help. I don’t agree that it will, but that point is moot. You’ve made your choices and there is nothing that can be done to change what has been set in motion.”

“There isn’t,” he confirmed. He’d already gotten word Rubeus had caught the sacrifices. The only thing needed now was for the arrival of the moon. After that, all of this would be solved. “Is there anything else you wish to say?”

“Honestly? The only thing I wish for now is that my children don’t tear each other apart the instant I’m gone, yet I fear that will not be the case,” Mason muttered, his left hand trembling.

Philip knew it wasn’t from fear of what was to become of him but of what was to become of the world he left behind.

“I will do my best to convince them of my goals, but I can promise you nothing,” Phillip told his father. “Your children are not known for walking a path other than their own.”

“Their own, yes, but that doesn't make them too different,” the king said, pushing himself up from the chair. His body was weak but he did not falter as he approached his son. “Would you bring me my warhammer from the wall? I might not be able to carry it, but it was always my dream to die with it in my hand.”

“Of course.”

They didn’t speak from that point on. Neither saw the need, as Phillip brought him the weapon. It was light in his hands, but his father could only clutch the handle while the head rested on the floor.

Making sure that they were comfortable, that they were ready, he drew his sword and took a deep breath.

“Make this count.”

“I will.”

Phillip’s Core blossomed, sending energy through his body. He allowed the Mana a second to settle before he took what felt like a single step forward.

Then it was over. The sword was put away before his father could fall, and he caught the thin body so it didn’t bruise.

“I promise to make this work.”

Nobody heard his words. His father was already gone from this world.

There was no turning back now.