Sheer walked outside with a big frown on his face. Of course, the frown only came when he had found his way out of the king's presence. The boy was losing it, getting all cocky and confident and thinking himself king. How was he to know that Sheer was actually the one that put him there? The late king's time was up because of the behavior that Harodin was displaying now. If the young king did not come to his senses quickly, he would most likely end up in the same way as his father. Well, Sheer smiled, he already had plans in place.

As he walked through the hallway, his black robe swept the ground. From a distance, he looked like an apparition that was floating through the hallway, one that would scare the children of the servants pantless. Instead of making his way to his chambers, he walked on through the hallway and outside the palace.

Outside, he pulled his cape down over his head and walked into the street. In the streets, he would look like anyone rather than the king's advisor. Sheer had made sure right from time that the fabrics that were woven into his clothes were not of the type befitting of the royalty. He had made sure that fancy embroidery was kept away from his robes. To the late king, he felt it was a show of respect, but he did not know until his death. Sheer was sure the king would still be confused in his grave thinking about the way his advisor dressed. He shrugged and continued up the street.

The stone city of Mora was the capital of Kora. It was here that the king resided. There were giant gates to keep out any attacks that were spotted on time. Other than that, if the gates were breached, then the soldiers would come out to fight. The palace had towers and pathways at the top where soldiers could hide and shoot at the enemy. But Sheer knew that the city of Mora could be breached, especially with the weak king that was in charge. The crystal sword of power would change all that. Legend had it that the person with this sword could stop the bark of thunder from steel guns, control the weather, and put every damn thing under himself. The description was very much what Sheer wanted to think of himself.

There were few peasants along the city streets because of what Sheer and the soldiers that were loyal to him were doing. The operation to find out those who were in a conspiracy to overthrow the young king and his government for what they called a democracy. Stupid fellows. Humans, Sheer had known, right from time, could not think for themselves. It was for this reason that the royalty was in power. The irony of it was that the elites could not think for themselves. It was people like him, Sheer, advisors who largely stayed in the shadows, hidden from spotlights and standing behind empty-headed kings who could hardly take decisions for themselves.

Sheer suddenly paused at a crossroad. To his right, there was the chapel for people who were so religious, a building as intimidating as it was awe-inspiring. It was built like a pyramid, rising from a wide base to a pointed top on which there was a cross. Sheer watched the church dully. It was not the place for him—not until he wanted something down on a large scale. Slaves who were converted to the faith were taught to be obedient to their masters, thieves too. Everything that would keep the ruling class at the top. Sheer knew these things. The late king was not such a dummy after all.

Sheer looked around cautiously. He did not want anyone recognizing him and carrying the gossip to quarters he would rather not have them. Unlike the other parts of the city, there were no hawkers or roadside sellers close to the church. It was a rule, the house of the lord was not to be made a marketplace.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

"Bollocks," Sheer cursed and turned to walk towards the church. He moved fast.

When he walked through the doors of the church, he found the church empty. It was just the way he had planned it. Coming here with so many people around was risky. It was all nice and cool to think that he would not be recognized away from the palace because he dressed like the common man, but he knew his luck could run out one day. Standing behind the king, day after day while he addressed the kingdom exposed him in ways he did not like. So with the cape over his face, he hurried to the confession booth and sat there.

"Forgive me father, for I have sinned," he said.

He knew the man would be there, the one he wanted.

"Speak, son," the priest said.

Sheer took a deep breath.

"You did not think that I will forget?" Sheer asked.

"Forget?"

The window was pushed open and Sheer stared directly at the priest. He was a pathetic, little man who claimed to hear from God. Sheer would like to be heard first of all.

"Sheer…" the man exclaimed.

"Shut up!"

"What are you doing here?"

"Stupid question. Where is the sword?"

"Why do you want this sword so much?"

"Why do you love this church so much? Why do you love your life?"

"You dare threaten a servant of God?"

Sheer stepped out of his booth. The next thing the priest heard was a bang on his door and his door being pulled open. Sheer barged in and dragged him out like a common criminal. He pushed him to the ground and kicked him in the face.

The priest screamed in pain.

"Ah. My nose! My nose! You have broken my nose, you lunatic!"

"Are you ready to answer me now?" Sheer asked.

He made as if he was about to kick the priest again, and the little man on the ground shrank away from his leg while holding out his hand to weather the kick.

"Wait, wait. I have sent some thieves after the sword," the priest cried.

"And?"

"They did not find it."

"Wow."

Sheer had an incredulous expression on his face. It was borne out of surprise, surprise that the man could defy him so easily whole thinking there were no consequences.

"I tried to make it easy for your greedy self," Sheer said. "I paid you to find thieves for me and the location of this crystal sword."

"You paid me only once. I have sent three sets of thieves to places we think the sword might have been hidden. Nothing was there."

"You want to die," Sheer said. "It is clear. You want to die."

The priest noticed a change in the advisor's stance and his countenance. He struggled to his feet and was about to race off towards the church door when he felt a kick from the back. The kick hurled him to the ground, depositing him bodily on a stone surface. He was too stunned to react.

The cold touch of steel brushed against his neck as his attacker drew his head up from the back.

"You stupid twat," Sheer said.

He pushed the sharp edge of the knife deeper into the tantalizingly fresh neck of the priest.

"Please, please, don't kill me," the man begged.

Sheer pushed the knife in a little more, drawing blood. The liquid stained the blade, and the priest trembled beneath him.

"I will spare you just this once," Sheer finally said.

He pushed the man away from him. The priest felt his neck, grateful that there was no slit in it big enough to end his life.

"If you fail me again, you will not live to tell the tale," Sheer said, walking towards the exit. "And don't even think of running away."

The priest stood, staring after him, shaken to the core and still holding his neck.

"Find the damn sword," Sheer said before he finally slipped through the door.

Still, the priest stood there, unable to move. He was only now just realizing the depth of the trouble that he had so willingly submerged himself in. At first, it was a matter of money. Then duty. When the crown called, one had only one choice: to answer. He had. Continuously. At the confession, he recruited every thief he knew to search for this evasive treasure, but most of them ever came back or were seen again. The ones that came back found nothing.

The priest turned back to his chambers. Doing the lord's work was becoming a bit difficult by the day.