With the sunset, darkness fell over the city, but even the shadows couldn't conceal the neighbourhood's deplorable condition. A few faint lights flickered, scarcely illuminating the fractured concrete and rusted metal that littered the abandoned streets.

It starkly contrasted the gleaming towers and pristine sidewalks of the Anatist urban area.

Walking through the slums, one could feel the weight of neglect and despair that hung heavy in the air. The infrastructure was severely degraded, and the dilapidated houses leaned precariously, threatening to collapse at any moment. It was like the structures had given up on life, accepting their destiny of slow decline.

The only sounds that could be heard were the occasional buzz of flies and the distant hum of machinery from the industrial district. Hundreds of manholes dotted the landscape like gaping maws waiting to swallow unwary travellers. There were no lids or danger signs, a dangerous oversight that seemed to mirror the apathy of those in power.

Amid this desolate landscape, a lone figure trudged through the debris. The man moved quickly, his steps light and sure as he weaved his way through the debris. But as he drew closer to one of the many manholes that dotted the landscape, his pace slowed, and he approached with caution.

The man was dressed in a black cloak, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a hood. He sighed deeply after a glance around, appearing scared of being observed.

"Why the hell did you choose this place as a rendezvous?" he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with frustration. "The houses all look the same. How am I supposed to find it?"

The man's gaze darted around the deserted streets, searching for any sign that might give him a clue. But all he saw was a sea of dilapidated buildings, their windows boarded up, their doors hanging off their hinges.

He shook his head, his frustration mounting with every passing second.

"This is ridiculous," he muttered under his breath. "I should have never agreed to meet here."

His frustration continued to mount while he scoured the dilapidated houses for the elusive number combination. His eyes scanned every house in the slum, looking for the small wooden boards attached to their front doors. But no matter how hard he looked, he couldn't find the one that matched the crumpled piece of paper in his pocket.

He took the paper out again, his fingers tracing the worn edges of the number "211".

"Let's see, where is that house?"

With a sigh, he raised his head and looked around. The slum seemed to stretch on forever, an endless sea of decrepit buildings and dark alleyways. He felt a sense of hopelessness wash over him, wondering if he would ever find what he was looking for.

He continued his search, his gaze flitting from one wooden board to the next while muttering the numbers under his breath. "Two one one... two one one..."

While he walked, he noticed how empty and deserted the slum was. The legs began to ache with exhaustion, but he refused to stop.

Hours passed and the night grew darker, the man continued his search. His eyes grew bleary and his steps faltered, but he pushed on, determined to find the answers he sought. For he knew that the fate of his future depended on it.

A melancholy murmur left his lips as he looked up at the full moon, its gentle light creating an ethereal radiance over the night. "If I had one wish," he said, looking up at the starry heavens, "please let me see you again." He closed his eyes, lost in contemplation when a voice broke the peaceful stillness.

“Welcome!”

He jumped to his feet, nearly losing his equilibrium in the process, startled. His eyes widened in surprise as he whirled to confront the source of the disruption. How did he get here without noticing it? The voice interrupted his thoughts on the strange conditions of his landing.

"You’re here," it said, with an air of familiarity that he couldn't quite place. As he looked around, he saw a small, shabby house, much like any other in the neighbourhood. There was something about it, something that drew him in, compelling him to step forward.

"Come!" the figure said, gesturing towards a nearby chair.

He took a deep breath and stepped warily through the creaking door, not knowing what to anticipate. The small area in front of him was sparse, with only a decaying wooden table in the centre, encircled by similarly shabby seats. The musty air and damp walls made him shudder, but it was obvious that he was in the right spot.

After the man glanced up, he saw a Lizardwar dressed in a dark green military outfit seated across from him. As he sipped a cup of hot tea, the lizard's eyes twinkled in the low light.

At first, he hesitated to sit in the damp, mouldy chair, but the Lizardwar gestured for him to take a seat.

"Looks like you got the letter earlier than I thought," the lizard said, his voice low and gravelly.

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"Sit down."

He hesitated for a moment, eyeing the swarm of cockroaches that seemed to have taken up residence on the rickety chair. Despite his discomfort, he reluctantly lowered himself onto the seat, wincing as the damp wood creaked beneath him. He tried to ignore the unsettling feeling crawling up his spine as he settled in, avoiding the squirming insects as best he could.

When he sat there, he felt a sense of unease emanating from the Lizardwar. The reptilian's eyes were sharp and focused, and his expression was eerily serious. He cleared his throat nervously, trying to push away his fear as he spoke up.

"Or, maybe I could just stand?" he suggested tentatively. "I'm not quite comfortable sitting on this- this thing."

To his relief, the Lizardwar nodded in agreement. Then, he made a satisfied smile. "Very good, very good," he said, nodding to himself.

"You came alone, without any escorts or reaching out for help from other countries. You truly are a faithful man, as a servant for the Replord Empire, Jornts Kignat, King of Karatuck."

"Being one of the six generals who are in charge of the Council of Power, can't you live in a clean place but live in such…?"

When he had just finished his question, the general, who had just taken another sip of tea, gently placed the cup on the table and replied with a smile:

"Is this the first time you've seen someone of high profile living in a place like this?" It's silly but this is my style, what do your humans usually call this anyway? Poverty? Sleazy? Disgrace? No no! This is heaven."

Realizing that the conversation between the two was starting to get off-topic, he paused, straightening his voice before continuing:

"So, did you bring what I asked for?"

Before giving it to him, Jornts had a request:

"You show me that first, then you will receive it."

The general's smile widened as he leaned back in his chair, resting his arm on the table.

"Of course, Jornts, of course. But you should know that I don't come empty-handed."

He reached into his pocket and produced a small, ornate box, which he placed on the table between them.

"Before we begin, let's indulge in some of the finer things in life."

He opened the box, revealing a collection of delicate, fragrant tea leaves. Jornts watched as the general carefully prepared the tea, using precise measurements and techniques that betrayed a deep knowledge of the art of brewing. As the aroma of the tea filled the air, the tension in the room seemed to dissipate.

"Turtle's tea, such a good deal."

After taking a sip of the tea, the general turned to Jornts with a knowing look.

"Now then, about that little favour, you asked of me. You understand the risks involved in what you're asking for, correct?"

Jornts nodded, his face serious:

"I do. But the situation in my country is dire. We need the resources to rebuild, to feed our people."

The general smiled, his reptilian eyes seeming to bore into Jornts' soul.

"I know. But you must also understand that this is a delicate matter, especially you, a king who betrayed his alliance to be an enemy's dog."

Jornts remained steadfast. "What I do is only for the best of my people, General. That's why I came to you."

The general nodded, satisfied.

"Very well. Let's get down to business."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a switch the size of half a hand.

The switch that the Lizardwar placed on the table seemed to emit a deadly aura, its menacing design leaving an impression on Jornts. However, he managed to maintain his composure and focused on the task at hand.

"Still intact, no scratches or damage at all. It's your turn."

Jornts carefully pulled out and unwrapped a scroll, revealing the intricate details of a tunnel system.

"Ah, this is amazing! Every detail has been documented," the Lizardwar exclaimed. "It will surely help us greatly in our upcoming operation. You have done well, Jornts Kignat."

"May I ask what the Council of Power intends to do with this information?" Jornts inquired.

The Lizardwar's expression turned serious, and his voice lowered to a whisper.

"The Ford Anatist Kingdom has been causing problems for us for far too long. We intend to use this information to launch a surprise attack on their stronghold and finally put an end to their existence."

Jornts felt his heart pounding in his chest as he looked into the Lizardwar's eyes. The king's fear was palpable as he stammered out his question:

"Then when are we going to st-?"

But before he could finish his sentence, the general suddenly held a pistol to his forehead. Jornts froze, his words caught in his throat as he trembled in terror. The Lizardwar's grip was tight and unyielding, leaving Jornts no room to escape.

The king's mind raced with fear and desperation, and he blurted out a half-hearted joke in a desperate attempt to defuse the situation:

"No- No! I'm just kidding!"

However, the general was not amused, and his grip on Jornts only tightened. He reminded Jornts of the harsh reality of his situation: "Don't even think that you're free when Lord Komodo was defeated. Once you agree to join us, you must be enslaved unconditionally and indefinitely for the Replord Empire!"

With a cruel twist, the Lizardwar grabbed Jornts by the neck and dragged him towards the door. The frail old man protested helplessly, but his cries went unheard. With a sudden burst of strength, the general kicked open the door and threw Jornts out with one hand.

The king landed hard on the ground, feeling his body ache and his bones rattle inside him. He spat out blood several times and trembled as he struggled to rise to his feet.

King Jornts sat on the road, his head hung low with shame and defeat. His once-powerful posture was now slumped and weak. He should not have signed away his kingdom to the Replord Empire, hoping that they would be better rulers than he had been. But now, as he faced the current situation, he realized what a grave mistake he had made.

As tears filled his eyes, Jornts raised his head to the moon and began to speak, his voice choked with emotion. "In my life, I have never been more humiliated than this. My people, my kingdom, everything that I held dear, all gone because of my foolishness."

He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing.

"Please forgive me, everyone. I'm just a failed king who foolishly gave his whole country to those oxen. I thought I was doing the right thing, and that they would bring happiness and prosperity to my people. But now, I see that I was wrong. So wrong."

The weight of his actions finally took its toll, and Jornts collapsed, hitting the ground hard. He didn't want to get up, he just lay there, crouching and sobbing, his once-proud spirit now broken and defeated.

The echoes of his sobs filled the silent slum, a sad reminder of the once-great king who had sacrificed everything for his people, only to be left with nothing.