Chapter 6 : The Holy Kingdom
In the Kingdom of Izerack, at the same moment:
Around a circular table of solid wood, perched atop a massive castle overlooking the royal capital, a group of men were gathered. The city itself, with its grandiose scale and magnificent architecture, fully deserved its title as one of the wonders of the world.
The men, seated around the table on finely carved chairs, each showed visible signs of their importance: stern faces, hands marked by power and battle. The atmosphere was heavy, every movement measured, every glance weighted.
“Well… what happened with the 96th wave of Envoys?” suddenly asked a deep voice. The question cut through the room.
The man who spoke, with short gray hair falling in strands over a face scarred with lines, had piercing red eyes, brighter than blood. Despite his hair color, he showed no signs of age. His imposing stature and noble clothing left no doubt: he was a war hero, medals adorning his shirt.
“Tristan, what do you want us to do? Such a messy situation, it’s unheard of!” growled another man, looking exasperated.
“Don’t speak to me like that,” Tristan replied coldly, clenching his fist. “I was born here, in this kingdom. Your Envoys and their fate are none of my concern.”
The other man, a blond with golden eyes emitting a strange glow, lost his patience. His features ignited with anger.
“Our worlds? It’s none of your concern? You damn fool! There’s only one survivor, and it’s clear: the bastard slaughtered them all!” he shouted, his golden eyes blazing with a dangerous intensity.
Tristan stared at him for a moment, his expression icy and tense. Then, in a sudden gesture, he stood up, grabbed his chair, and without warning, hurled it with all his might straight into the blond man’s face. The impact cracked through the hall like thunder. The chair shattered into pieces, and the blond man fell heavily to the floor, blood streaming from his nose.
Around the table, the other men exchanged frightened glances. Slowly but surely, they rose one by one, fleeing the scene without daring to look back. Tristan was not just anyone in this kingdom.
“Livor, this matter is your problem. Deal with it,” Tristan replied with sharp coldness, his jaw clenched. “It doesn’t concern me.”
He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Livor crumpled on the ground, trembling with rage.
“One day, I’ll kill you…” murmured the latter, his tone ice-cold, betraying his quiet anger.
“But first, I have to kill that lunatic who slaughtered all the Envoys; it’s the first time this has ever happened…” he added, struggling to get up from the floor.
...
At Grealf’s manor, the day after the fight with the wolf and Shame:
The old man stood in the living room on the ground floor, sipping a black coffee, a satisfied smile on his face. After all, he came to each summoning of Envoys to try to find the one he was looking for.
That didn’t mean he didn’t help the others; he was genuinely kind-hearted, but helping them wasn’t his priority.
“Haha… What a beautiful fight yesterday; I wonder when he’ll wake up…” he murmured, bringing the cup closer to his mouth to keep sipping his coffee.
Upstairs, in one of the rooms, Shame was sleeping, unable to move. After the battle he had fought the day before, his body was far too tired, though all his wounds had been healed. Indeed, after bringing down the wolf, Shame had fallen unconscious.
Grealf had been surprised to see his grandson collapse on the ground. He had hurried out of the manor to reach the garden and heal him before carrying him to his room and leaving him to rest.
“Mnh…” a murmur escaped the mouth of the young man as he slept. The poor boy was caught in a nightmare: distant visions appeared to him, two figures standing out among them. He didn’t recognize them, but they seemed so familiar…
“WAH!” Shame suddenly cried out, sitting up with a start from his bed.
“Ah… it was just a dream… Ouch!”
“Everything hurts so much…”
“That’s odd; my arm doesn’t have any blood left on it… bandages!” he exclaimed before continuing, “Grandpa healed me!”
Upon realizing this, he attempted to jump out of bed, in a good mood, but his still-numb body caused him to collapse as soon as he touched the floor.
“Oh, okay…” said Shame, frustrated.
“Show me my system status,” he added, looking away.
[ Name: Shame Dracarys
Divine Name: None
Orb Level: 2 -> 5 (Fighting against a stronger enemy!)
Status: Grandson of the King
Skills: {Guilt} {Determination}
Celestial Alignment: Star of the Guilty ]
“I leveled up, perfect!” he exclaimed, noting his improvement, before forcing himself to get up off the floor, pathetically.
After struggling to stand, he decided to leave his room, walked down the long corridor of the manor, and reached the staircase leading to the ground floor.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
As he descended, he spotted Grealf sitting on a chair in the living room, still holding a cup in his hand.
“Grandpa, did you see me take down that monster yesterday? I leveled up!” Shame said, full of pride. At his words, Grealf turned around in his chair and motioned for his grandson to approach.
“I saw everything, but kid, you surely know, I didn’t take you in by chance,” Grealf replied, rising from his chair. He placed a hand on Shame’s shoulder, showing a kind smile, and continued:
“You are someone special, very special, and you have to accomplish something, absolutely, it’s essential.”
“Explain more clearly, old man,” replied Shame, slightly annoyed by the suspense.
“In this world, there are things you absolutely need to know,” said Grealf, his tone serious. “There exists a King, also called the Architect of the World, as well as a Crown, the incarnation of the World’s Will. The two oppose each other but need each other to live.”
“And what’s that got to do with me?” Shame replied, increasingly intrigued by the story and its connection to him.
“Well… I am the King, and I killed the Crown, kid,” Grealf replied, a wide, wicked grin on his face, a huge contrast to his previous demeanor. Suddenly, an immense pressure filled the room.
Shame began to tremble, a deep fear creeping over him, without him even understanding why.
[Skill Activated: Determination]
“Old man…” Suddenly, Shame’s voice turned cold, icy, which slightly surprised Grealf, who released the hand he had placed on Shame’s shoulder.
“What are you after?” added the young man, still cold.
But to his surprise, Grealf suddenly burst out laughing.
“BAHAHAHAHAHA, I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE, YOU’RE REALLY MY GRANDSON, KID!” Grealf shouted, his laughter so loud that the manor itself trembled.
“YOU TOOK ME SERIOUSLY?!” he added, bursting into laughter again.
“H-Huh?” Shame attempted to murmur, not understanding the situation at all.
“Y-YOU… YOU DON’T GET IT… BAHAHAHAHAHAHA…” In response, Grealf’s laughter became even louder. The scene continued for several minutes, increasingly annoying Shame. Then, suddenly, the old man calmed down.
“I’m not the King; I just inherited the title because I found some fragments of the Crown; many possess them,” Grealf declared with a smile.
“But as I said, you’re really special, Shame. You could truly become the King and even obtain the Crown,” he added.
“Be clearer,” Shame replied, irritated by all the mockery.
“Across the world, you can find fragments of the shattered Crown. By picking one up, you earn the right to join the race to be King and rule this world. Some… ‘forces,’ let’s say, also seek to control this world—the same ones who summoned you,” Grealf explained before being interrupted.
“We were summoned by some things?” Shame exclaimed, surprised.
“By Obelisks, huge stone structures where ancient spirits are sealed. These spirits have fused with the magic within them. They form a kind of supreme council, even having apostles outside; they even rule the Holy Kingdom.” Confronted by so much knowledge, Shame’s respect for Grealf grew more and more.
“The reason I took you in is precisely because of this. Once I deem you ready, I will pass on my Crown fragment to you. After all, I’m the last to possess one,” Grealf continued, in a more nostalgic tone.
“And why me?” Shame attempted to ask. But to his question, Grealf took on a much darker expression.
“Because you, Shame, are a Monster, a true one,” Grealf replied, his voice colder than ice.
“But no matter, you are still my grandson. Now that you’ve had your first real fight, how about we go hunting together, for training?” Grealf added, in a voice both shy and kind, as if he feared Shame would refuse.
The boy hesitated, feeling a sting. Grealf’s habit of calling him a monster increasingly irritated him, especially without understanding what he meant by it. Why would he be a monster, he who had always been treated as less than nothing on the streets? And if even here, he were to be rejected… he would have nowhere to go.
Yet, faced with his grandfather’s kindness, he finally agreed.
“Alright, old man. But I want a weapon,” Shame said, with an almost dangerously serious tone. At these words, the old man knelt to get to his grandson’s level and asked:
“What weapon do you want? I have everything, a sword, a spear, a bow…” Grealf explained. Shame thought for a moment, scrutinizing his grandfather’s eyes.
“In that case… I want a…”
Year 1452 of the Aleystria calendar, in the Holy Land, in the sacred city of Flahora:
In an immense cathedral with walls of pure white, a man dressed as an archbishop walked with slow yet confident steps, exuding an almost overwhelming authority. His steps echoed in the long corridors, and each servant, each priest, knelt humbly as he passed. Eyes were lowered in a sign of deference, but the archbishop paid them no attention, his gaze fixed straight ahead, as if drawn by an invisible purpose.
Reaching a long hallway, he turned abruptly to the right, his vivid red hair falling around his face, which bore a sculptural beauty. The golden details of his attire seemed to glimmer in the candlelight, his flawless bearing evoking that of a hero from fairy tales. After crossing an endless corridor, he reached the heavy mithril doors of the main hall, where only the highest prayers and solemn meetings took place.
He raised his hand and, with a majestic gesture, touched the door, which suddenly shimmered with a golden light and opened slowly. Then, the choir’s sacred chant resounded throughout the Holy Land, a celestial hymn bearing divine promises and ancient oracles. The archbishop entered the hall, his steps echoing like a judgment, until he knelt and humbly lowered his head.
In front of him stood a human figure, indistinct in shadow, with the light from the stained glass obscuring any view of their features, revealing only their silhouette. A voice, heavy as the mountain itself, suddenly rose, filled with gravity:
“What reason brings you here, Archbishop?”
The weight of this voice was so immense that the archbishop with fiery hair felt his body tense involuntarily.
“Priest of the Dawn, Arlequin Von Asen, I bring you grave news.” His voice barely trembled, though he weighed each word.
“Speak, then, Archbishop Ata,” replied Arlequin with a voice imbued with nonchalance, as if bored by the matter, though light and shadow seemed to stretch around him with divine authority.
Ata’s hands trembled slightly. “The Holy Obelisks have warned me of the arrival of an Envoy in this world…” He hesitated, visibly fearful of Arlequin’s reaction.
“And what makes this Envoy so special?” asked Arlequin, annoyed, though his voice was still drawling.
"The Obelisks command us to identify him... and to eliminate him. This Envoy is said to be a harbinger of chaos, the scourge that will devastate our world." Ata rushed to finish his sentence, as if terrified of offending the Priest of the Dawn.
"Of course... It was madness to summon these outsiders into our pure world..." Arlequin replied in a tone that was both resolute and detached. He allowed a heavy silence to settle before continuing, his voice imbued with unwavering strength.
"Make this announcement a sacred order throughout the Holy Land: an enemy of God has appeared. He is an Envoy of the 96th wave; to anyone who sees him, report immediately to the Order of the Holy Knights!"
His words echoed like thunder, filling the cathedral with an authority so intense it seemed to make the very walls tremble. Ata nodded, his determination vibrating.
"Understood, Priest of the Dawn. Starting tomorrow, in every corner of the Holy Land, the priests will alert the people," Ata replied, trying not to look directly at Arlequin, as though the mere sight of him might reduce him to ashes.