LXXVI

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[“The Enigma of the King of Nothing”

The King of Nothing, a title shrouded in ambiguity and infamy, is one of the most perplexing figures in the Hunter World. Known in whispers as a ghost who comes and goes without rhyme or reason, her tale is one of mystery, bloodshed, and vanishing acts that leave more questions than answers.

A YELLOW FLASH AND A BLOODY PATH

Her story begins in obscurity. Orphaned and unremarkable, she rose through the ranks of the Hunter’s Association with alarming speed, her prowess leaving many in awe and others in fear. She became infamous for her ruthlessness, earning the moniker "Guiding Light" or “Bright” for her terrifying speed and the golden aura that heralded death. Her methods were swift and brutal, leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.

Then, she vanished.

THE OVAL INCIDENT

Years later, she resurfaced, this time with a vengeance. The mercenary group Oval, a powerhouse in the underworld, became her sole target. She dismantled them with surgical precision, leaving no survivors. Her motives remained unclear until whispers emerged that Oval had made the grave mistake of targeting her family. For someone who was said to have no attachments, her wrath painted a different picture—a reaper of death fueled by love, or perhaps revenge.

Her terror spree following Oval’s destruction was short-lived, and she disappeared once more, leaving only a chilling legacy behind.

WHY THE KING OF NOTHING?

Unlike her peers among the Ten Kings, whose exploits are well-documented, the King of Nothing remains a ghost. Her background is a void, her motives a puzzle. Even her connections—her marriage to the notorious King of Favors, Reynard Bright—fail to bring clarity. Instead, they only fuel conspiracy theories.

Did she emerge from some hidden program or experiment?

Was she a pawn in a larger game, now discarded?

Or does the title “King of Nothing” reflect the emptiness she leaves in her wake—destroyed groups, obliterated enemies, and the void of fear she instills?

These questions remain unanswered, but one thing is certain: she is no longer the terror she once was. Nowadays, the King of Nothing has faded into the shadows, her reputation overshadowed by her husband’s controversial infamy.

Let’s face it: the King of Nothing isn’t on the Ten Kings list because of her current standing. She’s there because of what she used to be—and who she’s married to. Her history of violence, combined with Reynard’s knack for hoarding influence, earned her a spot by default. It’s not merit. It’s not relevance. It’s nepotism, plain and simple.

Perhaps she truly is nothing now—just a specter in the stories told to scare naive hunters. Or perhaps, she is merely biding her time, waiting for the moment to remind the world why she was once called the Guiding Light to the Afterlife.]

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The more I read, the clearer it became: this magazine wasn’t journalism; it was propaganda dressed up in a glossy cover. The piece on Leora was bad enough—practically dripping with disdain—but as I skimmed through the other entries on the so-called Ten Kings, it was obvious the editors had gone all-in on their mission to vilify.

And then there was my entry. I read it aloud, my voice heavy with disbelief and more than a little irritation:

“Reynard Bright, the so-called King of Favors, is a name synonymous with corruption, greed, and schemes. Many believe that every major disaster in the Claimed Lands over the past decade can be traced back to his machinations. From economic collapses to destabilized city-states, his web of influence is so vast that even the Hunter’s Association treads lightly around him. His so-called ‘dissapearance’ in the hunter scene is nothing more than a calculated move, allowing him to operate in the shadows while his minions continue his dirty work.”

I set the magazine down and rubbed my temples. “They’re not even trying to hide their bias.”

From her recliner, Selena looked utterly unbothered, her sunglasses perched on her nose and the tanning reflector still angled perfectly to catch the morning sun. “I mean,” she said, her tone light but with a teasing edge, “they’re not entirely wrong, are they?”

I shot her a glare. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

She smirked, not even bothering to lift her head. “I am on your side. I’m just saying… they’ve got a point. You’re not exactly the poster boy for moral integrity.”

I sighed and leaned back in my chair, the magazine still in my hand. “It’s not about whether they’re right or wrong. It’s about the fact that they’re twisting the narrative to make everyone on this list look like a walking disaster.”

Selena shrugged. “Isn’t that what these magazines are for? Stirring the pot, selling copies, and making people feel superior about not being on the list themselves?”

“Maybe,” I admitted, flipping through more pages. The same tone of exaggerated scandal and doom carried through every entry. No one was spared. Loki was painted as a deranged lunatic. Diamon Black was framed as the devil incarnate. Even Rory Christen, who was more business-minded than bloodthirsty, was portrayed as some kind of psychopathic chemist.

Ok, to be fair… there were a smidgen of truth in them…

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“This isn’t just about selling copies,” I said, more to myself than to Selena. “This feels deliberate, like they’re trying to stir something up.”

“Could be,” Selena said, finally sitting up and stretching lazily. “But who’s ‘they’? The Association? The World Order? The Prophet? You’ve made so many enemies it’s hard to keep track.”

There was only one answer really… and no, I didn’t have that much of an enemy.

I stared at the page in front of me, my own name bold and unmissable. The weight of it settled heavily on my chest. Whoever was behind this wasn’t just trying to damage reputations—they were setting the stage for something bigger.

“Well,” I said, tossing the magazine onto the table, “whoever it is, they’ve got my attention. And it’s definitelythe fucking Cult.”

Selena grinned. “Good. Because if this is the start of some grand conspiracy, I’m expecting front-row seats.”

“Just don’t get too comfortable,” I muttered. “If they’re targeting us this blatantly, it’s only a matter of time before things get messy.”

Selena leaned back again, her grin widening. “Messy’s my middle name.”

The realization had hit me like a freight train a long time ago. Fate and Absoluteness—concepts I’d dismissed as little more than poetic nonsense—had far more influence over our lives than I’d ever cared to admit. The butterfly effect wasn’t just a theory; it was a living, breathing threat, one that could twist destiny and cut me and Leora down far earlier than intended.

That was why we disappeared. From the hunter scene, from the world of chaos and bloodshed we once thrived in. Retreated into the quiet life, if you could call it that. But even here, in the quiet town of Goodwell, shadows from the past still loomed.

After finishing up watering the garden—a chore I found oddly satisfying these days—I grabbed my keys and loaded Leon into the car.

“Seatbelt, champ,” I said as I adjusted the rearview mirror.

Leon pouted but complied. “Do I have to go to school every day?”

“Yes,” I said with a chuckle. “But think of it this way: every day brings you closer to becoming the smartest kid in the world.”

That earned a reluctant smile from him. With Leon dropped off at his kindergarten, I headed back home.

Leora was waiting for me, her hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing workout clothes that looked way too good on her. “Ready?” she asked, tossing me a water bottle.

We started our morning calisthenics routine, something we’d picked up as a way to stay active and keep the rust from settling in. She always pushed herself harder than me, even now, as if proving she could still match the woman who once took down an entire mercenary group single-handedly.

“Don’t strain yourself,” I said, watching her drop into a set of push-ups.

She smirked without looking up. “Don’t worry about me. Worry about keeping up.”

After we wrapped up, Selena wandered into the kitchen, munching on an apple. “Morning,” she said, leaning against the counter. It was a bit late for morrning greetings, but whatever.

I glanced at her, already sensing the mischief in her eyes. “You’re not freeloading today. Got a mission for you.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Do tell.”

“Simple recon. Nothing flashy. You’ll get the details on your way out.”

She groaned dramatically but didn’t argue. Selena loved her freedom, but she also loved being useful. With her gone, the house felt noticeably quieter—a rare blessing.

That left just me and Leora.

We spent the next hour lounging around, savoring the peace. Leon wouldn’t be home until later, and Selena wouldn’t be back until tomorrow at the earliest. I took her hand, and without saying a word, we got ready for one of our impromptu dates.

The café down the street wasn’t anything special, but it was cozy, and the staff knew us by now. We ordered our usuals—black coffee for me, something sweeter for her—and found a corner table.

Leora stirred her drink, her gaze distant. “You think it’ll ever catch up to us?”

I didn’t need to ask what she meant. “Maybe,” I admitted. “But until then, we make the most of this.”

She smiled softly. “I like the sound of that.”

As we sat there, sipping our drinks, I realized just how much I’d come to cherish these moments. The simplicity of it all. The quiet. It wasn’t the life we’d planned, but it was the life we had now. And for as long as we could hold onto it, I wasn’t going to let anything take it away.

We talked about everything and nothing, the kind of random chatter that only comes naturally when you’re with someone who knows you better than you know yourself. Leora laughed at my terrible impressions of our neighbors, and I teased her about her competitive streak during our morning exercises. It felt good to let loose, even if just for a while.

Eventually, the conversation took a more serious turn, as it often did when we had time to ourselves. It wasn’t forced, just a natural shift in tone as we touched on the topics that always lingered in the back of our minds.

Leora was the one who broke it up, setting up a small barrier with her aura—a technique she’d forcibly learned over the years. Since her aura theme revolved around light, creating a soundproof barrier wasn’t easy for her. But she’d adapted, weaving Trickster Aura into the barrier technique to compensate.

I admired her handiwork for a moment before she spoke.

“We should talk about the future,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.

I nodded, glad she didn’t question my claim of precognition. It wasn’t something I liked to bring up often, but Leora trusted me enough to take it at face value.

“How long?” she asked.

I blinked. “How long what?”

“How long do we have to endure not seeing Leon after we fake our deaths?”

I hesitated. It was a question I didn’t have a concrete answer for. “Until it’s safe,” I said finally. “Until we know the Prophet’s influence has waned enough for us to act without putting him at risk.”

Her eyes searched mine, and I could see the weight of the decision in them. “Do you think… we could try again? To kill the Prophet, I mean.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. “No. It’s impossible.”

She frowned, and I knew she wanted to ask why. I decided to explain before she pressed further.

“You remember what happened the last time I tried to interfere with fate? When I publicly put a bounty on the Prophet’s head and revealed his identity?”

She nodded slowly.

“It worked,” I admitted. “It made his life harder, forced him into hiding, and probably delayed whatever plans he had. But then we almost died. You remember that, right?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “The Extreme Fighter and Extreme Maker.”

“Exactly. That wasn’t a coincidence. It was fate snapping back at us. The feeling I had after that… it’s hard to describe, but it was like the universe itself was warning me. Like I’d overstepped my bounds.”

It was metaphysical.

She didn’t say anything, just stared at her cup of coffee as if it held the answers we were looking for.

“Bottom line,” I continued, “interfering with fate gets us screwed. I’m not ready to tempt it again anytime soon. Our best bet is faking our deaths when the time is right.”

She sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation. “So what do we do?”

“We wait,” I said simply. “We stay under the radar, protect Leon from the shadows, and hope that fate has a plan that doesn’t involve us dying indefinitely.”

Leora didn’t look entirely convinced, but she nodded. “Alright,” she said softly. “But if you ever change your mind… if you think we have even the smallest chance…”

“I’ll let you know,” I promised.

The conversation drifted back to lighter topics after that, but the weight of what we’d discussed lingered. As much as I hated it, fate wasn’t something I could fight head-on. Not yet, at least. All I could do was play the hand I’d been dealt and hope I could outmaneuver it when the time came.

~076