Armad and Nostalgia made their way across the palace, passing large buildings of various shapes and sizes. Nostalgia tried to start a conversation with Armad but his attention was elsewhere and he kept his silence. They arrived at the courtyard of a medium-sized hall surrounded by various statues of people.
Nostalgia pointed to the door of the room. "Go in there and wait inside. I'll be back."
Armad went into the hall while she circled through the back door.
The hall was empty except for a big table at the center surrounded by chairs. There wasn't a speck of dust on the table or chairs, which served to show how properly the hall had been kept. Everything was just glittering and the table itself was made of glass. Armad pulled up a chair and sat, waiting for the arrival of the so-called wielder of the perpetual damage.
Soon after, Hasanu Sisiyu entered the hall from another door by the side. His face displayed no joy or anger as he saw Armad. "Long time no see. I hope you have been well," he told Armad. His face remained expressionless.
Armad noticed that the man still had the same domineering tone and gait as though he was talking to his subordinates. His arms looked bigger and his eyes fiercer. He must have been training hard after their last meeting.
Armad nodded. "I'm fine. Are you?"
Hasanu sat on the chair opposite him so he could face him directly. "I'm fine. Thank you. Er... Let me advise you as a friend. Do not lie to my father. He will know whether you are telling the truth or lying."
Armad smiled. "I'm not planning on lying."
Hasanu stared at him for a moment before finally smiling and they changed the topic. Hasanu kept asking Armad about his sword - the sword he used to escape from them when they first met - and Armad kept asking him about his pol and the nature of his Bending up until they heard the door open. A large man in a long, gray robe entered the room. Nostalgia followed behind.
Upon seeing the man, Hasanu stood and bowed deeply. Armad also stood and bowed his head slightly.
The man walked so gracefully that it appeared as if he weren't walking at all. His eyes were fixed on Armad, studying him. He stood at 6 meters tall and at first glance, you could mistake him for a remnant of the giant race.
The gigantic man went straight to the seat reserved for him which was in front of all the other seats at the end of the table.
Hasanu and Nostalgia bowed again and left him with Armad. Armad didn't attempt to run it follow them and was just thinking about how to lead the discussion. It was obvious the man was none other than Bihanzin himself, one of the five Kings of the jinzidal, and the man who wielded the strongest sword in the world. Or so they said.
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Armad calmed down and studied him. Bihanzin was the kind of man who looked like he had been around for a long time. When you looked at him, you could see the years passing in his eyes. His eyes were frozen and they gave off a glow of sadness. His face was full of white beard and half his hair had turned white by age and the other half was gray.
The robe he was wearing was a long piece of cloth with the sides open in a way that allowed him to swing his sword easily. Armad saw the famous sword, the sword that was famously known as the perpetual damage, hanging on his left shoulder and his body twitched in pain. The pol around the sword was the same as that of the raven he saw earlier. Armad reached for his sword without even realizing it. He'd forgotten where he was and all he could remember was the story his mother used to tell him about the ancient race whose name had been forgotten. The race was so powerful that it took both Wilberforce and Ururu to destroy it.
"Don't worry about my sword. It trusts no one except my children."
Armad regained his senses. Yet, he didn't take his eyes off the sword.
The sword was made with peculiar steel that wasn't very wide but up to two meters long. If Bihanzin wasn't so tall he couldn't have carried it. For Armad, it felt like the sword was whispering to him, cursing in an unknown tongue that was aimed at him.
When Bihanzin realized Armad was still looking at it, he pulled his robe to cover it. "It's called Bankái."
Bihanzin had named the sword like it was a living person. It reminded him of how his sister named her swords. When Armad was young, he often wondered if Hidaya was only teasing him but she often told him her sword had a soul and it could hear when it was spoken to.
Armad gathered his courage. "It is an honor to meet you, King Sisiyu. I hope I did not violate your rules by entering your city without permission."
Bihanzin shook his head and cleared his voice, which sounded like dry bones being rubbed against a stone wall. Bihanzin's voice was already harsh, but his tone made it even deeper and clearer. This time around, Armad tried to feel Bihanzin's pol and he found a chilling cold that was different from the Great Cold and also different from the cold of winter. It felt more like a graveyard that had been abandoned for eons. Armad immediately stopped trying to feel it but that didn't stop the feeling of dread in his head. When he tried to fight it with his pol, it fed on him and grew stronger like a vicious cycle.
It was Bihanzin's voice that broke the cycle and revived him. "Don't worry, Heir, walking through the gates without being arrested means you were invited."
Armad narrowed his eyes at the statement. The man was telling him directly that he was aware of his arrival. Armad opened his mouth to speak but Bihanzin beat him to it.
"Ever since I was seven, I can feel the pol of my enemies. By the time I was eight, it became child's play to locate and identify my enemies with just pol even if they are a year ride away from me. It should come as no surprise that I saw you the moment you disembarked."
Armad stared in amazement at the absurdity of the situation. Was this what it took to be a jinzidal King? This was the first time Armad was meeting a King in his life and he didn't know how it was going to end.
But there was no use to dilly-dally. Armad gathered all his courage and faced the man. "What do you need from me?"