In the Inner side of the throne room, Samura waited until the King was settled upon his seat of power before speaking. "Your Majesty, if this plan succeeds, we face the destruction of the entire kingdom."
The King let out a humorless chuckle, a sound devoid of mirth. "Oh, Samura, you may have achieved what most only dream of at such a young age, but you are still a child. A kingdom is not a place; it is its people. The walls of this palace may crumble for all I care, but as long as our people live and thrive, the kingdom remains untouched. Family is not merely blood; it is those who accept you, those you would protect at any cost. Home is not a structure; it is where you find comfort among those people. It matters not if you reside there, only that you are at peace."
"Then, the palace is my home," Samura declared, his voice firm, "and you are my family."
A genuine smile, not just a fleeting expression, touched the King's lips. For a brief, precious second, he felt a profound peace. But true peace, he knew, was earned through struggle; anything less was merely the false calm in the eye of a storm.
"Your Majesty," Samura continued, his resolve hardening, "I request permission to undertake an infiltration mission into the Demon Army's camp."
"What?!" The King's hand clenched the armrest of his throne, his knuckles white. "When I spoke of exploiting their momentary blind spot, I was not suggesting a suicidal infiltration! Such a mission is far too perilous. We need you at full strength when the true fighting begins. Even a minor scratch will compromise you, diverting vital energy to healing."
"I understand, Your Majesty," Samura countered, his gaze unwavering. "But I have a profound sense that this is what must be done. Hadashi is revealing too much by allowing the humans to leave. You and I both perceive this, and I am certain others do as well. The only way to truly comprehend his strategy, to uncover the depths of his deception, is to penetrate his defenses and seize his plans."
The King studied the young man before him, a flicker of admiration warring with his apprehension. He couldn't deny Samura's maturity, a wisdom far beyond his years, especially in an age where most made their gravest errors. Samura then added, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "Besides, I still possess that power, should things go awry."
The King's eyes narrowed, a shadow falling across his face. "You swore you would never use it again. It shortened your lifespan the last time, did it not? Such a cursed power should never be wielded by a mortal."
"But it exists, and I will use it to protect what needs protection," Samura insisted, dropping to one knee, his head bowed. "Even my life is insignificant when the entire kingdom hangs in the balance. Please, my Lord, grant me leave."
The King exhaled, a long, drawn-out sigh. He remained silent for a minute, the weight of his decision pressing down on him. "Alright. I grant you permission. But," he warned, his brow furrowed, "you have until midnight. Discover what you can before then and depart. If you are spotted before you uncover their secrets, leave immediately. Do not engage. Do you understand?"
Samura rose, a grim determination etched on his face. "Yes, Your Majesty. I will not endanger myself unnecessarily." He bowed deeply, then turned and exited the throne room, leaving the King to grapple with the perilous gamble he had just sanctioned.
As Samura stepped into the fading light of dusk, a chilling premonition settled over him. The King's reluctant permission felt less like a blessing and more like a final farewell. He knew the true cost of his 'power,' a price that might be demanded sooner than he thought. The Demon Army's camp awaited, a den of unknown horrors, and Samura was walking straight into its maw, a ticking clock echoing in his mind