When Kings Bleed — Chapter 1
Sunlight glistened upon the keep's walls, which were overgrown with black ivy twisting from ground to crest—a nasty sight. A whistle blew from afar as the north watchtower signaled the soldiers at the drawbridge to lower the gate. The church bells quickly followed, resonating across the town.
An eagle soared above the Kingdom of Kator, watching countless citizens rise from their slumber. Farmers checked on their crops as blacksmiths stoked their fires. Wives and widows hurried to the marketplace, tailors, and bakeries.
Inside the keep, the rising sun caught the Great Hall's windows, lighting them like spring fire and brightening the long dining table where, at the end, sat a tall figure. A gloomy expression masked the man's face as he ate from a bowl of muesli.
"Good morrow, King Kato, Ruler of the Obsidian Crown. The royal council is ready at your command in the Hall of Kings."
A voice called out from the doorway. A man clad in blackened armor entered the Great Hall and bent the knee. A longsword rested at his hip, and his salute remained firm and unbudging until the stocky man at the end of the table spoke.
Dren let out a weak laugh and brushed the dust from his knees. "My apologies. Force of habit. But you know, Kato, those dark jokes of yours know how to send a shiver down my spine."
"What now?" Kato said with a hefty laugh. "Have you lost your balls, old friend? I remember you frightening an enemy soldier into pissing his pants before that decoration of a sword even swung at him."
King Kato teased as he reached for the sword beside him to holster it, but before he could, Dren stepped forward with open palms and outstretched arms.
"Let me, Kato. A king shouldn't be bothered to carry a sword. Especially one whose glory days are long over."
Dren shot back, staring at Kato's gut—a burning reminder of years of laziness. Kato chuckled and handed the sword over as they began walking down the corridor.
Their conversation continued as the pair approached the nearby guardrooms. Numerous soldiers sat idly, chatting about their provocative adventures from the night before. The lively gossip fell silent as the guards shifted their gaze toward the open door. Like hungry mutts waiting for scraps, the guardsmen rushed out to their positions.
King Kato furrowed his brows, a thought of his own neglect toward his soldiers creeping into his mind. His sloth had rubbed off on his men. Years of peace had corrupted the once-firm leader into a mush of a man. Kato clenched his fist at the thought, then pushed it aside as the door to the Hall of Kings swung open, revealing an assembly of well-dressed nobles.
A jet-black rug split the room in half, leading to the feet of a dignified throne blackened in mahogany, looming at the center. Two towering statues of fatally wounded beasts stood proudly beside it, swords still buried in their bodies. Those waiting to see their royal highness quickly bent the knee as King Kato strode toward the throne, chanting in unison, "Greetings, Your Majesty."
With a subtle sweep of his hand, Kato signaled for the nobles to rise as he dropped onto his throne. The noblemen and noblewomen stood at once as the curtains were drawn back, unveiling a row of mullioned windows set high into the walls. Sunlight poured through, illuminating aged murals and royal portraits—kings of old with hard eyes, battles immortalized in oil and ash.
"Let us not linger on formality or hollow pleasantries. Speak plainly," Kato said sternly, turning toward the council. "I have been informed of a request from my royal council. Lord Chancellor Fane, as the king's right hand, tell me: what more does the royal council seek from the crown?"
Lord Chancellor Fane stepped forward from the assembly, dressed in a long white robe, clean and elegant. The sigil of Kator—an obsidian sword twisted with silver vines from hilt to tip—was stitched upon it. Chancellor Fane withdrew a parchment from the folds of his robe and unfolded it carefully. He cleared his throat before reading.
"We, the Royal Council to King Kato, first bearer of the Crown of Kator, humbly request your attention to this urgent matter. Beyond the western borders, the Kingdom of Selindor has grown bold in military power. Their presence in the marketplace has stirred suspicion, with countless barrels filled with swords, shields, siege engines, and steeds. This transaction is without the stamp of approval from the true Kingdom of Kator. Let it be known that such deeds shall not go unpunished, for those who deal in arms without the king's consent threaten the realm and invite swift retribution. We, the Royal Council, request that all measures be taken to root out and contain any threat against the True Crown."
A stillness fell as King Kato stared at Lord Chancellor Fane.
"Are you a seer, Fane?" King Kato asked, his voice flat and measured. "You speak of 'without the king's consent'—but do you presume to know where my consent lies, as if you were king himself? Would a true king lay waste to an ally merely for their growing strength? Such a man is no king, but a coward. I shall not strike at a nation that aided in the rise of the Kator Empire. No—send forth a raven at once, summoning them to a royal summit, so that we may discern the full measure of their intent."
At the king's words, the nobles whispered indistinctly, their murmurs weaving through the hall like a rising tide of tension and thickening the air with unease. Eyes flickered from one to another, passing silent messages through guarded glances.
A noblewoman among the chaos turned toward the guards positioned at the grand door, and with a snap of her fingers, a squad of Katoran soldiers rushed into the room, swords unsheathed and eyes burning with deadly intent.
"What is the meaning of this?!" King Kato yelled, rising from his throne—only to stumble back as a searing pain ignited in his back. His breath hitched, his eyes widened in shock, and he turned just enough to see Kane driving the blade deeper. With a gasp, Kato lurched forward, collapsing from the obsidian throne and crashing to the floor below, blood pooling swiftly beneath him.
"KANE, YOU BAST—"
His curse shattered on the tip of his tongue as blood spilled violently from his mouth. A Katoran soldier broke from formation and rushed Kato, wielding his blade in a downward strike aimed at the king's heart. Kato acted on instinct, rolling aside just in time before the blade sliced into the throne instead. Without pause, Kato swept his leg low, toppling the soldier as the man's grip faltered from the sudden blow. The blade flew free, spinning through the air. Kato lunged, seized it by the edge—his skin tearing against the steel—and drove it upward into the soldier's chest the moment the man came crashing down onto him.
A moment of shock stunned the remaining soldiers. Then, with a roar, three more Katorans charged toward King Kato. Using the bloodied sword to gain footing, Kato wobbled up, huffing like a wild wolf, ready to fight. Kane chuckled with amusement as he circled Kato, watching him, playing with his victim.
The first two attackers swung high, blades aimed for his head, leaving his lower guard exposed. From between them, the third soldier lunged, slashing vertically toward Kato's unguarded midsection. But before the strike could land, Kato locked eyes with the soldier, pivoted, and drove his boot into the man's wrist. A sickening crunch followed as the blade clattered to the floor.
A gruesome series of wails rose from the soldier sprawled across the floor. Ignoring the cries, King Kato sidestepped the soldier to his left, using his forearm to parry and redirect the blade away. Seizing the opening, he thrust his sword into the soldier's heart.
Kato slipped backward, weariness pulling at his limbs. The remaining soldier dashed forward, only to catch the rigid edge of the knife still lodged in the beast statue. The soldier crumpled lifelessly onto the cold stone. Kato did not stop. Eyeing the wounded soldier, he jumped into full mount and unleashed savage, relentless stabs, each blow tearing flesh and sinew. Blood spewed, soaking Kato's body as the soldier's cries faded into nothing.
"Why couldn't you just listen, Kato?" Kane hissed, commanding the remaining five shell-shocked soldiers to surround the pale king. "Dying a stubborn fool because you care for those Selindorans. You were fearsome—ever firm. I followed that man. But now… now you must die. A shell of that man. A weakness to the Kator Empire."
Kane spat the words, gripping his sword tightly as the remaining Katorans slowly advanced. The king wiped his face, clearing his vision before lifting his gaze, his eyes narrowed, burning with betrayal and heavy with grief.
"Shut it," Kato barked, pain thick in his voice. "Face me, cowards. The luxury of talk is over. I have no reason to converse with serpents to the throne."
Kato roared, sharing a final glance with Kane before the Vowburner raised his sword. Like a crashing wave, the Katoran soldiers charged the bloodied king, desperation carved into their faces. Steel clashed as Kato met each strike with calm precision. Their blows came fast but predictable—strikes and feints he had long mastered, the same he had once taught them himself.
Then a stinging sensation washed over him. Out of nowhere, a quick slash struck Kato's left eye, blinding him instantly.
"ARGH!"
Kato bellowed, barely twisting away from a deadly blow a heartbeat later. The Katoran soldiers charged forth, unrelenting—the style of Katoran warfare. A flurry of body blows hammered into King Kato, and a heavy wheeze escaped him. The Katoran soldiers, now weaponless, rained punches left and right, cracking ribs and breaking Kato's nose. A jab shot forward—but in one fluid motion, Kato seized the soldier's arm, twisted it to his will, and with a sudden heave hurled the crippled Katoran into two nearby soldiers, sending them crashing into one another.
"Ah… fun's over," Kane sighed.
And as swiftly as the first strike, a silent blade burst through the old king's chest.
Kato fell still.
The Katoran soldiers gathered themselves, celebrating in victory as blood blossomed around the king's motionless body. Distant voices began to fade into darkness. Sound and sight vanished, replaced by a strangely comforting warmth. Drowsiness drifted in, and time itself seemed to disappear. With each fading moment, his consciousness slipped further…and further…until nothing remained.
…
"Oh my! Ma'am, it's a healthy baby boy, Mrs. Carver!" a male voice rang out.
The woman yelped in excitement, her hands trembling as she reached to hold her child. After wiping his hands on a cloth, the man carefully wrapped the newborn in a soft patchwork blanket and placed him in her arms. The baby's tiny fingers curled around her own, gripping with surprising strength.
She chuckled softly, a smile spreading across her face.
"He's got a king's strength in him."