All hail Samuel.
"Why must we not kill them? They fought alongside their king and should share his fate."
"But, my king, they are peasants. They had no part in this."
"Part? Did they not belong to the same kingdom?"
"My king, they were not the ones who chose to fight us. It was their king. Please, show them mercy."
A voice whispered in his ear, "Lies, all lies. They speak in deceit. Do not listen, do not listen..."
Another voice murmured, "Listen to them. Let them see you as benevolent, even if you are not."
A third voice sneered, "What kind of twisted man would slaughter innocents?"
"Silence," the king commanded the voices. "I will listen. I need them to never fear me."
The wise voice responded, "Fear will come regardless... A man with power is always feared."
The erratic voice snapped, "That is why you must not listen. Kill them!
---
The Bahamut King had been defeated by the army of Corre. What were once many kingdoms had dwindled to two, and now with Bahamut's fall, only one remained: the Corre Kingdom.
Corre had been led by a lineage of strong rulers, from the Legendary Beastmaster Tiara Corre to the brilliant strategist Leon Corre. But now the throne belonged to Samuel Corre, an unworthy successor.
Known in his youth as Sam the Shameless, he had never been destined for the crown. But fate had other plans. His brothers and sisters were all assassinated by the Bahamut and a hidden enemy. Only Samuel escaped death.
His eldest brother, the most capable of them all, had ventured into the Impartial World, a land of mystery, only to be consumed by it.
King Samuel ordered the execution on 009/14 of all the peasants who had taken up arms to fight the Corre army. Relatives of the condemned were rounded up to witness the consequences of defying the king.
---
Day 009/14, an hour before the execution.
An erratic voice murmured, "The dead can't fight back... better they are dead than us."
The wise voice responded, "There will always be someone to seek revenge. Destroy not just the man, but the thought too."
Growled the erratic voice, "Then kill them all every last one of them."
"If everyone is dead, then how can there be a king if there is no one left to rule?" the third voice replied.
"Silence!" Samuel roared to mirror, "I have important event to attend."
The king's room was empty; Samuel had instructed his servant to leave him alone. Standing before the mirror, he gazed at his reflection, blonde hair and amber eyes staring back. He was undeniably a handsome man.
"Looks good!" the carefree voice commented; it was the most nonchalant.
"Suits you!" The wise voice always distinguished himself from Samuel.
"Whatever! If someone looks the wrong way, he's getting his eye gouged out." The erratic voice was the most chaotic of them all.
Samuel's true voice echoed among them, "I am a king; I must act like a king."
"No king who claims 'I am the...' " the wise voice began, but his sentence was abruptly cut off.
"Just stop. I'm not in the mood for this right now." Samuel closed his eyes. He really wasn't ready. He was nervous, though it wasn't his own death, he had won. The mighty Bahamut kingdom had fallen before his army. Still, there was something unnatural he couldn't quite put his finger on. But it was there, an enemy still alive, waiting, hiding in the shadows.
"Cut it out. Will ya? Give the king some peace." carefree voice snorted.
Silence followed, not because the other wanted to heed the carefree voice's request, but because they knew he was right. Samuel simply wasn't ready to face people.
---
Day 009/14, Time of execution.
Samuel sat on the top floor of the execution ground, overlooking an open space crowded with people. In front of them stood families, bound in chains and guarded closely by soldiers. The condemned were positioned on a higher platform, where a guillotine stood prominently at its center.
Just then, a horn blared, marking the start, and the family's cries intensified. Sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, brothers, and sisters were marched out, stripped bare, their heads shaved, with placards hung around their necks by rusted chains digging into their skin. The placards read: Traitor.
"No, please spare my son, King!"
"Mother! No! Please, spare her, King!"
"My father wasn't with the soldiers! He was falsely accused... Please, King, spare him!"
"My king!"
"King!"
"KING!"
"You bastard, Shameless!"
"Shameless!"
"SHAMELESS!!"
"SHAMELESS!!"
"SHAMELESS!!"
"SHAMELESS!!"
The ground trembled as the chants grew louder, the building shaking in unison with it. People screamed, and the terrified soldiers tried to flee, but were quickly stopped by their commander.
"Whoever runs will also be considered a traitor." Brandishing his great sword, he roared into the crowd. "Come forward, whoever dares defy my king, and I shall personally deliver them to the gods!"
Sir Gildson Mare, commander of the Battalion of Aryeh, wielded his greatsword with an aura that struck fear into the hearts of the people. As the chants began, they abruptly fell silent.
The stark parade continued, as the condemned were marched through the crowds, a grim reminder of the consequences of defying the king.
Cries of agony, painful and mournful, echoed as they watched their loved ones, one by one, ascend the platform.
Then came the dread—the executioner, dressed entirely in black, his face concealed, revealing only his piercing eyes.
The cries grew louder, but there wasn't a single hesitation from the executioner. Berald, the Tyrant, was his name. No one had ever seen his real face; he kept it hidden.
His boots clattered as he marched toward the podium, each step deliberate, like a ticking clock counting down to an inevitable end. Time seemed to slow down. As he approached the podium, the condemned family huddled closer, their fear swelling like a wave ready to crash. The air grew heavy, stifling, pressing down on everyone in the room. Cries were drowning, being suppressed the closer Berald came to the podium.
Just as he stepped onto the podium.
A crude and irritating voice reached Samuel's ears.
"Berald got thinner?" the erratic voice whispered.