After the Banquet
The smoke of the banquet still lingered in the kingdom.
A new king had been crowned, but the throne's weight brought no peace. In just a few days, sparks of revolution began to scatter across the theocracy of Lurtra. Slaves, emboldened by rumors of change, rose up. Protests swelled in the streets; caravans of merchants were ambushed on the slave routes; demi-humans—long branded as property—now wielded blades and fire in the name of freedom.
Lurtra was being reborn. Slowly, steadily… until even its borders trembled.
---
Inside the castle kitchen, the air was thick with the warmth of morning. The scent of pancakes drifted through the room.
Leornars sat lazily at the table, cup of steaming tea in hand, flipping through a thick magazine. His expression was one of quiet satisfaction.
Stacian had just finished cooking, her apron still tied around her waist as she set down a plate. Across the table, Zaryter and his younger sister dug into the stack with innocent eagerness.
Zaryter broke the silence first, eyes wide with curiosity.
"Lord… how did you know this would happen?"
Leornars didn't even glance up from the page he was turning. His voice came calm, casual—too casual.
"I didn't."
The simple reply froze the kitchen.
"You… didn't??!" Zaryter nearly dropped his fork, disbelief etched on his young face.
Leornars took a slow sip of his tea, savoring the taste before continuing.
"I had hundreds of ideas for a revolution… but I didn't know where to begin."
---
What followed was a confession that unfolded like a chessboard laid bare.
The first quest. Julius and his daughter. The strange allowance of demi-human villages untouched by slavers. Rumors heard in smoky taverns. The naive pawn that was Prince Edward. The trembling king of Durmount. The key hidden in a mattress. The secret room and the forbidden documents within.
Every piece, every step, had been placed deliberately.
And all of it had led to the grand stage of the banquet—a perfect stage for blood and rebirth.
By the time Leornars finished, Zaryter could only stare at him, mouth agape.
"You… you did all that in three weeks?!"
"Correct." Leornars' tone remained matter-of-fact. "The only thing that wasted time was finding the descendants of the founding father and his retainers. That cost me a week."
---
Stacian's eyes lingered on him, troubled.
"Then I need to ask… when you fought the Black Acers… you looked like you were in pain. Far more than you should've been."
For the first time, Leornars' expression darkened. He set down his cup.
"Their leader, Lloyd, possessed an artifact. One that toyed with the mind… and forced me to relive my darkest pains. It nearly overwhelmed me. Even my 'Heartless' skill could not suppress it."
He leaned back in his chair, crimson eyes narrowing.
"So I devoured it. My past, my scars, everything."
The room fell silent.
"And when Lloyd hit me with a forty-five thousand degree explosion at point-blank… my neural chip short-circuited. Still, I killed him. The artifact came from the chancellor, under orders from the king. A second attempt on my life." His voice was edged with steel now. "So I killed them both. Manipulated the prince to slay his father. Erased the royal family. Left Julius the throne."
He lifted his tea once more and drank as if he'd merely recounted a recipe, not the annihilation of a dynasty.
---
It was then that Zhylyena entered.
"You wonder why Lurtra has no mages?" she said softly. "The late king used them all as collateral to pay his debts. A kingdom stripped of its spellcasters."
Leornars chuckled under his breath.
"No mages… how fortunate. That explains why everything went so smoothly. If there had been even a handful of skilled sorcerers, it might have been troublesome."
Stacian folded her arms, frowning. "Then we must change the constitution. We can't allow another Julius to be so easily replaced by assassination."
"Ah… you mean like King Selamedra of Durmount?" Leornars asked.
"Precisely."
Zaryter shifted uneasily. "But changing a century-old constitution? Isn't that going too far?"
Leornars' gaze turned sharp, crimson light flickering in his irises.
"No… it isn't. This is a new age."
Zaryter blinked. "A new age? What do you mean…?"
Leornars smirked, the corner of his lips curling with dangerous promise.
"The age of revolution."
The words rolled through the kitchen like thunder, and for a moment, the air itself seemed to shiver.