King Uther sighed and adjusted his shoulder pads as the debate raged on.

 

 

 

 

The twin golden lion heads on his attire exuded an impressive aura and complemented the cloak crafted from the hide of the Legendary Lemean Lion. However, the ensemble, while striking, proved to be both burdensome and stifling. Now that he was getting on in years, it weighed heavily on the king, causing his shoulders to ache persistently. It was the kind of discomfort that didn't dissipate, regardless of how many healing potions one consumed. He had heard of some nobles resorting to drinking a potion a day to ward off the aches and pains of old age, but the king harbored reservations about such a regimen. It was potentially unhealthy and at the very least a waste of the taxpayer's money.

 

The expense wasn't the sole issue. It was the sheer arrogance of it all. This was yet another reason why the king hated the cloak. At times, he contended that he didn't need to wear it to every function. However, each attempt to leave it behind resulted in arguments with Chancellor Kyle, whose logic was irrefutable: standards must be upheld.

 

Every once in a while he would blast logic. Sometimes, just to prove to himself he was still king, he would put his foot down and say, ‘No.’ Somehow every single time Kyle knew in advance and prepared by having the queen at the ready to browbeat him into submission.

 

While he could engage in debates with his advisors and wield the authority of a king, when it came to his wife, he found himself powerless. Deep down, he loved her immensely, but regret and guilt consumed him for past wrongs. Despite her declarations of forgiveness, he never truly forgave himself. It was always hard to refuse her if she ever made a demand of him. A testament to his past weaknesses that had forever indebted him to her. She, in turn, was not hesitant to remind him.

 

As of late, Uther found his thoughts drifting to his past failures. He harbored a genuine love for his second son, Lance, but Uther couldn't escape the knowledge that Lance's very existence caused pain to his beloved. Ultimately, she swallowed her pride, recognizing the power dynamics as he was the king, and she was just a queen. No one would dare question a king who sought comfort in the arms of a woman, particularly when away from home for extended periods. In Uther's rationalization, The other woman was just a whore and things happen with whores.

 

The king didn't share the dismissive sentiment towards Lance's mother. His connection with her went beyond mere physical intimacy. While she was just a maid, her true value lay in her ability to know how to listen. One fateful night during a campaign, the weight of Uther's father and two brothers' deaths finally hit home, causing him to unravel. In that vulnerable moment, Lance's mother came to his aid, effectively putting him back together. Uther had always been determined to conceal his vulnerability from others, and she, considering it her duty, served her king in whatever way he needed, even beyond conventional expectations.

 

One of the reasons Uther valued Chancellor Kyle so highly was his ability to speak the truth, not merely what the king wanted to hear but what he needed to know. In the past, Uther had other advisors who, rather than addressing the wisdom of his choices, focused on how to keep his actions a secret. Unlike his previous chancellor, Kyle aimed to guide the king toward what was genuinely in his best interest, rather than enabling his darker impulses.

 

Ultimately, the queen discovered the truth, and this revelation came after the birth of Uther's third son. The eldest, being four years older than the youngest, faced delays in entering the academy. The official explanation claimed the need for additional training due to his status as the crown prince. However, the reality was that the eldest was somewhat slower than his peers. Arthur was always more closely connected to his mother than to his father, a dynamic that continued to shape Arthur's character to the present.

 

The second son, Uther's illegitimate child, was two years older than the youngest. His second son wasn’t the sharpest sword in the armory either. He lacked skill in any areas beyond warfare and tactics. He excelled as a warrior and tactician, but beyond that, he was woefully lacking.

 

The king cherished his time with Lance, recognizing their shared interests. The king regretfully acknowledged it was for the best that Lance would never ascend to the throne due to his struggles in social situations. Still, while he lacked elemental magic, Lance's combat prowess was formidable, and the king would confidently bet on him in a duel against a dragon. His aura core was unparalleled, and his dedication to training never wavered. It was hard not to be proud of Lance.

 

The two nobles persisted in their arguments, locked in a protracted series of exchanges that seemed to stretch endlessly. The issue lay in the convoluted litigation process of Lyonesse. Two centuries of case law, coupled with decrees enacted by past kings, had woven a complex legal web, turning every court conflict into a nightmarish endeavor to navigate and untangle.

 

Point. Counterpoint. Counter-counterpoint.

 

On and on and on and ON.

 

He wished Morgan were here.

 

Uther harbored great sympathy for his youngest, Morgan, who stood out as the brightest among his children. Unlike the eldest, who had been delayed a year before entering school, Morgan was set to join the academy a year earlier than usual. Uther mused that if Morgan were present, he would effortlessly cut through the legal quagmire he was currently entangled in. Morgan possessed an analytical mind second to none. Unfortunately, his sword skills were mediocre, and his magical power, while abnormal. He just didn't have the sheer magical prowess of Arthur, the physical might of Lance, or his father's natural charisma.

 

Morgan was just smart.

 

Morgan lacked his father's strong jaw, and his hair was a shade darker than the rest of his family. His eyes, instead of being golden, were topaz, a throwback in the family line. Interestingly, in the family's history, before they adopted the name Dracobane, they bore a closer resemblance to Morgan. The pursuit of greater magical power led to the present characteristic of light blond hair with golden eyes, achieved through careful and deliberate breeding.

 

The king harbored concerns that the perceived dullness in his first two sons was attributed to inbreeding, a known issue that he sought to avoid. Consequently, the idea of pairing Arthur with Lilith Darkwold appealed to him as a grand idea. Not only would this union contribute to the stability of the political climate in the country, but it would also introduce fresh blood into his lineage, addressing his worries.

 

He closed his eyes as the voices droned on explaining to him the situation in somewhere about something. Honestly, he didn't care. This was a trivial dispute between two nobles who were here to argue about semantics and matters of pride.

 

Pride.

 

There was too much of it in his country. It was his father's pride that resulted in the last war that they couldn't win. It was pride that got his father killed on the battlefield along with both of his brothers. When he took on the burden of the crown, he learned he had to let go of his pride and do what was right for the nation.

 

~Pride is the single most expensive thing you will ever own. Gather it where you can, for there are times you must spend your pride like currency.~ He wished there was someone, anyone, who thought the same as him. Now that great danger had come to his lands again, he feared he was too old. His mind wasn’t as sharp as it once was. He felt the years deep within his bones.

 

The king had gotten so caught up in contemplating his burdens, that he didn’t notice that the debate had ended.

 

The king looked up at the two nobles standing before him. They were staring at him with expectation, obviously awaiting a response. Uther stroked his mustache thoughtfully as he realized, ~I have no idea what they were talking about.~ He took a deep breath and put on his best, 'I Am The King’ face, and prepared to bluff just as a page came rushing into the room.

 

The two nobles snapped their heads around to look at the interloper. One sneered, "You had better have good reason for interrupting a meeting between nobles, PEASANT."

 

The page ignored the man and stared directly at the chancellor. Kyle was standing next to, but still slightly behind the king, "Lord chancellor, you gave strict orders to notify you if 'HE' wakes up." He looked sideways at the noble glaring at him and added, clearly for the noble’s sake, the word, "Immediately."

 

Kyle looked surprised and stepped forward. He leaned down to speak with the king, "Sire, I believe I need to tend to this matter." He allowed himself a small smirk, “Immediately.”

 

The King nodded, "Oh? Indeed? Indeed.” He kept nodding, “In fact, I will come with you."

 

The two nobles looked at each other then back to the king, "But-"

 

The King waved dramatically, "This is a matter of utmost importance to the kingdom and none of your concern. Please see my assistant to reschedule.” He gestured to the page to indicate who to ask as the king continued, “I am afraid this is a matter most delicate and dire, as such this dispute will have to be put on hold.”

 

Kyle pulled back slightly, maintaining his poker face, "As you wish, Sire." Four of the King's guards fell smoothly into step and a half dozen men swiftly walked towards the exit. The two nobles stood in the throne room sputtering with confused looks on their faces.

 

The page bowed deeply as the king passed, looked at the two nobles who were staring flabbergasted at the retreating monarch, and smiled, “Now, if you will wait here, I shall go fetch the royal calendar and see if we can squeeze you back in some time this year.” One of the nobles turned a shade of purplish red as the veins on his forehead began to throb. The other slowly crumbled up the paperwork he was holding.

 

The resolution to Lord Dee Tweedle and Lord Dumm Tweedle’s dispute would have to wait until another day.

 

As the king and his entourage entered the hallway and were finally out of earshot of the pair of nobles, the chancellor spoke, "You didn't listen to a word they said and just wanted an excuse to get away."

 

The king responded, "Is there a question?"

 

Kyle coldly replied, "An observation."

 

With a sigh, the king voiced his concern, "Why is it that I feel lately it is less about my servants respecting me and more about... handling me?" Kyle simply shrugged as they walked along. The king snapped his fingers, "By the way, what is this 'URGENT' matter we are dealing with anyways?"

 

Kyle began to reply when a commotion down the hallway diverted his attention. The door to the infirmary had attracted a crowd struggling to open it. Kyle gestured to halt their approach just as the four individuals around the door abruptly took a step back, exchanged glances, and then bolted. Seconds later, just as the king was about to demand an explanation, an explosion occurred, and the door rocketed across the hall to slam against the opposite wall.

 

---

 

Ryan swung the door open, revealing a small alcove with a desk and cabinets - a semblance of an office space. Across the room, another door caught his attention, distinct in its appearance. Devoid of a keyhole or door handle, it featured only a square plate where a doorknob would typically be found. When Ryan touched it, red runes briefly flared, then subsided. Attempting to open the door with his shoulder proved futile. "Bugger," He exclaimed to no one in particular, in the face of this unexpected and unusual obstacle.

 

He searched the desk and cabinets for anything useful, but it just seemed to be an area for writing, ~Not even a damn letter opener to stab people with.~ The odd door was the only way out, “Eventually they'll come back.” He muttered to himself, “So... Ambush? A bucket full of water over the door?”

 

Returning to the main recovery room, Ryan began a thorough search. Shifting a mobile divider revealed another door, this time with a conventional lock. Employing the fork as an improvised tool, he skillfully opened it, revealing a surprisingly spacious supply and storage closet. It was stocked with both bedding and cleaning supplies. As he surveyed the contents, his eyes narrowed, and suddenly, chemical names and ideas on how to recombine them into more volatile substances flooded into his mind, springing forth unbidden.

 

A mischievous grin slowly started to spread across his face, "Oh... this is going to be fun." He proceeded to barricade the outer door. After he finished piling up the beds, he returned to the supply closet and started mixing.

 

The outer door rattled. It wasn't long before he heard polite knocking. Someone called out, "Hello?” The outer door banged into a bed frame. Someone remarked "The door’s stuck? What the blast is blocking the door?”

 

Ryan called out in a falsetto, "I'm sorry! I'm doing the DISHES!" as he poured fluids back and forth with inhuman precision. He couldn't help but admire his skill, ~Damn, I'm good.~

 

Somehow he knew exactly what the contents of each bottle were and their names, even when it was some sort of strange fantasy substance, "What the hell do you use pickled goblin eyes for in a janitor's closet?" He asked of no one in particular.

 

An answer appeared in the form of a small pop-up window floating in front of the jar, ‘The smell drives away moths and other annoying insects.’ He stared at the jar, "Oh." a long pause as he looked around, then up to the ceiling, "Thanks." The pop-up vanished. Ryan shivered from head to toe, “That was creepy.”

 

The hammer on the door increased in ferocity and frequency. Ryan glanced up and frowned. He ignored the noise and turned back to the task at hand, "Hold on!” He cried out as he eyed a jar full of murky liquid. He muttered to himself in a much darker tone.

 

“I'll be with you in JUST a minute."

 

---

 

A doctor, Charity, and now two guards were at the entrance to the infirmary.

 

They could unlock the door, but opening it was another matter. They needed strong backs to push the debris out of the way. The maid was fretting with worry. She occasionally called out, "Young Sir! Please! Don't do anything rash!" The Doctor was more apathetic. With rolling eyes he gave Charity a condescending glare, "I'm more worried he's going to trash my infirmary."

 

The doctor ambled over to a wall, leaning against it while producing a pipe and a pouch of tobacco. As he filled the pipe, he muttered, "Thank god I don't store any medications in there. I’m already dangerously over budget this quarter." With a snap of his fingers, fire leaped forth, igniting his pipe. "You have no idea how much of a pain in my behind the coin master’s office has been this past week," Suddenly struck by an unpleasant thought, he hurried back to the door and shouted through it, "HEY! You better not mess with my desk! I just finished the quarterly!"

 

A voice came through the door in response, "Okay! I’ll move it.”

 

Everyone glanced at each other and then listened as the sound of something heavy being dragged across the floor could be heard. The doctor started to pound on the door, “What are you doing?” He started to violently kick the door, “DON’T TOUCH MY DESK!”

 

The voice from the other side came through again, “Hey! Charity! You there?"

 

The young maid replied, "Oh Yes! Young lord! Please! Don't do this! You have so much to live for!"

 

The voice replied, "So do you! I like ya, kid! So I'm warning you to get as FAR from the door as possible... if you don't want to die a violent and fiery death in about..." The sound of something sizzling and popping started coming through the door, "Six Seconds!" This was followed by the sound of bare feet beating a hasty retreat.

 

The four looked at each other. The maid was the first to take off and the other three followed suit. As they fled down the corridor, the maid couldn’t help but see the king and his entourage. Her eyes went wide. Her lips formed an O-shape as she tried to yell out a warning.

 

 

 

The door exploded.

 

---

 

Ryan climbed over the wreckage of bedding and mangled metal frames that he used to focus the explosion. He thought about making some shoes, but channeling mana into his feet strengthened them against injury and he figured it'd be easier to perform mana-infused acrobatics if his feet were unshod, ~If fur starts growing out of the top of my feet, I'm gonna be pissed.~

 

Stepping out into the hallway in a cloud of feathers, Ryan held a jar filled with sloshing chemicals in each hand. Amidst a fluff storm, he lifted the jars up high and shouted, "I AM THE MAD BOMBER WHO BOMBS AT MIDNIGHT!"

 

Standing triumphantly, Ryan's attention was drawn to an older gentleman in regal attire down the hallway. The man possessed blazing golden eyes, a crown adorned with topaz and diamonds, and a cascade of slightly grey, wavy blond hair that spilled over his shoulders, crowned with two golden lion heads. Guards encircled him, and standing beside him was a now familiar figure with long green hair.

 

Frozen in his ridiculous victory pose, Ryan stared at them.

 

They, in turn, stared back.

 

Ryan broke the silence with a single word.

 

 

 

 

"Crap."