< 64. Interlude: Trap >
*
The Hall of Kings. Strolling slowly down the long corridor leading to the Audience Hall, Helga was reading the traces of the past.
That graffiti was left by him when he was seven. That painting was a mural he admired when he was twelve, and that mark was a sword scar he accidentally made when he was fifteen.
The faded heroic epics painted in the Hall of Kings passed by his side, fading into the distance. Moving further and further ahead.
As he approached the Audience Hall, older portraits of kings appeared. Perhaps it was due to the torches swaying on the stone pillars. The former kings in the paintings seemed to move as if alive.
Once, he had dreamed of such a thing. He wished that his own life story would also be painted at the end of those epics.
Right behind the mural depicting his father’s life. So that his grandson could see it. So that this great dynasty could continue for another thousand years.
So that this long corridor would eventually be filled with weathered murals, creating a new corridor.
“Your Highness.”
Before he knew it, his steps had halted. His knights were lined up behind him, silently waiting for their lord. Prince Helga stood still, glaring at the door handle of the Audience Hall, carved with a roaring dragon.
“…There are no guards.”
“Huh?”
“How can there be no guards in the Audience Hall? Are you certain His Majesty is in the Audience Hall?”
“No one has seen His Majesty leave the Audience Hall today.”
“What about the Round Table Council?”
“Wouldn’t the Knights of the Round Table all be at their homes at this hour?”
“Draw your weapons.”
The prince gripped the door handle. The brass ring in the dragon’s mouth made a small friction sound. The corridor of the Audience Hall was filled with silence. The prince whispered quietly.
“It’s a trap.”
-Swish.
The prince’s vassals did not question him. They trusted his judgment. The prince, hearing the sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath behind him, simultaneously pushed the door handle roughly.
-Creeeak…
The grand doors of the Audience Hall opened. With a nerve-racking friction sound, slowly. The Audience Hall, illuminated by gloomy moonlight, was revealed.
Between the stone pillars, in the center of this vast Audience Hall where the life story of the founding king was depicted. Far away, at the edge of sight.
“…Cough.”
The old king sat alone on the throne, waiting for them. Leaning halfway on the elaborate throne carved with dragons, he looked down at them arrogantly, chin resting on his hand.
“…”
The prince sharply looked around. The Audience Hall was quiet. Not a single guard was protecting the old king.
The prince slowly approached the audience area of the Hall. Forbidden ground. Those who do not carry royal blood cannot step here, and even if they do, they cannot cross this line armed.
Further ahead.
-Click.
The prince placed his hand on the sword hilt and looked up at the old king sitting on the throne on the dais. His emerald eyes were fiercely glaring.
“Your Majesty, I have come.”
“…Cough. So. You have finally drawn your sword against me.”
The old king smirked and laughed.
“Your sister is dead.”
“…!”
The prince’s eyes shook in shock. He had heard that Moria had gone to the scene of the market fire, but dead?
Moreover, how long had it been since Moria left the castle…? Did he obtain the information before I did, who came immediately after hearing the news?
There is someone around. The prince’s eyes narrowed. As he tightened his grip on the sword hilt, the old king tapped the throne, tap, tap.
“Your sister is dead, and now you are the only royal blood left.”
“…Your Majesty.”
“Then after you die, and after I die. Who will remain?”
The old king coughed roughly and slowly looked around. Behind the prince, knights who dared not step on the forbidden ground were lined up. Ten of them. The old king twisted his lips and smiled.
“Have you come to see the end of this dynasty?”
“The descendants of King Dane will not end at this hour.”
“Helga.”
“Do not call me by that name!”
The prince bared his teeth and shouted roughly.
“Call me Vicente. Your Majesty. Father. By the name you gave me!”
“So now you refuse to carry my name, and the names of your ancestors.”
“Helga’s time is over now. Where are the knights of the kingdom? The knights of the Round Table Council? The great King Knight’s horsemen, the descendants of heroes, the honorable vassals! In your reign, all these people have turned their backs on the royal path!!”
“Keuk. Keuk keuk…”
The old king laughed sharply.
“Moria is dead, and now there is no one left to stop me. Moria… That woman was too cunning. She and I hid blades behind each other’s backs… Cough. And cooperated at the same time. To take this royal palace into our own hands…”
“…You?”
“Keuk. Keuk keuk. Cough. The king’s body was too weak to accept me. It was so good in my youth. Keuk keuk. Cough.”
The old king laughed with a phlegmy laugh and coughed roughly. The prince was confused by the king’s sudden words. What is he saying…? What is going on…?
“That woman fell for my scheme, swallowed by my ambition, and died. Keuk keuk. The priest’s spirit. How pitiful. Cough. That woman fulfilled her role, and now I will fully swallow this territory.”
“Who are you.”
“Now who will stop me? Cough. Keuk keuk. You didn’t know that Moria was the lifeline that would continue your life. Keuk. Cough. Cough! Now this damned body, it’s goodbye.”
It was faster than expected, though. The old king chuckled. The old king slowly rose from the throne. Moonlight fell on his body, and a strange shadow swayed behind him. The prince looked at the shadow glowing behind the old king.
A dark green shadow danced under the moonlight. Strangely, writhing and twisting, it was laughing.
[Your family ends here, Vicente.]
“Shield, grant me your blessing.”
-Swish.
The prince slowly drew his sword. Watching this, the old king chuckled.
“Under your blessing, the eternal glory of the royal family.”
[The god you should pray to is not him.]
As the moon hid behind the shadow, darkness briefly fell over the audience hall. Above the old king’s face, a skeletal spirit form rose.
[Pray to me, young mortal.]
*
Barem anxiously looked at the flickering lamp oil.
He had poured the last of his oil an hour ago, and now only a minimal amount remained for the return journey. But there was no better night than tonight to explore the royal family’s secret tomb.
The market fire and explosion. And the guards’ patrol routes. It seemed as if everything had been arranged for him.
The Fernandez brothers seemed to be smashing everything that looked heretical, like Diemonica. Normally, such actions would be frowned upon, but now it was the perfect support.
Taking advantage of the weakened security around the royal family’s secret tomb, Barem easily infiltrated.
‘The tomb of the founding ancestor…’
The massive tomb prepared for the founding ancestor, King Knight Dane, was said to have been built in a form that mirrored the legendary tomb Dane had made for the dragon he had slain. No records of the dragon’s tomb remain, but it was probably disgustingly deep.
Seeing how deep the king’s tomb was dug, Barem carefully descended, step by step, watching the murals flicker in the lamplight.
“Hmm. The third one.”
Of course, there were no traps in the king’s tomb. Only royals could enter this tomb, and what ancestor would set traps to kill their own descendants?
However, instead of physical traps, magical barriers were occasionally placed within this legendary tomb. Barem carefully stepped over the boundaries of these traps, thinking.
‘There must be something real here.’
Anyway, calculating the curvature of this corridor and the density of magical energy, the center of the tomb couldn’t be far. It was astonishing. The tomb’s entrance was outside the city’s east gate, but the path beneath led straight to the city’s center.
In other words, if Barem went up to the surface above, he would find the royal castle’s entrance. The design was incredibly precise. On the map, the castle’s entrance and the tomb’s center were vertically aligned.
The ancient architectural philosophy of seeking the founder’s blessing was palpable. Barem swallowed hard as he looked at the door at the end of the corridor.
-Through thousands of winters.
-Even as you tremble beneath the seasons.
-My son, be bold. You shall not lose your way.
Under the flickering lamp oil, the ancient continental dialect inscribed on the door shimmered. The words, carved during King Dane’s era, had endured a thousand years without losing their powerful strokes.
Was this King Dane’s heart for his children? Barem slowly pushed open the door with the king’s insignia.
-Rumble…
The stone door slid open, and dust fell. Soon, the tomb’s scenery came into view.
“Huh…”
His sigh echoed. Before Barem’s eyes, a massive chamber stretched out. Was this what the dragon’s tomb was like? Had they dug a huge chamber for the dead dragon? Had they constructed this place in the same way?
Here, instead of a dragon, a giant lay sleeping.
“The Hill Giant…!”
Literally, a massive human figure lay on the ground. Only the remains were left, with hands reaching towards the ceiling.
A house? A tower? No, a castle. The giant’s size was almost that of a fortress. Barem had no choice but to admit it.
The reason the Hill Giant could occupy the sunniest plains of the kingdom alone. And why King Dane, who had defeated him, considered it his greatest achievement among all his deeds.
The giants described in legends and fairy tales were but poor distortions of these remains. Barem was a sturdy adult man, but one of the giant’s moss-covered molars was larger than his torso.
“Damn it.”
Barem looked at the sword embedded in the giant’s skull. By size, proportion, and shape, it was a two-handed sword, but in the giant’s skull, it looked like a small nail or a toothpick. Did they really stab this massive being with such a small blade?
“King Knight Dane…”
And far away, at the center of the solemn murals covering the chamber walls, were the remains of King Dane. Sitting on a metal throne carved with a dragon’s image, looking down at the giant’s remains. And facing Barem’s position.
Dozens of remains sat on the throne, facing Barem, or perhaps the entrance to the royal castle they had once ruled. In the center, the towering remains were likely Dane’s. Beside him, his descendants sat in a row.
Barem, as if entranced, stepped closer to the giant’s remains. As his lamp oil flickered, the shadows cast on the giant’s skull seemed to come alive.
-Tap tap.
Somewhere, a sound like a rat scurrying was heard. But Barem, overwhelmed by the remains’ enormity, seemed to hear nothing.
For a moment, he forgot his duty as a heretic tracking down heretics in the royal capital and approached this historical remains.
-Tap.
Again, the sound of a rat scurrying—
-Squeak…
The surroundings were engulfed in darkness. The lamp oil had finally run out.
“Damn it.”
Barem frantically searched for the remaining oil. The tomb, without any light source, was eerily quiet in the suffocating darkness. Only the thick smell of dust filled the air. His hands found nothing.
He finally took out a match and struck it against his armguard.
-Sizzle!
The match produced a tiny flame, barely illuminating his palm—
-Snap.
A bony finger appeared from the darkness, grabbing the match and extinguishing the flame.
“Ha, Vaitas—”
-Thud!
Before Barem’s prayer could finish, a blade pierced his throat.
*
The old king paused, looking down at the prince who had drawn his sword, then chuckled.
“I was just short of some priest’s blood.”
-Rumble…
And an earthquake shook the royal castle.
*
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