Chapter 15 - King of Corruption

The disguise had taken nearly two months of precision and deception. Two months of watching, mimicking, and ensuring Princess Glace’s absence is a whisper. Now, sitting in the king’s chambers under layers of silk and pretense, Figura plays her role flawlessly.

King Clovis, pump and seemingly senile, lies reclined in his massive bed, propped up by layers of silk pillows. His weathered hands rest on the quilt, trembling slightly as he gestures toward the terrace garden visible through the grand windowed doors. The garden is vibrant, brimming with a cacophony of blooms. Figura sits on a cushioned stool beside him, the image of dutiful filial devotion.

“Father,” Figura says with Princess Glace’s melodic timbre, “what are your favorite flowers?”

The old king chuckles, his laughter containing a vitality long gone. “Forgotten already, my dear?”

Figura tilts their head, a practiced smile curving their lips. “Of course not, Father. I was only wondering if your preferences might have changed. The garden is so breathtaking today -- I couldn’t help but marvel at how each flower seems to outshine the last.”

Clovis hums, his eyes distant with memories. “Not at all, not at all. My favorite will always be the Triumph Tulips -- purple as a summer sunset. Your mother used to tend to them herself. Just thinking about her kneeling in the garden, humming as she worked, fills me with… such peace.”

“How nostalgic. Would you like a bouquet brought to your room? Something to brighten the evenings?”

The king shakes his head. His hand -- so light and frail it feels like parchment -- reaches out to cover Figura’s. It takes Figura every ounce of control not to recoil.

“No,” Clovis says, smiling. “It makes me happiest to see them grow as they are. Watching their petals unfurl day by day, catching the sunlight… It’s calming. Cutting them early would be too sad.”

Figura’s fingers twitch beneath his touch, but their expression remains serene. “Yes,” they say softly, “I agree wholeheartedly, Father. To end a performance prematurely is unforgivable. The act is what brings meaning.”

The king’s eyes, clouded by age, gleam with affection. “Even in the war days -- Burrya, and the Yandex Theocracy -- all the bloodshed… my love for botany never wavered. How lucky I am to see peace in my lifetime. Time seems to race by, doesn’t it? One moment, a seed is planted; the next, it’s in full bloom. Now I can watch the flowers as much as I want.”

The king pats Figura’s hand. Figura wants nothing more than to wash them right away.

“And you, my dearest daughter,” Clovis continues with gratification. “Have bloomed into a flower more beautiful than the ones your mother loved. A strong stem to bear the crown’s weight. Such a gift you are… my hearty Triumph Tulip. Hohoho~.”

“You flatter me, Father.” They glance toward the garden, the vibrant flowers swaying gently in the breeze. “Yes,” Figura murmurs with not-so feigned nostalgia. “How quickly time flies, indeed.”

…

During that same time, at the far east of Rosebell and over at the Children’s Village, Conrad, Leader, Brawler, everyone is striving to care for Omine, who has fallen ill with a terrible fever.

The small, humble hut where the poor built a utopia.

The ostentatiousness of King Clovis’s lavish bedroom.

Omine shivers in her bed, her beautifully healthy body betraying the recovery that once seemed inevitable. Her Family offers comfort, preparing the last medicinal herbs and praying that the precious Pink Amber will soon be ready. They’ve nearly saved enough for the last dose.

…

Back at the castle, Figura continues to navigate King Clovis’s decaying mind, keeping him docile. This is only part of a bigger plan. Nothing -- no matter how much it takes -- will stop them from killing King Clovis and the two others of the highest depraved peerage -- Princess Glace and Queen Minerva.

After the encounter, Figura moves with mapped accuracy, slipping into a secluded area. They’ve memorized the guards' patrol patterns, making it easy to slink unnoticed into this unused storage room.

“[Leviathan, I’m ready to leave the castle.]”

[All right. I’ll have Luka retrieve you. Give me a moment.]

Luka materializes in the room, his arrival marked by an irritated frown. The wound on his leg, a result of his teleportation, is slowly healing.

“Making me waste time with your games… You’re delaying my damn liquor. I’ll have you know I was in the middle of a fine bottle when Leviathan dragged me here.”

“I brought you another from the royal cellar. We’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

“We should finish off the whole royal family in one go. The number I’ve fought has never been slower. They deserve to die anyway.”

Figura twitches in slight anger, betraying their usually composed demeanor. “That’s exactly what I was trying to explain before. You wouldn’t understand, Luka. You’re from the capital of Burrya. You never had to live through the atrocities. Point is, I need the king alive. He’s mine to talk with. I won’t hand him over because you want to start a corpse party.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your past. Why are you insistent on letting it affect the present?”

“You as well. All sour because we paused your drinking.” Figura tries to lighten the mood, bringing a souvenir out. “Here. Lay back a little longer and the mission will be complete. Accept it as a vacation of sorts. You could say thanks, Luka.”

“Shut up. I know you’re only doing this cause’ you think you’ve managed to tame me.” Luka pops it open and takes a long, tasty chug.

“So you can smile.”

Luka’s murderous frown returns. “Getting the job done. That’s all that matters -- That they’re dead in the end.”

“We have to be sure to be careful about it. After all, you don’t get to kill a king every day. Especially not with Nation Elite Captain Brutus’s squad keeping tight watch.”

“You really think I can’t take him on?”

“I don’t think you can. If you insist on tussling with an Armament User, you could take me instead -- to your soft bed.”

Luka takes a swig from the bottle, dismissing Figura with a grunt.

Luka’s mind is already far ahead, picturing when he’ll finally end the entirety of Maltrex. The thrill of it makes his pulse race. He can’t wait to hear the royal family’s dying screams, watch the life leave their eyes, feel their reign crumble beneath them. The royal family -- all of them -- will pay for their sins, and Luka merely has to agree to this philosophy while chasing his own interests.

Downing the refreshing liquor keeps his bloodlust at bay. The pickings Figura suggested aren’t enough for his love of bloodshed which is near-dependency. He knows he will unleash it. But for now…

As his wound closes, they both know it’s time.

Luka rudely shoves Figura and activates his Freedom Armament. With his brawny hand on his partner, reality around them blurs, and in an instant, they vanish, reappearing in the halcyon of Luka’s city inn room.

Still.

Though distant from the castle, Figura can’t shake the notion of King Clovis’s sympathy.