As King Hoshigariō left the room, he suddenly collapsed. A harsh, agonized retching sound tore from his throat. Within moments, a puddle of blood spread across the floor, staining the king’s hands red.
Two of the mages rushed to the king, their staffs glowing with a brilliant light ‒ a warm, radiant glow that filled the corridor.
As they placed their hands on the king’s back, the light washed over him. The retching stopped, and within moments, he straightened himself.
Without a word of thanks, he continued down the hallway.
The soldiers and mages looked tense, but no one dared to speak a word. They watched the king in silence, following him with the respect he commanded. Even Kurul held back, unable to resist the unspoken pressure.
As the king entered his sleeping chamber, he ordered the soldiers to leave. Obediently, they exited, closing the heavy, ornate door behind them. The two mages who had aided in his healing, along with two soldiers, remained outside, standing guard.
Kurul remained in the room, silent and lost in thought, as the door closed behind the others.
The king glanced over at him, his eyes narrow and filled with disappointment.
"You cannot imagine how great my disappointment is." His voice was sharp as he strode toward the fireplace and sank into one of the heavy, opulent chairs. The flickering flames cast dancing shadows across the room, yet a cold silence lingered in the air.
Kurul remained standing, his hands clasped behind his back. He did not sit. He simply stared straight ahead, as if he knew that words no longer held any meaning.
"The 100 heroes? Ha! What a joke!" The king laughed, but the sound was hollow and strained.His face turned pale as a choking sensation lodged in his throat. Blood dripped from his lips, and his cheeks sagged as if someone had drained the life from his body. Another convulsion wracked his frame.
"This pathetic rabble will never succeed." he gasped, as if his own words had nearly strangled him.
The fury in his voice was merely a mask for the exhaustion that was now consuming him.
"Shall I summon the healers, Your Majesty?" Kurul's voice was serious, though a fleeting hint of concern flickered in his eyes.
He knew the king would not take kindly to the suggestion, but the monarch’s condition could no longer be ignored. The respect Kurul held for his king stood in stark contrast to his growing worry about his deteriorating state.
"No. It's fine." He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to ignore the throbbing pain.
"Twenty, huh?" Hoshigariō stared into the fire blazing in the hearth, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes.
"They will have to be enough." He lifted his head, meeting Kurul’s gaze with a resolute expression. "We must tell the people the truth."
"Many have already seen them on their way to the castle, Your Majesty. The rumors will spread in no time ‒ if they haven’t already." Kurul stared at the faded painting above the fireplace, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation.
It was a masterfully crafted painting, encased in a magnificent golden frame. The artwork stretched across the entire width of the fireplace, depicting an epic scene. A group of one hundred men and women stood side by side, their hands raised toward the sky. Each of them was enveloped in a unique glow, the light gathering in their uplifted palms. They faced an army of luminous, mystical beings.
The creatures' wings towered over the painting like clouds in the sky. Their forms were grotesque yet majestic, their radiance both brilliant and overwhelming. The longer one stared, the less certain it became who represented good ‒ and who represented evil.
Kurul gazed at the painting with a mix of awe and unease. It felt as if history were repeating itself before his very eyes.
As Kurul lost himself in the depths of the painting, his thoughts caught between the past and the unsettling present, Hoshigariō stepped beside him. The king studied the artwork for a long moment before breaking the silence with a deep voice, heavy with nostalgia.
"When the heavens stir and the hour draws near, only the united strength of the hundred heroes can avert disaster..." His voice grew faint, breaking at the end.
His hands trembled slightly as his gaze remained fixed on the radiant figures in the painting.
"We must not allow the people to lose faith in the legend. Even if there are only twenty heroes instead of the hundred foretold in the prophecy, they are still the heroes of legend. The ritual was a success!" With these words, newfound strength seemed to flow into the king.
"Come up with something. Just as you always do, Kurul. Failure is not an option." The king's voice was unwavering and commanding. There was no doubt, no regret ‒ only firm determination.
Kurul inclined his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he let his ruler's words sink in.
"As you command, Your Majesty!"
Kurul turned to leave, but just before reaching the door, he hesitated.
He glanced back at the king once more. Standing by the fire, the king cast a striking, majestic figure. Kurul did not want to see that image tarnished. He had served the royal family for as long as he could remember ‒ just as his father and his father before him. His life belonged to the crown.
He would calm the people and bring the king yet another success to report. At this moment, that was his greatest wish. Yet his thoughts still clung to that day two months ago. The sheer number of corpses in the cellar, the grotesque mass ‒ they haunted his dreams.
He took a step back toward the king.
"Your Majesty." he said, bowing before the king.
The king looked down at him. "Speak, Kurul."
"Was it necessary to weave this tale coated in lies for the heroes? I'm certain they would understand our intentions." Kurul’s voice trembled with suppressed sorrow.
The king stepped closer to Kurul, his fingers tightening around Kurul’s shoulder like an iron claw.
The warmth of the fireplace made his eyes glisten in the dim light.
"Humans are selfish by nature, Kurul." he said, his voice flowing like honey over steel."The truth would lead to protest. Protest would lead to hatred. And hatred cannot save this world." He paused ‒ just long enough for a sigh to pass.
"Hope! That is what the people need. Whether in the form of a hundred heroes… or just one."
He walked back to the fireplace, his footsteps echoing against the cold floor. His gaze drifted to the painting above it, where the figures shone in golden light.
"We want to make it a reality." he said, his voice suddenly distant. "For the good of our people… and for my own."
The king’s eyes grew vacant, staring through time itself. He was seeing something ‒ something beyond the flames of the fireplace.
Kurul could not see it.
He could only guess what the king was looking at ‒ something that lay beyond the fire’s glow.
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