A King's Last Mercy

I dismissed the businessman with a curt interruption, turning my attention to the remaining three. The striking woman’s frown was a thin veil for the profound mistrust brewing in her eyes. It was a clear signal. The hulking elder, meanwhile, remained a silent statue, his expression an indecipherable stone mask. I would set him aside for the moment. As for the last one, the ethereal girl, she conspicuously avoided my gaze, her eyes flitting around the chamber as she defensively folded her arms. A toddler could have managed a more convincing display of indifference. I mentally marked her as highly suspicious.

“Have either of you,” I asked, addressing the two visible members of the trio, “had an encounter with the Goddess? Experienced any… unusual physical phenomena?”

Neither offered a response. They simply stared, their silence a wall.

“Very well, I see how it is.” I pivoted to face the King, affecting an air of deliberate nonchalance. “It would appear the summoning has failed once again, Your Highness.”

“Impossible!” he retorted, his voice ragged with fury.

The King’s gaze swept across the occupants of the altar, his expression souring into a deep scowl. His eyes lingered on the Nihonese man, seemingly deducing from the man’s bewildered state that he was ignorant of any divine contact. He afforded the formidable old man a cursory, dismissive glance, likely reasoning that the Kingdom would not risk bestowing the Deity’s Boon upon a man who radiated such danger, even if he had received it. His attention, his final sliver of hope, ultimately came to rest on the captivating woman.

He surged toward her, his face a mask of desperation, a wildness that ill-suited a monarch. “You! You have not spoken! Tell me!” He seized her by the shoulders, his grip frantic. “You must have met her! You received the blessing—Gaah!”

Before he could complete his desperate plea, the woman he had cornered exploded into action. In a single, seamless motion, she sprang from her seated position, twisted behind him, and locked him in a reverse hold, the cold, flat steel of a knife pressed firmly against his throat.

The situation instantly detonated. The royal guards surged forward to apprehend her. As chaos erupted, the hulking elder broke into a startling fit of hysterical laughter. The Nihonese man, equally stunned, reacted by leveling his pistol at the advancing line of guards. The old man was utterly and completely unhinged.

“Stop!” I bellowed, my voice a thunderclap that sliced through the pandemonium. “All of you, right now!” My gesture was a frantic, all-encompassing sweep toward the guards, the businessman, the woman with the knife, and most pointedly, the cackling old man.

“I don’t care where this is, I want to go back!” the striking woman finally cried out, her voice taut with strain. “Send me back to where I was, now!” She had projected an image of cool composure, but it was now evident that she had been suppressing a torrent of emotion that had finally burst its dam. The knife in her hand pressed deeper against the King’s throat.

She spoke English with a melodious, rolling accent. Her fluency was remarkable, though it was clearly not her native tongue. The clumsy, awkward way she held the knife and pinned the King, however, swiftly dispelled my initial theory that she was some kind of professional assassin.

“No! Don’t send me back!” the Nihonese man yelled, adding his own brand of madness to the mix. “I’m staying here! You can go back!” What in the world is wrong with this guy? I thought. She never said anything about taking you with her. Settle down.

The scene descended further into a cacophony, punctuated only by the old man’s unending, maniacal laughter.

Deciding this farce had gone on long enough, I moved. I closed the distance to the businessman, whose entire focus was locked on the advancing guards. With my own hands still bound, disarming him directly would be a challenge. Instead, I grabbed his wrists and violently shoved them skyward.

He squeezed the trigger in a spasm of pure panic. The deafening crack of the pistol echoed through the chamber as bullets ripped through the stained-glass ceiling high above. The explosive report, followed by the sound of shattering glass, seemed to paralyze everyone. Their blank, stunned faces told me they likely had no concept of what a firearm was.

“Waaaaah!”

Panic erupted as sharp shards of glass rained down upon them. In that split second, a shimmering, semi-transparent shield materialized around the King and the woman, deflecting the deadly shower. The royal guards, it seemed, were more than just ceremonial ornaments.

While the Nihonese man was cowering with his head covered, I seized my opportunity, wrenching the pistol from his grasp. The shower of glass subsided, but the panic it had induced lingered in the air like a foul odor.

“Alright, lady, let’s all just take a deep breath,” I said, checking the pistol’s magazine. It looked like it still held a dozen rounds.

“I want to go back,” she insisted, her voice trembling but resolute. “Send me back, or I swear I will kill this man.”

“Trust me,” I said, my voice low and steady, “killing that old man won’t get you anywhere you want to go. Jail, probably. The guillotine, most likely. But not home.”

The guards began to slowly, carefully, close in on her. She shuffled backward, dragging the King with her as a human shield. Just then, as if suddenly oblivious to the blade at his throat, the King roared, “ENOUGH!”

A concussive blast of semi-transparent energy erupted from his body, sending me, the businessman, the guards, and the woman flying backward. He was free.

An oppressive energy filled the room, tinged with the bitter scent of his anger and disappointment. His robes whipped around him as if caught in a private gale, and every person in the hall felt the crushing weight of his presence. This was clearly no ordinary king.

I should have realized it sooner. In a world governed by magic, power structures would be fundamentally different from those on Terra. A king at the apex of such a hierarchy would require more than just a title and a bloodline. He was the one who had chanted the incantation, who had performed the ritual. This old monarch was a powerful magician in his own right.

The woman landed on her rear a short distance away, her knife clattering across the stone floor. Her beautiful face was a portrait of pure shock and fear. The repelling force had been immense; even I had been shoved back several feet.

The terrible power receded. I got to my feet and faced the King. His gaze swept over the three failed heroes he had summoned, then flickered past them to the fourth—the one who drifted casually nearby, unseen by all but me.

“Now what?” I asked.

He glanced at me, then let his eyes drift around the chamber one last time. “The summoning ritual is concluded,” he stated, his voice utterly devoid of emotion. “As promised, you are free to go.”

“And them?” I gestured to the fallen woman, the terrified businessman, and the insane old man, who had finally stopped laughing and was now watching the King with keen, unsettling interest.

“I no longer care. Take them with you.”

“Your Highness!” A chorus of protest erupted from his vassals.

“Silence!” he commanded. “I gave my word, and I have made my decision. Do not question it!” He turned sharply and began to walk away, his subjects falling into a cowed silence.

Without turning back, the King added, “This is the last mercy I will show you. Do not mistake it for goodwill. I am merely honoring my word so that I may put this matter behind me. Your connection to the royal house is hereby severed. You are free!”

Even with his back to us, I could sense the grim finality in his expression. He swept through the main doors, his vassals and subjects trailing in his wake like the tail of a comet.

The conclusion left me genuinely stunned. This was not at all what I had anticipated. I had fully expected the King and his men to imprison the failed heroes, especially after one of them had held him hostage at knifepoint.

But they had simply abandoned us. Not a single guard remained. I turned to survey the four silent figures who had now, apparently, become my problem.

Just as I was processing this bizarre turn of events, a figure re-entered the chamber. It was the envoy from before. It seemed someone had been meant to escort us out after all; they had just gotten swept up in the chaotic royal exit. He looked just as surprised by the King’s leniency as I was.

He explained that his orders were to guide us from the premises and into a public area of the city.

That was fine by me. I was finally getting out of this place. And if we were free to go…

I glanced at the others. The Nihonese man’s eyes were glued to the pistol now in my hand. Tough luck, kid, I thought. This is mine now.

The striking woman was just glaring at me. There is a unique sting that comes from being the object of such pure, undiluted contempt from a beautiful woman.

My gaze shifted to the unnerving old man. He was staring right back at me, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Are you sane, old man?” I asked.

“Hehehe,” he chuckled, the sound dry and raspy. He spoke fluent English, much like the others, but with a thick, guttural accent that sounded vaguely Ruskovian.

It wasn’t exactly the answer I was looking for, but it proved he was lucid enough to make a dark joke.

“Alright, I can’t just leave you trussed up like this. I don’t know what you did to earn this getup, and frankly, I don’t care. I’m letting you go. But don’t even think about trying anything stupid. The gun is mine. Behave yourself, at least until we’re out of this palace. After that, you can do whatever you want, so long as it doesn’t involve me. Understood?”

His only reply was another short, unsettling laugh.

I used the woman’s knife, which I’d retrieved from the floor, to slice through the thick canvas of his straitjacket, freeing his arms. I then pocketed her knife, earning an even more venomous glare from her. The iron mask was chained to the transport dolly. I fiddled with it, but there was no conventional lock, and the knife was useless against the heavy iron.

Once freed from the straitjacket, he tried to wrench the mask off with his bare hands, to no avail. He then started smashing his head against a stone wall, attempting to break the hinges. When that failed, he turned back to me, his eyes wild. This was sheer madness.

I offered to shoot the chain, but he had an even crazier idea. He wanted me to shoot the lock itself, which was positioned mere centimeters from his face, right next to his eye.

He would rather risk a bullet to the brain than deal with the inconvenience of the mask later. This old man wasn’t just insane; he was utterly fearless. He had the aura of a man who had stared into the abyss and laughed. This was a true survivor, the kind of man who could crawl his way out of hell itself.

I obliged, pressing the muzzle of the pistol against the lock and pulling the trigger. The mechanism shattered. I noted, with a certain professional appreciation, that he didn’t even blink. My assessment of him shifted; this man was more seasoned than I could have possibly imagined.

He was free. The straitjacket was in tatters, the mask discarded. His physique was that of a wrestler, a massive frame packed with dense muscle. His face, now fully visible, was that of a man in his late forties or early fifties. It was a landscape of deep-set wrinkles and coarse, unshaven stubble, a face that was past its prime but had lost none of its intimidating power. His smiles did nothing to make him seem friendly; they only amplified his menacing aura.

Finally, I turned my attention to the last member of our bizarre troupe. She hovered nearby, regarding me with an air of detached indifference.

“So, are you coming with us?” I asked, attempting to start a conversation. Up close, she was even more striking. Her orange hair possessed a faint golden luminescence, far richer than any redhead’s. Her face, even set in a slight frown, was exquisitely beautiful.

I could feel the stares of the others boring into my back, no doubt thinking I had finally lost my mind, talking to empty air.

She simply turned her head away with the air of a petulant queen. I tried again, this time with a wave of my hand, but she offered no response. She was pointedly ignoring me, but I was certain she knew I could see her. Whatever. For all I knew, she was a ghost or a local spirit who had wandered in during the ritual. This was a world of magic, after all.

“Have it your way,” I muttered, giving up. I turned back to the envoy. “Alright, we’re ready. Lead on.”

“Ah? Yes, of course. This way.”

I followed the diplomat out of the building. The Nihonese man trailed a few feet behind me, followed by the old man, and finally, the striking woman. To my surprise, the ethereal beauty chose to follow as well, drifting silently a few meters behind me.

“Oh my god!”

A gasp.

“…!”

Just as I expected, the moment we stepped outside the building, a collective gasp of astonishment rose from the group. The summoning chamber was situated on a small island, floating roughly a hundred feet above a much larger main island. While not as high as the prison island had been, our vantage point offered a sweeping panorama of the landscape. Most stunning of all were the countless other floating islands that hung in the sky at varying altitudes, a breathtaking testament to the truly alien nature of this world.

Unlike our last trip, the envoy didn’t pause to let them admire the view; we had to keep moving. But they walked on with expressions of pure wonder. Even the formidable old man, who I thought was beyond surprise, wore an expression of undisguised shock.