So His Majesty Decrees

"Do not let this man leave!"

Those were the words given to the guards yesterday before Charles stormed out of the cell. Once the cell door had closed, he turned his stern profile to me.

"What is your name?"

"R-Rado! Rado Huward!"

"I will return in one day at most, Rado. You are to remain here until I do."

Without giving me the opportunity to respond, his silver armour disappeared behind the wall of my prison.

"What are they going to do with me…"

I'm now chewing on the dry bread served with a lightly salted barley porridge. I was able to somehow get to sleep when night fell, but the words of the Commander kept me on edge once I was woken for breakfast. Even the pain in my hands seems much more mild. It's either that, or I was hungry enough that my brain chose to ignore it.

"Am I to be burned at the stake? No, that would be too merciful. Maybe they will send me into the mines as a slave."

With nothing to do but stare at the stone wall, thoughts of the most painful torture are all I can think of. A prisoner isn't told to wait like this if not for a pain worse than death. I don't want Charles to return. At the same time, I want to be put out of my misery.

"Commander!"

"Ah!"

A sound of surprise leaves my mouth as the ones standing guard at my cell salute to the approaching individual. I can immediately recognise the clanking of metal plates before Charles even turns the corner. When he does, his face is that same terrifying glare that he had yesterday.

"I bring an order from His Majesty the King!"

"H-Huh?"

The gate is opened and the commander marches to where I sit at the edge of my bed.

"You, Rado, are to serve as a soldier and defend our homeland!"

He thrusts a roll of parchment in front of me, allowing the end to fall and reveal what is written within.

The words are printed with brilliant black ink, and each character flows with elegance across the page. Lines curl from one letter to the next, forming a finely woven paragraph that extends from a bold title to the bottom of the page. Beneath it all is a crimson seal of wax that appears to depict a flower of some kind. Back at home, the writing alone would make this worth a fortune, not even including the pen of the king himself.

"This is…"

I'm amazed as I stare at the canvas. Its beauty demands my utmost respect, and I find it difficult to pull my eyes away. That being said, I can't help but encounter one glaring issue.

"What…is this?"

"Your summons. Can you not tell?"

"I heard what you said, but…"

Perhaps peering into the page would change something. Of course, that would never be the case.

"I can't read."

Silence.

Charles looks down at me, now with obvious anger at my tasteless joke. Unfortunately for him, this intricate print means nothing more to me than the scribblings of a child. A sigh is what finally leaves his mouth after a one-sided staring contest.

"I suppose I expected too much from a lowly peasant."

"My apologies…"

He turns the parchment towards himself and clears his throat.

"So says His Majesty: 'To the man whose lands be torn asunder, to the grief borne from a heart that survives the smoldering of the Lord's most proving flames, I offer my sympathy. The hands of fate have brought you to my gates.'"

All of these flowery words enter one ear before briskly exiting the other. Most of the words are recognisable on their own, but something about the delivery creates fog in my mind. All I can do is keep listening and hope Charles doesn't realise my lack of attention.

"'You, the gifted, I wish to summon. To a calling greater than one who toils the land in servitude of another, take your place. I summon thee, my servant—'"

"Excuse me?"

Charles stops reading at the raising of my hand. Peeking over the parchment is that same rigid glare.

"I don't mean to interrupt, but what is this of 'summoning'? I've heard tales of summoning being used to invoke the presence of fiends and wicked creatures. Is that…what he wants me to become?"

"FOOL!"

I was scared enough at the thought of being turned into a horrible creature. Charles adding a thunderous roar to this small chamber causes me to retreat to the nearest wall. I don't end up traveling very far.

"Do not speak of His Majesty that way. Our noble King would never lower himself to using a witch's incantations!"

"I-I see…"

"You are to answer to His Majesty, that is the meaning!"

With a violent grunt, Charles disappears behind the parchment once more.

"'I summon thee, my servant, to use your gifts as justice demands. A service, to which you are uniquely posed to uphold, so demands you to take sword and shield and preserve our peace. To you—'"

"Excuse me?"

Once again, the commander lowers the parchment with impatience.

"My apologies. Does this mean that I must make arrests, as one does to 'uphold peace'? I must admit, I am less than fit for such a difficult task—"

"Silence! His Majesty will soon make your role very clear!"

"Ah, okay…"

I fall silent again and let Charles begrudgingly continue to read the King's excerpt.

"'To you, Rado of Conbert, he who survived, you are to—'"

"Excuse me—?"

"What is it this time!?"

His loud howl seems to push me further into the stone. The commander roughly grips the parchment roughly, as if preparing to tear it to shreds and get rid of me for good.

"I'm not familiar with this 'Cornbert'. Is that some kind of title?"

"Do you truly not know of the village from whence you came!?"

"My village? We had a name…?"

I try to think back through my life, searching the disheveled pieces for any mention of said name. Nobody used any name in particular for our home, and it is not a place marked on any map. Part of me believes that nobody living in said place was aware.

"Ahem!"

Charles pressures my attention back to his speech and continues.

"'You are to ride out, beyond our walls and into the Devil's nest. Hunt the demon whose rumour threatens our very existence, as it had our ancestors—'"

"Did you say hunt—"

"Hm!?"

Eyes filled with bloodlust threaten me from behind the page. Clarification will simply have to wait.

"'This labour will be of much difficulty, yet this is your duty. Be victorious, and be hailed as a hero to all of humankind.' Signed, King Edmund Ortrich of Theinard."

With the final words read aloud, my heart sinks. There was little made to understand, but the final message was clear. Even I have heard bits and pieces of the tales, and only one existence deserves to be referred to with such decoration. Just the thought alone makes me wish for past tortures of my imagination instead.

"Demon Lord…"