Chapter 40

“Do you believe you are qualified to become king?”

The snake squeezed tighter and tighter. It wrapped around his arm, coiled around his chest, and choked his neck. The cold scales scratched against his skin. He couldn’t breathe.

“Your oracle was a lie, Arkin.”

Like lightning, the truth pierced his mind. An oracle fabricated by his father. A prophecy born from the desire not to relinquish the throne.

“It’s nothing more than an illusion created by your father’s greed. And your mother condoned it even while knowing.”

Hissing unpleasantly with hiss, hiss sounds, the snake squeezed Arkin’s torso even tighter. Right at that moment of suffocation with a sensation like his ribs were about to crush, flames soared from all sides.

“Behold that outcome. Your parents’ greed brings about disaster.”

The World Tree was burning. The golden leaves caught fire first. The flames jumped from one side of the branch to another, spreading rapidly, and the silver bark turned black, peeled off, and fell.

The fire he had brought forth soon spread to the entire forest. Solinar’s beautiful and lush forest instantly turned into a hellscape. Birch, oak, elm, fir… Everywhere was flame and fire. The smell of burning stung his nose. Ashes flew and choking smoke filled his throat.

“If that man becomes king, Solinar will surely perish!”

The voices of the elders rang out like a chorus.
Arkin began to run. Yet there was nowhere to go. Above his head, in front and behind, everywhere was a sea of fire swallowing him whole. As always, this night too…

The dawn’s nightmare was still vivid. The heat of the burning forest, the snake’s cold touch, and his great-grandfather’s curse-like voice lingered in his mind like afterimages.

Arkin forced his exhausted body upright. Dark shadows hung heavily beneath his eyes, and a faint tremor remained at his fingertips.

Yet when he opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, the Prince of the Forest assumed a confident and composed demeanor. It was a changed appearance, enough that no one would believe he had wandered through hell and wept the night before.

A straight posture, broad shoulders, and a calm gaze. Having lived behind a mask for so long, hiding sleepless nights now came naturally.

The mask of a flawless prince. No one would notice the cracks forming within his inner self.

Stretching sunlight was bleaching the marble floor white. Gathered in small groups under the shade made by olive branches, the trainees now held their spots with fair familiarity.

“Now, today it’s your turn to share introductions about your respective countries.”

Seneca’s gaze slowly swept across the trainees. The moment Arkin made eye contact with the priest, he rose from his seat of his own accord.

“The first order, according to custom, proceeds with Solinar. Arkin, please step forward.”

Arkin forced down his heavy heart and stepped forward. Standing beneath the tree’s shade, a cool breeze brushed chillingly past the back of his neck, as if warning him to hide himself well.

“Then… let’s begin.”

Arkin took a brief breath, curved the corners of his mouth, and smiled softly.

“I am Prince Arkin of the Kingdom of Solinar.”

As his low, calm voice settled, people’s gazes gathered on him.

“The winter forest kingdom of Solinar occupies a vast territory in the north. Giant trees over a thousand years old grow in natural harmony there, a peaceful place embracing countless lives. I am Solinar’s sole… heir.”

Arkin straightened his waist and lifted his chin.

Though his oracle might truly have been fabricated falsely through the collusion of his father and mother, Arkin had years of gritting his teeth and striving with all his might. The abilities forged by that time would not simply vanish.

“Our kingdom possesses a unique political system. Nine clans govern their respective territories and coexist.”

Seneca nodded with a satisfied expression. He seemed to like Arkin’s calm tone and restrained gestures.

Arkin paused for a moment and caught his breath. I love Solinar. I will take pride in my country. I must become a great king like my great-grandfather and raise this nation up…

“…Important decision-making is finalized after exchanging opinions with the ‘Elders’, the heads of these clans. The king cannot arbitrarily decide matters or act despotically, because that violates the spirit of Solinar.”

“Ha.”

Draconis let out a snort of derision.

“Then the king isn’t really a king. What’s the point of being pushed around like that? Isn’t he just a puppet?”

A puppet, huh…

It was the anticipated reaction. Even so, the moment he heard those words with his own ears, his stomach churned with a searing, bitter ache.

“An interesting perspective, Draconis.”

Arkin politely rebutted toward Draconis.

“This is balance. In our Solinar, the king is closer to a sacrificial figure. The king is someone who must be a coordinator of disputes, a focal point that gathers everyone’s hearts for the sake of peace, and a person respected for lofty character. Because that process is by no means easy, we constantly discipline our minds and bodies.”

…But can I, Arkin Seilir, attain that noble character? Even at this very moment, he is filled with the urge to slap Draconis across the cheek.

Because…

That bastard’s words are right. Solinar’s king is a puppet. It has long since devolved into an existence tossed about and cowering in the factional strife of the clans…

“Please continue, Prince Arkin.”

Seneca chimed in to snap him out of it. Arkin put on his ritualistic smile once again. However, when the affectionate sight of Zafiri and Nephitia sitting side by side right in front of him caught his eye, his nerves shot straight up like the edge of a blade.

“Hey there, I have a question!”

Enthusiastic Petra’s eyes were shining with cleverness.

“Then wouldn’t it take far too long to decide and execute something? Is that also the king’s share to mediate and resolve?”

Hearing Petra’s question, Arkin lowered his eyes steadily. His head kept throbbing with a dull ache. Why is he like this? He felt like chucking everything—introducing Solinar and all—out the window.

“…That is precisely the spiritual virtue of Solinar. Moving slowly, yet going together.”

Arkin gritted his teeth and smiled.

Fucking hell, that’s what I’m saying. It takes a damn long time.

He suppressed the urge to blurt that out.

“…Because we believe that just as a tree grows slowly, the more important a decision is, the more time must be given to it.”

“Truly the epitome of a mature community.”

Seneca gave a short evaluation. He had always seemed good for nothing but sarcasm, but he looked genuinely and deeply fond of Solinar.

“That is correct.”

The corners of his mouth, which he had barely managed to drag upward, twitched into a spasm.

A mature community? Is that really so?

To decide a single damn thing they drag their feet endlessly, and the elders are always trying to criticize and tear the king apart at any given moment, so I’m sick to death of it.

Sometimes it’s so annoying I want to beat them to death, but if I were to show my true feelings straight up, they’d all chatter away that my character is flawed, so I just can’t do that.

It’s a truly fucking miserable job. Do you get it?

“…Just as we consider becoming a person of mature character through endless training to be the highest virtue, not only the king but also the elders of each clan possess remarkably splendid character.”

Arkin swept his damp forehead with his hand. In truth, he didn’t even realize he was breaking out in cold sweat.

Remarkably splendid character. Where on earth?

Now that the topic is up, let’s think about it. If we were to examine whether they possess splendid and noble character, his father was also full of flaws. He would lose his composure, tremble with anger at the drop of a hat, and whenever he felt anxious and impatient, he would invariably hound and corner Arkin.

If he was supposed to become a great monarch following his great-grandfather, why couldn’t his father become a great king? Why did he have to burden me with all of that? Was he himself some kind of great king?

Couldn’t he have let go of what he held? Even to the point of fabricating my oracle?

“What Solinar pursues is precisely this… spiritual value. That is all.”

“Oh… Is it over already?”

When the presentation—which had seemed to be going along well—ended awkwardly, Seneca looked at him in bewilderment. However, Arkin no longer had the energy to speak. This alone was more than enough. In the aftermath of the hideous nightmare, his entire body was fatigued as though it were melting away.

What kind of reactions would they all show if he told them that, frankly, explaining his country was a damn nuisance, that he had no idea where he was headed, and that he wanted to ditch the whole thing? How wonderful it would be if he could bare his unsightly and inadequate self without hiding a thing.