The Golden King (1)

“If you, who have stolen Grimslone’s body, neither kill me nor seize the cult and simply let things flow as they are—what would become of my authority rooted in this land? That’s why I’m trying to place you under my authority. Rest assured. I require nothing of you. All I ask is that you protect my authority. You want that too, don’t you? In this situation, what’s needed is controlled power, not chaos.”

The Heavenly Lord of the Blue Turban Party had precisely grasped what Azadine wanted. Realistically, it would take great effort to seize his cult, and Azadine had no desire for that.

What Azadine wanted was to exercise influence in Vthuma to prevent the Messenger Clan’s civil war from spilling into foreign conflict—and the Heavenly Lord was saying he’d allow that, in return for acknowledgment of his authority within the cult.

“But do I really have to become your adopted son?”

“Grimslone is disappointed in me and will no longer grant miracles. But if you become my son, then the miracles you’ve experienced will also become mine.”

“How calculating.”

Azadine frowned as he looked at the Heavenly Lord.

The Heavenly Lord looked like a young boy. Judging by age, he was certainly older than Azadine. Was he born this way? Or did Grimslone’s revelation bestow that appearance upon him?

Whatever the case, his proposal did not match his youthful look. It wasn’t the childish talk of a boy, but the sinister cunning of a seasoned power-broker. His offer was vaguely unpleasant yet impossible to refuse due to the gains it promised.

“Personally, I don’t like it, but from a broader perspective, I must do it. Otherwise, there’s no point in coming this far.”

“I’m glad you understand quickly. I truly feel like making you my child.”

“Then, should I call you Heavenly Lord—or Father?”

“As long as you maintain my dignity in public, there’s no need to do so in private. But in public, I would appreciate it if you showed me boundless respect.”

“Fine, I get it. Then what’s your name?”

“I am Kazas.”

“Kazas?”

“Why are you surprised?”

“No reason… I know someone with that name. Why would you choose such a name?”

“It’s the name of a famous elven mage from this area long ago. There’s a superstition that using such a strong name helps children survive illnesses in their youth.”

In the voice of the cult leader, there was a faint contempt for superstitions.

Azadine found that amusing.

But upon reflection, it wasn’t amusing—it was frightening. One who willingly chooses the superstition and primitiveness they despised as tools for greed was dangerous.

Although Azadine had forced a deal with power, he knew he must stay wary of this man’s deep and far-reaching schemes.

“Welcome to the family, Messenger Clan.”

“I am Azadine of the Second Line.”

“Yes, Azadine.”

The Heavenly Lord said that and stood up, and now the bleeding from his ear had stopped.

The spear launched by Azadine had nearly split his ear in two, but the bleeding wound had hardened as if with tree resin and was now completely healed.

Though he claimed Grimslone was disappointed in him, it seemed Grimslone’s power still lingered within him.

Kazas, the Heavenly Lord of the Blue Turban Party, officially recognized Azadine as one blessed by revelation and declared him his adopted son.

It should have been a cause for celebration and festivity, but due to the urgent situation, instead of holding a festival, they sheltered the residents expelled from the district.

He also opened the cult’s warehouses for them, and thus the displaced residents and the impoverished of Vthuma alike praised the Blue Turban Party’s generosity.

Thanks to the Blue Turban Party’s help, Shati and Scott were able to pass through without any serious inspection.

The reason was that the blood mages stationed at the checkpoint—tasked with detecting shapeshifters—were themselves members of the Blue Turban Party, and with coordinated statements, they let Scott and Shati through safely.

“As much as it was necessary, I’m still surprised you so readily became someone’s adopted son.”

Shati was astonished by Azadine’s decision.

“It’s just for appearances. There’s no need to stir up trouble in this already chaotic situation. Besides, that Heavenly Lord of the Blue Turban Party is surprisingly reasonable.”

Azadine turned his gaze away from Shati to watch the Vthuma army preparing the city’s defenses. It was difficult to deal with her when she deliberately brought up things he was already ashamed of.

“This is truly fortunate. At one point, I thought the Heavenly Lord considered you a rival and meant to eliminate you. But if you were given a revelation, you could’ve told me.”

Jiswa seemed to genuinely believe that Azadine had delivered a new revelation to the Heavenly Lord and that everything had been peacefully resolved because of it.

In reality, there had been a tug-of-war of power and authority, but Azadine kept quiet, knowing that Jiswa’s faith was too deep and devout to handle the truth.

“Jiswa.”

“Yes?”

“Help the Blue Turban Party with the city wall reinforcement. And I will, with the Heavenly Lord’s introduction, request an audience with the king.”

“You mean an audience with the king?”

“Wow, Captain, that’s amazing. Things are moving so smoothly. I can’t believe you’ll be meeting that Manja-Jadek.”

“Well, the king must have his own reasons. Why are you, an orc necromancer, so interested?”

“Huh? Don’t tell me you don’t know the Golden King, Manja-Jadek?”

“Don’t you know the Golden King, Manja-Jadek?”

“Manja-Jadek repelled those who sought to plunder Vthuma’s wealth, and especially in his youth, he slew many ogres. We orcs, thanks to our innate sharp intellect, used to lend our wisdom to ogres and nagas in exchange for hefty rewards—but we tasted bitter defeat at the hands of Manja-Jadek’s army. My parents were killed by his elephant legion.”

So then, from Scott’s point of view, Manja-Jadek was his parents’ killer. Yet Scott seemed to admire and even respect him.

“That’s what it means to be a strong and great king. Just look at this golden, shining city. I want to meet him too.”

“I’ll be the only one going to the audience, along with the Blue Turban Party members.”

“That’s a shame. I wanted to witness the majesty of the Golden King myself.”

“I’ll tell you after I see him.”

Azadine felt a complex mix of emotions as he watched Scott, who seemed to genuinely revere Manja-Jadek.

Just then, a messenger from the Blue Turban Party came to find Azadine.

“Deputy Lord. An audience has been arranged. Please prepare for the palace entrance. We’ll assist you. This way.”

It seemed preparations for the audience with Manja-Jadek were complete.

Azadine changed into Vthuman attire prepared by the Blue Turban Party and met the Heavenly Lord outside the audience chamber.

“Be careful with your words, Azadine. His Majesty the King is the Golden King—wise, and also fearsome.”

The Heavenly Lord gave Azadine a few cautions before meeting Manja-Jadek. Yet all of this was simpler than when Azadine had met the Heavenly Lord himself. They were merely waiting for a free moment in Manja-Jadek’s busy schedule.

Bored from waiting, Azadine decided to ask the Heavenly Lord a question.

“Well, now that we’re father and son, let me ask—why do you perform all those ceremonial rituals? It seems even more excessive than what a king would do.”

“Why do you think?”

“Hmm… probably because you needed to establish a hierarchy?”

“Impressive.”

Heavenly Lord Kazas marveled at Azadine’s quick answer.

“You’re absolutely right. I was originally a merchant traveling between Vthuma and Korasar. After becoming one of Grimslone’s chosen… I realized I couldn’t contain this power within just myself. I needed to share the burden somehow. You can’t run an organization alone. So I asked my old merchant colleagues for their understanding and they became my first priests. They were all capable and brilliant men. Otherwise, they couldn’t have survived as merchants in Vthuma.”

Kazas spoke highly of them.

“But they knew my past and my motives better than anyone—so that became a weakness. Eventually, they started treating me disrespectfully and threatened my authority.”

“So you created these elaborate ceremonies?”

“They’re not just ceremonies—they were created out of necessity. Call it a ritual of practicality.”

“And those first priests—did they submit to the rituals and agree to serve you?”

“No. They opposed the rituals and openly defied them, so they were purged.”

Azadine had vaguely suspected as much. The cult leader would never tolerate those who refused to acknowledge his authority and acted like business partners.

Those elaborate ceremonies likely served as a convenient pretext to eliminate such people, and in doing so, the cult leader made the organization entirely his own.

“But I’m surprised. You figured out the purpose of the rituals and my situation in one go. Truly brilliant. You have immense power and a sharp mind as well? As expected of the Messenger Clan. Or are you just extraordinary even among them?”

“Well, it’s a long story.”

Azadine thought it might be dangerous to go too deep into stories about himself and the Messenger Clan with the Heavenly Lord.

Just then, the king’s attendant entered and informed them that the audience was ready.

Manja-Jadek’s palace, like the buildings of the Blue Turban Party, was constructed in Vthuman style.

Tall columns stood in place of walls, and massive drapes hung intricately, substituting for walls. When wind was needed, repositioning the drapes allowed for excellent ventilation.

Between the pillars stood something that functioned as a wall on its own—a colossal oil painting the length of a horse. On the massive canvas was a dignified, dark-skinned man holding a golden royal scepter, trampling the corpse of an ogre chieftain in a victorious pose.

This was the Golden King who had defended Vthuma’s wealth by defeating ogres from the northern frontier.

However… seated at the center of the audience hall was a man so bloated with flesh that it was hard to believe he was human. He was perched atop a quartz throne, his size comparable to an elephant, his flesh bulging as though barely contained by his skin, like it was on the verge of bursting.

Despite that, the features of his face bore an uncanny resemblance to the portrait—clearly identifying him as Manja-Jadek.

‘Did the painter have a knife to his throat while painting that? Or did he really look like that in his youth and then ended up like this? But how could a person become like this? Why is he so huge? Is he a giant?’

Azadine turned his gaze to the massive royal scepter beside Manja-Jadek’s throne—the same golden scepter from the portrait.

Its length was twice that of a man’s height. Comparing it to the painting, it was clear that Manja-Jadek had always possessed a build far larger than a normal human.

Still, was this truly the Golden King whom even the proud Scott admired?