Inside a lavish palace, every tile gleamed like frost on jade, priceless and pristine. Today those tiles faced a “rude” storm of footsteps.

He burst in, mud clinging to his soles like swamp leeches, stamping a dark trail across the porcelain like bruises on ice.

He skidded beneath the throne, then dropped to both knees. Cracks spiderwebbed out from his kneecaps like winter ice spreading on a pond.

“R-report! Call from our spies! The Elvenfolk have a major move!” His voice rattled the quiet hall like a sudden drum.

On the throne sat a young figure, black hair tousled like charred silk in wind. His skin was pale as parchment, a touch sickly, yet those lurid red eyes stitched all contrasts into eerie harmony.

He rose, and a mantle of pure white slid off one shoulder like falling snow. Half his frame stood bared, muscle carved like stone under cold air.

That body, even at rest, pressed like a mountain on the room. His words carried iron, the sort that brooks no answer. He was the King.

“Those little insects again—what now?” His tone dropped like a blade onto velvet. “Don’t tell me it’s ‘major’ because half of them got wiped last time.”

The King spoke, and ordinary syllables fell like anvils in rain. The kneeling man bent lower, his forehead almost kissing the tile like a penitent touching an altar.

“M-my King! I wouldn’t dare! This time it’s absolutely a major move!” He stammered like a bird fluttering in a net.

“Go on. I’m listening.” His voice curled like smoke around a candle flame.

Gulp. “According to our spies, the Elvenfolk seem to be preparing some super-large magic, the sort that could move a forest-sized tract in an instant.” The words shook like leaves in a sudden wind.

“Oh?” His smile tilted like a crescent blade. “My my, that is big. Let me guess—they want to pack up their home and carry it elsewhere.”

“N-not sure. Our spies couldn’t reach that detail.” His uncertainty hung like mist over marshes.

“Is that so? A pity.” His gaze cooled like moonlight on steel. “Still, the shape is clear. Either they’re fleeing an attack no shield can withstand, or they’re setting the stage for something grand.” His lips curved like thorns. “I favor a plan. Those insects are proud.”

His words made the kneeling man kowtow like a worshipper beating a drum on the earth. He knocked and knocked, as if praying to a god carved from storm.

“No wonder you are our great King! What we can’t deduce, you peel open like fruit! Awe! Devotion!” His praise flowed like honey, sticky and bright.

A blush touched the King’s cheeks like dawn on snow. It looked almost out of place on a crown of iron.

“Come now, you flatter too much.” His tone softened like rain on ash. “It’s simple stuff. If you hear a belly rumble, you guess someone wants food. Surface-level logic. It proves nothing.”

His humility struck the man like a whip of guilt. He kowtowed harder, the sound pattering like hail. Blood threaded from his brow, red lines spreading like vines.

“My fault! My fault! I failed to gather more intel, so I crippled your brilliance! I’m useless, unworthy of your godlike wisdom!” His voice broke like reeds in wind.

A mere courier had somehow shouldered a spy’s burden, a muddle of duties tangled like roots in dark soil.

The King stepped down the stairs, barefoot, each tread chiming crisp as a glass bell. The sound echoed through the vast hall like birds calling in stone caverns.

Step—

He reached the floor, then knelt on one knee. He cupped the man’s face with both hands, lifting his head like a flower tilted toward sun.

“Listen.” His red eyes shimmered like rubies in deep water. “Even as King, without your help, I’m nothing. Don’t pile all merit on me. You’re all my great hands. Got it?”

Those vivid eyes seemed woven with charms, and his words drifted like incense. The man stared, dazed, as if floating on warm wind. Light returned to his gaze like stars pricking night. A tear slid down the corner, bright as dew.

“I understand, my King!” His answer rang like a bell struck true.

The King’s smile rose like a small flame, not holy light, but warm enough to thaw a winter palm.

“Good. Not bad at all. You’re dismissed. Rest well.” His tone settled like a blanket over embers.

“Yes! I’ll take my leave!” He backed away step by step, facing the King like a tide receding from a moon.

He reached the doorway and turned. The air felt unusually fresh, like a valley after rain. Praise had lifted his mood, and the world seemed washed clean like a new morning.

Perhaps that was it. Joy spread like sunlight through fog.

Inhale— The air was crisp, so cool it bit the nape like a shard of ice.

Huh?

Why did the world drop lower, like a horizon sinking?

And it kept dropping, like a stone slipping down a well.

He tried to turn his head, but the neck wouldn’t budge. Only his eyes rolled, slow as marbles.

Thud—

Something fell, heavy as a log off a cart.

His eyes slid sideways, and the world sluiced into focus. A body lay there, headless, spurting a thin red arc like a cut brook.

Why was there a thing like that in the palace? It felt absurd, like a nightmare left in daylight.

Ah, well. So… sleepy. Weariness flooded him like twilight tide. His lids sank, impossible to hold.

Clap, clap. Two crisp claps cracked like twigs. Black smoke swirled in, coiling like ink poured into water, and it didn’t thin.

The King pointed at the body by the door, his face colder than a blade left in snow. “Clean it up.”

His gaze slid to the spot where the man had kowtowed, blood still smeared like dried lacquer. A flicker of distaste crossed his eyes like a gnat in wine.

“Next time, bring me someone cleaner.”

He flickered, returning to the throne like lightning stepping back into a cloud. He slouched with one hand propping his cheek, but a glint sparked in his eyes like flint.

“Looks like the Three-King Council is starting again…” His voice drifted like wind over old stones. “When was the last time? Ninety-something years ago, I think.”

“Who did I offend, standing here fair and fine?” His smile thinned like wire. “Why does this cycle saddle my reign the moment it’s my turn?”