A Message from the North

His Majesty woke up in a pleasant mood. His morning call wasn't as annoying as usual and his irascible morning temper could barely be felt. Although it went against his actual intentions, he was just so damn proud of his prince's milestone achievement that he had to show off a little. According to the nanny, it was extremely rare for children to start speaking before one year of age.

Hearing this, His Majesty felt as if he had struck a goldmine. He had high expectations for his son already, but hearing his son was a genius catapulted those expectations into the sky. The six month old Ulfstead realized he might have made a grave mistake and was probably going to pay for it in the future. 

Sadly, there was no way to stuff the words back in his mouth. Plus, he really didn't want to go another half a year trying to communicate through cries and babbles. If he did so, he might really revert into a child. 

While the King waited for his son to change so that he could bring him to the office, an urgent knock was heard.

As soon as the old eunuch stepped inside, he held up a sealed letter and he reported, "Your Majesty, a message from the north just arrived."

The King took the letter, planning to head straight to the study to read it. But, before he took one step out the door, he paused and turned back to pick up the Prince. Thus, a spectacular scene of His Majesty carrying his son to the Royal Study was seen by many. Ulfstead, who had previously gotten used to the excessive amount of attention, had to pretend to be very interested in one of his father's tunic buttons. 

Noticing this, the King laughed, "You gluttonous thing. You cannot eat your father's clothes, lest you wish to choke and die."

The Prince really wanted to smack this cheap father to death for having the gall to say this with a straight face to a six month old.

When they reached the Royal Study, Ulfstead was amazed how simply decorated was in comparison to the rest of the Palace. He thought his father was a spendthrift who didn't even know the price of sliced bread. Or, in this place, flatbread.

After sitting down with the Prince on his lap, the King opened up the parchment made with stretched animal skin. For the first time in a while, the Prince was excited. It had been half a year since he was able to read something. There was no such thing as paper here and most people didn't even know how to spell their own name. His nanny seemed learned, but it wasn't as if she had any material to read to him.

Recently, he learned his nominal mother surprisingly knew how to read and write. However, her skills were less than average at best. This was one of the reasons a maid was able to forge her handwriting so easily on the day he was born. 

When the parchment was fully spread out, the excitable little Prince's face fell. It turns out that he was illiterate in this life. The loops and curves weren't even a special cursive font but rather a whole new set of letters. 

Ulfstead was lamenting his uneducated status when the King heavily banged the mahogany desk. The noise was so loud, Ulfstead wondered if it hurt. Looking up, he didn't see any regretful tears beading from his cheap dad's eyes. Instead, all he saw was a boiling rage.

Speaking to the old eunuch who seemed to always be the King's shadow, the King sneered, "Bring the two Generals here and Advisor Neuvilow."

In a quarter of a candlewick's time, the Men dressed in black and red tunics entered into the study with solemn faces. All three men were tall, with tanned skin and rugged features, but conversely, their stomachs seemed to be of various sizes. The one with the thickest gut was Advisor Neuvilow. According to his father's 'bedtime stories', he was once a lieutenant commanding thousands of men. These days he couldn't even discipline himself from indulging in too much food and wine. 

The older man with a barrel chest and thick legs was General Khanzi. He had retired from the battlefield when His Majesty had ascended the throne due to an injury that made him lose his right arm. Ulfstead indeed saw that the sleeve of his right arm was half empty. It was said that General Khanzi was able to defeat a ten foot bear with one punch when he was younger. Ulfstead thought his father was just telling some old-wives tales… but seeing his stature now… the young prince reconsidered the plausibility.

The third man had an eye patch and seemed to be the youngest and around his father's age. And though he was the thinnest, it was only comparable to the other two advisors. Ulfstead didn't even know it was possible for muscles to have muscles. But, this man had his arms and legs out for display, so Ulfstead knew he was too ignorant of the world. And speaking of which, what was up with this world's military uniforms? Ever since spring and summer had come, the guards and military men were wearing shorter and shorter tunics. Although the length could be said to cover the most important bits, Ulfstead remembered how with just one gust of wind, he saw more birds than that time he watched a documentary about a chicken farm.

Discounting the other two, Ulfstead was sure that this was General Frusher. His father never spoke highly of him, but it was obvious that he actually did. Everything he told his son were like the angry words of a jealous girlfriend.

Going back to the letter, his father finally revealed the source of his anger. "The King of Hellebore is asking for more food supplies. This King had asked the Ministry of Households to escort the grain collected more than a hundred thousand catties to the North last spring. And yet, now We receive an urgent letter from the imperial brother that the supplies were not enough? That half the bags were stuffed with gravel, sand, and forage meant for animals? Tell Us. Is this King's brother an animal? Do you all believe this King's kin is equivalent to a lamb that should be slaughtered?" 

At this questioning, the fat man began beading sweat on his forehead. "Your Majesty… This servant did not do such a thing. I-This servant would not dare!"

Once again, the King slammed the desk, causing the advisor to fall to his knees. Ulfstead noticed that a hairline crack was forming at the edge. Was his father so strong? At this point, the King had already set his son down on the cushioned seat, the Old Eunuch conscientiously behind to make sure the prince wouldn't fall. "You don't dare? You don't dare?! Why don't you dare? You don't think We know how close you were with those foreign envoys. You think We don't know how much your position has benefited you, damn slave?" With this, the King picked up his golden whip and flogged the round man across the face. The advisor wanted to prostrate, but doing so would only anger His Majesty even more. "You drink from this King's cup! Eat from this King's food! But you don't dare to tell what dirty things you've done?" With each sentence, the King's hand became heavier. "Out of grace for being a supporter of this King when he was younger, We have given you enough chances. Now, you have become confused. Come! Tie him up and interrogate him. Be sure to not let anyone go. I don't want any more sand in this King's eyes!"

The palace guards promptly dragged the crying man away. Behind them, a trail of blood was formed. The King's chest heaved heavily several times. In contrast, Ulfstead held his breath. His height was not tall enough to see over the desk, but the sounds of the whole scene and the stench of fresh blood was enough to chill the Prince down to his bones.