The Revered Blood

The Kingdom of Raksa

In a luxurious room, two men were getting ready. The room looked like it belonged to someone wealthy, with two king-sized beds on opposite sides, maintaining a respectful distance between them, indicating that the room was shared by two individuals.

"Hurry up," one man spoke in a strong voice.

He appeared middle-aged, around forty, tall, and strongly built, with a serious expression on his face. He was dressed in golden armor that gleamed in the light as he inspected his sword.

"Yes, General," the other man replied.

He looked to be in his twenties, tall but less muscular than the man in golden armor. He wore silver armor that covered him from his chest to his legs, where a sword was fastened at his waist. His appearance was strikingly handsome.

Hearing the reply, the man in golden armor glanced at him.

"Or should I call you 'Father'?" the younger man said with a playful tone.

"You know the rules, right?" the golden-armored man replied, his expression unchanged.

"Yeah, I know. I'm ready now. Let's go," the man in silver armor replied with a smile.

"Okay, then let's go, son," the man in golden armor said with a rare smile and a gentler tone as he looked at his companion who was also his son.

"Okay, Father," the younger man replied, returning the smile.

The golden-armored man was the father of the younger man in silver armor.

As they walked toward the door, a knock echoed through the room.

Knock, knock.

"Come in," the father said in a commanding tone.

As the door opened, a soldier in silver armor stepped inside. His armor was different in design from that of the father and son. Bowing deeply, he addressed the man in golden armor.

"The king has summoned both of you immediately," the soldier reported.

"Understood," the man in golden armor responded with a heavy voice.

The soldier bowed once more and exited, leaving the two men to prepare themselves.

"Why both of us? There must be something really important, don't you think, Father?" the younger man asked with a grin.

"Let's go and find out. And don't open your mouth and say anything unnecessary, okay?" the father replied, stopping in his tracks to look back at his son.

"Okay, I won't," the younger man said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Sigh... The father exhaled deeply, already anticipating his son's typical behavior.

"Don't worry, Father. I won't embarrass you in front of the king… at least," the son added with a mischievous smile.

"Let's go," the father replied, shaking his head as he turned and began walking. His son followed closely behind.

The hall they entered was gigantic, sprawling more in length than width, and far more luxurious than the room they had left. At the far end of the hall, atop a raised platform, sat a man on a grand golden throne. He looked to be around fifty years old, with a strong physique and a blank expression. He wore large, black armor with menacing spikes on the shoulders. In front of him, a massive sword stood embedded in the ground.

The father and son walked toward the throne, their steps steady yet cautious. When they reached the base of the staircase leading up to the king, they both bowed deeply, their eyes fixed on the ground.

"We are here, my king," the man in golden armor announced, his voice loud and clear.

"Aaron," the king said in a cold, commanding tone.

"Yes, my king," Aaron, the man in golden armor, replied firmly.

"Gather the allied forces and conquer the Red Dungeon," the king ordered.

Hearing the command, both Aaron and his son were shocked. Their brows furrowed, but they kept their heads bowed.

Aaron was conflicted. He couldn't question the king's orders, but he knew the dangers of conquering the Red Dungeon. His son, sensing his father's hesitation, attempted to buy him some time to think.

"Ah..." the son began, but before he could continue, Aaron interrupted.

"Understood, my king," Aaron replied swiftly, cutting off his son.

A faint smile appeared on the king's face, but it was not a kind smile—it was filled with malice.

"You may raise your heads," the king commanded.

Aaron and his son lifted their heads to face the king.

"Luke," the king addressed the younger man.

"Yes, my king," Luke replied respectfully, though there was a hint of fear in his voice.

"Did I tell you to raise your head?" the king asked, his malicious smile widening.

Realizing his mistake, Luke quickly lowered his head.

"Forgive me, my king. I thought you meant both of us," he stammered, his voice trembling.

"So, you misunderstood your king?" the king said, his tone sharp and mocking as he stared at Luke.

Aaron, understanding the king's behavior and the tense situation, began to sweat. He knew his son's life was in danger.

Before Aaron could speak, the king moved.

Slash!

Aaron heard the sound of a sword cutting through flesh. His eyes widened as he saw his son's head fall to the ground. Blood pooled at his feet as Luke's body collapsed, lifeless.

"And you dare to speak out of turn?" the king roared, his face red with fury. He stood beside Luke's body, his sword dripping with blood.

Aaron remained motionless, staring at his son's severed head.

"Do not worry, Aaron. You are still my general," the king said with a twisted smile. "In exchange for your son, I offer you this sword." He threw the bloodstained sword onto the ground before Aaron.

Suddenly, time reversed.

In reality, time had not reversed, but it was Aaron's skill at work.

Aaron blinked, realizing he had activated his unique skill, Possibility. The events he had just witnessed were merely one of the best possible outcomes.

As Aaron and Luke walked toward the king this time, Aaron was prepared. He would not let the king harm his son.

When they reached the throne, Aaron and Luke bowed.

"Aaron," the king said again, his voice as cold as before.