Chapter 12: The Throne and the Arena

Greg walked through the grand halls of his kingdom, his ten wives trailing behind him in elegant silk gowns, and ten guards following closely. Servants and soldiers knelt as he passed, their heads bowed in reverence. The sheer weight of their obedience unsettled him.

All of them… kneeling.

This wasn't admiration. It was submission.

He could feel it—the power, the control—but also the unease creeping into his chest. Why him? What had he done to deserve this?

Then—

A sudden commotion.

A man sprinted through the courtyard, dodging guards, slipping past their grasp with desperate agility. He was running for his life.

Greg's eyes narrowed. His instincts flared.

The man didn't slow down. He weaved through the open path and—

Collided straight into Greg.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. The guards lunged forward, ready to punish the man for his insolence.

Greg, stunned, stepped back, his jaw tightening.

How dare he… not recognize the King?

But before the guards could seize him, something caught Greg's eye.

A small object tumbled from the man's grasp—

A wallet.

Greg's gaze locked onto it instantly. He reached down and picked it up. The leather felt worn, familiar. His fingers flipped it open.

Inside was a photograph.

A man and a woman.

Greg's breath hitched. The woman—

He knew her.

She was one of his affairs in the modern world.

His grip on the wallet tightened. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He flipped to the ID inside—his vision blurring as he read the name.

Aron.

Greg's chest constricted. His pulse turned ice-cold.

No. No, no, no.

The realization struck him like a blade to the gut.

This is the man I replaced.

His mind raced, pieces of the past snapping together. His life before—his reckless ambition, his indifference, his downfall. The prison. The suffering.

And now, this man. Here. In his kingdom.

Greg's breath shuddered. His fingers curled around the wallet like a lifeline.

Did Aron put me in that prison? Did he orchestrate all of this?

A dark chill ran down his spine.

If he did… what happens next?

The guard turned to Greg, awaiting his command. "My king, do you want to catch that person?"

Greg, still dazed, nodded. "Yes."

For three days, the guards hunted Aron, finally capturing him and throwing him into the dungeon.

A guard approached Greg, bowing. "My king, shall we put him in the arena?"

Greg frowned. "What arena?"

The guards laughed. "You jest, my king. You were the champion of the last arena. You requested to replace the old king and had him thrown into the dungeon. The last rule is that a king cannot be killed."

Greg felt his stomach drop. "Continue… Gather all the elders. I want every detail explained to me."

The elders were summoned, their faces worn with age and wisdom. They spoke of the ancient laws governing the kingdom, carved into a stone tablet that only the king could alter—once every five years.

The Five Immutable Laws:

The elder's expression grew solemn. "My king, our gods govern this realm, and each kingdom follows the divine decrees written on their sacred stone tablet. Each kingdom is guided by one of the Seven Gods of Luck."

The Seven Gods of Luck: Eldorin, God of Fortune – The divine patron of prosperity, trade, and unexpected windfalls. (First Kingdom) Vaelora, Goddess of Chance – The trickster deity who governs fate, gambling, and life's unpredictable turns. (Second Kingdom) Zeraphis, The Smiling God – A mysterious deity whose favor brings miracles and impossible victories. (Fifth Kingdom) Thalvian, The Gambler's Hand – A god worshiped by warriors and risk-takers, blessing only those who dare greatly. (Third Kingdom) Lunara, Goddess of Serendipity – The unseen hand that guides people to fortunate encounters and missed disasters. (Fourth Kingdom) Draven, The Silver Coin – A neutral god who bestows luck upon those who honor the balance of fate. (Sixth Kingdom) Mythros, The Hidden Patron – The silent god of fate, whose blessings are rare but life-altering. (Seventh Kingdom) The Mortal Who Became a God

The elder's voice deepened. "There was once a man named Zeraphis who challenged the god —and won. Through cunning and sheer determination, he ascended to godhood, proving that fate itself could be rewritten."

He continued, "Each of these gods bestowed their respective kingdom with a sacred tablet inscribed with five divine rules, unique to each land. Our kingdom, the Fifth Kingdom, follows the will of Zeraphis, The Smiling God, who watches over fate and grants fortune to the most daring."

"The arena is not merely a test of strength—it is a sacred ritual to honor these gods. Only through the cycle of combat can we maintain their favor, for they delight in the spectacle of champions rising and falling."

The Arena & Its Laws

The elder took a deep breath before continuing. "My king, the start of the 325th arena will soon begin. Only the king has the power to commence it."

Greg listened intently, absorbing every word. He needed to change the rules fast.

His mind raced with a single thought. If the 325th arena battle is completed, I can change the rules. I can make it so that I can never be removed or killed from the throne.

One elder hesitated before stepping forward. "My king, we cannot proceed with this now. You have just won the throne. The laws dictate that only after ruling for one full year may a king commence the arena again."

Greg's gaze darkened, his voice sharp. "I'm the king, and I am the rule. Only the king can start the arena, and I say it begins now."

The elders exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared to challenge him further.

Greg's fingers curled into fists. "Set up the arena. Put Aron in it."

A storm was brewing. And this time, Greg would control it.

As he turned back toward the throne, a slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.

For the first time in a long while… Greg felt truly happy.

The Start of the 325th Arena

Aron won.

Throwing Aron back into the arena wasn't just strategy—it was pleasure.

As he watched the 326th battle unfold, Greg tightened his grip around Ethan's necklace, running his fingers over its familiar shape. A strange sight caught his eye. Every warrior in the arena wore a mask, their identities concealed.

To Be Continued...