Chapter 13: The King's Blade

Alex stared at the sword in his hand.

There was no mistake.

It was his sword, the same blade he wielded as King Alexander.

But how?

The crystals found in this mine were known for their ability to be forged into weapons, granting them unique abilities. That was their true purpose, a purpose his brother never fully understood.

Yet, unlike ordinary weapons, this weapons made from the crystals had one fundamental difference.

It was soul-bound.

Once wielded, it became a part of the user's soul, unable to be passed down or stolen.

And if that was the case.

Then his soul truly reincarnated.

Which meant—he was still Alexander.

But where had the soul of the original body went.

A wave of dizziness hit him.

The single strike he had made had already drained most of his energy. His current physical body was too weak to handle the sword's full power.

He clenched his jaw. That was a problem.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to his sister.

"Are you okay?"

She was trembling, her hands clutching her chest, but she nodded quickly.

"Y-Yes…" she said in a small voice.

Alex felt a sharp pang of guilt.

She had always been strong, but this? Being dragged into something like this, it was too much.

But there was no time to comfort her.

The five generals stood frozen, staring at his sword with wide eyes.

Their expressions were a mix of shock, disbelief and something else.

Recognition.

One of them, a man with graying hair and a scar across his jaw, finally spoke.

"Where did you get that sword?" he demanded, his voice rough.

"That's—" another general whispered.

"The King's sword."

Silence.

The words hung heavy in the air.

The generals were staring at him differently now, their eyes filled with a mix of hope… and fear.

His sister, on the other hand, looked confused.

King's sword? Why would her brother have something like that?

Alex's grip on the sword tightened.

"I'll explain everything when we get out of here," he promised.

They didn't argue.

Not because they believed him.

But because they could already hear footsteps.

Alex frowned.

That didn't make sense.

The snake didn't have feet.

So then…

Who—or what—was coming?

They kept running.

But so did the footsteps behind them.

Each step echoed in the abyss, keeping pace, always a few feet behind, like a predator stalking its prey.

Then.

Silence.

The footsteps stopped.

For a second, Alex almost felt relieved.

Almost.

Because the last footstep he heard was different.

Deeper.

Not a simple step, but a launch.

His breath hitched.

Something was above them.

The group froze.

Their eyes darted upward, but in the endless darkness, they saw nothing.

Then.

BOOM.

Something landed in front of them.

The earth trembled.

A cloud of dust and debris exploded outward, swallowing their surroundings in thick darkness.

Alex and the others skidded to a halt, their eyes locked onto the swirling cloud of dust ahead.

They couldn't see it.

But they could feel it.

And then.

The footsteps started again.

Slow. Heavy. Measured.

Like a predator playing with its food.

They were the prey.

Then, they saw it.

At first, just a shadow, a shape moving through the dust, towering over them.

Then the first hint of what lurked in the abyss.

Several serpent-like creatures emerged from the dust, their bodies twisting wildly.

Each one was identical to the snake that attacked Alex's sister, their open maws as dark as the abyss itself.

But these weren't separate creatures.

They were all connected.

To a single head.

And then, the true form stepped forward.

A humanoid figure, towering over them, its body made of uneven, jagged rocks, as if it had been pieced together from the abyss itself.

The snake heads hissed violently, their bodies writhing like they were alive, yet dead.

Alex's fingers tightened around his sword.

It looked like Medusa.

Only this time—they had nowhere to run.

Flashback

The grand palace, once a symbol of might and wisdom, was now drenched in blood. The golden walls were stained crimson, the scent of death thick in the air. Bodies lay scattered across the marble floor, remnants of a war fought within the castle itself. The air was eerily silent, save for the echoing footsteps of a lone figure.

A young Alex ascended the grand staircase, his armor heavy with the weight of blood, both his enemies' and his own. His crimson sword, still dripping, hung at his side. This was no longer a battle. This was an execution.

He entered the throne room, a place that once held warmth, guidance, and power. Now, it was cold, suffocating. And at the center, slouched lazily on the throne, was the King.

Or rather, the man who used to be king.

The man who once ruled with wisdom and strength, who had been Alex's mentor, his role model. The man who had guided him through war, through loss, through politics and power.

The man who had returned from a journey… different.

A cruel individual now sat in his place. A beast in human form. Someone who no longer saw men as men, but as animals to be controlled.

Alex stopped before the throne, his grip tightening around his sword.

The King looked down at him with dull, lifeless eyes. His body had grown fat and heavy, a mockery of the warrior he once was. Yet there was no fear in his face, no regret.

A slow, tired voice broke the silence.

"Are you here to kill me?" the King asked, his tone as hollow as his gaze. "Go ahead."

Alex's heart burned with rage. He wanted an answer. An explanation. A reason why his mentor, his father in all but blood had become this monster.

He wanted the King to fight back. To deny it. To say something….anything.

But the King only stared at him with those crazed, empty eyes.

It was as if the man Alex had once admired had died long ago.

Alex clenched his teeth. He raised his sword.

"Do you have any last words?" he demanded.

For the first time, the King hesitated. His lips parted, slow and deliberate. Then, in a whisper that sent a shiver down Alex's spine, he spoke:

"A word of advice…

Do not seek the Abyss."

Alex's breath hitched.

Then, without another thought, he plunged his sword into the King's heart.

The King's lips curled into a small, eerie smi

le.

Not one of defiance.

Not one of fear.

But a smile that spoke of relief.

As if, in death, he was finally free.