The King

Out of the 2000 men, only 100 could enter the majestic palace of King Geffer.

"Shall my king allow these 100 men to come into the palace with my two Sectums?" Lord Garjel asked through a ceremonial speaker made from the bones of a majestic beast.

It was customary that, after a long quest, the returning man asked for permission to enter The Mandalas, the Palace of Geffer; failing to ask would result in the interpretation of a coup.

A white flag was waved to a guard at the highest top of the tower, signaling a peaceful and friendly return. The 1,000 King's Guard that had blocked the way started to split into two: 500 on the left, 500 on the right, as Lord Zalaam approached from behind. With great authority, he walked towards Garjel.

With a cry of anger, "You!!"

"Eric and Bolan were shocked by his approach and almost drew their weapons, but quickly calmed after Zuka Zalaam's calm smile."

"You bloody bastard, I knew they couldn't kill you," he said, hugging Garjel with a hearty laugh. "Long time no see, my friend," Garjel's voice deepened.

"Long enough for me to forget how hard your damn body is!" he added, the camaraderie between them evident in his words. The king grants permission!!! The king grants permission!! The king grants permission!!

The guard shouts out with a special speaker that was clouded with mystery not yet ready to be told. "Men!! E lon qualon!!" Zalaam commanded. This was no ordinary order but a command reserved for only a few. Only three people had ever received this level of military respect.

The first cardinal of the west, who had passed away with the date not ready to be revealed, Axel Bloodman who is nowhere to be found and now Garjel Akinfa of the west who had received this honor twice already.

The 1,000 men dropped all arms, from armor to the short knives hidden in unknown spots. No guard was left with anything but the innerwear that covered the skin of their bodies. The significance of the moment weighed heavy in the air as the men prepared to welcome Garjel with the utmost respect and trust.

This was a sign of respect that even the king could never attain from his position alone. Only the head of the royal guard could decide who was worthy of such honor. (More details would be revealed on this unique tradition.)

'Never seen this before; always heard about it,' Eric said. 'Well, it's because you just became Zuka Garjel's Sectum,' Bolan replied. 'I have already seen it once, making this my second time. My confidence level is through the roof!' Eric exclaimed.

'Thank you, my friend. You honor me so much,' Garjel replied. 'Go, the king awaits you. Don't keep the man that trusted you with this mission waiting,' Zalaam said with energy. As Garjel and his two Sectums walked up the 1000 stairs of the Mandalas, Bolan commanded, 'Stop whining and climb.' 'Come on, that's a lot of stairs. I find it hard to understand why they make so many,' Eric frustratedly voiced.

'Hahahahah,' a deeply toned voice laughed. 'Welcome, welcome, my warriors!' the king cheered. 'Men, bow to the king, the ruler of the Western Empire!' The 100 men bowed their heads to the one and only 'Geffer Guarola.'

In the shimmering glow of Mandalas, a deceptive narrative unfolded as Garjel returned after many years. Laughter and jest filled the air, obscuring the underlying currents of history and bonds that tied the returning hero to the king.

"Ahhhh, my king, noooo!"

"Hahahahah, my king, so humorous," Garjel said. "He was just being foolish, my lord." The king's laughter erupted, masking the shadows of untold tales.

As night embraced the kingdom, orchestrated sounds of revelry filled the air, disguising the intricate symphony of emotions beneath.

A grand banquet unfurled in Mandalas, a colossal structure, its vastness concealed behind an illusion of opulence. The king, perched at a special table, projected an image of familial unity. Queen Fieral and her sons occupied designated spots, all part of a well-rehearsed performance.

Garjel, seated at the king's right, symbolized trust, while the queen and her sons adorned the left, framing a facade of harmony. Amidst deep-toned voices and a sea of celebrants, King Geffer's declaration of the Eastern empires' ignorance veiled the intricacies of political maneuvers and battles fought.

Sebber, the king's advisor, added a layer of ambiguity, hinting at the East's perceived vulnerability. "Of course, they were no match for the Western Empire. Hahaha, that's my general!!!" Geffer exclaimed, his jubilation masking the complexities of power dynamics.

"Never seen the king so cheerful," Prince Tommy remarked to his brother. "True," his brother replied. Yet, the queen's quiet revelation disrupted the facade, exposing the intimate connection between Garjel and the king.

But the king, with a seemingly casual remark, unveiled a hidden history. "Hahaha, he is not only my friend but also my protector. During the great persecution, this man rescued me from the mob, hid me, and protected me. Were we only 7 years old then? Garjel." The laughter echoed, concealing the weight of shared history. "Yes, my lord. Hahaha, still remember it like it was yesterday," Garjel responded.

"Great per-se-cution?" Eric's inquiry echoed, leaving the audience with a lingering sense of mystery, a narrative shrouded in the artful play of laughter and shadows.