Chapter 21

A few moments later, the freshmen lined up before King Aldara. "Well done, some of you performed better than others," he said, casting a hard look at Lincoln and Dorian. "Dorian Dracula, Lincoln Randolph—you're out."

The announcement sent a ripple of disbelief through the room, whispers growing louder. Draven stepped forward, speaking up. "Sir, Dorian's one of the strongest here. It might not be wise to—"

Before he could finish, Clay appeared in front of him, his expression cold. "King Aldara didn't give you permission to speak," he snarled.

Draven remained unfazed. "I don't recall needing your permission," he replied coolly, locking eyes with Clay.

Clay's hand drifted toward his pocket, a clear warning hanging in the air.

"Draven, if you have an issue with it, why not give Dorian your spot? I don't have time for anyone holding us back," King Aldara said, his tone cold and dismissive, his usual edge absent.

Draven froze, considering his next move. But before he could respond, Mel stepped forward, raising his hand, and without a word, handed three of his flags to Dorian and three to Lincoln.

"Mel, what are you doing?" Dorian hissed, barely containing his shock.

Mel remained calm and raised his hand again. "King Aldara, I will step down from the black card ranks."

The room fell silent, tension hanging in the air. King Aldara regarded Mel with a measured look before nodding. "Very well. Hand over your black card."

Mel nodded, handing it over without hesitation. Turning away, he walked toward the gym door, the room heavy with confusion. All eyes were on him, students wondering what on earth he was thinking.

The next day, Mel sat at the back of a regular class, gazing absentmindedly out the window. Suddenly, the teacher's voice cut through his thoughts. "Melanthius—sorry, King Melanthius, could you perhaps enlighten us on the events leading to the war between Lokus and Bientry?" The class turned toward him, a few middle schoolers and high schoolers watching curiously as Mel blinked back to reality.

Mel opened his history book, scanned for the beginning of the section, and placed his finger on the starting sentence. As he began reading aloud, his calm, confident voice filled the room. After a few paragraphs, the teacher nodded, satisfied. "Very well," he said with a chuckle, just as the bell rang. "Alright, class, remember to complete the homework on the war of Lokus and Bientry for tomorrow."

As students packed up and shuffled out, Mel lingered, deep in thought. I no longer have my black card... how am I going to pay for lunch? He thought about his recent conv as ersation with Lance, who'd let him crash at his place. I can't keep relying on him for everything.

He sighed, rubbing his chin. I'm a king, but I give all the money from my kingdom back to my people. Should I start collecting protection fees like we did in prison? No, that's not right. His brow furrowed. There's only one thing left to do. With a decisive nod, he clenched his fist.

A little while later, Mel stood behind a counter wearing a red-and-white fast food uniform, complete with a matching cap. "Welcome to Cutlass Dominion, where our food might be your last!" he said, greeting the next customer with a grin.

The customer raised an eyebrow. "Uh... not exactly reassuring. Anyway, I'll take the fried fish with water."

Mel nodded, scribbling down the order. "Got it. Sea jerky, battered and fried, with a cup of H2O." He passed the slip to the cook, his expression neutral.

The man nervously handed over his money. "So, uh... King Melanthius, how'd you end up working in a place like this?" he asked, clearly trying to tread lightly.

Mel handed him his receipt, his tone flat. "Money. That's all you need to know."

The customer, sensing he'd hit a dead end, nodded awkwardly as he took his food and scurried out.

Just then, Mel's boss appeared, wiping his hands on an apron and offering a nervous smile. "King Melanthius, I just want to say... It's an honor to have you working here. And your friends too..." He gestured toward the restaurant floor, where Dorian, Elowen, Lance, Amara, Astroman, Laurel, Emrys, Kali, Jasper, Kai, and Draven were all scattered about—waiting tables, cooking, and stocking supplies.

"Sorry, sir. They wanted to help me for some reason." Mel bowed. 

Flashback

Mel stood in his shared dorm with Dorian, packing up his belongings. Dorian watched, arms crossed, helping him here and there. "Mel, you don't have to do this," Dorian said, concern evident in his voice.

Mel shook his head. "Dorian, if anyone deserves to stay in the black card ranks, it's you. And besides, something's off with King Aldara. He's willing to kick out anyone, even you or that Lincoln kid. I'll be fine. I'll probably crash at Lance's place tonight."

"Mel..." Elowen sighed from the doorway, watching as Mel zipped up his bag. Without another word, he left the room, determination etched on his face.

Present

"Where do you want this box, boss?" Cassius asked in his deep voice, effortlessly holding a massive crate. Mel's boss, startled, nearly jumped. "J-just set it outside, Prince Cassius," he stammered, and Cassius gave a curt nod before heading out.

"Mel, can we talk for a second?" Draven's voice was low, almost hesitant. Mel paused, glancing at him warily but nodded after a beat. They stepped behind the building, the quiet alley giving them some privacy.

"I know we haven't been on the best of terms since, well… since I stabbed you," Draven began quietly, his tone filled with regret. Mel let out a sigh, then crossed his arms. "Yeah, I remember," Mel muttered. "What do you want?"

Draven's eyes flickered down as he pulled out the sword—the same one he had used against Mel. Instinctively, Mel took a step back. "What about it?" he asked cautiously.

"You remember what happened when I used this sword on you," Draven said, gripping the hilt tightly. "You vanished, right? You appeared somewhere else." Mel nodded slowly.

Draven's eyes darkened as he continued, his voice tense. "I used this sword on the Jester a year ago, and the same thing happened. He disappeared. But... when I stabbed him this time, he didn't vanish." Draven paused, locking eyes with Mel. "He died."

Mel's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening in confusion. "What are you saying?"

Draven's voice dropped to a whisper, laced with suspicion. "What if Professor Estron wasn't really the Jester?"

The words sent a chill down Mel's spine. His body stiffened, unease creeping in. "Where is this coming from?" Mel demanded, a mix of fear and frustration rising in his voice. "You can't just throw something like this at me!"

Draven glanced around nervously, ensuring no one was nearby. From his pocket, he pulled out a few holographic polaroids. As he handed them over, Mel's face turned pale. The images were disturbing—grotesque scenes of three kings, their throats slit open with cards embedded in the wounds, similar to the ones Estron had used in his attacks.

Mel's stomach churned violently as he stumbled toward a trash can, vomiting. Draven stood nearby, silently observing the unraveling chaos he had unleashed. The weight of his revelation had shattered Mel's sense of reality.

"It looks like we've got a serial killer on our hands," Draven said, his voice low but steady. "We don't know if it's the Jester for sure, but whoever it is has been targeting kings across the continent. I told you first because of your status in Atlantis. King Aldara's been acting strange—he's terrified he's next." Draven's eyes flickered with concern as he added, "Be careful, Melanthius."

Without another word, Draven turned and walked away, waving casually as if he hadn't just dropped a bombshell. Mel leaned against the wall, his legs weak, and slid down to the floor. His mind was spinning, thoughts crashing into each other like a violent storm. "What the hell…" he muttered, clutching his face in confusion.

His gaze fell back to the horrifying photos in his hand. He studied one more closely and froze. One of the kings looked disturbingly familiar. The realization clawed at him as he tried to process the face he recognized.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of plates crashing to the ground shattered the tense silence. Startled, Mel looked up to see Amara standing there, icy tears welling in her eyes. She was trembling, her face pale, and her voice barely audible as she whispered, "F-Father…?" Her words cracked, broken with disbelief.

Mel's heart sank. The king in the photo... was her father.

A few moments later, the restaurant had emptied out, leaving only the students inside. Cassius and Astroman stood by Amara, gently comforting her as she cried, her grief overwhelming.

"Mel, what do we do?" Dorian asked, pacing. "The king didn't even inform Amara about her parents, but he gave Draven those photos? None of this adds up." He looked to Mel, who sat with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.

"I don't know," Mel muttered, his mind racing. "Those photos… they can't be faked. But Draven just left without—" He stopped mid-sentence as the bathroom door opened, and the toilet flushed. To everyone's shock, Draven walked out, looking casual.

"What?" Draven asked, noticing the stares. Mel's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Draven, you left. You waved me off—just a few minutes ago," Mel's voice wavered, unsure of what he was seeing.

Draven shook his head, confused. "No? I had one of those fish burgers, and it wrecked my stomach. I've been in the bathroom for almost an hour," he said, adjusting his belt as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Mel's face paled. "No, Draven. You handed me these." He slid the photos across the table, and Draven recoiled, immediately throwing up when he saw the gruesome images. "What?! I didn't give you these! And isn't that the king of the Frostlands?" He turned to Amara, who was barely holding herself together, her tear-filled eyes locked on the photos.

"Something's seriously off," Astroman muttered, tying up his dreadlocks, his body tense with readiness. Jasper stepped closer to Draven, explaining what had happened.

Draven's eyes went wide with fear. "Mel, I swear I would never show you those. They're too much for me to handle, let alone a fifteen-year-old."

"We've got an imposter among us," Emrys said grimly, scanning the room for any signs of deception.

"Lance, go home," Mel ordered, his tone firm. Lance opened his mouth to protest but stopped. Nodding silently, he bowed and walked out, his face a mix of confusion and worry.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, each of them now aware they were entangled in something far darker than they realized.

"The imposter mentioned that King Aldara is acting strange because he might be the next target," Mel explained, his tone serious. "But here's the thing—how would they even know about his behavior? And they knew about Draven's sword, about how Estron might not have been the real Jester."

Draven nodded, his face tense. "Tonight, we stick together. It's too risky to split up now that they've targeted you, Mel." He insisted, his eyes scanning the group for agreement.

Kali stepped forward. "Should we at least tell King Aldara?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

Moments later, the black cards, including the newly demoted Melanthius, headed to the school gym. It was time for their regular training session, though today had taken on a much darker tone. As they entered, Arid, Lincoln, and Renita were already inside, sparring with the wardens.

"Ah, there you are," King Alden greeted them, then his eyes landed on Mel. "King Melanthius? I thought you gave up your rank. What brings you here?"

Mel stepped onto the stage, his face resolute. "King Aldara, there's a serious issue." He handed over the polaroids.

King Aldara's face darkened as he glanced at the photos. His eyes shifted briefly to Amara, then back to the images. With a sigh, he studied them more closely. "I'm aware of these deaths, but Melanthius… where did you get these pictures?" His tone was icy, eyes piercing through Mel.

After Mel explained the encounter with the fake Draven, King Aldara stood, pacing back and forth, his mind clearly racing. "What the imposter said is true," he finally admitted. "There's someone killing kings across the continent. Amara, I'm sorry for not telling you sooner." He bowed, and Amara, still shaken, wiped her tear-streaked face.

"C-can I go home?" she asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

King Aldara sighed. "Yes, you may. Take as much time as you need." He waved her off, and Amara left, heading back to her kingdom to grieve in peace.

King Aldara turned back to the group. "Training is canceled for today. Everyone, return to your dorms." His announcement was met with murmurs of relief from the students. But then his eyes found Mel again. "King Melanthius, stay behind."

As the others filed out of the gym, Mel remained seated in a chair, while King Aldara and the wardens gathered on the stage.

"Melanthius, I respect your decision to step down from the black card ranks," Aldara began, but before he could continue, Jessica Reeves cut in, her voice sharp as she spun her knives.

"You're holding back, aren't you?" Jessica leaped into the air, landing in front of Mel with a predatory grin. "You were the only one left with six flags at the end of the competition—along with that Arid kid. You're a king at only fifteen, and the son of the most powerful overlord to ever exist. And you're just giving up your rank?"

She sneered as the other three wardens moved in, surrounding Mel, their eyes gleaming with suspicion and challenge.

"Is that a problem?" Mel asked, tilting his head with a calm curiosity. "King Aldara, I stepped down from the black card ranks because I wanted Dorian to stay." He stated evenly. Ingrid, her eyes gleaming with mischief, drew her sword and held it to his neck.

"So, you've got more to offer?" she smirked, tossing the small cutlass to him. Mel caught it and studied the blade thoughtfully. "I don't want to use a weapon. If I do, you'll all probably die," he said, his voice surprisingly innocent.

Sonic stepped forward, his voice low. "So, you do have something up your sleeve, huh?" With a swift kick, he knocked the chair from under Mel, forcing him to stand.

Mel remained calm, even as he stood up to face the wardens. "Are you all really going to gang up on a freshman?" he asked, dropping the sword. "I've told you already—I'm not interested in fighting, and I don't want to rejoin the ranks."

Before he could turn to leave, Clay appeared behind him, the atmosphere growing heavy with tension. "If it's numbers you're worried about, what if you just fight one of us?" he challenged, pulling out a scythe that hummed with power as he spun it in a tight circle.

Mel backed up slightly, feeling the intense energy radiating from the weapon. "I don't have my—" he began, but a loud howl from above cut him off. Everyone looked up just in time to see Lance jump from the ceiling, landing on the wall and flipping gracefully to the floor in a crouch.

"Master!" Lance called, standing up as all eyes turned to him.

"Lance Landthug? What are you doing here?" King Aldara asked in surprise.

Mel walked over to Lance, a stern expression on his face. "He's my student. Lance, I told you to go home," he said firmly, his eyes narrowing as he noticed what Lance was holding—Mel's, or rather Merlin's, enchanted armor gloves.

Lance bowed low, his expression earnest. "I'm sorry, sir. I followed you here with them because I wanted to make sure you were safe. And now that you're about to fight, I figured you'd really need them," he explained.

Mel sighed but softened as he rubbed Lance's head. "Thank you."

Clay sneered, his scythe gleaming in the dim light. "You want a piece of me too, kid?"

Lance smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Maybe I do!"

Before Lance could act, Clay let out a roar, his overwhelming energy surging like a tidal wave. Lance faltered, his knees buckling before collapsing unconscious to the floor. Mel quickly caught him, gently setting him down on the bleachers.

"Does this mean you'll fight?" Clay asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Mel stood up, slipping on the armor gloves. "If I fight, will you let me leave the ranks in peace?" He picked up the cutlass from the ground and spun it deftly in his hand.

Clay chuckled, resting his scythe on his shoulder. "If you win, we'll leave you alone. But if you lose, you'll rejoin the black cards, and Dorian and Lincoln—those weaklings—will be kicked out."

Mel nodded as the other wardens cleared the chairs, creating space for the fight. He took a stance, the weight of his father's weapon mastery flowing through him. Clay wasted no time, dashing forward with blistering speed.

"Deadly Slash!" Clay shouted as his scythe pulsed with a dark energy. He swung with terrifying force, but Mel parried with the cutlass just in time. He jabbed toward Clay, but the warden caught the blade with his hand and yanked Mel in, headbutting him with brutal efficiency.

Mel winced, kicking off Clay's chest to create some distance. He landed, rolling to his feet, but felt a warm trickle of blood running down his forehead.

Clay patted his chest, his head tilting with curiosity. "Melanthius, I've heard about your battles. Why don't you use any magical techniques?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with challenge.

Mel wiped the blood from his brow, catching his breath. "I do use magic—it's cloud-based."

Clay spun his scythe effortlessly over his shoulder. "That's because cloud magic is your nature and since you're a wizard you can manipulate it. Unlike how lightning is Elowen's and blood is Dorian's but they can only manipulate it in attacks. Haven't you seen them use techniques?" He paused, watching as Mel's expression shifted. "Some people are born with a magical nature, a Power, while others awaken theirs later in life, usually through something extreme—trauma, a significant event. You know what I mean, don't you?"

As Clay spoke, Mel's mind flashed back to Elowen's lightning techniques and Dorian's mastery over blood. He realized Clay was right—he'd been holding back, never fully tapping into the magical potential he possessed. "So… how do I use a magic technique?" Mel asked, his eyes fixed on the sword. Clay shrugged nonchalantly. "Usually, it's taught by a master or passed down by a parent. But some people figure it out themselves. It can't be that hard for you, right? You created your own martial art," Clay pointed out.

Mel nodded, his gaze sharpening as he considered the sword in his hand. Slowly, he inhaled, his breath drawing in a swirling mass of black energy. He exhaled, releasing a faint, cloud that settled over the blade, imbuing it with a shimmering aura of cloud magic. The wardens exchanged surprised glances, murmuring in approval, while Clay's brow lifted.

"Cloudfall!" Mel shouted, darting past Clay with swift precision. Clay's eyes widened, caught off guard, as a part of his shirt fell away, revealing his scarred torso beneath.

Clay's breaths grew heavier, sweat trickling down his forehead. "There've been many prodigies in the generation before ours. People who could conjure magic from nothing, warriors capable of healing their wounds in an instant. But there was only one wizard—a genius of both combat and magic—who conquered every kingdom in the Wardrick region: your father, Merlin Shadowbane. They say the apple doesn't fall far from the tree. No wonder they locked you away as a baby. You would've been too dangerous. Lucky for everyone, someone taught you restraint. So, I have to know—who was it?"

Mel tossed the sword aside and began removing his gloves, his expression steady. "I don't know much about him, or why he was there, but he went by the name 'Goldman.' That's what he told me to call him. He was obsessed with gold, trained me day and night when I was seven. I think he died when I was twelve."

Mel's gaze hardened. "Anyway, I've shown you what I can do, and the deal was if I win, I'm free to leave," he said firmly. Clay nodded, about to speak, but Mel cut him off.

"But if there's truly a madman killing kings, I need to be strong enough to protect everyone. I won't rejoin the black card ranks, but…" Mel's voice softened as he dropped to his knees, bowing before the wardens and King Aldara. "Will you four train me?"

The room fell into stunned silence as the wardens and the king exchanged confused glances.

After hours of grueling training, Mel lay sprawled on the gym floor, his body bruised and battered. The gym was empty now, except for him and King Aldara. The king chuckled softly and walked over, looking down at Mel. "They're a terrifying force when they work together, aren't they?" he said, smiling. Mel, too exhausted to speak, simply raised a thumb in response before letting it drop back down.

King Aldara sat beside him, taking a long sip from his drink. "King Melanthius, I hope there's no bad blood between us. Truth is, I'm not the strongest king. My goal is to make the black cards as powerful as possible, so that when they grow older, they'll become exceptional leaders...like you." He gently ruffled Mel's hair, and after a moment, Mel slowly sat up, still sore.

"King Aldara," Mel began, wincing as he moved. "What do you know about my father?"

Percival's eyes widened slightly, and he sighed, crossing his legs before answering. "Your father, huh? Well...he was the most terrifying wizard the world had ever seen. An overlord in every sense. Countless people wanted him dead, but no one had the strength to make it happen." He paused, looking at Mel intently. "But you know what terrified people the most?"

Mel shook his head, curiosity sparking despite his pain.

"He unified a hundred kingdoms...in just one day."

Mel's heart skipped a beat, his eyes widening in disbelief. "One day? He did all that...overlord stuff in just one day?!" His voice carried a mix of awe and shock, almost as if he was encouraged by the sheer magnitude of his father's strength.

"Yep," King Aldara said, his tone heavy. "It was terrifying. After your father's death, when word got out about your existence... the wars started. Everyone fought over what should be done with you. The Magisterium eventually took you after my parents found you in the ruins of the former Kingdom of Nocturnia, hiding in the basement. They took over not long after your father died. By then, I was already in line to be king, and the very first thing I did was plead for them to keep you alive. But beyond that, I couldn't do much. If it had been my choice, you would've lived with me." He sighed, the weight of regret evident in his voice.

Mel wiped his eyes, the tears welling up unexpectedly. Aldara's words had struck him deeper than he could have imagined. Glancing out the window, he noticed that night had fallen. With a heavy breath, he stood up and extended a hand to help Aldara to his feet.

"I should go," Mel said softly, his voice still thick with emotion. "I'll spend the night in Atlantis. With a king killer on the loose, I need to be there to protect my people."

He bowed respectfully, and Aldara nodded, offering his hand for a shake. But, to his surprise, Mel pulled him into a tight embrace, pressing his face into Aldara's shoulder. His voice cracked as he whispered, "I wish you could've taken me in."

Aldara stood frozen for a moment, before gently resting his hand on Mel's back, understanding the weight of everything unsaid between them.