Kingslayer's Aftermath

Author's Note: Not starting the story off tense like everything else I've done. We building up to that good stuff.

Within the impalpable flickering shadows of a cobble-stone alleyway, a man stuffed his head with stuffy black powder from a jar of poor man's glass.

His flowing hair which was once an angelic gold had been infested by the black powder and now had no hopes to ever see its natural brilliance again. It wilted and lost its waviness, turning white and grey in a matter of moments.

Numbed pain scream towards the man but he shook it off.

Cautiously removing his heavy-infantry armory into the trenches of the alleyway he felt drastic measures of weight leaving his shoulders. He dropped off the rest of his unnecessary equipment and left with only light garments and an almost weightless blade.

It turned out one didn't need much if the task was not to slay a King.

He brushed down his light grey-dyed leather garments and smoothened out the shininess of his elegant silver sword one last time before heading out.

Alphonse Judentri left the alleyway a new man.

His hair which had flowed down to his buttocks previously had shedded all the way up to his neck. It didn't have the prosperity of the High-Elves white hair but rather the cruelness of the white hair of Aging.

His eyes which were once sharp driving blues had turned a wild yellow. An effect of a bit of the Dragon's dust he had swallowed.

It had now been approximately 6 weeks since the death of King Julius, the weakest ruler of the west.

Alphonse had ridden in gloriously on a flawless and steady white horse but had ridden out on a dull and untrained mule. He carried the King's head all throughout the capital as the Knight's order attempted to chase him down with all their might.

His accomplices fled the scene soon after confirmation of the goal and left Alphonse all alone when it came to dealing with the aftermath.

Although he had rightfully earned the title of {Kingslayer} he had lost his freedom. With every move, he held darting eyes and sweated brows. Not once could he not look back and feel safe for even a second longer.

As of now, he had avenged his Father, his only goal was to leave the Kingdom of Aspelion at once. He had never wished to usurp the throne and neither had he the capabilities to do so. Training the sword from a young age had shown him his talent but also the severities of the Kingdom.

Not even his Father, a Duke, could keep his head high before his own subjects. Democracy had overruled the nobles.

Like a savior to the nobles, King Julius ascended and halted the nonsense but opposing these changes came protests and unruly subjects. To make up for this dozens of nobles mysteriously vanished, all their wealth being poured out straight into the now prosperous royal treasury.

One of those unfortunate noble blokes just happened to be the father of Alphonse, who although not present at the time had witnessed it all through the eyes and ears of the survivors.

He was not resentful or burning with anger, none of the Judentri had ever been so.

Rather he peacefully read his Father's dying words, words scraped on the wall with blood that gnawed their way into Alphonse's mind.

{Avenge our Legacy Or Your Head Shall be Furled Next.}

That was all that could be read from the harsh handwriting of Alcapare Judentri.

But magic bombs and mountain-breaking powers did not exist, nor would they most likely ever.

The peak Alphonse had reached in strength was merely the top of Knighthood. He could split a fireball in two and maybe cleave a ship into quarters but he would never be able to stand his ground before dragon-fire and Kingdom's armies.

That was where the Thieves Guild came in.

They aided him with bountiful plans, sources, and allies. They gifted him a sword like no other, even more, potent than that of his late Father's blade.

With their assistance it was a cakewalk, Alphonse just had to strut into the ruins of the Royal Palace to find the King and behead him soundly.

The King who had never even lifted a fork in his life was an easy target, his royal guards were poisoned and lured from their places. The royal rangers were fooled by simple tricks.

In reality, Alphonse was the puppet Kingslayer but even that was important. Because no one in their right mind would've beheaded Julius.

The very day after Julius was beheaded, David the Third was coronated. He immediately warranted search parties and Guards to search for the Kingslayer and to bring his head swiftly. He was an ever stronger Ruler than his brother and also held supreme bloodlust and hatred for the Kingslayer.

All the chaos that ought to have crashed down from the Death of a King was halted by the Iron will of David.

Obviously, David had no means to behead Alphonse who had lurked in the shadows. His rage when realizing that Alphonse had no kin to trace and torture was horrific.

Nevertheless, none of that mattered to Alphonse, or rather none of that would matter after he boarded the Seledion. A wooden armada of fleets known for taking anyone out of Aspelion as long as they had the money and the health.

Alphonse who had both was carefreely strolling into the ticket zone hidden through 3 middlemen.

Even after deforming his hair into a metallic stature, Alphonse still had quite the charming and recognizable face, therefor Alphonse selected an eery wooden mask from a rather questionable store by the side of the road.

Its wood was dry and stale and there was no mouth hole, just two beady eye holes that had been given black outlines.

Alphonse fitted it onto his face lightly and realized that he had found quite the catch.

The mask had no strap because it was enchanted and stuck to the User's face without error as long as he willed it so.

Although Alphonse received a few nosy looks on his way to the last middle-man it was far better than having the new legion of Royal Knights up his arse for 7 hours of the day.

Alphonse's eyes squinted under the shrewd and detestable sunlight of Aspelion.

After finding the third middle-man with a green monocle slid around his neck, Alphonse waved before cheerfully strolling over.

"I'd-." "I'd."

His voice overlapped with that of another.

He turned his head in frustration. His beastly yellow eyes screeched at the being before him.

With bushy raven-black hair adorned into a poorly cut fringe and skin so pale that it looked sickly he felt irked. Something about the being no older than 16 screamed peculiarity to Alphonse. He acknowledged the expensive materials embedded in the boy's clothes and the odd red tinge in the boy's eyes and realized he was probably a home-sick noble.

"Do you have the humility to let a sick man before you?" Alphonse attempted his old-fashioned sick card.

His voice was a tone darker through the mask and slightly muffled.

The boy shook his head, a wry smile forming on his face.

"Nay. I too am sick if you could read my pallor. I am in an urgent hurry and would appreciate if you could wait no more than a few moments."

Alphonse could've left it there but felt irritated by some impalpable quality of the boy before him.

"Do you know who I am?"

The boy raised his eyebrows mockingly.

"Unfortunately not. If you would be so kind to reveal your... supreme role I assume... then I would be most blessed."

Alphonse strode to the right of the boy and lifted his mask slightly, allowing the boy to glimpse his full face, struck with beauty.

"I'm the Kingslayer."

The boy had a look of anxiety, trauma, and death on his face before redness returned to his face.

He stroked the back of his head and laughed heartily.

"Yeah... Yeah and I'm the Kingslayer's long-lost brother."

Alphonse took a step back. His eyes flooded with whirring uncertainty.

"You are?"

The boy chuckled. His voice going cold.

"No."

He took a step forward in a similar matter to Alphonse.

"But I am an Ex-Official of the Thieves Guild and I could wipe your name off the books before you next rub your nose. So I suppose it wouldn't hurt you too badly to just step aside. Sick man."

For a moment shallow silence invaded the atmosphere but then Alphonse's mouth irked right.

"I'm sorry but... doesn't that mean you got fired from the Thieves Guild?"

The boy's face instantly flashed red. His bushy black hair swung left as he tilted his head rapidly. His eyes almost teared up.

"What? NO. I quit. They needed me. They pleaded. They begged. They cried. But I still left. I was always against the attack on the King and then they still did it. Life-long friends and they still eliminated the King for a bite of his gold and wine."

"Besides... I can still wipe-"

"My name of the books before whatever. Yeah, I heard the first time."

Alphonse smirked behind his mask. Kids were amusing these days.

Alphonse patted the right shoulder of the boy examining the fine black material of his robes.

"Well. I'll be getting my ticket now-."

"Thank you for your purchase. Lucky man. Barely scavenged the last ticket outta me."

A gentleman with a top hat cackled joyfully. Waving his beige-yellow ticket around with a wide smile on his face.

"Have a jolly good one!"

"You too, esteemed customer."

The third middleman flashed a pearly smile.

The third middleman strolled away humming whilst counting the coins he had just scammed out of his last customer.

Alphonse's head slowly mechanically turned to meet with the boy's.

The silver gleam of his blade reflected in the sunlight as it slid out of its almost camouflaged sheath.

"Who knows? Maybe I'm more attributed to being a... boy slayer?"

The boy felt killing intent dripping down his entire body from head to toe.

He felt death's scythe hanging around his neck gloomily.

The boy began stepping back cautiously before running away cowardly. Receiving several perplexed looks as he ran for his life.

Alphonse chuckled.

"Silly boy. Well. Guess I'll just take a boat down the river Ryl."