Prologue

Sura was sleeping by the decimated walls of his castle. When he woke up, a sharp noise rang against his head. A rough hand forced him to look up, and he groaned in pain. He realized someone was watching him: a blond man with azure eyes. Unlike the fair-haired knights of fairy tales, the ashes of battles had hardened his skin. The platinum tint of his visage had dulled, and his chapped lips lacked glamor. He was staring solemnly into Sura's eyes while holding him in his grasp. The chilling glare terrified him.

The man brought out a cigarette. “You don't look like a King,” he said.

Sura laughed and pointed at his crown. “Am I so pathetic," he asked, "That you can't even see the last symbol of my power?”

The man shook his head. “I have fought the Seven Kingdoms in many ways,” he said. “Steel, poison, and fire. Wars, scheming, and blackmailing. Yet I still triumphed, standing over my enemies.”

“...”

The man released Sura. “Do not try to trick me,” he said. “I have never seen a ruler with such weak eyes. You cannot be the real successor of the seventh Kingdom.”

"I'm afraid you are staring down at the truth," Sura sighed tiredly. “Titus, the servant of the third prophet, Death. I am Sura Lazarus, the last King of Solis.”

Titus frowned. “You know who I am," he said. "So why don’t you fight for your Prophet? Where is your fortress? Where are your soldiers, your farmers, and your servants?”

“Gone since the previous king’s death. Permanently, I might add,” Sura said.

Titus paused. Confusion emerged on his face for the first time. “...Gone? They deserted you?"

Sura sat up on the same wall he had slept on the night before. “They have committed a heinous crime,” he said regretfully. “They left here before their worthless ruler.”

“They could not have gone so far,” Titus mused. “I can catch them all in a week; in fact, I will punish them for you.”

Sura chuckled, but his hysteria was dipped in sorrow. “They are not my people anymore,” he said. “Death only allowed you to vanquish the mortals. Any more will be a breach of contract.”

This time, Titus stopped for a longer time. His grip on Sura grew stronger and stronger. Then slowly, he walked, entering the city gates. His hand had long gone cold from the touch of Death, but a trace of anger burned against Sura’s head.

Titus knew. Even though he himself was a monster, he could not compare to the cruelty of the prophets.

“By Shade,” Titus muttered. In front of him, the capital was no more. Besides the rubbles and the barren landscape, a graveyard entered his eyes. It was as wide as half of the city, filled with countless mounds. The Conqueror touched one of them; the earth had long gone bitter, hard as concrete.

Sura looked on calmly, his anguish stuck inside his throat. “You say that you fought for many years and survived,” Sura said sadly. “The Curse took them all, and I outlived every one of them. I was at each of their funerals, and when all of the gravediggers had died halfway, I continued their work. The only grave that I haven’t yet filled is mine.”

Titus stayed silent. As he kept walking, he could taste despair at the tip of his tongue. It was a sensation he had missed for a long time. In the end, he stopped at an empty ditch among the graves.

“I have waited, Conqueror,” Sura said. “Let me return to where I belong.”

Titus snorted and loosened his grip.

Sura’s body fell into the hole. As he faced the cloudy sky, he sighed in regret. Why could he not die on a better day? Before he could lament further, the tip of a blade rested on his chest.

“You say you suffered, and I believe you. But why did you never kill yourself? Amongst this madness?”

Sura laughed. “The sick game has to end, Conqueror. It’s such a shame,” he added, “We could have been friends. The ones who risk their lives for one another.”

After hearing that, Titus smiled for the first time. "Perhaps in your next life," he said.

The next moment--like a string that suddenly snapped--Sura quickly died.