Cornel poured out all his worries, holding nothing back.
"The Believers of the Evangelical Church aren't much of a concern; under the pressure of the Orthodoxy their voices will only grow weaker. But the other ministers and Dukes don't see it that way. They have vast enterprises in every trade—war will only shrink their fortunes. They may refuse to go to war, and when that ti cos those discordant voices will drag us down. You have the power to command them, but now you're trapped in a sickbed…"
Cornel's voice gradually trailed off.
The King didn't speak. Only after a long silence did he slowly begin to talk about the past.
"Have I ever told you about your grandfather?"
"No. His na is a taboo. When I was a child, even a curious question about him would earn one of your furious scoldings."
Cornel thought of his grandfather—that man who had co closest to the Mad King. He had convened a banquet, then poisoned every mber of the Royal Family, until this vast palace held only Cornel's bloodline.
"Then I should say it now, before it's too late. If I die, no one will ever know this story… He was a hero. A hero shouldn't die in such naless silence—soone ought to rember what he did."
The King strained to rember. His mind was a fog; even his mories had begun to blur.
"Back then I was about your age. The entire Royal Family were loyal Believers, but your grandfather was not. He wanted to break free of those shackles. To that end he founded the Iron Law Bureau, and dabbled in all manner of strange things, until one day he caught the eye of the Evangelical Church. His actions had angered God; perhaps within a few days he would be branded a heretic and utterly eradicated.
Your grandfather did think about how to resist. He tried to unite all the mbers of the Royal Family, but he discovered that none of them sought the sa thing. The others were quite content to be Believers: so long as they prayed, they could enjoy wealth and glory. Why should they rebel?"
The King tilted his head, smiling as he looked at Cornel.
"I rember it was a night that wasn't particularly cold. Your grandfather ca into my room. He looked nothing like a King—more like a drunkard in his cups. He talked and cried at the sa ti… I had never seen him like that. He said that the honor he clung to was, in their eyes, nothing but filth in a sewer. He said that if we did not break free from it, Gaulunaro would forever be bound by the Evangelical Church."
"In the end he seed to co to so decision. He told he was going to do sothing big."
Cornel's heart suddenly went cold. He thought of what that "sothing big" was.
"And then ca the part you already know. He held a banquet and poisoned all those discordant voices, purging the will of the Royal Family. All other powers were stripped away, and under the operations of the Iron Law Bureau one noble after another fell into beggary.
But that was all afterward. At the ti I rushed to the banquet hall with the ministers and the guards. Amidst the corpses scattered over the floor, he sat upon a throne piled from bodies, drinking wine, hair hanging loose, like a madman."
As though he had been pulled back to that year, the King's heart began to race. That scene rose before his eyes once more.
"I can hardly describe what I felt then. Just the day before I'd been flirting and fooling around with maids, planning to go drink myself senseless in a tavern. And suddenly my father had gone mad. He had slaughtered everyone. The ministers and nobles were watching like tigers eyeing their prey, and I was the only one left of the Royal Family."
The door swung open, and beyond it was no corridor, but a blood-reeking feast. Upon the throne of piled remains, the Mad King gazed at the King, stepping across ti and space, a gratified smile on his lips.
"Your grandfather just looked at like that. Everyone else said he had gone mad, that we should rush in and kill him. But I saw it—those were a pair of utterly clear eyes… You have the sa look in your eyes."
The King looked at Cornel.
"He was never mad. He knew exactly what he was doing."
The air itself seed to swell with the sweet tallic scent of blood. Cornel gripped the King's hand tightly, as though trying to squeeze the last warmth out of that body.
"Do you know what tamorphosis is? Sotis, in a single instant, a person suddenly changes—body and soul becoming soone else. A bewildered child becos a Warrior, suddenly knowing what he must do, what kind of war he must fight."
The brutal mory grew clearer and clearer. The King went on.
"For , that mont was then. In a flash I understood what he ant to do, and what I must do. Under your grandfather's gaze I drew a guard's sword and ordered everyone to capture him alive.
In the days that followed I judged his cris and laid all bla upon him. To quell the fury, I personally executed him before the eyes of the people. Aside from this mory in my mind, I destroyed every trace that he had ever existed.
I beca the new King. From that day on, there was only one voice left in the Royal Family."
The King's account was so vivid that Cornel could feel his emotions through that constantly trembling hand.
"I killed my own father with my own hands, Cornel Garrell."
He growled, then, as if all strength had left him, he asked in a vacant voice:
"Patricide—that is probably the curse of our Garel Royal Family."
Those empty, lifeless eyes shifted to Cornel's face. Cornel did not look away; his calm gaze t the King's and held it.
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