(The Next Day – King's Chamber, Valoria Palace – 6 A.M.)
The melodious song of birds outside the window replaced the clash of swords
and the cries of war still etched in memory. Arthur blinked his eyes open,
greeted by a tall, carved wooden ceiling that still felt unfamiliar. He had to
get used to it—this was his chamber now. His chamber. A king's chamber.
He sat on the edge of the large, soft bed, his gaze fixed on an antique wall
clock made of mahogany wood and gleaming brass. The hands pointed exactly to
six. A good night's sleep for the first time since arriving in this world, he
thought inwardly, though the weight on his shoulders felt heavier than the silk
blanket covering him.
He drank a large glass of crystal-clear water placed on the bedside table.
Refreshing, sweeping away the last traces of drowsiness. Then he walked toward
the private bath in the corner of his chamber, his feet brushing against the
cold marble floor.
Although the palace was medieval in style, there were surprising touches of
advancement. The bathroom had a large stone tub already filled with steaming
hot water, and a simple squat toilet carved from smooth granite. What amazed
him most was the absence of the foul odor usually associated with such
facilities in the era he imagined. His sharp eyes caught faint silver runes
engraved along the walls near the toilet and drain. He leaned closer,
activating his [Qi Sense] to analyze the subtle energy patterns radiating from
the magical carvings. Air purification and sterilization runes, he concluded
after a moment. A practical and elegant use of magic to maintain hygiene.
After refreshing himself, Arthur donned simple training clothes—linen
trousers and a cotton tunic—and headed to the private training grounds in the
east wing of the palace. The cool morning air greeted him softly. The grounds
were a grassy courtyard surrounded by a low stone fence, with wooden practice
targets and a small track for running. He began with light jogging and
stretches, warming up his still-sore body from yesterday's wounds. His breath
formed mist in the crisp morning air, each exhale a calming rhythm.
Once warmed up, he drew the Ancient Valorian Katana from its smooth leather
sheath. The heirloom blade felt perfect and alive in his grip, as if an
extension of his own arm. He practiced his techniques: [Moon Splitter],
radiating silver moonlight; [Gale Step], making him move like the wind; and
[River's Guard], forming a defense of unseen flowing water. Every slash,
thrust, and parry was a form of meditation, harmonizing body, mind, and qi.
An hour passed swiftly like the wind. Arthur respectfully sheathed the
katana and sat cross-legged in the quiet field. Closing his eyes, he entered a
deep cultivation trance. His Heavenly Valoria Technique spun flawlessly,
drawing pure qi from the surroundings, restoring stamina, and reinforcing his
energy core. His analytical mind remained alert, monitoring the flow of energy
within him like code execution, searching for optimizations.
(Meanwhile, across Etheria…)
At nearly the same time, dozens of messenger pigeons—released immediately
after Arthur's victory over Mordred—arrived at their destinations. Each carried
a brief yet shocking message: Mordred was defeated. Arthur Valoria, the prince
thought dead, had reclaimed the throne.
· In the Ethereal Kingdom, the King received the scroll with a grim face and
furrowed brows. "So he truly succeeded?" he muttered to his tense military
advisor. "This changes everything. Ready the border troops, but no
provocations. We need to observe this new King—see if he's just a lucky youth
or a true threat."
· In the Solaris Empire, a high-ranking general delivered the letter to the
Emperor during breakfast. "An unknown young man defeating a seasoned tyrant
like Mordred? Intriguing. Strengthen our spy network and diplomatic presence in
Valoria. I want a full report on Arthur Valoria's every move and background
within a week."
· In the Republic of Veritas, senators argued heatedly in the congress hall.
"A shift in power means new trade opportunities!" one side exclaimed. "Or
destabilization and disrupted trade routes," countered another. They agreed to
dispatch an official observation mission led by their best trade delegates.
· In Eldoria, land of powerful magic, the High Archmage read the letter
before the grand council. "Valoria's ancient power rises from the ashes? We
must watch carefully. The energy waves feel unnatural yet structured."
· In Northwood, where Arthur once hid, the Supreme Commander received the
news with a smirk. "Hurta Volir… was the rightful King of Valoria? Remarkable."
He ordered gifts and envoys prepared to secretly offer congratulations and
support.
· In Silverwood, land of the Elves, the news spread like wildfire. Whispers
of "The King who abolished slavery" rekindled long-buried hopes among
the Elves.
· In Sunstone, Riverbend, Stormwatch, Ironclad, and other realms, reactions
varied: curiosity, caution, preparations. The world now gazed at Valoria with
fresh eyes, filled with questions and anticipation.
(Back at Valoria Palace – 9 A.M.)
Arthur slowly opened his eyes. His cultivation session had ended perfectly.
He felt refreshed, energized, and ready for the day. As he stood, Marcel and
Cici were already waiting patiently with a soft cotton towel and a glass of
cold water.
"Your Majesty, it is time to prepare," Marcel said respectfully, offering
the towel.
Arthur nodded, wiping sweat from his face and neck. "I'll bathe and get
ready."
Cici quickly curtsied with a small smile. "I will assist, Your Majesty." As
the King's personal maid, it was her duty and honor—a tradition still upheld as
a symbol of service.
After a long refreshing bath and changing into attire more fitting (though
still modest for a king), Arthur proceeded to the cozy dining room for
breakfast. Marcel had prepared a hearty meal: warm wheat bread with melted
butter, perfectly boiled eggs, savory bacon slices, sharp local cheese, and a
strong cup of black coffee—the programmer's essential he could never abandon.
Enjoying his meal, Arthur asked, "Marcel, what of the meetings I requested?"
Marcel stood straight. "Your Majesty, the delegation from the Mage Tower is
confirmed to arrive at 1 p.m. in the northern audience hall. The merchants and
entrepreneurs will gather in the grand hall at 7 p.m. Preparations are on
schedule."
Arthur nodded, sipping his invigorating coffee. "Good. Now, summon Ren and
Reyna. I wish to speak with them before the agenda."
"Right away, Your Majesty." Marcel bowed and departed swiftly.
Soon, the assassins entered—Ren, a scarred veteran, and Reyna, a sharp-eyed
Elf—bowing professionally. "Your Majesty," they said in unison, voices a mix of
respect and curiosity.
Arthur finished his last bite and addressed them directly. "I have a job
offer for you both. I want you to become my shadows—my personal guard. I need
round-the-clock protection. You two, plus two more assassins you trust. Four in
total, rotating shifts of 5–6 hours, to watch from the shadows and anticipate
unseen threats."
Ren's eyes narrowed, cautious. "Your Majesty, forgive me, but guarding 24
hours with just four… It will be exhausting, even for trained assassins. Our
alertness would falter, risking your safety."
Arthur nodded, appreciating the honesty. "That's why I ask you to recruit
two more you deeply trust. Choose only the best—stamina, skill, loyalty beyond
doubt. Marcel," he called, "prepare formal contracts. Pay them generously—very
generously. This role is critical for my safety and the kingdom's stability."
Reyna's eyes shimmered with unspoken emotion. She bowed deeply. "Thank you,
Your Majesty—for this trust, and more importantly, for your historic decree
abolishing slavery." Her voice trembled with gratitude.
Arthur gave a thin smile. "I see integrity and skill in you, Reyna. That's
what I need, not your past. Now, go. I want this team formed within 48 hours."
After Ren and Reyna departed, Arthur sat again. His hand reflexively pulled
a rolled cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a simple lighter. Marcel
swiftly placed a crystal ashtray before him. Smoke curled in random patterns as
Arthur sipped his cooling coffee, his mind racing.
The mysterious Mage Tower meeting. The scheming merchants. A revolutionary
tax system. Five divisions to build from nothing. A personal guard to form.
Threats from Ethereal. The world's unpredictable reactions. The list stretched
long, tangled like a massive program's code.
He inhaled deeply, savoring tobacco and bitter coffee. His eyes wandered to
the open window, where workers were repairing the palace with renewed spirit. This
is only the beginning, he thought, temples throbbing. The true challenge
hadn't even begun.
He closed his eyes briefly, imagining himself before a computer screen
again—only this time, the code to debug and write was a broken kingdom, with
countless variables and hidden bugs.
But he was ready. That's what he had always done: debugging and coding.
Only now, the code was a nation's destiny, and the compilation was the lives
of its people.