The people of Velvet pressed in around their king until the square became a tide of bodies. "Our king—our king!" they cried, and then, as one, dropped to their knees.
The two visiting monarchs in the royal chamber stared, stunned. How could a ruler earn such fierce devotion in barely five years? Their faces were pale with a mixture of shock and fascination.
Rui raised a hand. His voice boomed, cutting through the chorus. "Stand up. All of you—stand."
Without a second's hesitation the crowd obeyed. The roar stilled to an expectant hush.
Rui inhaled and let out a long, slow sigh. "I have told you before, and I will say it once more: I am not your god. I am not your hero. I am not your savior." He paused, searching each face in the sea of eyes. "I am Rui Yamazaki—king of Velvet. That is who I am."
A chant rose, soft at first, then stronger. "That is enough for us," a voice called, echoed a thousand times. "To kneel, to obey—your kingship is enough."
Rui tried to speak again—"You don't understand, I said I'm not"—but the people surged past his words.
"We know," one voice cried, and the crowd took it up. "You're not a hero. Not a savior. But we do not need those things. Velvet has had kings before—some decent but too naïve for the politics that rule nations; some clever, but without the heart to care for the people. You are different. You harbor no hatred and no blind love. You see us. You stand with us. For that, Rui Yamazaki, you are the true king of Velvet—and worthy of the title Sword of Three Nations."
Rui listened without answering. A small, reluctant smile tugged his mouth. Inside, a thought struck him oddly: he had never felt such feelings before. He had always claimed to neither love nor hate, and yet this…this was a weight he did not quite know how to bear.
The noise of the crowd pulled him back to the moment. He stood and began to walk through the people. They parted like water, heads bowed, hands touching his hem as if to draw strength. Each contact was a promise; each bowed head, a silent oath.
This—this is what I have, Rui thought as he climbed the throne steps. This is what I must protect.
He sat on the throne and exhaled slowly. "I am sorry," he said softly. "I am not asking for your forgiveness." The apology hung, not to be accepted or denied. A bitter thought flickered—that dumbass bastard—and he cursed Nicolas in his mind for stirring trouble. Still, Rui allowed himself a small, grim smile. Seeing how his people bowed and trusted him steadied him in a way few things could.
The crowd murmured praise. "We have seen your greatness, my lord," they said. "You are truly great."
Rui raised a palm. "My kings," he addressed the visiting rulers, whose own faces were still pinched with disbelief, "I told you not to kneel before me. If you must show devotion, bow before the people of Filtine and Yarmuuk—ask their forgiveness. I know of your deeds." His voice hardened.
"I will hear your problem — and I understand it concerns your people as well. Am I right?" Rui's voice cut through the hall.
"Yes, my lord. You are right," one king answered, the other echoing, "Yes, my lord."
Rui's gaze swept the room, slow and unblinking. "When I am done helping, I want to see Filtine and Yarmuk peaceful and whole again. If corruption ever rises there once more, I will end you. Not just you—none of your bloodline will ever see this royal palace again. Do you hear me?" His roar filled the chamber, steel beneath every syllable.
"Yes… yes, we do," the two kings stammered, their voices small beneath the weight of his promise.
Good." Rui's tone turned brisk. "You must be exhausted. Guards—show them to their rooms. Rest.
And everyone may take there leave.
Silence pooled after Rui's words.
The guards bowed and ushered the kings out. Alone again, Rui smoothed his robes.
"I told them I will help," Rui said, voice low but absolute. "But how?
The chamber door slammed open and a familiar, impatient voice cut through the air.
"Lucas!" Rui snapped, not surprised but mildly annoyed. "What are you doing here? I told you to train the soldiers."
Lucas sauntered in as if the throne room were a mere tavern. "I heard you were helping the two kings. Thought I'd come along." He grinned, mud from some earlier misadventure still flecking his boots.
"How the hole leaked? Who told you?
I don't know—maybe because I'm smarter than you."
Rui pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know where I'm going next, don't you?"
"Don't act the fool. Of course I do. Koha, isn't it? I'm coming."
Rui studied him for a beat, then nodded. "Good. I was going to bring you anyway. We leave in two days."
"Two days? Why so soon?" Lucas asked.
"Because this must be fixed now," Rui said simply.
Lucas clapped him on the shoulder.
"So you know—the night has come," Rui asked.
"Yes," Lucas replied.
"Shall we start our daily justice?" Rui asked, his voice low.
As we always do… with no delay, Lucas answered, a wide smile cutting across his face
---
In Velvet's underbelly, every night drips with blood—some men kill for the thousandth time, others for their first. Down here, death is routine.
Beneath Velvet's gilded comforts, the city's heartbeat was different—sharp, bitter, and raw. In the underground streets, light seldom touched the ground. Crime lived in open, ugly ways: killings for coin, children scavenging for scraps, women who begged for water while merchants in the square feasted.
Most nobles and merchents did not venture here. Many would not dare. Yet the king did.
Rui wrapped his face in a dark cloth and walked the alleys alone. His black cloak swallowed him, and his steps made no sound in the filth. At first the tunnels revealed only the expected squalor—rags, rusted carts, the smell of rot. Then he smelled something worse: the sharp copper of violence. He pushed forward.
Around a bend three men had cornered a girl. The gang's jeers bounced off stone. They were about to strike when Rui moved like a thunderclap.
The first attacker crumpled beneath a single blow so brutal his skull cracked like brittle bone. The second halted, eyes wide—only to discover his chest shredded as if by a thousand invisible cuts. Limbs fell. Silence slammed down on the alley.
The lone survivor fell to his knees, hands clasped in frantic prayer. "Please—please, my lord—no—" he begged, tears streaking through grime.
Rui loomed over him, voice low and cold. "Tell me everything that's been happening here. Who sends them? Who profits?"
The man stammered the names of crooked nobles, of men in velvet who paid for bodies and silence. When he finished, he collapsed in a shaking heap.
"Forgiveness?" Rui asked quietly.
The man hit his forehead to the dirt. "Forgive me—please! I'll tell all."
Rui's face hardened. "You will speak today, and what you do will unshackle many. You do not die tonight—but you will work to fix what you have broken."
When he returned to the palace, mud and blood still on his boots, Rui carried more than the smell of the streets. He bore knowledge—and an oath. He had seen the root of the rot. He had a starting point.
As he passed Lucas in the corridor, the younger man grinned wide and said simply, "So, shall we start the justice?"
Rui's reply was a slow, resolute nod. "With no delay."