The royal city of Aurentis, capital of the kingdom of Eldoria, gleamed like a jewel upon the plains. Its spires of marble and gold reached toward the heavens, banners of crimson and white fluttering in the late afternoon breeze. From the high walls, the lands stretched in all directions—fertile farms to the south, riverlands to the west, and, far to the north, the endless forest whose depths hid the monster village now whispered about across the realm.
Within the palace, tension hung as heavy as the gilded chandeliers. Courtiers gathered in hushed clusters, their silken robes rustling as they whispered rumors: the emissaries had returned. And not just returned—they carried with them tales that could reshape the balance of power between human and monster alike.
The great throne hall was a chamber of authority and spectacle. Columns of carved stone soared to a vaulted ceiling painted with images of saints and kings past. At the far end, upon a throne wrought from gold and ivory, sat **King Darius Valemont III**, ruler of Eldoria. His frame was broad from years of war, his beard streaked with gray, his crown resting heavily upon his brow.
By his side stood **Queen Aveline**, graceful but sharp-eyed, her gaze as cold as a winter's dawn. Behind them lingered knights, guards, and the most influential nobles of the land.
At the foot of the dais knelt three figures—**Caldus**, the knight-emissary, scarred and resolute; **Serane**, the priestess, still draped in vestments marked with travel; and **Themon**, the royal scribe and diplomat, his ink-stained hands clutching scrolls of notes.
They had returned from the slime's domain. Now, they would speak.
---
"Rise," King Darius commanded, his voice echoing through the hall.
The three emissaries obeyed, though Serane's bow lingered longer, as though she feared divine judgment more than mortal.
"Speak," the king continued. "Tell us what you found in that forsaken forest."
Caldus stepped forward first, armored boots clicking upon the marble floor. He did not embellish, did not dress his words in diplomacy. He was a soldier, and his tone bore the weight of truth.
"Sire, the rumors were no exaggeration. The creature called Luminus exists. He rules a gathering of monsters—goblins, direwolves, ogres, and others—yet unlike any horde we've seen, they are united. Organized."
A murmur rippled through the nobles, some scoffing, others shifting uncomfortably.
Caldus continued.
"He has built more than a camp. It is a village, structured and thriving. The monsters follow him not out of fear alone, but loyalty. They believe in him."
The king's brow furrowed. "Loyalty? Monsters know only instinct and hunger."
Here Themon interjected, his voice scholarly, careful. "Majesty, forgive me, but I must confirm Sir Caldus's account. The slime Luminus has achieved what no beast nor warlord has before—cohesion. He commands not through the whip, but through vision. He seeks to build, not merely destroy."
Serane, trembling with fervor, raised her voice.
"Sire, the slime spoke with words as though it were man. It quoted morality, honor, even spoke of coexistence. But beware! That silver tongue is venom. For what creature of filth dares mimic divine order unless it seeks to supplant it?"
The courtiers gasped. Some made the sign of the Divine, while others exchanged wary glances.
Themon adjusted his spectacles. "Majesty, allow me to add: not once did he display savagery. He spared us—knowing full well he could slay us. He commanded not only goblins but ogres, direwolves, trolls, and even… beings I cannot name. All disciplined. All deferent. That is not chance. That is sovereignty."
Caldus clenched his gauntlet. "I do not easily praise enemies. Yet this Luminus has the makings of a warlord—nay, more. He inspires."
The air thickened. The message was clear: this was no ordinary monster.
---
The king called forth the High Council, summoning nobles, generals, and priests into session. The throne hall filled with voices, each representing a faction of Eldoria's vast realm.
Lord Hestian, whose lands bordered the northern forests, slammed his cane upon the floor.
"Every year goblin raiders torch my villages, every year we bury our dead. And now we are told they have a king? No—strike now! Burn the forest, slay this slime, and end it before the plague spreads!"
General Vaelric, commander of the northern garrisons, agreed.
"Our scouts confirm unusual monster movements. If Luminus rallies them into armies, we'll face war on a scale unseen since the Demon Lord. I say we preempt. Arm the legions. Burn the nest."
Their words drew nods from many of the elder lords—men hardened by border wars, who saw monsters only as beasts to be culled.
Yet Lady Mirielle, young and calculating, rose with a smile.
"My lords, forgive me, but you speak only of fear. I see opportunity. Imagine—an army of monsters, disciplined and loyal, fighting beneath our banners. If Luminus can be persuaded, or coerced, then Eldoria need not waste coin and blood guarding our borders. Instead, we would wield the greatest weapon the world has ever known."
Lord Corvane, master of trade, stroked his beard.
"There is wisdom there. Already, some whisper that the slime's village crafts goods—strange metals, rare herbs. Trade with them could enrich our coffers. Why destroy what could profit us?"
A chorus of merchants and southern nobles echoed him. To them, war was wasteful. Gold was power.
Then came the voices of the clergy. Archbishop Renel, a towering figure draped in scarlet robes, thundered:
"Profit? Alliance? Blasphemy! You speak of binding with devils! The priestess Serane speaks true—this is a heresy. A monster clothed in false virtue, luring souls away from the Divine. If we permit its survival, the people will falter in their faith. Already the commoners gossip—some even whisper that perhaps the slime is chosen! Shall we allow idolatry to flourish?"
He pointed a jeweled finger toward the nobles.
"Better the fields burn, better the blood flow, than we allow corruption of the soul!"
A roar of *"Hear, hear!"* rose from the pious lords.
But one voice rose, weary and soft—Dame Eloria, an aged knight long retired.
"My king… I have buried too many sons to war. We speak of fire and blood as though they are ink and parchment. But if this creature truly seeks peace, if it truly spares life where it could take it—should we not at least test its word? What harm in parley, when the alternative is graves?"
Others scoffed, yet a few nodded. The skeptics argued: war might prove costly, and who could be certain Luminus was not favored by fate?
---
Voices clashed, thunderous and relentless. For every lord crying "War!" another countered with "Alliance!" For every priest damning the slime, a merchant schemed profit from it.
Finally, King Darius stood.
"Enough."
The hall fell silent.
"You speak with fire, all of you. And in truth, each of you is right in part. But hear me now—Eldoria does not act in haste. The slime has given seven days. Then we shall test it. If it bends to crown and faith, perhaps it may live. If it resists…" His eyes narrowed. "…then we remind monsters why men rule."
The decision struck the hall like a bell. The council was dismissed, but tension lingered.
---
While the nobles schemed, the **Church of the Divine Flame** held its own council. Within the great cathedral of Aurentis, beneath stained glass windows of saints triumphant, the high clergy gathered.
Archbishop Renel presided, Serane at his side.
"He is heresy incarnate," Renel declared. "This Luminus dares mimic kingship, dares inspire worship. It is the duty of the Church to cleanse such abominations."
Some priests, however, hesitated.
"But Your Grace," one muttered, "what if this is not heresy but prophecy? The old texts speak of a time when the Divine's light would shine even upon the lowest of beings…"
Renel's eyes flared. "Blasphemy! Twist scripture no further. Monsters are filth. To raise one up is to defile heaven."
Yet Serane, kneeling, bit her lip. For though she had spoken boldly before, a sliver of doubt gnawed at her heart. She had seen Luminus's eyes—calm, gentle, not the gaze of a beast. And though she prayed fiercely, she could not silence the whisper: *what if the Divine had truly chosen him?*
---
In the corners of Eldoria's court, cloaked figures whispered. They were emissaries from neighboring powers—some disguised as merchants, others as pilgrims.
In a candlelit chamber, one such spy penned a missive:
To His Imperial Majesty,
> News from Eldoria confirms the rumors. A slime has risen, ruling monsters with order and vision. The court is divided—some urge war, others alliance. The king delays, but the church thirsts for blood.
> This Luminus may prove threat or tool. Should Eldoria falter, perhaps the Empire should extend its hand first. Imagine, an emperor who commands not only men, but monsters…*
Another spy, loyal to the western republics, wrote differently:
> If Eldoria allies with the slime, their power will swell beyond balance. We must ensure the church prevails, that war breaks them both. Already I have dispatched silver to Renel's priests. Gold and faith will do what swords cannot.*
Thus, even as Eldoria wrestled with its choice, the wider world sharpened knives in shadow.
At last, as night fell, King Darius retreated to his chambers. Alone save for Queen Aveline, he allowed weariness to show.
"Seven days," he muttered. "Seven days to decide if I gamble my crown on war, or wager my soul on peace with a monster."
Aveline touched his hand, her voice soft but edged.
"Whichever path you choose, my king, remember this: Luminus is not the only one on trial. The world watches you as well."
He gazed out the window toward the north, where the forest lay hidden under the stars.
And though he spoke no word aloud, a thought burned in his mind:
Slime or king, god or devil… in seven days, I shall know what you truly are.