The golden rays of the morning sun pierced through the infirmary windows, casting a warm glow over the bed where the King of the Fude Tribe lay.
Fude stirred, his consciousness returning with the dawn. He was back in his original form—a translucent, shivering mass of jelly. As he watched the sun rise, a rare sense of peace washed over him. It had been an eternity since he had seen a sky this clear, untainted by the smoke of war.
Yet, beneath the tranquility, a cold knot of anxiety tightened within his core. His kingdom—his people—were still in peril. The weight of his crown felt heavier than ever, even in this fragile state.
The heavy oak door creaked open. The royal physician stepped inside, his face etched with the weariness of a man who had spent the night brewing miracles.
"Ah, you are awake, King Fude," the doctor said, his voice gravelly. "It is time for your concoction."
He held out a ceramic jar filled with a thick, viscous black liquid. The smell alone was enough to make Fude's gelatinous form recoil.
"Drink it in one breath," the doctor cautioned. "The sourness is… formidable."
"What is this?" Fude asked, his voice vibrating through the air. "And how exactly is it supposed to help me?"
"This potion is designed to knit your fractured mana back together," the doctor explained solemnly. "The battle drained your reserves to the point of total collapse.
Without this, your spirit will wither before your body can heal."
Fude didn't hesitate. He uncorked the bottle and tipped it back. The taste hit him like a physical blow—an overwhelming, acidic sourness that scorched his senses.
He shuddered, his translucent body turning a shade darker as he forced it down.
"That... was horrific," Fude wheezed, the aftertaste lingering like copper and citrus.
"You must endure it for a few more days," the doctor said, unimpressed by the King's discomfort. "Improvement requires sacrifice, Your Majesty.
" With a curt nod, the physician exited, leaving Fude to grapple with his churning stomach.
A moment later, the door opened again, but this time, the air felt lighter. Dazzley entered, carrying a steaming bowl of boiled rice.
"Good morning, King Fude. I see you're already fighting the doctor's medicine," she said with a soft smile. "It's time for some real sustenance."
Fude sighed in relief. "Dazzley. Thank gods. If I have to drink another drop of that black ink, I think I'll dissolve. Give me something—anything—that tastes like life."
Dazzley pulled a chair close to the bed. "If it pleases the King, I shall feed you myself."
"As you wish," Fude replied, his tone softening. "I am in no position to argue."
She began to feed him small, careful spoonfuls. The rice was bland, but after the potion, it felt like a feast. Still, Fude's instincts craved more. "Dazzley... this is good, but I find myself longing for meat. Something hearty to bring back my strength."
Dazzley's expression immediately shifted from tender to stern. She set the spoon down with a sharp clack.
"Absolutely not," she scolded, her eyes flashing. "Meat and spices are far too heavy for your current state. Your internal mana pathways are like glass right now. Do you want to shatter them for the sake of a steak?"
Fude gave a wobbling, jelly-like shrug. "What can I say? I am at the mercy of my caretaker. I shall follow your orders, Mam."
The tension broke into a shared laugh, a brief moment of humanity amidst the chaos of their lives. Once the meal was finished, Dazzley tucked the covers around his form. "Rest now, my King. Truly rest."
As she departed, Fude felt the heavy pull of exhaustion. He drifted back into a deep, dreamless sleep, unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon.
The Demon's Gambit.
Deep within the obsidian halls of the Demon Stronghold, King Seriko sat in shadow. His advisor stood before him, unfurling a map of the holy territories.
"The plan is set, my King," the advisor hissed. "The Church will be the catalyst. We shall strike them, and in their blind arrogance, they will blame Fude. We will sew a rift between the humans and the jelly king that no blood can bridge."
The advisor turned toward the shadows at the back of the room. "Step forward, General Nokaro."
A monstrous silhouette detached itself from the gloom. Nokaro was a titan of a demon, standing two hundred and sixty meters tall, his skin the color of tarnished gold and hard as enchanted granite. He was a legend of the pits, a general who had survived five hundred battleships' worth of fire and never once tasted defeat.
"I am here," Nokaro rumbled, his voice like grinding tectonic plates. "What target has Seriko chosen for me? Speak, and consider it ash."
"The King commands you to take twenty of our elite monsters," the advisor said. "You are to vanish the Church. Leave one survivor—a weakling—to be captured. We have conditioned him to scream one name under torture: Fude. The humans must believe Fude orchestrated the massacre."
Nokaro let out a low, guttural huff of contempt. "Uff... King Seriko is growing old. His brain is softening if he thinks such petty politics are worth my time. I am a devil of the front lines. Why waste me on a church when I could march on the Fude Tribe and erase every living soul who knows his name?"
The advisor paled. "The King's word is law, Nokaro."
"Fine," Nokaro spat. "Tell the old man I will do his errand. But after the Church falls, I am going for Fude. And I want no 'distractions' when I finally break his kingdom."
They moved to Seriko's private cabinet. The Demon King had not slept; his eyes were red-rimmed and fixed on the void.
"My King," the advisor whispered. "Nokaro has questions."
Seriko looked up, his gaze chillingly calm. "Is the mission unclear, General?"
Nokaro bowed, though the gesture lacked any true humility. "The mission is clear. But I intend to finish Fude myself once the Church is dust."
"You think your King is senile, don't you?" Seriko said, his voice a dangerous silken thread. "You think I don't see the depth of this play? The Church is powerful—far more than you credit. If they turn their holy wrath on Fude, Felko will be forced to choose. If he helps Fude, his own subjects will see it as a betrayal of their faith. Fude will be isolated. Alone. And that is when we strike."
Seriko leaned forward. "Go. Bring me victory. I will not tolerate the word 'defeat' in my halls."
Nokaro grunted and turned on his heel. He marched to the training grounds, selecting twenty of the most vicious monsters available, including one sickly, weak demon to serve as the 'bait' for the Church's inquisitors.
"Mount up!" Nokaro roared. They climbed onto their demon horsebacks, their hooves striking sparks against the stone as they began their march toward the holy lands.TheLegend's WillMiles away, at the gargantuan military base of the southern border, King Leobarko arrived.
The scale of his power was staggering: five billion demon soldiers, three million upper commanders, and fifty thousand magic-wielding monsters stood at attention. As Leobarko's horse entered the gates, a horn blast shattered the silence. The ground shook as millions of warriors bowed in unison.
"Our King Leobarko has returned!" the cry went up. "After fifteen years, the Lion returns to his den!"
Leobarko dismounted and walked into the center of the massive training ground. He looked upon his vast army, his eyes filled with a strange, melancholy light.
"My soldiers!" he bellowed, his voice carrying to the furthest ranks. "You wonder why I have come after fifteen years of silence. You wonder what battle requires such a gathering."
The air was thick with anticipation.
"I have fought for fifteen years with your courage at my back," Leobarko continued. "But the final battle against Seriko approaches. And I must face the truth: I may not survive what comes next. Therefore, I have come to name my successor. Today, I give you your new King."
A murmur of shock rippled through the ranks.
"His name is Fude. He is the fifth King of the Demon Legend Swordsmen. He has been chosen not just by me, but by the fates themselves—selected by both the Evil Queen Rin and the Pure Goddess Vega."
An upper commander stepped forward, his face pale. "My King, forgive the intrusion... but does this 'Fude' deserve your throne? No one can replace you. No one has your strength!"
Leobarko's expression remained unshakable. "It is the will of the Creators. The Goddesses of Light and Dark have spoken. From this day forth, you will train harder than you have ever trained in your lives. We prepare for a war that will reshape the world. Do you understand me? Let me hear you!"
"YES, MY KING!" The roar was deafening, a wall of sound that vibrated in Leobarko's chest.
"Rest tonight," Leobarko commanded. "Tomorrow, your true training begins. Any man late to the field will pray for the mercy of death. Dismissed."
The King retreated to his private cabinet, sinking into a heavy chair. He stared at his hands, thinking of the dreams that had haunted him—dreams of a successor who would bridge the gap between gods and monsters.
"Fude..." Leobarko whispered to the empty room, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. "I have carried this crown for so long. I never thought I would find someone to take it. I cannot wait to meet you again, my successor. The world is waiting for you."