A king’s throne a man sits upon it, his story unknown, and his rise to power drastic and bloody. He has years of battle proven combat experience, years of constant pain and wisdom with him his highest officer. The kingdom he built from the ground up is falling right before him, all of this destruction done by a group of men. The king leans forward with one hand on the armrest the other on his face. He wore a blank look on his face but if you were to look in his eyes you can see the fire burning in his eyes. As he sits in his throne room he can hear all his men die as the men approach. Every one of his soldiers live by the code “It is better to die in combat rather than an old man”, although they all question why their king isn’t fighting along with them. He knows these men aren’t ordinary. They could be out for a reputation written in the blood of the bandit king.
“Sir? What will we do when they arrive?”
“Fight, I alone to the death.”
“What of me?”
“What of you? You chose to return rather than die with your fellow men! You will watch and nothing else, afterwards you can do as you please. I will no longer lead you. If they finish me then let today be a holiday.”
“You’re going to give up your life like a coward my king?!”
“I’ve been dead long before I became king, a heart is necessary to live. I know these men, this man, will finish me, it’s far overdue. I know you haven’t seen me fight in many years. When was the last time you saw me fight?”
“Highmal, when you became king.”
“Highmal? Times have changed since then, I hate how thing must come to an end.”
“Sir we don’t have time they’ve entered the castle!”
“Let them, here sit. It’s time.”
The king arose from his throne to seat the officer. Only one man ran into the throne room. His shirt and pants were coated in blood, cut and some parts falling off. His sword was drawn, the only clean item on him, and thirsty for the blood of the king. The king stood, chest bulging out, three swords upon his waist.
“Tell me young man, why are you here? Is it a reputation you seek?”
“There’s a catch about justice. Do you know it? No? Justice must be taken but only the bold can claim it, but the bold join the unjust so the pain and suffering never stops until one steers away and now has quite the mountain to climb. Now doesn’t he?”
“It will be well worth it in the end.”
“What do you know about ruling your own kingdom? You’ll starve the people even more so than the famine, you all seem to blame upon me. Do you think I want this burden of being a king in such hard times? I’d give all this up for the women I love. I’ve taken what I wanted since she was taken from me.”
“That’s no reason to be a tyrant!”
“Doesn’t it? What is your name crusader?”
“Then Tarot you will be known as the man to end this journey of mine, although survival isn’t determined.”
Tarot held both hands onto his sword the entire conversation. The king drew one sword it was curved from the staff on. Tarot was the first to strike in a downward motion. The king slid to his side and kicked him in the stomach. Tarot now held his sword with one hand and the other on his stomach. The king swung aiming for his head. Tarot rolled and took him out by his legs. The king flipped back to his feet before Tarot could stand up only to cut off his left arm. Blood shot out the wound. Tarot tore his shirt to cover the wound. Tarot lunged towards the king swinging his sword violently. As the swords clashed sparks flared everywhere. The king’s sword flew up breaking a window above them, and the sword was stuck above them. Tarot used this time to attack the defenseless king. He tried to cut off his legs but was stopped right before he could touch his skin. The two swords sparked once they clashed. His new sword was longer than the one before, thin like paper and straighter than an arrow.
“Stronger than an ox, faster than panther and painful like a shark attack, this blade has been with me for many years. My teacher gave me it upon graduation as well as my name.”
“Why are you telling me this?! Why does any of this matter!?”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of my master, he was the greatest samurai to live. Then again you probably think he’s nothing more than a legend.”
“That doesn’t answer my question!”
“Your question has no answer for I will not give it one. You see all this broken glass on the floor? My heart looks exactly like this. I gave it away to someone who I thought would take care and cherish it. You know what she did with it when she had enough of it? She dropped it for another man’s heart. I’d clean it up but it doesn’t belong to me just like this land, and this gold.”
“You make no sense! You’ve gone mad!”
“Nothing is ours until we grow attached, which is why I only carry my swords everywhere I go.”
“Enough! I didn’t come to hear your petty story I came to kill you.”
“Then do it! I want you to finish the job that’s been left unfinished after all these years. I’ve been waiting for it! That is if you can grasp what’s right in front of you!”
The two moved so quickly all you could truly see were the tracers and sparks as the swords clash. The kings overwhelming strength broke down Tarot’s body. He would toss, kick and punch Tarot whenever he’d have the chance. Tarot would have luck upon his side more than anything. Tarot’s luck cut off part of the king’s clothing forcing him to stumble. The king would tear off the falling clothing and throw it into Tarot’s face temporarily blinding him. In his blinded state the king ran his sword into Tarot’s chest. The king let go of his second sword and grabbed his third shorter sword but as he was about to drive it into his skull. Tarot drove his sword into the king’s neck going into his brain killing him before he could hit the ground.
A year later, two men stand upon two sides of a river next to a water fall.
“Tarot! I’ve come for your head!”
“Why is it you seek my head?”
“Revenge for my master, my king, and my father Killian the student to Ajax”
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