Building a Kingdom and Conquering the World - Chapter 200

Chapter 200: The cruel
Inside a grand, opulent room in the Royal Palace of Luak, Falmer stood before a large portrait of himself, the soft sunlight streaming through the tall windows illuminating every detail. He had paid a small fortune to a traveling painter from a distant kingdom to capture his image in this frame. The portrait painted his deep black eyes and light brown hair, a golden crown rested on his head as he held an ornate sword.

“The artist was talented, wasn’t he?” Falmer remarked, his voice tinged with pride as he admired the portrait. “None of my ancestors ever managed to get a painter to immortalize them. I am the first.” He took a slow sip from his metal goblet, his gaze fixed on his own image. “He captured the essence of this king perfectly.”

His right-hand man, standing a few steps behind, nodded obediently. “Yes, my king. He captured your royal aura well.” But his eyes couldn’t help but flicker between Falmer’s real appearance, his round face and protruding belly, and the heroic figure in the painting.

Falmer continued to stare at the painting, the room falling into a heavy silence. “If the king is so mighty,” he said slowly, “shouldn’t the people follow suit? Should a king have to leave his throne to solve the problems of the kingdom himself?” His grip tightened on the metal goblet, leaving imprints of his fingers on its surface. “Another three hundred soldiers lost in the North. Didn’t you say the Duke went personally to handle it? And yet all I receive is news of failure after failure. Why?”

The right-hand man’s throat tightened as he struggled to find the right words. Over the past few weeks, the throne had mobilized thousands of commoners and noble forces, yet they couldn’t seem to quell what was reported as a small band of Stahl’s troops. They were only met with failures.

“The Duke reports that the enemy hides deep within the forest,” he explained carefully. “He’s already sent troops in, but the terrain and their traps have taken a heavy toll. None returned alive. They are also using some kind of red horses to outmaneuver our forces. It is impossible to capture them.” He paused, trying to add a hopeful note. “But the Duke assures us he is preparing a trap. We should expect results within the next week.”

“Promises! More empty promises!” Falmer shouted, flinging the metal goblet across the room. It struck his advisor’s arm, the pain sharp but familiar, an old routine that had already found its place in his life. The advisor didn’t flinch; he had endured the king’s rage countless times. This wasn’t the first one.

But what Falmer said next sent a chill down his spine. “Since you’re so confident in your promises and the Duke, perhaps I should send your child to the North. They must get some credit for their father” Falmer’s voice was cold, each word deliberate. “They’re smart like you, aren’t they? Maybe they will even solve this problem faster for their king.”

“My king, they’re only nine years old,” the right-hand man stammered, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arm. “I am certain the Duke will succeed and bring you the head of the enemy leader.”

Falmer’s eyes bore into him, the right-hand man who had served him faithfully for decades, solving problems while Falmer enjoyed the comforts of the throne and all the carnal sins. “Nine years old is plenty old enough to learn the taste of blood, don’t you think?”

The advisor’s knees trembled, and he dropped to the floor, pressing his forehead against the cold wooden tiles. “Please, my king, I have served you loyally my entire life. I beg you, reconsider. I will go myself to assist the Duke and ensure the invaders are dealt with.”

Falmer looked down at the man who had once been his most trusted servant, the one who had made his life easy for so many years. His eyes flicked back to his portrait, its depiction of power and control giving him a sense of satisfaction, a reminder of his authority. He was the king and the one responsible for moving the pieces.

“You will be the one to solve this problem for your king,” Falmer said, his voice calmer now but still laced with anger. “I do not want more promises. I want results.” He paused, eyes narrowed. “Can you accomplish that and put my mind at ease?”

“Yes, my king,” the kneeling man responded, his voice resolute despite the fear and desperation gripping his heart.

“Then you leave today,” Falmer declared. “And just remember, every failure will cost your children a limb.”

The right-hand man’s entire body shuddered as he clenched his fists, anger burning beneath his skin. But he held his tongue and bowed even lower, hitting his head against the tiles. “I understand, my king. I will bring back the heads of the invaders and lay them beneath your throne.”

Falmer nodded, satisfied. “You may leave. And remember, a limb for each failure.” His voice was devoid of empathy, as if he were speaking to a mere pawn rather than the man who had served him for so long.

The right-hand man rose shakily, bowing one last time before turning and leaving the room. He didn’t even consider returning home to prepare; all he could think about was reaching the northern front and fulfilling his mission.

“I miss Zuna,” Falmer muttered as he turned back to his portrait. His thoughts drifted to the blue-haired woman who had once pledged her loyalty to him, her eyes gleaming with ambition. “She was obedient. A shame I sent her off with that damned mage.”

He had liked Zuna enough to trust her with command and give her authority over noble warriors. She had been clever, quick to follow orders without question. But now, she was gone.

“Anyway… maids! Bring me another goblet!” Falmer shouted, a wave of frustration sweeping over him as he tried to distract himself from the mounting threats. He took cover in his portrait, its depiction of grandeur a temporary barrier from his growing unease.

But outside, the chaos he had tried to ignore was closing in. A storm was brewing from the west, and with every passing moment, it crept closer to the capital, silent, unseen, and unstoppable. The King of Stahl was a day’s distance from his bed.