Shrewn golden tapestries hung in the form of banners, plastered loosely down the grand throne room’s walls. Freezing cold struck them, edging them with a faint blue hue against their otherwise golden color.

  Everything was stark in here, cold stone emitting an eerie sensation and a floor that seemed to exist only when necessary. A grand red carpet was laid down, leading toward one of the two objects that commanded the room's attention: the throne.

  The throne stood atop a grand dais that required three sets of stairs to reach; shaped like a pyramid, it was unnecessarily tall, forcing any subject to crane their neck. Such a design was born from bitterness, directed by the [Undead King] toward the [Necromancer].

  Lanfred gazed upon the other grand object that, in truth, surpassed the throne’s grandeur: a great gate emitting a green, smoldering flame of death. He stood just beyond it, having ultimately chosen to obey the king.

  The Pyre One, a sword of bright blue flame, was made by the [Necromancer] himself. The Pyre Flame was an experiment meant to copy the [Necromancer]’s own flame; the result was neither failure nor success. It held the power of death, but to a much lesser degree, and required many corpses to maintain.

  Keeping the Pyre One slung across the double handles of the gate was just enough to seal it.

  [Pyre One] [Mystic]—The [Necromancer] was a lord of death. In his curiosity, he created a sword meant to resemble his power, though such a thing was impossible; he settled instead for a much weaker version and gave it to his dearest creation, Lanfred the [Undead Godknight].

  The Pyre One battled still. Lanfred could no longer make out the sword's familiar blue steel; it emitted a hot, blazing, bluish flame that sizzled in its fiery struggle against the green flame of the third depth. The green flame burst out of the gate, trying to overwhelm the sword’s Pyre Flame as it did all it could to hold them back.

  A knight needed to be stout and serve his king. He should stay beneath the throne to turn the king’s wishes into reality. Yet what should a knight do if the throne remained kingless? For the past week, perhaps, Lanfred had been assigned here to stand between his two masters.

  “Lanfred,” the [Necromancer] spoke. His voice echoed through the burning gate. “You still won’t open the gate?” His creator's voice was calm.

  “I serve my king.”

  “And your king serves me,” he pointed out. “You know this foolishness will ruin the entire resonance ecosystem. Why allow it? Release the gate, Lanfred. This foolish heartbreak will serve no one.”

  Foolish? He disagreed. His king had lost the queen. It was not foolish to take a moment to heal his wounded heart. Yet the [Necromancer] spoke sense; if things were left as they were, the Integrator would come. And this batch of Integrators was different, Lanfred could tell from the reports of the damage they had done; it was staggering. This might be the strongest invader the Kingdom had ever faced.

  And, on top of it all, the Tiefling had somehow made it to the Second Depth, something that had never happened before.

  “My lord,” Lanfred said, bowing. The [Necromancer] wouldn’t be able to see him, but it was still proper manners. “Until my King orders otherwise, I will not open the door.”

  “And should I break it before then? What would you do, Lanfred? Join the war? The Kingdom against the Gravelab?”

  “I will do what my King commands,” Lanfred answered. His reply was simple, but it got the point across.

  “I see that as a shame. But I suppose I cannot blame you that much. This resonance is truly a tricky thing, and how quickly the undead adapted to it... Perhaps it was not meant for us, too unstable. Why do you think so, Lanfred? Was it because I was created by the System instead of being born of flesh? And then you were born from me, perhaps because we exist outside the natural line, and thus can shape our reality more freely?”

  “My lord, I know of no such thing. Nor do I think about it. I just do my duty, the way you created me, to serve the King, to hold the citizens’ admiration, and to be a source of strength they looked up to.”

  “You’re truly perfect, aren’t you, Lanfred? Yet that’s what you are, a perfect knight. That will be the only thing you will ever be, just as I envisioned: a blade for the Kingdom. You’re not going to challenge it. The System. Have I told you about the quest, Lanfred?”

  “A quest?”

  “Oh, yes, it’s truly infuriating. I was planning to take this entire world for myself, but the System suddenly gave the Tiefling and Drow the very things I desired as a quest reward. Negotiation is impossible now.”

  “My lord, if that is the case, then why not work with the King?”

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Because I created him! I told him to stop this useless hunt for the Witch! And he locked me out in anger?”

  That’s it?

  “My Lord, allow me to become the voice between the two of you. Surely, we can find an agreement.”

  “No, a creator does not bow to their creation. Do you know what that will do, Lanfred? You were created by the worship of others, and your strength had to be real for that worship to work. If I allow the King—who controls the entire Kingdom—to have autonomy over me, what do you think will happen? This is exactly what your King aims for. His heartbreak is a front.”

  “I don’t think…” Lanfred said, only to stop his last few words. Doubt began creeping into him; it was strange… his King did not tend to get so overtly emotional. “My Lord, please, allow me still to open a conversation between the two of you. Let me try.”

  “Very well, but under one condition. The King is not allowed to sit on the throne as he talks to me.”

  --

  Lanfred’s steps echoed through the stale hallway of the castle. He walked into a gallery and saw knights and champions sparring in the castle courtyard. Each had proven themselves, some even rising from peasantry.

  They spotted Lanfred, and the training stopped. They held both hands to their chest and committed a full-body bow toward him. Lanfred ignored them and kept walking, but he noticed how their numbers grew, more and more streaming into the practice yard. Maybe three hundred? That was quite a number, one that was not normal.

  Did the King officiate the hunt? For the Witch? This was almost the entire reserve of the Kingdom’s knights and champions; that would be unwise. His steps quickened. After a dozen turns and three unnecessarily long spiral staircases, he finally arrived at the King’s room.

  He was about to open the wooden door carved with a dragon engraved across it. It was a double door, made for grandeur rather than practicality.

  The door snapped open, and a body was thrown, plunging from the top gallery.

  [Undead Messenger. Lvl 10]

  The free fall of hundreds of feet would kill it. Lanfred did not bother to look below; instead, he knelt and announced himself.

  “My King, I’m-“

  “Lanfred.” A cold voice cut him off. “Enter.”

  He stood and entered the room. The King had his hand on his head as he lay atop his grand double bed, alone without the Queen, a sight so strange.

  “The Witch, along with one of the Thiefmasters, burned another village…” The King tightened his fists, his mirrorlike hands grinding against each other, an icy tough shell that had smashed many king candidates.

  “My King, I see you gathering the banners,” Lanfred said.

  “Yes, we’re hunting them down, Lanfred.”

  Her, you mean.

  The [Necromancer] was wrong. So very wrong. The death of the Queen had hurt the King so deeply, he had lost his rationality.

  “It's not wise.”

  The King’s lips turned into a wry line, and he finally stood, his heavy red cloak rustling, and the King almost rivaled Landfred in height.

  “The [Necromancer] spoke to you again.”

  That was a statement, not a question.

  “Who do you serve? My Knight?”

  “You.” Lanfred knelt, “You hold my oath, and my blade.”

  “Good,” the King turned, his cloak slapping Lanfred’s faceplate, no doubt intentionally. But it did not bother him; no anger rose in him. His sense of self questioned why this was necessary; he already recognized that the way the King sometimes treated him, especially when overcome by emotion, was not honorable. Yet the desire to obey won out; it always did.

  The King leaned against the horizontal window that streamed cold light into the room, its chill balanced by the flickering hearth that cast a drowsy glow.

  “If you think it’s unwise, then go and hunt them, Godknight. Go… soften them up. Reports said one of the Thiefmasters took the Integrator to train at the Ashen Castle during our brief ceasefire. They’ve been growing strong! We know what the Integrator is capable of. I was one myself… Do you still think this is unwise, Lanfred? Tell me, what do you think?”

  “I have faced many Integrators in your name, My King. I have slain them over and over. Yet there were times when they almost bested me, when they worked together.”

  “Still, you win,” the King pointed out.

  “Yes, my King. My sword has not failed. But in all of those times, I had the Pyre One with me,” Lanfred said. The sword had been crucial for harnessing the Pyreflame. He could still use Pyreflame, but his backup sword could not contain it well compared to the Pyre One.

  “That might indeed be a problem. But regardless, this time I shall marshal the knights and champions as well, and I shall take the field, following after you.”

  “My King!”

  “What is it? Unwise? I have decided, her death will be paid only with blood. No Integrator will pass, no matter what the [Necromancer] says; we will kill every single one of them. Go, Lanfred, you will be the Vanguard. Go to the Ashen Castle.”

  Ashen Castle? But the Serpent Witch was not there… Did his King actually intend to eliminate the threat rather than seek revenge?

  “The Witch will show herself when you hunt down her brethren. Yes… Hunt them first, Lanfred, let her taste defeat. Then I shall come with my army, and we shall trap her and the last Thiefmaster between us, and I shall have my blade at her throat,” the King said, ice manifesting around his hand. He gripped it hard, cracking the sword handle and shattering it into pieces. “I will have her, one way or another.”

  Lanfred should refuse this; such an order was reckless. The knights and champions should be stationed at the wall, their bastion, not sent on a hunt. But he was not the King. No, he was a knight, and he had to obey.

  “As you wish, my King,” Landfred dipped his head. “What about the Shadow Rebel?”

  “Ah, right, those little ants under my boot,” the King muttered. “They were used for target practice… Lanfred. Drive the Integrator and the Thief deep inside the castle. Let them fight each other, and then swoop in to eliminate all of them, the Integrator, the Thiefmaster, and him.”

  Finally, he was sent to the Ashen Castle, after the [Necromancer] had been preventing such a move. Lanfred had wanted to rout out this vile rebel, but had always been held back by his Lord. Still, this was needless, if only the [Necromancer] and the [Undead King] could work together…

  “My King, may I have one humble request?”

  “What is it? This is unusual for you.”

  “If I serve their heads to you, will you be willing to open talks with the [Necromancer]? Both of your existence is important for the Kingdom. Please, allow me to remove the Pyre. Should I succeed, let me be the bridge to connect the two of you.”

  “I will consider,” the King said simply.

  So he wouldn’t.

  “Go, my Godknight, hunt them. Stop asking for a reward, my wish itself is your purpose, no?”

  “It is as you wish, my King.”

  "It is, as always, be careful of shadow."