[Unknown POV]
In the majestic halls of the Great Palace of Peace, a throne encrusted with countless gems and bathed in gold lay enshrined. It seemed as if the entirety of the Kingdom's wealth had been dedicated solely to its creation.
There it stood, still and silent in that grand room, abandoned despite its grandeur. For it was the castle of the late King, the only man worthy of sitting upon that throne.
Yet, despite losing its status as the supreme seat of discretion, the throne that housed the ultimate voice of law within its walls, its mere appearance still inspired greed.
Thankfully, it was guarded—not by knights or magic—but by a promise, made by a daughter to her father, by a Princess to a King…
A promise made on a special day, a day of celebration, of the passing of legacies, of the continuation of prosperity.
The coronation of the crown.
"I swear upon my name, my heart, and my very will, that I shall not take my seat upon that throne until I have surpassed your name."
Those had been the last words to echo across these walls, spoken by the brave Princess on that fateful day, promising herself and the nation a time of peace.
For how could she surpass the legacy of her father, the Voice of Peace?
Thus, the Palace had remained abandoned, isolated from the rest of the world despite being located in the heart of the royal capital.
An anomaly of the Kingdom, an abandoned piece of wealth.
Yet to see the light of day, despite the passing of hundreds of days.
Until today...
"Creeeek…"
The gigantic metal doors guarding the estate slowly opened, announcing their change.
The Palace of Peace, the greatest landmark of the Kingdom, had finally been unsealed.
Two figures made their way to the center of the hall, one an old man, with worry etched across his face.
The other, a Queen, draped in a luxurious red gown, her lips a matching crimson.
"Why now?" the man asked, her right hand, not ready to accept the passage of time.
The gears of history were turning…
And he was a relic of the past.
He had fought many beasts, most of them hidden beneath the skin of men. He had earned countless victories for his Kingdom, each one a dance with death, as his former master commanded during an era of war.
He had fulfilled his duty to perfection, earning both the Kingdom and, more importantly, the King's absolute trust.
A war hero, whose mere name served as a powerful deterrent to the warmongering generals of surrounding Kingdoms.
His fame only grew with age.
Yet, he worried—not about the potential for war, but for the health of his beloved little Queen…
'She's been restless since that day…' He knew her well. Despite how much she hid it from the others in the royal court, he could see through her at a glance.
Having helped raise her since she was young, how could he not see past her deceit?
"My Queen, why have you opened the mausoleum now?"
She smiled in response to his query, slowly making her way up the steps like a lioness returning to her den...
He didn't believe for a second the excuse his Queen had given…
'To welcome home Prince Michael from his excursion…' Even thinking about those words left him feeling annoyed. 'As if I'd believe that.'
It was nonsense from the start…
'She loves that pup, sure, but she would never open these doors just to welcome him back, even if he was successful in earning their support.'
The Dryads were invaluable—not only to the nation but also essential to their plans…
However, even their agreement did not warrant such a decision.
The Queen sat comfortably, her grace unseen by all but one.
Yet, despite her majesty, it was not her image that snapped the lonely old man out of his thoughts but her words.
"It is time, Lastrange. Prepare a decree to decorate the palace." Her words carried weight—the weight of the crown, the weight of the throne, the weight of the nation.
"For what, Your Majesty?" her liaison asked unhurriedly, despite the significance of her command.
It was not a royal decree that compelled him to act, but the will to fulfill his beloved niece's requests, no matter how absurd.
It was his pride.
It was his duty.
But it was worrisome for the old man in charge of her guidance, there to ensure she did not stumble on the last few steps she had left to take, to follow her command without being privy to the truth.
He, of all people, had a right to know.
What had caused her such unrest?
"Tell me, my Queen…"
He implored her once again, his request accompanied by a red glint flashing through his eyes.
"Lastrange," she spoke softly in response, answering his question with her own, "tell me, why do they call this the Palace of Peace?"
"Your Majesty?" His ears perked up at the question, for it was unlike her to ask such unnecessary questions.
After all, there were few in the Kingdom who knew the history behind the Palace better than the Queen, having grown up in its very chambers.
"They've got it all wrong, you see, Lastrange. It is not peace that was earned through his decisions," her words filled with chill, "nor is it a testament to his work."
"Surely you remember what they called him when we were young?" Her words sent ripples cascading through her commander's heart.
"Surely you remember the true purpose of this estate?"
'I had hoped my instincts were wrong…' He lamented her capability, even in matters such as these. 'After all the effort he spent to ensure they remained protected from its effects…'
He let out a sigh before answering his Queen, "How could I forget?"
It was clear to him now that there was no hope of retreat. The decision had been made, and it could not be overturned.
Such was the station of the Palace of Peace.
Holding within it the throne of judgment, upon which sat the final voice of the Kingdom, the one with the power to decree the Kingdom's fate and that of its people.
For how could peace be achieved without enough power to withstand its cost?
Her words commanded respect, deference to her demands, absolution to her decree, carrying the same weight as those of her father.
"Peace was a tale spun by my father to trick us into sleep, but I am not like my siblings, naive and afraid, willing to live in my delusions."
Her hands curled into fists with rage.
'I shall not let him tether me to this mere level,' her nails dug deep, burying into her skin, 'I shall not let the opportunity slip past me again.'
"Such is my command, and I expect it to be heard." Her fists slammed against the throne. "Prepare a feast for our guest; he'll soon be making his arrival."
"Nothing is enough. Leave no expense."
"Yes, Your Grace." The man followed her command, no longer questioning her decision, acknowledging her resolve to see things through.
For it was already too late to turn back, as once the Palace of Peace had opened, its doors would not close until peace had once again been achieved—in every town, in every city.
Regardless of its cost, which more often than not left only one option to pursue.
War.
Such was the purpose of the Palace, and such was the ideology of the man whose efforts had ushered in an era of peace after a decade of strife.
The late great Emperor of the Kingdom.
The sole man to have shown himself worthy of sitting upon that throne, carrying with it its legacy, and that of the Palace.
His name sung in song by countless bards across the land as the Hero King who led his nation out of despair.
The man with countless titles—the purveyor of Peace, the Voice of Compassion, the Authority of Reason—but there was one title that he detested the most, having gone to great lengths to bury it in the annals of time.
However, his eldest daughter remembered, for it was she who had scarred him with the nickname in jest, to tease her father...
The First Great King of Alkavia.
Luscious Alkavia.
The Emperor of War.
[Kuzan POV]
It took less time to catch up to the carriage than I had expected.
Of course, I stayed far enough away in my approach to not draw attention to myself to ensure my stealth.
Despite how easy it would have been to simply 'hitch a ride' inside the carriage, bypassing the soldiers guarding its security, I decided to stay put.
I did so, in part, to better analyze their movements.
'You can learn a lot about a place from its army alone.'
As I continued to analyze their movements, equipment, reactions, and physique, my eyes were naturally drawn to the fat cat sitting at the top of a 'certain' glamorous carriage.
Garfield, who had been sound asleep when I had first arrived, was currently giving me his best puppy dog eyes in an effort to earn some pats, and of course, some delicious treats.
'Forget about it,' I turned my nose at his behavior, as it would do no good in encouraging such laziness.
Instead, I drew my focus on the small 'army' in front of me, having made my decision based on their behavior.
It was an obvious choice, considering the circumstance.
'If they're this scared of a cat...why do I have to be worried about?'
Clearly, I had overestimated their worth.
Thus, a confrontation was unavoidable, as I was desperately in need of more knowledge.
Pheraphs I would have made a different decision if my conversations with the Dryads had gone more fruitfully.
As a result, two paths naturally presented themselves before me...
'Start kidnapping some of the runt and go about extracting the information slowly, or go right for the juicy piece of intelligence in the center of the carriage without alerting the rabble.'
Both options had their advantages, with the former being objectively safer while the latter preserved a bit of time.
Still, it made little difference, as I had long realized the insignificance of the threat posed by this group.
Thus, I decided to go for the more straightforward approach, wanting to preserve more time to plan my next moves...
However, and to my surprise, it was my own teammate's actions that thwarted my plans.
I let out a wry smile, for I had clearly underestimated its hunger, as its eyes grew determined at the prospect of earning that dragon's meat.
Thus, it did something so unlike it...
It decided to use its head.
[Garfield POV]
"Meooooow..." Letting out a growl, perceived as a yawn by none but one, it announced the end of his slumber.
It stretched out its upper body in a perfect arc, feminine as a true feline ready to start his day on the right foot, champing its lips together, reminding itself unconsciously of his thirst.
And with the thought of thirst, came hunger, with hunger came its previous taste of food, as if on cue.
The being he acknowledged as his master.
The Goldfang cared not for his increase in strength, for what difference did it make whether he could crush him with a palm or a finger?
And he especially could care less about the little rats scurrying around him, rats he would have long killed if not for his master's disapproval.
He cared only about his master, or more specifically, about what he was carrying with him behind his back.
"Sniff, sniff…" No matter how thoroughly he had rinsed it of blood, he could smell it, even from afar.
The smell of that sweet scent, causing his mouth to unconsciously water up from expectation alone, could not be hidden from his nose.
Unfortunately, it seemed that he would have to wait, as his master was currently preoccupied with something else.
It took but a moment for the Goldfang to 'understand' his master's intentions.
It was a familiar act, something natural, something habitual.
Slowly, carefully, with patience, with hunger, assuredly his master was in the middle of stalking his prey...
And what was the chance that his master's chosen prey, was right underneath him?
Thus, the Goldfang decided that enough was enough. It was time to get this show on the road...
He used his head, more specifically his jaws, to rip through the carriage which was lathered in metal, cutting through its roof as if it were made of paper.
Although he was confused, about why his master had chosen the smallest amongst this pack, to serve as his snack, who was he to judge?
Thus, he only did what his instincts commanded him to do.
For he had learned from his master, that everything had a price...
A piece of meat, of the only creature worthy of being called the king of the forest?
A treasure enough to cause even the laziest of beast's heart to be set aflame...
What better exchange for it could be than another equal 'royal' piece of meat?