Chapter 28: Noble Path of a True King

A dream...

’I saw a dream?’

Peace blinked his eyes open.

’I’m... alive?’

Feeling returned to him all at once, along with that comforting embrace of cotton and feathers.

’Wait... A bed? Am I back home?’

It wasn’t nearly as comfortable as a spring-loaded mattress, but it was a bed. He’d been in the dungeon as far as he remembered, meaning the time as a monster and Night Elf...

’Must have been the dream.’

Sure, the pain was vivid and the scenery was beyond anything his imagination could ever conjure, but...

Lying in a bed was simply inexplicable.

’But, that’s weird. I don’t remember turning off the lights.’

Though he could still see...

Peace grumbled as he planted his hands on the bed and hoisted himself into a sitting position. Then, he glanced to his side.

’Not a dream! Not a fucking dream!’

The ’ghost woman’ was standing beside the bed, staring at him.

Peace scampered back until his head smacked against the wall. His skull rebounded, and he winced, keeping his eyes fixed on the woman.

The woman who was once again weeping tears of corruption.

Gulping, Peace awkwardly waved.

"Ah— uh... hello?"

The woman remained motionless before slowly responding. Her words came out choppy, like a broken record.

"Sorry... for that. I— There was— It had... to be done."

’It had to be done?’

Glancing at his arms and legs, Peace noticed they were uncorrupted. Not only that, they were completely healed.

’Am I immune? Or did she reverse it with a potion?’

For some reason, Peace felt like he didn’t want to ask her that.

Actually, he damn well knew the reason: he was scared shitless! He’d be a lunatic to calmly chat with the embodiment of insanity before him! Especially moments after waking up from being abducted!

There were countless questions he had about the situation, many of which were directed at the ’kidnapping witch’, but not a single one did his mind permit.

His instincts screamed for silence.

After a long stretch of quiet, the woman turned and knelt. When she rose again and faced Peace, she held up his backpack. It had been stitched back together almost seamlessly.

"Here."

She tossed it. Peace let it land on the bed beside him.

The woman swallowed hard, then pointed at his backpack.

"Do not... lose that."

’Huh...?’

The woman turned around, crossed to the corner of the room, and stared at the wall. She stayed like that for nearly half a minute.

Then, she simply vanished before his eyes.

’Seriously, what is going on?!’

Peace stayed frozen where he was, huddled against the wall. Numerous questions stormed through his mind, from who — or what — the woman was to where the hell this place was...

Peace took his time, but eventually managed to inch toward the edge of the bed and stand up. Finally, he looked around, taking in the cramped room that reminded him of a prison cell.

The walls were made of something resembling black concrete. There was a bed with normal sheets and a pillow. The wall next to it was scarred by scratch marks.

’Tally marks?’

Curiosity and bewilderment compelled Peace to count them all. They were oddly neat, so it wasn’t too hard.

There were 676 in total.

Finally, his attention drifted back to the rest of the room.

Opposite the bed was a desk and chair, with a candle resting atop the desk. Beside it lay his Bone Sword.

And beside the Bone Sword was a note.

A note, in English, which read: ’...’

’Something?’

Peace could see the words. He could read the words. Yet the instant he did, they evaporated from his memory. All he knew — all he could remember — was that the message was written in English.

’I’m so lost.’

Peace dropped back onto the bed and opened his repaired backpack, fishing out a canteen.

It was then that he discovered something odd...

A book.

A plain, centuries-old-looking book was wedged tightly between the canteens.

Peace eased it out.

’She said, "Don’t lose that," right?’

Was this what she was referring to?

If so, Peace felt like there was only one sensible conclusion: if he wanted to live, he could never let this book out of his possession.

As for the book itself...

’Noble Path of a True King’

Despite the title being written in a language he didn’t recognize whatsoever, his mind effortlessly translated the words crudely etched onto the cover.

Peace’s eyes widened as he read the first line.

***

Hello, Pax.

Did I scare you?

You found this book, and when you opened it, it was addressed to you with a name known only to you and a few others. Freaky, right?

I’d be spooked too!

Don’t worry, your identity as a Soul Stealer is safe with me, but now that I have your attention...

As the sole inheritor of this book, read it. Read it well.

Read the story of the noble King Ixion...

But first, a little message to you.

Your father... he’s a strange guy.

He doesn’t talk about you much — at all, really; he despises you, in fact. Your very existence makes his blood boil.

He loves your sister, though, because your sister is actually his.

Ah! Did I shock you?

Your doting mother was a filthy cheater.

How deplorable!

Then again, you were probably more shocked by the mention of a father.

After all, you retain no memory of him.

I don’t know what that terrible man did to be cursed so thoroughly, but his name and history are forever lost, beyond reclamation. Even if you remembered him, you’d simply forget again.

You’d even forget you’d forgotten!

But enough about him. Let’s move on to something way more interesting.

That key you’ve been searching for...

I can help you find it, but the most I can offer is a hint. Interpreting it and obtaining the key will be up to you...

Look down at the stone in your hand and focus on what’s right but feels wrong.

Within yourself, you’ll find an empty void.

That hole in your heart is due to time’s twine unwinding.

Unravel and search, but the source will never be found; or perhaps it is fated to be found and lost again. That past became the present, the present became forever and now.

Don’t look back, but go back safe and sound. To the place you’ve forgotten.

The key will be there, held by something lost.

Now, I don’t know what any of that means myself, but good luck!

And remember, the heart of a monster does not mean you possess the mind of one!

Trust me, I would know.

I have the heart of a human but the mind of a monster, as they say!

Ah, but finally, it’s time for the true preface.

The preface of me, Ixion the Greatly Terrible!

I’m no hero. I think you’ll come to see that pretty clearly as you read, but everything I’ve done and will do, I’ve done or will do with a purpose.

Not that the purpose was particularly noble.

Though I am noble in my pursuit, therefore it shall be deemed so...

Maybe the means don’t justify the end. Maybe the end isn’t even justifiable even if the means were ethical.

After all, I’ve sworn to destroy the world!

See! I’m an awful man!

Who can call themselves noble after proclaiming such a diabolical plot?

Ah... how pitiable I am.

A specter wandering between three worlds, unknown to one. Treading a path that leads only to ruin.

But how did I come to walk this path, and why will I continue taking the steps I’ve yet to take?

Oh, you’ll see. If you decide to keep reading, of course...

You’d better! Else I shall haunt you!

Perhaps even literally!

In any case...

This is the story of a child born amid war. One who grew up to wage a war in turn — a war paid for with the sacrifice of innumerable souls.

Each soul sacrificed by my hand will be one fewer for the Scourge to claim.

You’ll learn how a king who yearns for solace seeks it at a dreadful cost.

Listening to the screams and pleas of his people as he butchers them without mercy...

You’ll learn how feigned madness festers into true insanity.

I’ll learn that one as well.

Ah...

I don’t want forgiveness for my sins.

Nor do I want my actions to be lauded.

I simply want my story to be remembered by someone.

Even if that someone knows nothing of my legacy or those whose names fill it.

Even if that someone has their own fair share of blood on their hands.

After all, the memory of me must endure if I am to finish my final quest.

***

Peace felt as if all the blood drained from him as he read.

There was simply so much wrong with this book and the enigmatic man who wrote it. First it was addressed to him and called him a Soul Stealer, then it started going into some needlessly sophisticated prophetic ramble about some stone when Peace spotted nothing of the sort nearby.

’Ixion even said I have a "fair share of blood on my hands."’

Plus, if Pax was the ’sole’ inheritor, then why did the woman who kidnap him have it. Was she Ixion?

’But Ixion said he was a king...’

Which would suggest he was a man.

And...

’What did that piece of shit say about my mom?!’