The Forsaken King-Chapter 36: A King to a King

Behind the palace stood the battlefield.

It was massive. A stone colosseum with high walls circling the arena. It was the kind of place where warriors display their power and worth in front of the king.

"It’s been a while since I’ve done this," he thought, flexing his fingers.

Back in Camelot, the tournaments had been grand. The soldiers wore polished armor, the castle was surrounded by painted banners that waved in the wind. Knights cheered each other on like brothers. It was the time they would all get together, drink, and celebrate. It was a time when people would relax and not worry about war.

He hadn’t entered many, because it wasn’t his strong side. He was always known for planning and strategizing.

Instead, he would watch Lancelot. Always composed. Watching him dominated every tournament he entered. His every strike was deadly. His movement was perfect. If Sylas was considered the King of Kings, Lancelot was the king of the battlefield.

Everyone from the feast had gathered—nobles, guards, servants. They all sat around them.

At the center was a raised platform. Two thrones sat at the top—empty now, except for one.

She sat tall beside her mother, posture perfect, hands resting in her lap. Her face was calm, but her eyes burned. They locked onto Sylas with a quiet fury, like she wanted to strangle him.

He could feel the anger. Even when he wasn’t looking at her, he could feel her stare.

Next to her, Lucian stood there like a statue. He didn’t speak. His skin looked pale, like he was still thinking about what Sylas said to him.

"Do you want the opportunity to become a king?" That question still echoed in his head.

"King Kael," Sylas said, stepping forward, his voice steady. "Let’s agree on a rule. Something simple—so you don’t end up killing me."

The king laughed, low and amused. "What is it, son?"

Sylas didn’t smile. "Simple," he said. "If you’re knocked to the ground three times—you lose."

He paused, letting it sink in.

"If you’re disarmed even once... you lose."

It was a rule he remembered from Camelot—one they used in the tournament so the point was to prove their strength without anyone losing their life.

"Is that all?" Kael asked.

A man approached the king, dragging a massive pitch-black sword behind him. Its edge scraped stone, leaving a trail behind him.

Sylas stepped forward.

His voice was calm—measured.

"Also... you should know," he said, lifting his gaze, "I’m not Luis."

Every voice in the arena stopped talking. Not a single sound.

"I’m Sylas."

King Kael lifted his head from the sword. His eyes locked onto Sylas.

He didn’t speak.

He just stared at him with a cold look.

Sylas stepped forward.

Excalibur appeared in his hand.

"I am the son of Alice," he said. "A commoner. A slave."

He paused, then drew the blade with a whisper of steel.

"But today, I am not standing in front of you as Sylas."

He lifted the sword—slow, steady.

"I am Arthur. King of Kings."

Kael didn’t move.

Something in the arena shifted. The air tightened—dense, heavy.

Sylas could see the heat rising off King Kael’s body, like he had just come out of a hot shower.

The king’s voice cut through the silence.

"Are you from Selvaran?"

Sylas shook his head. "No."

He raised his sword and pointed it straight at Lucian.

"If I win, he gets a chance to compete for the throne."

Lucian’s eyes widened. He stared at Sylas, stunned—

wondering: Why? Why me? Why this much faith?

Kael laughed—sharp, dismissive.

"You? An E-rank... making deals?"

Sylas didn’t laugh back.

"I came here to kill you at first," he said. His tone didn’t rise. It stayed flat—honest.

"But then I saw how you looked at your people."

He paused.

"You care. Not perfectly... but you do."

His blade shifted—once again aimed at Lucian.

"He can do better. If he’s given the chance."

Kael’s eyes twitched. His voice snapped like a whip.

"Are you just gonna yap—

—or fight?"

Sylas grinned—then jumped forward. freēnovelkiss.com

He leapt forward, bringing his blade down hard—sharp, fast, heavy.

Kael raised his sword. Their swords crashed.

Cling.

The impact sent a shockwave through the arena.

The king’s boots sank into the dirt, cracking the ground beneath him.

His eyes widened, wondering—

How? An E-rank... with this much power?

For a moment, Kael didn’t see a fool.

He smiled—slow and sharp. Finally, a challenge.

His boots were already dug into the ground, holding firm.

Kael used it—planted deep. He braced himself, then swung his sword upward, driving Sylas back.

Sylas staggered, losing balance for just a second .

Kael didn’t waste the opportunity.

He swung upward. It was fast, brutal—nothing Sylas had ever experienced.

Sylas blocked it with his sword, but the force hit like a beast charging through him.

The shock tore through his arm, up to his shoulder—almost forcing him to drop the weapon.

His feet left the ground. He was in the air. He tried to regain balance, but Kael appeared above him. His sharp ember eyes glowed.

He brought his blade down.

Sylas blocked, barely—

Boom.

He crashed into the dirt, the impact kicking up dust and silence.

Kael stepped back, calm as ever.

"One," the king said.

Sylas slowly rose to his feet. One knee at a time. His breath came out ragged.

"You’re a damn monster," he muttered.

His arms trembled. Legs shook.

"Most people would’ve died trying to block that."

He let out a low, soft, but sharp laugh.

"I’ve been through worse."

Kael didn’t answer.

He shot toward him.

In a blink, he was on him—his massive sword swinging again. But this time, it was different.

The strike was fast. Light—but controlled.

It seemed like the blade weighed nothing.

It came from above—then the side—low—high again. Nonstop.

Sylas barely kept up. Step by step. Blow by blow. He couldn’t find an opening.

He wondered, "How the hell is he swinging that thing like it’s a feather?"

Kael kept swinging—and smiling. His strikes flowed like water. Relentless. Brutal.

But then... he felt it.

His grip tightened.

The sword—heavier.

A wide grin spread across Kael’s face.

"Feeling it now?" he said. "Every hit I land, my ability doubles the weight of whatever my sword touches."

Sylas stepped back, breathing hard—but grinning.

"So we’re using skills now?"

Sylas rolled his shoulder. "That’s not bad," he said, then raised his sword. "But—"

With a sharp flick, he swung it to the side, like removing blood from the edge of the blade.

But this time, it was the weight.

Then he raised his blade and swung it with ease.

Kael’s smile faltered.

"That won’t work," Sylas said. "Not on this sword."

The grin vanished from Kael’s face.

"What?" he snapped.

Sylas walked forward, slow and sure.

"This blade is different," he said. "This is a special sword. Weight is meaningless to this sword."

He paused.

"Only one person in the world is worthy enough to lift it."

He stopped right in front of Kael, lowered his voice—

"And that’s me."

Then, with a single breath, he spoke the words:

"Domain of the King."