The Forsaken King-Chapter 41: The King’s Offer

He stood there, in front of the damage he created. The monster—half of its body had disappeared. Its once hollow eyes were filled with fear.

Sylas held on to Excalibur as it reverted to its original form. He slowly embraced it, feeling grateful that it showed him his brothers once more.

He would never be alone again.

He felt completely drained, using his sword to keep himself steady.

After the monster disappeared, like before, a spear of ore flooded in its place.

He stumbled forward, dragging his feet across the ground. Each step was heavy. He used his sword like a crutch—grinding against the floor as he moved forward.

He reached down.

Picked it up.

[System Notification]

Relic Acquired: Hands of the Hollow King

Type: Gloves

Grade: Super Rare

Status: Equipped**

Passive Effects:

– +50% Magic Power

– [Living Touch]: Touching any non-living material creates a Hollowborn Golem (max 3)

– Golems drain your energy to remain active

Curse:

If your energy runs out, your golems will turn on you.

They will try to devour you.

You cannot dismiss them.

They must be destroyed—or they will destroy you.

He looked at it.

"That’s dangerous," he muttered to himself.

He stood there in silence, thinking.

Should he use it?

He didn’t want to give it to Ana. It might put her in danger.

After thinking for a few seconds, he decided the risk-to-reward ratio was good.

This could be a last resort.

He turned to Ana and walked toward her—slowly, dragging each step. The pain slowly returning.

She didn’t move, but her face was pale.

She wasn’t just pale—she looked shaken. Her eyes widened, locked on to him like she’d just seen a ghost. Her lips parted—no sound came out.

Her eyes locked on the damage Sylas created.

It had enough power to take out an entire nation on his own.

Smoke still curled up in the air. Cracks spread across the ground.

Her eyes shifted between Sylas and the destruction he caused. Back and forth. Again and again. Like she couldn’t decide which was more terrifying.

Sylas came near her.

His steps were slow. Unsteady.

He slowly knelt on one knee, meeting her eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, "this is my thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you."

He pressed the orb into her chest.

And with that, a jolt ran through his body—like he had been struck by lightning.

Not just his legs gave out, but his entire body.

He fell onto her shoulder.

He didn’t know how long he had been asleep, but he couldn’t remember the last time it felt this peaceful.

Right after he woke up, he noticed he was in an empty room. The sun shined brightly outside. He could hear kids playing—laughing, yelling.

He got up and looked through the window.

He noticed people setting up lights and banners. They were all smiling, moving together like one body. Working side by side. Happy.

Then someone saw Sylas watching through the window.

The man pointed. "He’s awake!"

Sylas instantly ducked, knowing what was coming.

And just like he feared, they all started cheering for him. Screaming, "Thank you!"

He lifted his head up.

The cheers grew louder.

Because of the commotion, Ana and Lucian burst through the door.

Sylas turned to them. "So what did I miss?"

Before he could finish, Ana tackled him.

They both flew out of the window.

The crowd below gasped—faces filled with shock.

Lucian remained calm, like it was no big deal.

They hit the ground. Sylas had fallen on his back, Ana’s head clutching against his chest. The fall wasn’t that high. They had also landed on a soft layer of grass. One good thing he did notice—his body was fully healed now.

"You are crazy," he said, letting out a soft, gentle smile.

Sylas let his hand loose.

Ana pushed herself up.

Then she stomped on him.

Sylas rolled to the side, dodging just in time.

"How’s that my fault? You’re the one who tackled me."

The people surrounded them and started laughing.

She looked away, her cheeks turning red like an apple, and the crowd around them became louder.

That made her even more angry.

She kept stomping on him, trying to hit his face and remove that grin he had on.

Sylas kept rolling across the grass, dodging her half-hearted strikes, still smiling.

Then he stopped.

King Kael was looming above him.

Everyone froze. The laughter died. The noise disappeared.

No one said a word. They just stared.

Kael turned to the crowd.

"Why did you all stop?" he asked. His voice was low, calm.

He paused.

"Cheer for the hero."

The silence shattered. The cheer ignited again—louder than before.

Kael reached down and grabbed Sylas by the arm, pulled him up with ease.

He lifted him like he weighed nothing.

"Let’s go inside, son."

Then he slapped him on the back.

Hard.

Sylas staggered forward, nearly tripping.

They sat at the table, eating.

Sylas took a bite out of an entire boar leg.

"So what’s happening outside today?" he asked, his mouth full. His tone was casual, like two friends just having a normal conversation—not like he lied to him about his whole identity.

"People are decorating," the kinglet laughed, his voice filled with amusement.

"It’s the Festival of Rebirth."

He took a sip of his drink, glanced out the window.

"Since our kingdom survived..."

Another sip followed, slower this time.

"It’s a good way to honor the dead." His voice lowered, respectful.

That reminded Sylas of all the people who gave their lives for him.

He slowly put the food down and started tapping on the table like he didn’t know how to start the conversation.

"King Kael..." he began. His tone was quiet. There was a slight pause of shame behind it. His voice was calm.

"I lied to you." He met the king’s eyes.

He paused.

"I did come to remove you from the throne." His words didn’t shake as he said it.

"I thought you were a dictator." He lowered his head in shame for judging him without knowing.

"I was wrong." The words came quiet.

He kept going, slower now.

"I heard that both sides started fighting over a territory for Blackiron, Aetherroot." There was anger underneath his voice now.

King Kael shook his head.

"No, son. You see..." his voice softened.

"My brother—the previous king..." He paused. His tone cracked.

"After he was assassinated, I was forced to take his place." Each word came heavy.

"Both kingdoms agreed to share the materials. Fifty-fifty." His voice steadied.

He paused again.

"After my brother’s death... they wanted seventy-five percent of the goods."

Sylas snapped—slamming the table.

"That’s not fair for your people," he said, voice filled with frustration.

The king nodded, like he had expected that reaction.

"When we resisted, they increased it to eighty-five percent," he said.

"After that, the conflict broke out. They kept conquering our land—little by little. Now, this is the only place we have."

Sylas closed his eyes, his breath short, trying to control his anger. His jaw tightened.

"Why didn’t you ask for help?" he asked. His voice was low. Sharp.

Kael answered without hesitation.

"We are known for being strong warriors." His voice was still, bitter.

"If we ask for help, they are going to think we are weak."

Then he looked at Sylas directly.

"Do you think they want a weak king... who failed his people?" he questioned.

Sylas didn’t speak.

He knew.

In this world... rank meant everything.

And most likely, other countries would’ve helped Selvaran—but only to take control of the Blackiron and Aetherroot.

He opened his eyes, his gaze was steady. Then he looked at the king.

"How would you like to join my alliance?" His tone was clear. Commanding.

He didn’t let Kael speak.

"We will take back your land. And you will join me."

The king blinked, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"Join you on what?" His tone was cautious.

Sylas stood up slowly, pushing the chair back.

"You see... I want to create a peaceful world where everyone is equal. Where no one’s identity is defined by ranks." His voice carried weight. Purpose. He wasn’t just talking—it was mine. He was declaring.

King Kael laughed—he wasn’t mocking him. Sylas caught him off guard.

"That’s a big dream. You think you can succeed?" His tone carried amusement, but his eyes were looking for something.

Sylas extended his hand like a handshake.

"Join me and find out."

Kael tilted his head.

"Why are you doing this?" he questioned. His voice dropped.

"Are you doing this for power? Control?"

He paused, watching him closely, waiting for his answer.

"Or something else?"

Sylas laughed uncontrollably.

Not out of disrespect—but because the question sounded so far from the truth, it was almost ridiculous.

"I couldn’t care less about those things. They’re meaningless."

The truth danced around him.

"I want to carve my name into this world."

Then he looked at the king. His gaze was sharp.

"You see... people chase glory, power. But in the end, all that matters is what you leave behind."

He paused.

"Fame fades over time. But legacy... legacy lasts forever."

His eyes glowed—like he had just found what he was searching for.