Others Summon Dragons, I Summon Legendary Knights

Chapter 509: I Shall Rebuild It

The earth beneath his feet kept rumbling. It felt like a cavalry of thousands charged nearby. As the massive capital reformed, the Unknown King maintained his pace.

Neither too hurried nor slow, he marched. Towering walls that separated districts rose, casting shadows over him.

A broad staircase formed, leading him to the top. By the time he got there, enormous round pillars rose up, stone upon stone lifted into place, raising the palace wall behind the pillars.

The Unknown King walked through the door as it was being formed. Right after he went through, a door settled into place. Double rows of torches formed on the right side of the wide hallway. One above and another three feet below.

Their light brought life and warmth to the hallway. Dust drifted from the ceiling. Flames flickered along the walls. Stone ground against stone as the palace continued rebuilding itself. A sign that other parts of the palace were forming with incredible speed.

Walls rose ahead. The walls came alive with elaborate reliefs. Drawings of men. Men of Gold.

He didn’t pause, but from the corner of his eyes, he saw their glory. Swords, spears, hammers, raised toward the sun. General after general, war after war, victory after victory... incredible.

The echo of his footsteps drowned under the might of the palace’s distant rebirth.

Incredible. These were indeed a race built of strength. Of honour and order.

The Unknown King’s eyes flickered. There was so much he knew, so much about the Pathani traditions, the creation of this order. He knew they gathered for him and him alone.

But there were emotions he bore. A yearning for a part of him that seemed gone. He longed to know; it beckoned to him almost irresistibly, like a siren’s song.

As a man could not shut his ears from the siren’s call, the Unknown King couldn’t take his mind off this faint yet persistent call buried deep within him.

And yet, there arose a resistance within him. One upon which its foundation was fear. An unsettling emotion that made him frown.

He wanted to know and, at the same time, feared knowing because knowing might take something. What?

The king pondered, passing through the antechamber into the throne room. It was large. Made for Goliaths, not men. Well, his generals were not mere men.

Chandeliers lit with candles brought light to the vast hall. The dais was quite high. There was the first platform, slightly elevated above the ground floor, and then there were ten more steps to the throne. A throne of carved marble stone. Ornate golden fittings adorned the armrests and crowned the backrest.

On the right side of the throne, a stone shaped like an inverse triangle floated. It had a heart of pure golden light and veins snaking around its surface.

The Rune of Light.

He knew it.

The Unknown King climbed the dais, ascending to the top. There, he paused, staring at his throne. A throne that had been waited through unending centuries.

Lifting his head, adorned with Imperial’s helm, he gazed at the petroglyphs of ten figures hidden behind their hooded robes, their heads lowered. Behind them were gallant Apostles, their red manes cascading proudly.

The Unknown King spun and sat. His legs were wide as he leaned back, staring at his throne room. It felt hollow. Imposing, yet plagued with silence and faint dancing shadows.

He shut his eyes, taking a deep breath. His eyes opened, but not to the throne room. A vast space unveiled, a cruel place with dark soil and souls.

The Afterlife. It was clamouring with souls. Thousands, millions, he couldn’t truly ascertain. It was hell. These beings were intelligent, or at least should be, but they did not act like it. Like the damnation that they’ve become, they gathered in one spot, bodies pressed against bodies, screams and yells of hunger.

Vile hunger, like the kind the Wolf King had toward him.

In the center of it all was a flicker of light. It was nearly buried beneath all these dark beings. No. It was buried, yet struggled to reach out.

A gauntleted hand, fingers splayed, reached out, as if begging him to come to his aid. That was grabbed by several souls and eventually ripped off at the elbow.

His fury climbed into the sky. Clouds gathered as two golden eyes opened behind them. They blazed for a split second.

"My general. What is this you do to him?!"

His voice echoed. But the souls couldn’t hear. All they cared about was splitting his knight and wrestling over his parts.

His bloodied helmet, fastened with wings to the sides, went from one hand to another. His head was still within it as souls fought fiercely, pulling it as if it were a ball.

His lance had become the weapon of an orc wielding it with wide, unrefined sweeps to force others away.

One soul gained golden light. With a twinkle, he vanished, and all the parts of the white knight gathered back together, reforming into a knight on horseback.

He wasn’t given a moment to breathe. They pounced on him again. A mighty general, The Blesser! Chief amongst generals, glorious in battle, radiant in honour, was about to face the same fate.

’He knows not of me. He’s lost.’

The White Knight raced across a line, cutting down souls with ease. He was a streak of power and light. The Unknown King couldn’t judge how long this had been happening, but he understood soon enough how it would end.

Those killed resurrected. This was the world of the dead. A realm of souls that never knew second death. Once exhausted, the knight would face his cruel fate once more.

"Another who can peek," a floating voice said. High above and beneath at the same time. The entire realm spoke.

"Why torture my general so?"

"And who are you to ask?"

"His king."

There was a moment of silence, as if the being he conversed with reeled from his revelation. He wished it did. But it did not.

"Then you have the power to do what I desire. A soul descended into my realm. Her transition made her my property, but she was stolen from me. So I took my rage to the other. Whoever gets the first kill shall live as an Exalted. I’ve never seen them so active," the voice replied calmly. It wanted something.

The Unknown King sensed the path this conversation was taking. His eyes drifted to the bright golden tear in the eastern part of the clouds.

The Exalted realm of the Afterlife.

"Return the woman that left. Return her and I will retrieve my word. Do not, and I await the day you take your final breath. I shall welcome you... with a warm embrace."

The Unknown King watched. The White Knight struggled to return to the realm of the Exalted, where he belonged, but it rejected him. Dooming him to his fate. And it came.

Hungry souls poured over him, breaking his defence, restricting his movement, and pulling him down.

None thought: what if they were in his position? Their thoughts were filled with their gains at another’s curse.

They swarmed him, each soul hitting harder than the last, seeking the first kill. Harrowing Omens of varying sizes attacked, cutting off his legs.

His head was gone just as quickly by another Harrowing Omen. Golden blood stained the dark, damp sand.

The Unknown King closed his eyes. "The Afterlife has never been invaded. No man has ever thought of such, neither has it crossed the mind of gods. But I am here. I have seen that the deciders of the Exalted and the Damned have lost their way; the creations of order have derailed. You were meant to judge men based on their life, to be fair, but I see what you have become..."

"...You feel pleasure. This is good. You will feel pain when a march begins."

There was a soft chuckle. "You want to invade the Afterlife? Come, then. I shall be waiting."

The Unknown King felt his consciousness drift, pulled by a violent force like someone called urgently. His eyes once again fell on another scene.

A woman clad in a piece of linen cloth that stopped at her thighs. Somehow, he could sift through her mind. It was filled with abuse, insults, and what was that those men in white coats did to her?

They took blood from her, and there was something else. Something that weakened her, slackened her muscles. They gagged her like some animal.

And these men had beasts. Companions that they summoned from portals. Atrocious. Creatures that should be bound came from their souls, yet they bind a noble being.

He knew her story. Of her sacrifices. "Flail of the Morning..."

Once again, a massive force pulled him into another scene. In the depths of what looked like a prison. There were countless cells, and deep down this hole was a hulking knight. His metal had been stripped from his flesh countless times. It always grew back... it was always harvested again.

"Gatekeeper. Is this what has become of you?" the Unknown King said, watching the knight that lay there. He had grown dull. No flicker of glory remained on the one that once guarded the gates of the Golden Order.

Once, his presence alone had been enough to make men struggle for breath.

It happened again. Though the Unknown King expected it this time.

His eyes settled on two sarcophagi. Petroglyphs of the deceased knight on both. They had long decayed, but their souls were not in the Afterlife World. They were stuck.

Stuck to him. The Oath kept them bound.

For the final time, the Unknown King saw something else.

Thick snake-like chains creaking and clanking. There were so many that the floor was barely in view, and all these chains held a man. The air in this chamber felt oppressed by the entity sealed within.

He stood there in a loincloth, beard tumbling down to his abdomen. This was a wild animal with nothing that resembled a knight, yet for what seemed like centuries, this man remained standing.

Ramrod straight, he stared at the door. Perhaps awaiting the day of his unsealing. The day his name would be called. How could a man stand for so long?

Right when the Unknown King was about to speak, that force pulled his consciousness back to his throne room.

He gripped the armrest. ’So this is your doing. Commendable.’ The Unknown King inclined his head in quiet acknowledgement to the throne, then settled his eyes on the great door. What he had seen stirred his heart.

***

In the antechamber, all ten Alchemists gathered, speaking to each other through their minds. Other generals were in the hall, Mountain towering above them all.

Solstice and Tempest still weren’t revived yet.

"Our home has been rebuilt," Dirge said. She folded her arms, watching Lament.

Hands clasped behind him, Lament grunted.

The sound of heavy metal scraping the stone floor caught everyone’s attention.

Toria drifted forward, trying to peer into the hallway. Except Solstice and Tempest, every other knight was here. Even Lament. So who was left?

Two individuals appeared from a switchback. Shadows danced on their golden plates under the dull, flickering lights from the torches.

One was fourteen feet tall and broad. Two axeheads peeked from behind his shoulders. The other was smaller, twelve feet tall. Toria could tell the other was a female.

An outline of a broad, round shield acted like a moving background behind the smaller figure. As they drew closer, their ornate armour became more visible.

Abaddon and Apollyon stood at the mouth of the antechamber. Mountain shot them a short glance and looked away. Toria didn’t know what to do, so she went back. She’d hear stories about them.

Dax, leaning beside the wall, lifted his head from his tome. His eyes narrowed. They had been summons of the same man for over two decades but had never grown close.

Lament gave them a nod of acknowledgement. Dirge frowned, though it wasn’t noticeable.

"I..." Abaddon started. Unfortunately, he went back to being silent.

"Welcome." Ballista said. Just a word but it was enough.

"Beyond that door sits the king." Zaun faced the generals. "Prepare yourself. It’s not the same man you knew... what awaits beyond the door might not even be a man."

Ballistic stared at the door.

"What happened to Godfrey?" Toria asked.

Dax paid earnest attention.

Mountain and the others were also curious. The news sounded alarming. Apollyon and Abaddon had similar but stiff reactions.

Zaun faced the door, tilting his head. One eye gazed at Apollyon. "It’s the king you saw. The Unknown King."

’What?!’ she gasped.

The Apostles eased the great door open. The throne room, glowing beneath large candle chandeliers, appeared before them.

Seated on the throne was an unknown. Dark, like the night, a night without the stars or the moons.

It couldn’t be true.

She was mad. She had always been mad. Apollyon’s mind was in a mess, but she joined the others, pressing one knee to the ground in reverence. She couldn’t even meet his golden eyes.

His voice rang.

"You may not kneel. We are at the verge of extinction. Our brothers and sisters in dark days, a fault of our fall. This might not be what you seek to hear, but you shall hear it nonetheless. The Order has fallen. All that remains is ruins and ruins alone. But..."

"...I shall rebuild it."