"Please follow us, if you may, your majesty."
Stiffly walking towards the middle aged man who stood with hardened muscles on his face that had a forced smiled, the soldiers made way for the two knights and the king. While the knights walked formally, the King strolled leisurely with a hint of apathy on his expression.
"Hm. And you are.... ?"
Markus's towering figure exceeded that of the middle aged man, nearly exceeding the two meter count. Looking down at the middle aged man, he inquired tranquilly.
"Y..your majesty, I introduce myself as Aven, the representative of the village Barlow. Although our village is modest, we hope our hospitality can satisfy you."
"... Hm..."
Nodding his head as if he understood, his eyes shifted towards the villagers behind that were looking down to their feet, their backs hunched, figures slightly trembling in respect of the king's title.
Rubbing his chin with his index in thought, his eyes shifted back to the man.
"Your name is unpleasant. It reminds me of the enemy empire. It seems your parents were not quite the namers when they chose your name, were they? A pity. Fren?"
"Yes, your majesty."
Taking out another parchment that he held in another slit in his armor, he quickly unwrapped it before scanning the contents with his eyes. Clearing his throat, he spoke in a loud voice, his voice reverberating in the surroundings like a beast that had arose from its deep slumber.
"In accord to the Law of Anevachia, designed and written by his Majesty the King, Markus Opprenaimer Evangalion VIII, under Protocol 567 of the Kingdom. Section I: Clause 1, Any subject, of whatever station or estate, who shall, by act, word, gesture, missive, or other communicable medium, knowingly or unknowingly provoke, vex, or otherwise cause displeasure to His Majesty the Sovereign (hereinafter "the Crown") shall be considered in contravention of this Statute."
Clearing his throat in the desolate village where only gasps were heard, he went on, his eyes fixed on the scroll indifferently.
"Clause 1.2: Contraventions enumerated herein shall be recorded in perpetuity in the Ledger of Royal Sentiment, maintained under the exclusive custody of the Curator of Regal Equanimity."
"Clause 1.3: Nothing in this Statute shall exempt any subject from liability due to ignorance of the Sovereign's disposition; the onus of continual vigilance and deference rests solely upon the subject."
"Thus, in accord to the FUTURE emperor's will, the proper punishment will be continued, with no court or chance of plea or appeal. The judge is the king, and all of you have been dismissed."
SSSHHK.
"Your majesty, you cannot do this, this is blunt tyranny in all due respect to your Majesty! This is a violation of the United law of the kingdom! I debate that there must be some kind of misunderstanding. There is no way that we, as respectable human beings would be trait-."
A middle aged man's head rolled to the ground violently with an impact, the body staggering a few steps before falling as well, a red puddle forming near the carotid arteries that still pumped blood meaninglessly on the green earth, the sound of air futilly flowing out of the trachea.
The muscles in the neck twitched for a few moments before going silent, with only faint movements.
Wiping his sword on the corpse, the knight raised his neck to look at the rest of the soldiers, holding the sword in a right angle at his forehead.
"Commence the law. Follow the law. Believe the law. The King is the law. Violate the king, violate the law."
"Obeyed!"
His statement caused the soldiers to trample the earths once, unsheathing their swords in one smooth motion, their eyes apathetic.
"Obeyed!"
Banging their shields and sword on the earth, they touched a certain tattoo that was placed on their napes. Glowing slightly, the curved almost round crescent tattoo with a star in it activated in the same rhythm of their heartbeats.
"Obeyed!"
Men, women, children, elderly ran with fear and survival. Children were hidden in desolate areas and abandoned pots, women ran with their husbands and hid in their houses, and men fought back the enemies with what they had; spears, swords, lances, shields.
Yet, mercy was evaporated no different than alcohol. The resistance was futile.
The men were beheaded, their heads placed on stakes. The women were not violated, but hanged using the tightropes and left to rot. The children were hiding, yet not for long.
For those in the pots, oil was poured, and heated as they were upon fires.
For those hiding, were they either burned by the merciful flames, or tortured by the black miasma that came from it, til the last of oxygen available.
And the village turned into a desolate area, in no time.
Not filled with blood, but with human organs, parts, and corpses.
A spectacle.
For it was the kings orders.
The King gave a look at the now desolate village that he had ordered to execute with no remorse yet with no happiness, before he gave his back to it, walking towards his steel balancedly.
To the citizens, it was a massacre. To the king, it was a job. Purely a subjective viewpoint to human beings.
"Your Majesty, there is an urgent matter that would seem to need your attention"
The King who had walked for a short distance, stopped, before slightly turning his body to Fren, not speaking as if inquiring about the matter that required his urgency so much as to bother his royal walk.
"There seems to be a man that was not with the villagers who greeted you, praising your greatness, and thanking you for the great harvest. He did not react even with the cleansing of this village"
The King raised an eyebrow in interest, his cracked yet smooth lips moving.
"A villager? You are bothering me for a villager?"
"My apologies your Majesty, we will deal with it appropriately."
The King did not reply at that remark, but merely asked.
"And what was he doing at the time we operated the cleanout, by the moon?"
"Your Majesty, it appears he was farming in accord to his actions and performance. When we spoke to him, he did not reply even with a sword to his neck and merely harvested. And when we brought a head of his neighbor to him, he did not flinch, merely shoving the head aside with his tool"
The King paused, before humming, his feet slightly tapping the dirt, his expression incomprehensible.
"Farming?" He mused once more.
"That is so, Your Majesty Markus."
"And this man... have you had his head? Where is Klux?"
Shaking his head, Fren replied to the king.
"That is not, your Majesty. Klux is with the farmer attempting to identify him and his lack of reaction. Should we take his head, in accord to your wishes?"
The King did not bother replying before he motioned with his head.
"Lead the way. If the matter does not seem as interesting as it seems, I will have your head along with the farmers. Perhaps Klux's head as well."
Slightly bowing his head, Fren leads the King through the path filled with the grass-infested corpses, where ravens plucked at the leftover eyes, flies having found their unfounded meals where their white, silverish children would grow and thrive.
The soldiers made way in a straight path, their swords clean as if thoroughly rubbed, for not a stain of blood remained on it. Their hands behind their backs, heads lowered, eyes on the ground, as if paying tribute to their King that held no crown upon his head.
The King walked, following his loyal retainer, Fren, with Fren making sure to kick any undesired corpses or organs aside, and making path for his king.
Walking silently, the King looked around the desolate and dead-filled farm, a flash of pity across his eyes as he took in the imagery of the barren land, unkempt houses and huts, and livestock that remained undisturbed as if the death of their owners had nothing to do with them.
"If you fail to answer, I'm afraid torture will be the only way out for the likes of you. So speak, if you know what is good for your well-being. It is unsightly for a knight like me to have to request the king's request for such a trivial request."
For a while they walked until a crowd of silent men came into view near an empty field that held nothing other than the colourfully, growing vegetables in the fertile soil.
Klux stood with his back straight before a rather looking middle aged man that did not give him heed, and merely slightly changed his direction to continue harvesting. Slightly kneeling on the soil, he started pulling the familiar violet onions and the green top of carrots from the earth, slowly pulling them as if making sure not to damage the roots.
Extending his hand out towards a near soldier, the soldier expressionlessly pulled his sword out and handing his sword towards Klux's fingers that curled around the hilt upon receiving it.
"It seems we will have to start with the hand that seems to have been too ignorant to understand the significance of what is before it. A lesson to the insolen-"
"Klux"