The Pursuit (1)
A man held a small blade. Though small, its form was more than sufficient to sever a life. Its sharpness seemed honed for this very day, and the blade’s surface was as clear as a tranquil lake, reflecting his own face perfectly. And, the face of the one who would pierce him.
"Live, my son."
The tip of the sword, held aloft by the man’s two hands, fell downward.
"Gasp!"
When the boy opened his eyes, everything was shrouded in darkness. He gasped for air, and perhaps because he had inhaled too sharply, he fell into a fit of coughing. Soon, the boy was retching, spitting up thin saliva amidst a dry, searing pain.
"Cough, hack, ugh."
As he managed to control his ragged breathing, he looked up and saw blue flames. They were hung high on both walls, burning with such intensity they seemed to reach the ceiling.
Seeing them, the boy knew without difficulty where he was.
The Royal Tomb.
The tomb where only the sacred royalty slept. Yet, unlike knowing the location, he could not for the life of him recall why he was here.
Just then, he felt a sudden, chilling cold. As the boy turned his head to the side, his body stiffened. A situation beyond all comprehension was unfolding before his eyes.
"Father...?"
A single word escaped the boy’s trembling lips, barely a whisper.
The boy’s father.
Hartras Cellabris, the 33rd King, lay in his coffin, his face pale and frozen, his eyes closed. A whirlwind of questions, simple yet overwhelming, surged through the boy’s mind.
'Why did this happen all of a sudden?'
'Father is dead.'
'Why?'
'I don't know what happened or how.'
'Why did I survive?'
'Who would play such a cruel joke? Wait, is this a joke?'
The boy reached out and touched his father’s skin. He recoiled for a moment at the icy chill and the rigid texture. But soon, realizing this was a real corpse, a chill ran down his spine.
The boy then examined the other bodies lying respectfully around the room. They were all familiar faces. The Chief Chamberlain who had served his father, and several court ladies. The advisor who had always been stern with him but would give him snacks while doting on him. Even the young servant he had kept by his side, whom he had cherished like a younger brother.
"Sob, h-hic, ugh!"
A sob and a ragged breath burst out, but the boy, startled by the sound, clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle it. The sound echoing in the sealed chamber was far louder than he had expected.
He didn't want to admit it, but this was clearly reality.
Everyone except him was dead. And the boy knew in what circumstances such a thing occurred.
The National Soul Festival (Gukhonje).
The ritual of Cellabris where, upon the King's death, the retainers who managed his daily life were buried alive with him to ensure he entered eternal rest.
He was certain he should have died. Yet, for some reason, he had survived.
Swallowing his choking sobs, the boy stood up before the coffin. He didn't know why, but he knew for certain that he could no longer remain here.
The saying that the graveyard belongs to the dead was more fitting for the Cellabris Royal Tomb than anywhere else. Because, in this place, an ordinary person could not survive.
The energy of those who died here without exhausting their life force was all reduced to Essence, becoming the nourishment for Urnil, the guardian deity that sustained the kingdom’s prosperity.
He didn't know why he was alive, but he knew without seeing what the result would be if he stayed here any longer.
Just then, a voice from far down the corridor echoed toward the inner chamber where the boy stood.
"Step aside, Halate."
Halate? The boy knew that name. The guardians of the Royal Tomb. Halate was the head of that clan. The boy recalled the face of a man who was becoming an old grandfather, who looked older than his own father, yet was just as kind.
Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes for a moment.
"I cannot, High Priest Hamses."
"I will verify it myself."
"The deity dwells here for seven days after the National Soul Festival. Are you intending to break the seal just to confirm the failure of the ritual?"
"It is 'Your Majesty,' not 'the Prince,' Halate. And if the ritual has failed, it means you hid the fact that you were insufficient in serving the deity. Are you now blocking us, who have come to confirm that, from carrying out the will of the rightful King?"
The rightful King.
The moment he heard those words, the boy realized.
With his father here, the King of this nation was now his father's younger brother, his uncle, Erdil Cellabris. The outcome of those he had sent entering this place was obvious even to a young boy's mind. His own death.
However, even in this desperate situation, one clue surfaced in the boy's mind.
'The National Soul Festival failed?'
The ritual of offering life to the deity had failed. Could it be that this was why he had survived?
Then, the voice of the tomb keeper, Halate, echoed from afar again.
"Officially, it is the principle to succeed to the throne seven days after the National Soul Festival."
"Compared to the shortcomings in serving the deity, that is merely a formal matter."
"Is bringing soldiers to the tomb also a formal matter?"
"It is the King's command."
"Even if he is the King, this is unacceptable! There has never been such an atrocity in all these generations!"
Halate’s voice grew intense. At the same time, the clattering of armor sounded like water being poured from a bucket.
"If the process looked that way but the result is insufficient, it means there was a problem even you couldn't understand. And that is a grave sin. You pathetic wretch, who couldn't even assist in the passing of the King, which happens once in your clan's lifetime."
"High Priest!"
At the High Priest's sudden, ruthless verbal abuse, Halate’s voice shouted in shock.
"Move away from the door. I will say no more. I have come to carry out the King's order!"
It seemed it would be difficult to stop his uncle from entering any longer.
That was when it happened.
[...Move.]
Startled by the sudden voice, the boy looked around. But there was no one, and the voice itself felt strange.
[You must go. Quickly.]
It didn't echo through the space; it was low and clear. A voice that seemed to be transmitted directly into his mind. At those words, the boy recalled a fact he had been ignoring.
'I have to get out of here.'
The tomb was a sacred place, but in his younger, ignorant days, it was a place he could wander through under the pretext of sightseeing and study.
Because of that, the boy remembered the geography of this place well.
The Royal Tomb was connected by a single passage that pierced through each inner chamber. Each chamber was massive, and for the convenience of the tomb keepers, they had once performed construction to create other passages.
And over the long years, some of them had been blocked off.
If he followed the corridor as it was, it would lead to the exhibition hall storing some of the past kings' belongings and the hall honoring the kings' achievements, where the passage would end.
But there was one place. Only one place was built separately from this corridor, with a secret passage leading outside. It was the Sacred Ossuary, where the ashes of the cremated kings, their life force fully exhausted, were kept.
Grrr-grrr-grrr...!
Far away, separate from Halate’s arguing, the sound of the massive, heavy tomb door opening could be heard.
There was no time to delay.
The boy began to move quickly. His body felt sluggish and heavy, but strangely, he felt a surge of vitality ever since the voice in his head had spoken.
He thought it fortunate that he was barefoot and made no sound, and he searched his memory to find the passage leading to the Sacred Ossuary. Fortunately, the flames were lit, so it wasn't too difficult to find.
Having scurried into the Sacred Ossuary, the boy was flustered by the sudden darkness. The torches inside had not yet been lit. The boy squeezed his eyes shut and began to take deep breaths.
When he opened his eyes a moment later, he had grown somewhat accustomed to the dark.
'The flames are blue?'
'Yes. Isn't it amazing? The blue flame isn't because of any additives, but a sign that the tomb is receiving the kings' essence well. During the seven days, the flames spread from where those scheduled for the National Soul Festival are laid to rest, throughout the entire tomb. And at some point, they just vanish. Only then does the National Soul Festival truly end.'
'Wow...'
The boy’s eyes welled up with tears as he recalled the conversation with his father, but he quickly wiped them away with his sleeve.
'This is the important part.'
While the sound of footsteps felt like heavy dust settling, the boy’s hands meticulously felt along the wall. He had seen the tomb keepers touch the mechanisms to open the passages a few times before.
For a young boy, a secret passage was enough to make his heart race.
Following the flow of his memory, the boy’s hands scanned the small grooves carved into the wall. Among them, there had to be a hole where a finger could sink deep.
It was just as the footsteps, which had only been felt as a presence, began to change into the clear sound of grown men's boots.
"Found it!"
The boy, who had whispered, wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and forcefully activated the mechanism. With a small creak, a door made of wood, finished with stone on the outside, opened inward. From the passage leading outside, the deep, clear indigo night sky was calling to him along with a cool breeze. The boy stepped into the passage, jumped inside, and closed the door.
At that moment, no one in the tomb could have imagined that the boy had escaped this way.
[Run.]
But the voice was still speaking as if it couldn't be at ease. Responding to that voice, the boy hid his body outside the tomb, into the darkness where the night had settled heavily.
The Cellabris Royal Castle is majestic. The palace, built of a mixture of sturdy rock and marble, shines brilliantly in the sunlight by day, and creates a mysterious atmosphere under the starlight and moonlight by night.
And, sitting on the throne in the heart of such a magnificent palace, the 34th King of Cellabris, Erdil Cellabris, was in a very foul mood.
If things continued this way, he was on the verge of becoming a half-baked king to whom the royal guardian deity would not respond.
The King of Cellabris communicates with the deity. This was not to say that the King possessed the power or status of a priest.
In fact, priests could not even approach the deity.
There was only one reason the King could approach the deity. It was because of the duty imposed upon them to offer themselves to the National Soul Festival.
The next in line succeeding to the throne had that significance.
But the meaning of that had faded.
"In my generation, Cellabris must walk the path of the conqueror again. But for things to be twisted from the very beginning like this."
The deity that should have answered did not answer Erdil.
No, Erdil felt strongly that the deity hadn't refused to answer, but was absent.
After waiting for a long time while tapping his fingers on the armrest of the chair, the person he had been longing for finally arrived before the King, bowing his head with his hands respectfully clasped.
"I greet Your Majesty."
"You are a little later than I thought. Was there a problem? High Priest Hamses."
At the King's question, the old High Priest with a thick beard bowed and replied.
"Yes. There was a small dispute with the tomb keeper."
"And, what is the result?"
"The Prince's body was not there."
The fingers tapping the armrest fell into a fist. A violent sound was made, but the High Priest, fitting his years, carefully raised his body.
"My brother seems to have wanted to save his nephew at any cost. To think he would even interfere with the final National Soul Festival."
"I have organized a pursuit party."
The High Priest asked in a low voice. Erdil nodded and replied.
"Good. Go and catch the nephew, no, the Prince."
"I shall follow your command."
The High Priest bowed respectfully before the King and exited. To carry out the King's order as quickly as possible.