Ketal followed the man down the hallway. There were no attendants or servants in sight. The ornate corridor stretched in silence. Before long, they arrived at their destination—a massive door gilded in gold.

“His Majesty may not mind, but it’s better to show at least a minimum level of respect. For your own life, if nothing else,” the man advised.

“I’ll do my best,” Ketal replied with a shrug.

“The man knocked on the door. “I have brought him, Your Majesty.”

“Let him in.”

A voice resonated from within. The door creaked open, and the man stepped inside. Ketal followed him.

The sound of the barbarian’s footsteps echoed in the grand audience chamber. Seated upon an elevated throne was a man—a middle-aged figure with a thick, majestic beard. He wore the most lavish attire Ketal had ever seen and a crown that symbolized his authority.

That’s the king of this kingdom, Ketal thought. A real king stood before him.

Kings existed in modern times on Earth. England had one, and so did Japan, though one could argue their roles were more symbolic than literal. Modern kings were often no more than figureheads—respected, but hardly rulers in the truest sense.

However, this world was medieval fantasy. The man before him was a true king in every sense of the word. He wielded absolute power, ruling over every inch of the Denian Kingdom.

He was the master of the nation. Not just that, he was a mythical figure, bestowed by the gods with the authority to distinguish between humans and non-humans.

And now, Ketal stood face to face with him.

Though he didn’t feel an overwhelming pressure or immense power, he found himself relishing the situation. Ketal was holding himself...