Babylaind was confusing, to say the least.
Roads stretched into other roads, and buildings linked to other buildings. It was messy yet orderly, chaotic yet well planned.
The whole city seemed to contradict itself. There were skyscrapers in one area, and workshops in the next. Yet, everything seemed to come together so seamlessly and effortlessly to bring about more convenience for the residents there.
The transportation system was nothing short of amazing as well. They had beautifully paved roads for carriages powered by coal, which went into tunnel after tunnel. These tunnels allowed the carriages to pass through mountains and rivers.
The genius architect of the city had propelled it from a rural town to a town with the highest form of technology in a mere 40 years.
Trying to find the group of travellers was a nearly impossible task.
“50 boat repairmen…only 20 available…guess I have to track them down one by one.”
Looking at the billboard, King 67 sighed.
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The group of travellers were in neither of the workshops.
Where could they be…could it be that they were never here in the first place?
The sun was setting, and King 67 reluctantly decided to retire for the day. Without any money, King 67 could only eat the rations he had gotten from the boat and sat down in the corner of the street.
“You’re a new one?”
An old beggar crawled up to him and asked. He had a long, smelly beard, and eyes small as beads. His clothes looked like rags, and he had a large conspicuous smile plastered on his face.
“What happened? Wife left you with your child? Business failed? Invested in the wrong stocks?”
The old man seemed very interested in King 67.
“I’m not a beggar. I’m just staying here…for the night.”
“I see. Well, remember to get food from the architect tomorrow morning!” The old man cast him a knowing glance.
Food, huh? That would be good.
And King 67 slept on the hard, wet ground, with only his light blue coat as a cushion.
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A new day had arrived. King 67 was awoken by the noisy footsteps of the various beggars. Their crazed eyes yearned for food, and food they shall get, as they clambered towards the castle.
“Wake up young man! Or else the food will run out! Not that that has ever happened.” The old man shook King 67.
King 67, who was accustomed to waking up quickly, got ready in less than a minute, and walked towards the castle.
The castle was pure white, its walls glistening with gold. It had a unique round structure, and had guards stationed in every corner of the castle. In the middle of the yard, there stood a robed man, giving out food to the beggars. Surprisingly, the previously chaotic crowd of beggars had formed a neat queue of a hundred or so people.
The queue moved with great efficiency, and before he knew it, King 67 was already halfway to the front of the line.
And there he saw her.
Selene, sitting on the ground eyeing the beggars, her long brown hair dancing with the wind.
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A slash, and King 67 ducked.
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“Give me my money back.”
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Aiming for Edward’s legs, King 67 charged forward.
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“Oh, what is this? You’re here again?” Edward greeted with an amiable smile.
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Edward simply kicked King 67’s dagger away, and with a flip of his hand, swung his sword down on King 67.
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“Then why not settle this with an honourable duel? If you win, I’ll give you your money back.”
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Rolling out of harm’s way, King 67 took up his dagger, which had lodged itself in the ground.
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“If you lose, there is no penalty. Deal?”
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Giving King 67 no chance to attack, Edward charged forward with his sword.
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“If you do not accept this duel, you simply will not get your money back. You cannot attack me anyway, if you do, the guards will see this as a fight without honour, and will stop it immediately. They do not tolerate any violence that isn’t a duel.”
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King 67 barely managed to dodge the long blow, and aimed for Edward’s stomach.
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“Choose your weapon. I recommend a short sword.” Edward pointed towards the rack of weapons.
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Edward dodged the blow and swung his sword down once again on King 67.
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“A dagger? A short sword would be better, but I shall respect your decision. I shall use my own sword, since swords are of course, only meant for those of noble blood.”
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Doing a quick spin, King 67 just barely changed the sword’s trajectory with his dagger in time.
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“Shall we start?”
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However, King 67 also lost his grip on his dagger.
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“Absolutely, you fake prince,” King 67 said calmly.
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Edward used this prime opportunity to pin King 67 down with his foot and pointed his sword's tip down King 67’s throat.
“What did you mean when you called me a fake prince?” Edward asked, his voice menacing.
“Your language. It’s all wrong. You try to imitate a prince’s way of speaking. That is not how royalty speaks.” King 67 replied, unfazed.
“And you claim to know how royalty speak?”
Conradin and Selene watched the fight with bated breath.
“Yes.”
Edward scrunched up his face and retracted his sword. “I cannot allow such dishonour. I will defeat you with my full force.”
“Glitch: Sword of God.”
…
No way. This is bad. This is unimaginably bad. This is crazily bad. This is absurdly bad. This is unreasonably bad. This is astronomically bad. This is unbelievably bad. This is incomprehensibly bad. This is catastrophically bad. This is mind-bogglingly bad. This is ridiculously bad. This is horrendously bad. This is outrageously bad. This is unfathomably bad.
As though reacting to the glitch, King 67 stood up with his dagger.
Edward swung a perfect blow.
King 67, who was overcome with instinct, overcome with the feeling in his gut, overcome with everything he had, everything he knew, he swung his dagger.
And blood flew.
King 67 tumbled to the ground, a sword cut on his nose. Conradin stood in front of Edward with a cracked short sword.
“Why did you interfere?” Edward asked.
“You would have died.” Conradin replied, out of breath.
“In any case,” the edges of Edward’s lips curled upwards.
“I desire this man."
