King Aldric paced his chambers, the weight of his crumbling kingdom pressing against his chest. His advisors had failed him. The nobles had turned on each other. The people—his people—were suffering, and he had no answers.
What should I do?
A deep sigh escaped him as he turned toward the window, staring out at the dimly lit city below. Then—he felt it.
A presence.
Before he could react, a voice cut through the silence.
"If you want to save your kingdom, we should talk."
Aldric spun around, his hand reaching for the dagger at his waist. But the moment his eyes met the figure before him, he froze.
A man in a dark cloak stood just beyond the candlelight. His face was hidden behind an intricate mask, and despite the relaxed posture, there was something unsettling in the way he carried himself—calm, assured, in complete control.
"Who are you?" Aldric demanded.
"Someone who has what you need."
The masked man took a step forward, unfazed by the king's hostility.
"A cure, Your Majesty."
Aldric's breath caught.
The disease had spread unchecked for weeks. Every attempt to contain it had failed. The royal physicians were helpless. And yet, here stood a man claiming to have the one thing that could stop it.
"You lie," Aldric said, though doubt laced his voice.
The masked man only chuckled. "Do I?"
Aldric narrowed his eyes. Something about this was too convenient.
A cure—appearing just as the kingdom was nearing collapse? A stranger waltzing into his chambers, already aware of the situation?
His grip on the dagger tightened. "Why should I believe you? Unless..." His voice dropped. "Unless you are the one behind this plague."
The words hung heavy in the air.
If the masked man was startled, he didn't show it. Instead, he tilted his head, amused. "If I were, would I not have asked for more?"
Aldric hesitated.
"Think, Your Majesty. If I wanted your kingdom to fall, I would let it rot. If I desired power, I would demand your throne. But instead, I offer a cure—for a price. That does not sound like a man who unleashed this chaos."
Aldric studied him carefully. The reasoning was sound, yet unease lingered.
"Then what do you want?"
The masked man took a step closer, his voice lowering to a whisper.
"One treasure from your vaults. And 30 thousand gold coins."
A sharp demand. And yet—what choice did he have?
He hesitated.
And the masked man saw it.
"Your Majesty," he said smoothly, "think carefully. What is worth more to you? A few gold coins? Or your kingdom?"
The words struck deep.
Aldric looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. But the confidence in his stance, the certainty in his voice—it was as if this man already knew the outcome.
And perhaps, he did.
Slowly, the king nodded. "We will sign a contract."
The masked man smiled beneath his mask. "Of course. After all, we must ensure both parties honor the deal."
A contract was drafted, sealing their agreement.
Kale would deliver the cure.
And when the kingdom was saved—he would collect his reward.