The white marble walls of the Great Tower had a peculiar sense of emptiness to them. He sat upon his golden throne, examining the walls. He felt their emptiness more than anyone could. He, the spawn of a demoness and the village himbo, the Great Beelzebob (Bob, for short), the fiercest of all warriors, the conqueror of mankind, sat upon his golden throne feeling empty. Throughout the Great Five Lands his name rung as beckoning of terror and defeat. All those living dared not to speak his name. He was borne to conquer and such he did. Although, he sat now, reflecting, pondering a thought, a quiet little nugget of a thought. It became louder, and louder still. In his heart the question had arisen:
“Now what?”
Now what? He had lived for many years with one desire, he was meant to fulfil one purpose – to conquer all. And that he did. And that had left him underwhelmed. Indeed, his name struck terror into the hearts of many, his name they dared not speak. He was, as anyone would know, the fiercest of all warriors, but none of that seemed to matter in the moment. His empire, victories, the glory did not feel now so glorious, victorious, emporious. If anything, it all felt mostly boring. Not bothering to stand up from his golden throne, he called on his advisors. Seven men of all manners of looks and complexions quickly came into the room.
“You called us, Master!”
“That I did. Say, my trustworthy advisors, have we any new lands to conquer?”
“No, Master”, said the advisors in unison, “as you should no doubt well know, it is through your leadership and warriorship that we have conquered all of the Great Five Lands, through which your image now rings terror, your name they dare not speak...”
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“All that I surely know, my wonderful advisors”, spoke Bob, “but are you sure? Is there not a village, perhaps, somewhere on the outskirts of a distant realm, that would love to give a rebellion a try, but no one seems to be willing to give them such a chance?”
“My Master”, spoke Coin McGrub, a man of large ambitions and proportions, a native of the Great Land of Merchants, “as you will doubtless know, my fellow tradesmen travel many roads, collecting not just payment for their goods, but rumours, hearsay, talk. And all of them, without exception, tell me that there is no more land or people that would stand up to You, My Master!”
Bob frowned. It dawned. It dawned on him as well, that that would be his life from that point on. He looked at his advisors, no doubt all trustworthy, who wouldn’t hide a rebellious village from him if there was one, he was sure of that. How shall he proceed forth? Will he never, not ever, not even once again experience the thrill he was once so used to? How shall he henceforth satisfy the urge that has gnawed at his soul since the day he was borne?
“My Master, if I may…”, started Tight Knottingham from the Land of Seafarers. Other advisors looked at him surprised. “I know that this is not what his Lordship would usually be interested in, but if I may, I’d like to offer a suggestion. Seven days from now, in the Great Land of Seafaria there will take place a tournament of sorts.”
“I hope with swords?”
“Of course. But not just. There will be many warriors wielding many weapons. Dare I suggest My Master to participate? I heard they battle to the death?”
“To the death, you say? Fine, I shall make an appearance then! Can we make it there in time?”
“If we set out now, My Lord, then surely yes, we can.”
And such, white marble walls of the grand tower were left alone to bask in their own emptiness as the sounds of the hooves and banter of the assembled party became more and more distant.
