The King of The Lost Kingdom: The Beginning

Prologue

When you wish the best for your fellowmen and for the whole world, a few will wreck and give it the worst outcome. Those who play the innocent and spread positivity are tampered with by the wicked and ambitious, the good eventually gets stained or suffers. In this world of chaos, those who reject the discord get crushed, this is the testimony of a certain man who only wanted good, yet received the worst.

However, to be baffled by this truth is no longer necessary when whether you succeed in your kind ideals or not, it will only lie upon the bet of the divine celestials. This story is not only the tale of one man, rather it is the accumulation of humanity's rebellion against the heavens itself.

The familiar scent of the everyday breeze still lingers throughout the entire continent. The bird sings the hymn of nature and the sun rises looking to fill the darkness hidden behind every sturdy boulder.

On top of a certain nation's royal palace,  stares are released outside of the grand window, looked up by people as they bow to the sender of such elite stares.

A mighty individual can be seen viewing his kingdom from the window arched with silver rods and elegant carvings. His fashion was not less than all-silk with his fine pipe that was varnished with the most expensive solution. Although his voice was deep and could be mistaken for an old sage, his body was that of in their middle life.

Behind him was his assistant, a typical butler with a busy face and a white stache. His hands were filled, yet he still manages to carry a baton. His head was enveloped by a black opaque veil, one could say it could be a religious tradition. "Your Highness, you have a package of a black envelope addressed directly to you.", said the same man in a black Victorian suit, with a maroon undergarment,  holding an oak cane. An envelope on his right hand, and a scroll on the other.

The receiver, a high-status individual, the king- the main character stood from his bed overseeing the window, pouring heavy stares on the everyday men. Once he sighed and faced the man. He wore his leather sandals as if he was troubled, then asked, "Who is the sender of that cherry vanilla note?"

"From alias Harlequin, addressed to you, alias Il Dottore.", the butler, drenched in confidence, replied the king.

As a king, for him, working under many names was a wise thing to do, especially when his shadow actions may affect how most civilians might view the royalty and the state. In this case, the sender was hiding in an alias too to preserve anonymity. 

Hearing that, he tapped multiple fingers on his marble table consecutively making a nervous noise. Each small piece of marble noise echoed through the floor made out of the same material, despite that, loud noise was not the king's favorite sound, thus, he managed to punch the air with his other hand to cancel all incoming echoes. He contained power that no normal person would possess- either it could be because of a hereditary status or he was of high persona.

He sighed, "That Patradmaff, it's going to be about the treaty again, the whole organization of Mayhem was always against it.", he mocked the ideals of the letter sender, "It will cause my death, my ass- it's a peace treaty!", the king sighed, "I will initiate the treaty and nobody will stop me."

The organization of Mayhem was a hermetic group dedicated to keeping in touch with both the divine and reality- they ought to preserve existence through thorough brotherhood and sisterhood. This organization is not something a normal man would know about, only a selected powerful would be allowed to even hear about their base. Each member has their own aliases to protect anonymity at all costs.

Though the king's room was huge, fitting for royalty- the soft bed framed with gold with tables made from marble and chairs from wool and platinum were close to ancient. The other furniture blended well as they were also made from the same fine materials or similar.