The Forsaken King-Chapter 38: Trust Me

The dust slowly cleared.

At the center of the arena, Sylas and King Kael lay motionless—two broken bodies, half-buried in a crater that was created by their fall.

Kael was out cold, but Sylas was conscious. He slowly opened his eyes. His vision was blurry. He looked up at the sky, staring at nothing.

He tried to move, but nothing responded. His legs were dead weight. His body was numb.

He wasn’t built to survive a fall like that. Not without his Domain active. The moment it expired, all of the buffs he received vanished.

He gritted his teeth as pain surged through him like a wave.

He let out a small laugh. "Unlucky," the word barely came out above a whisper.

"Kael... can you hear me?" Her voice was loud, cracked, and full of worry.

He turned his head and saw three figures running toward them. It was blurry—but he knew who it was.

It was Ana, Lucian, and the queen.

Queen Lisa’s voice rang out, sharp with panic.

"Kael!"

She dropped to her knees beside the king without hesitation. Her hands trembled as she pressed them over his chest, and green light bloomed beneath her palm. She was healing him, pouring everything she had into the spell. She cried out his name—"Kael, Kael." She sounded desperate. Most importantly, afraid.

Sylas watched from the ground, barely able to move.

"I’m here too," he tried to say.

But the only thing that escaped his lips was a broken groan.

"Ana, heal him!" Queen Lisa shouted. Her voice snapped—sharp.

Ana flinched at first. She stood there frozen. Her eyes widened, lips trembling—like she didn’t know what to do. What started as a spar match had turned into a death match.

Then she dropped to her knees beside him. Her palms began to glow with a soft green light. She placed them on his chest.

At first, he was able to feel his body. The numbness he felt before slowly disappeared.

But then—pain.

His vision came back. His bones snapped back into place. And with each one, pain exploded through him.

He screamed. It was loud. Raw.

He shot up without knowing—it was like a reflex, like his body moved on its own.

Pain ripped through him.

A choked scream burst from his throat. He clutched his chest.

Sylas gasped for air.

His entire body trembled.

Lucian rushed forward, catching him before he could fall. He held him down tightly.

All the damage he’d taken—it was hitting him now. All of it. At once.

The pain slowly faded... but he felt drained. Every breath came out heavy. Every muscle, sore.

He turned his head toward King Kael.

He was still out cold. But breathing.

Sylas let out a shaky breath. "He’s alive," he whispered.

He sat up—slow and stiff. Ana moved behind him, healing him from the back.

Then—

A sound of a horn echoed in the air. It was loud. Sudden.

It tore through the arena.

People panicked.

The crowd that had been watching seconds ago scattered. Chaos broke out in the arena. Queen Lisa shouted to them that it was okay, but no one listened. Her voice was drowned in the panic.

They pushed and shoved, rushing toward the exits.

Sylas tried to speak—but someone beat him to it.

A man came sprinting toward them, pale and wide-eyed. "We’re being attacked!" he shouted. He became breathless—like he’d run a marathon.

His voice cracked with fear.

The words barely escaped his lips.

Queen Lisa called out to King Kael—but there was no response.

He didn’t move.

Seeing no other option, Sylas slowly pushed himself up to his feet—knee first. His legs shook. His body screamed at him. He wasn’t fully healed yet. Not even close.

But he knew—he was the only one who could move right now.

He leaned on Lucian for support. His breath came out ragged. His vision still hazy—but enough to see.

Then he ran.

Out of the arena. Straight to the stables.

Lucian and Ana followed, close behind.

Sylas didn’t hesitate. He picked one of the horses—big, black, fast. He mounted it with one smooth motion. Outside, Ana and Lucian caught up.

"Lucian," Sylas said, voice low, "get the people to safety. Find somewhere secure."

He turned to Ana. "You’re coming with me."

She didn’t answer right away.

He reached out his hand.

She took it.

With a single pull, he hoisted her up behind him.

"Start healing me," he muttered. "As much as you can—before we get there."

Ana placed her hands against his back. Soft. Her hands glowed with green light. Her healing magic pulsed into him, flowing through his veins like warm light.

She didn’t say anything. It was warm. Peaceful.

While riding, he could feel she was worried. Her hands shook slightly against his back.

Possibly even scared. She was worried for the people. For what might come next.

They rode faster.

Down the stone paths. Families ran toward the upper layers.

Screams echoed from the lower streets.

"If Father doesn’t wake up..." Ana’s voice cracked. "I don’t think we can save them."

Sylas let out a short breath—half laugh, half pain.

"Don’t worry," he said. "As long as I’m here... nothing will happen."

The words came slow—like every word left him breathless.

"Keep healing me," his voice came out dry. Weak. "Boost me... as much as you can."

Another breath. Shaky.

"I need... a few more minutes before I can use my skill again."

Ana said nothing.

But her hands pressed harder against his back.

Magic surged. Faster now. Brighter.

It surged through him—warm and alive, flowing through his veins.

He turned to her. "I know I lied about everything," he paused, catching his breath, "but I need you to trust me just this once."

She nodded silently.

They reached the main entrance. Sylas swung off the horse in one swift motion. His breathing was stable.

"Ana... stay behind and support," he muttered. His voice low. He didn’t look back.

He opened the gate and walked forward. Then, without a word, he drove Excalibur into the ground.

His hands rested on the hilt.

His back was straight.

His presence filled the silence.

He waited—for the enemy to come.