The Guardian gods

Chapter 822

The old king appeared to view his successor as immature in both action and speech. This often resulted in the new king’s voice being overshadowed or outright spoken over by his father during sessions.

This power struggle has now split the court of the Osita kingdom into two distinct factions.

The Loyalists, those who stand firmly with the old king and the way things were and then, The Reformers, those who align themselves with the new king.

Because of this divide, very little is actually being accomplished. Productive debate has been replaced by constant disagreement and shouting matches on both sides, leaving the kingdom’s progress at a standstill.

Recently, this tension blew out of proportion when the old king spoke boldly before the entire court. "It seems I have been quite hasty in handing this throne to you," he declared. "Your mother raised you better than this, and she would be greatly disappointed seeing how you have turned out."

In response to his father’s words, Nwadike let out a roar of pure anger that echoed through the hall "Get out! Get out of my courtroom now!"

The day this argument took place, the very skies over the Osita kingdom darkened. Both kings leaked a bit of the raw power they commanded, a display of force that sent everyone’s hearts jumping to their throats in terror.

As for the common folk of the Osita kingdom, they stayed quiet at the beginning of all this, just as they always do when it comes to the royal family and the nobles. They watched the gathering storm in silence, believing this was a matter they could neither affect nor change.

But as time passed, the people’s silence curdled into anger and resentment toward Osita, the old king. The truth was that the common folk had begun to look forward to Nwadike’s rule, they were eager to see the heights he could reach and the changes he might bring to their lives.

At first, they had feared his reign. They perceived him as weak because they so clearly understood the massive power the old king wielded. This was the sole reason they had held their loyalty to Osita for so long, even though he had never truly proved himself as a king or a leader. To the people, his raw strength was all they needed. It brought them safety and was the reason they could stand proud, but that era had ended.

The shift took place the moment Nwadike took his stand and was crowned the new king of the Osita kingdom. On that day, when the new king stood before the commoners, he spoke to them directly. Through his words and his actions, he showed them the true extent of the power he wielded, finally breaking the spell of the old reign.

It was a power no less than that of the old king, a display that proved he was more than qualified to lead. More importantly, the new king was a son of the people, they had watched him being raised alongside their beloved Queen, and they knew in their hearts he would do right by them.

But now, all of that hope seemed to be slipping away because of the old king and his meddlesome interference in the court. Why now, of all times, did he suddenly want to play the role of a leader? The people began to ask the questions that had been hushed for too long: Where was their Queen? What had truly happened to her? Was the old king involved in her inexplicable disappearance?

These thoughts and this burning anger were things they could never have dared to harbor under the old king’s original reign. But now, with Nwadike on the throne, they felt they could. Their defiance grew even stronger with the knowledge that the kingdom now possessed Paragons of its own, warriors and figures apart from the new king who wielded power similar to that of the old king, shifting the balance of fear forever.

The small kingdoms in alliance with Osita were under immense stress. They were paralyzed by the uncertainty, what were they to do, and to whose side should they turn? Unlike the common folk, they harbored no hidden anger or hatred. For these allies, life had been prosperous under both the old king and the new; they had flourished regardless of who held the scepter.

The tension finally reached a breaking point when the spectacle of the two kings clashing powers manifested in the sky for all to see. It was a terrifying omen that shattered the remaining peace.

A month after that celestial display, conflict erupted among the common folk. A massive parade began to form, marching with singular purpose toward the palace. The people were adamant, they were going to let the old king know that his time had passed, and that the era of a new rule had finally arrived.

The thunderous rhythm of thousands of marching feet began to vibrate through the stone floors of the palace, cutting directly through the heated arguments of the ongoing court session. Inside, the space was already thick with the tension of the two kings, but the sound from outside was the uneven roar of a people pushed to their limit.

One by one, the nobles and officials fell silent, their eyes darting toward the balcony. The old king, Osita, paused mid-sentence, his hand gripping the arm of his chair so tightly the wood groaned.

Nwadike, standing tall at the center of the room, turned his gaze toward the heavy doors. The shouting from the streets had become a rhythmic chant, a singular demand for the Queen and the rightful recognition of the new reign.

When the palace gates and the guards failed to disperse the crowd, the massive doors of the court were thrown open. The commoners pushed in filling the palace ground with the lead mob heading for the throne room.

It was a sight that could only be witnessed within the Osita kingdom, a kingdom where the bond between the throne and the soil was so deep that the people could march boldly past the palace gates and into the heart of the palace itself, confident that no harm would come to them.

As the crowd filled the courtroom, a heavy, respectful hush fell over the assembly. Despite their anger, the commoners did not abandon their customs, they knelt or bowed, paying their formal respects to the royal line.

Once the formalities were carried out, their leaders stepped forward. They presented their formal offer, a polite but firm demand for the old king to retire fully from the court.

"We remember your strength, Osita," an elder spoke, his voice echoing in the hall. "But a shadow cannot lead us into the light of tomorrow. It is time for you to step back and give the new king the chance to lead us fully, without the weight of the past holding his hand."

Osita and his loyalists would not take this public defiance lightly. The former king’s face, once a mask of cold indifference, twisted into a snarl of wounded pride and anger. He rose from his seat, his presence expanding until the shadows in the room seemed to deepen and crawl up the walls.

"You dare?" Osita’s voice dropped to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in the chests of everyone present. "You enter my halls to dictate the terms of my life? You speak of hope as if you didn’t feast on the safety my iron fist provided for centuries!"

Beside him, the loyalist lords, men who had grown rich and powerful under Ostia’s hand free rule bristled with indignation. They stepped forward, their hands resting on the hilts of their ceremonial swords, their eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and fury. To them, this wasn’t a peaceful request, it was a peasant’s revolt that threatened the very foundations of their status.

"This is treason!" one of the elder counselors barked, his finger trembling as he pointed at the crowd. "To demand the retirement of a king who has birthed this kingdom and brought it, to it current height is an insult to the crown itself! Guards, why do you stand idle? Clear these halls!"

The loyalists began to close ranks around the old king, forming a wall of silk and steel. They whispered hurried, poisonous advice into Osita’s ear, urging him to reassert his dominance and punish this insolence before it spread to the neighboring territories.

The loyalists were prepared to turn the palace floors red to maintain the status quo, and for a heartbeat, it seemed as though the "safety" Osita had once provided was about to turn into the very thing that would destroy his people.

Before the loyalists could draw their steel or the guards could move, Nwadike stepped into the center of the fray, his physical presence cutting through the oppressive weight of his father’s power.

"Enough!" Nwadike’s voice rang out, a command so sharp it seemed to sent a shock to the spine of everyone around.