Awakening in The World of Gods

The ornate double doors swung open with a faint creak, and the king stepped into the room, his imposing figure cutting through the dimly lit chamber. Poll, seated casually at the center of the room, raised his glass of milk with a disarmingly relaxed grin. "Welcome, Your Majesty. I've been looking forward to our conversation."

The king paused just inside the doorway,

Poll's words were light, almost playful, but the undercurrent of confidence in his tone was unmistakable. He met the king's sharp gaze head-on, his posture betraying no deference. This wasn't the stance of a subject addressing his monarch—it was the stance of a man who saw himself as an equal. Maybe even more than that.

A flicker of something—amusement? Caution?—glimmered in the king's gaze. He moved toward the seat across from Poll with deliberate steps, his royal attire rustling softly with each movement. "You wear confidence like a crown. Perhaps too well."

Poll smirked, leaning back comfortably as though this were his court and not the king's. "What can I say? It suits me."

The king's lips twitched—a flicker of amusement—but he quickly masked it with his usual guarded demeanor. Lowering himself into the chair, he fixed Poll with a sharp, penetrating gaze. "You're an interesting one, Poll. Always stirring the pot. So tell me—what exactly were you hoping to achieve at the council meeting earlier?"

Poll met the king's gaze, undeterred. He took another sip of his milk, setting the glass down deliberately before responding. "Well, Your Majesty," he began, a small, confident smile on his lips, "Merely to offer a fresh perspective," he said, his smile widening just a touch. "Boldness is often misunderstood, but it's the spice of progress, wouldn't you agree?"

The king leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable. "Boldness," he echoed, his tone flat. "Or arrogance?"

Poll shrugged, unbothered. "Perhaps a bit of both. But isn't that the price of ambition? If you don't take risks, you might as well resign yourself to being invisible. Danger is subjective. Isn't that the very essence of leadership? To navigate risks others fear?"

 His voice carried an undertone of challenge, daring the king to dispute him.

The king's lips twitched, the hint of a smile barely breaking his mask of composure, His rich robes swayed as he leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. "Milk, was it? Bold choice for a meeting with the crown."

Poll chuckled, swirling the glass in his hand as though it were the finest wine. "Milk is simple, Your Majesty. Honest. And unlike wine, it doesn't dull the senses. A perfect drink for someone who needs to stay sharp."

The king raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And do you consider yourself sharp, Poll?"

Poll's smile deepened, his fingers drumming lightly on the table. "Sharp enough to notice when others aren't being honest with themselves."

The king tilted his head, studying Poll with a mix of amusement and caution. "You speak as though you've lived through more than your years should allow. Tell me, boy—what's truly on your mind? I want to know exactly what you're after."

Poll's smile widened, satisfaction flickering in his eyes. Perfect. He's taking the bait.

"Very well, Your Majesty," he said, his tone almost conspiratorial. "Tell me—out of the twelve people in that council room earlier, how many do you actually trust?"

The question hung in the air, cutting through the room's ambiance like a knife.

Should I tell him the truth, Why I feel like he is playing some kind of mind or he is spy, Well, I think is normal, even higher novel hesitate to talk like this in Front of me. So, when a kid talks to you like that...!!. So, this is normal…. be cool…

The king's expression remained composed, but a flicker of unease betrayed him. "Trust? Perhaps two or three, on a good day."

Poll nodded as though he'd expected the answer. "And yet, you entrust them with the kingdom's most critical decisions. Tribal disputes. Tax reforms. Military strategy. Tell me, Your Majesty, do you honestly believe they execute your orders with your best interests at heart?"

The king's expression darkened, though he remained composed. "You're bold to question my court so openly, Poll. But yes, I know many of them… pursue their own agendas. Politics is rarely pure."

The king's expression remained steady, but a flicker of curiosity crossed his eyes. "You're bold to question my court so openly, Poll. But yes, It's the way of things," he replied. "Nobles and cardinals… well, I know many of them… pursue their own agendas. Politics is rarely pure. I trust you understand what I'm getting at, Poll. So, out with it—what's your point?"

Poll took a final sip of his milk, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "When you ask them to handle critical matters—say, tribal affairs, important reports, or direct orders—do they truly follow your wishes without question?"

The king gave a small, almost bitter smile. "You see quite a bit for a boy your age. But yes, you're right—they don't always follow orders exactly. They have… their own interests."

Poll's eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and determination. "But why? You're the king, after all—the highest authority in the kingdom. Why wouldn't they follow you?"

The king's lips pressed into a thin line. "Because power is never absolute, Poll. Being king doesn't mean I can act without consequence. Politics is a web of alliances, favours, and debts. You can't rule without them."

Poll's expression turned thoughtful, though his eyes gleamed with something darker. "Perhaps. But have you ever wondered… if there's another way?

Poll leaned forward, his gaze unwavering as his aura began to intensify, filling the room with a subtle, unspoken power. "You know, Your Majesty, what you really need is someone who can maintain control in the realm of politics."

The king tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "Control, you say. And what exactly do you mean by that?"

The king tilted his head, intrigued but cautious. "What do you mean by control?"

Poll smiled faintly. "They're playing the game of politics, manoeuvring pieces on a board that benefits them first, the kingdom second—or not at all." He reached into his pocket and drew out a single playing card, spinning it between his fingers. "What you need is someone outside that game. Someone who can see the board without being a piece on it."

Poll let the card slip from his fingers, sending it spinning across the table. It landed face-up: the ace of spades. "Tell me, Your Majesty," Poll said, a small smile playing on his lips, "why does the ace hold more authority than the king in a deck of cards?"

The king picked up the card, turning it over in his hand. He studied it for a moment before answering, "The ace represents divinity. It's a symbol of singularity, of concentrated power. In some ways, it's a god among the other cards."

Poll's smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Precisely. But that also means the church, which claims to hold the closest connection to divinity, ends up wielding more authority than the crown itself."

The king's eyes narrowed slightly, a spark of recognition dawning in his gaze. "Of course not," he replied, almost defensively. "They may worship God, but they aren't gods themselves."

Poll's smile grew as he nodded. "Exactly, Your Majesty. in the wrong hands, even the ace can be discarded, replaced, or forgotten. The question is—who's holding the deck?"

The king's gaze lingered on the card, the weight of Poll's words settling over him like a heavy cloak. The boy's logic was razor-sharp, cutting through the layers of courtly pretense with brutal efficiency. And yet, there was something unsettling about the way Poll spoke—as though he wasn't merely offering advice, but issuing a veiled threat.

"You're quite the philosopher," the king remarked, his tone carefully neutral. "But philosophy doesn't govern kingdoms, Poll. Men do. And men are… flawed."

Poll's smile grew faintly darker. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, Your Majesty. Philosophy does govern kingdoms. It's just that most men are too blind to see it. The principles, the ideologies, the beliefs—they're the true rulers. Men are just their vessels."

The king studied the card, then glanced back at Poll. There was something unnerving in the boy's composure—a subtle, unshakable confidence that seemed to stretch far beyond his years. Poll wasn't just clever. He was dangerous. And yet, he couldn't look away.

"You speak boldly," the king said at last. "But boldness is not the same as wisdom. If you're suggesting I trust you over my council, you'll need to prove you're worth the gamble."

Poll chuckled, rising from his seat. "Oh, Your Majesty, I'm not asking for trust. Not yet. Trust is earned, not given. All I ask is… consideration." He moved toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle. "For now, I'll leave you to ponder the ace. I have more milk to fetch, after all."

The king's gaze followed him, "Milk, is it?" he asked dryly. "And here I thought you were drinking courage."

Poll glanced back, his grin wicked. "Who says it isn't both?" he slipping out of the room before the king could respond.

With that, he slipped out of the room, leaving the king alone with his thoughts. The air still felt charged, heavy with the echoes of Poll's words and the lingering traces of his mana. The king turned the ace card over again, his mind racing.

"They may worship God," the king murmured to himself, "but they aren't gods themselves." The line echoed in his mind, each repetition peeling back another layer of meaning.

For the first time in years, the king felt a spark of something he hadn't experienced in far too long: unease. And, buried beneath it, a flicker of excitement.

This boy… what are you really after