The infamous Soulnaught Syndrome.
Sounded like a terrible punk band, but it was actually named after the first king of Soulnaught, His Majesty Urien Soulnaught Pendragon.
This poor chap had the rotten luck of being the first officially doted person to tract this terrible, terrible disease.
You see, this particur ailment made the sufferer into a magical dud. They couldn't gather or produce Mana with their soul, and thus, they were absolutely hopeless at delving into Vision Art. It was like being a fish allergic to water—since souls were supposed to actually like Mana.
But wait, there was more! As if being magically impaired wasn't bad enough, the disease also took a toll on one's life expebsp;
As the years rolled on, the sufferer's soul got nibbled away bit by bit, like a block of cheese at a rat vention. The life energy dwihe body weakened, and before you k, they were pushing up daisies at a ripe young age.
The peculiar thing was, it was usually the offspring of two absurdly powerful parents who ended up with this disease. It was like the universe, upon seeing two such potent forces bined, decided to say, "Nah, let's throanner in the works."
But it wasn't a given. This disease was incredibly rare.
Then there was Urien of Soulnaught, who defied the odds and lived past 70.
How did he do it? Well, he became a Force Art Master, that's how. He mao coexist with his deadly disease, treating it like an unwele roommate who never did the dishes.
He pumped up his body with Forergy, and even though his soul was eroding faster than a sandcastle at high tide, he mao hang on into his twilight years.
His badassery actually kicked off what's known as the Foldeurns out, his power was as tagious as his disease wasn't, inspiring droves to learn Force Art. But as, even this magical beefcake met his end at 75, courtesy of his lifelong nemesis, the Soulnaught Syndrome.
Throughout his life, Urien was a walking, talkiament to suffering.
He once fessed that the pain caused by the gradual erosion of his soul was so excruciating that he sometimes fantasized about shaking hands with the Grim Reaper just to end the torment.
But, like a boxer who refuses to throw iowel, Urieoe to toe with his affli. He hammered away at training his body and delving into the mysteries of Force Art until the very end.
Perhaps he eventually lost the war against the disease, or maybe he just decided he'd had a good life and said his goodbyes.
Urien was a force to be reed with in the Force Art world. The rumor mill suggested that if not for his pesky disease, he could have clocked up several turies on his lifespan, given his profound mastery and uanding of Force Art.
But as, Urien probably figured that spending hundreds of years in stant agony was about as appealing as a vacation in Hell.
And this disease—was the very same that was in Burn's cards.
"I think he’s having a repse.”
Burn was one of the select 'lucky' few to have won this particur lottery. Because, who wouldn't want a disease that makes your soul about as effective as a chocote teapht?
“Soulnaught Syndrome…?”
Tristan turoward one of the Round Table members, Erec, who blurted out the name of the disease, his eyes widened.
Urie up his kingdom with one goal in mind: to ehat the name Soulnaught was associated with a mighty and invincible kingdom, not a horrible disease with no remedy.
But, oh, the irony! The disease made a eback tour in the unlikeliest of individuals—the st, most formidable king, and the first emperor who turned his kingdom into an empire—Caliburn.
It was like a cruel joke - "You wanted Soulnaught to be remembered as a powerful empire? Here, have your most powerful emperor born with the very disease you were trying to distance yourself from!"
"It was quite the story ba the day, wasn't it?" Erec mused, seated between Tristan and Yvolt. "His te Majesty's illegitimate child having the same disease as the first King of Soulnaught—"
"Hang on a tick," Tristan interjected, his brow furrowed like a freshly plowed field. "If it's supposed to be an incurable disease, then how did His Majesty…?"
Percival finally chimed in, "One day, His Majesty arrived home looking like he'd been through a lot. New scars all over him, some still fresh. This was when he was around... 12, right?" He g Gahad for firmation, who responded with a nod.
"After that, His Majesty seemed to have recovered from his symptoms of the disease," Gahad added.
For one long, awkward sed, you could hear a pin drop.
"You mean... he never actually recovered?" Sagramore, perched o Percival, asked with an air of cautious specution.
"At the time, we chalked it up to diviervention. His Majesty had a knack for pulling miracles out of his hat, after all. We gehought he was somehow cured," Percival expined.
"But even then, he never... even before his 'recovery', he never whined about the pain, even when we knew he was in agony," Gahad said.
"And you're telling us that today, this m, he's in more pain than he ever was...?" The st member of the Round Table to open his mouth, and one of the few members who hadn't bee in the hall during the i, Howl, asked.
His query truly hung in the air, like a balloon waiting to be popped.
"You all remember that one random m before the war, don't you?" Gahad leaned ba his seat, a reflective gleam in his eyes. "Out of the blue, he asked for painting supplies."
"To hunt for the empre—Miss Man Le Fay?" Eretured.
"Exactly," Gahad firmed. "It was too spontaneous, too out of the blue for someone like His Majesty."
"You're suggesting... Miss Man had a hand in his dition?" Tristan inquired, a note of uainty in his voice.
Gahad responded with a nod, "Didn't you catch their exge?"
[I'll take your pain away... kiss me.]
[Did you share with me your soul between our kisses...?]
[Of course I did—That's the only way to keep you alive!]
And…
[The locket…]
[Didn't I tell you, you have to wear it always, so I protect your soul, Caliburn?]
[You wouldn't feel as much pain if you wore it…]
[I’m fine now.]
"His Majesty was sc the world for Miss Man to help him with his disease," Gahad said.
Of course. The pieces fell into pce.
