MIGHTY rulers aren't born in silk beds - they're forged in battle and wisdom. Twenty years ago, I claimed this throne with a bloodied sword in one hand and a scroll of laws in the other. They called me the Just Blade, for every life I took came with a reason, every battle fought had purpose. My enemies whisper that I've grown soft, but they forget how I unified warring tribes not just through conquest, but through fair treaties. In the great drought, I opened the royal granaries to feed every child, noble or common. When the plague struck, my castle became a sanctuary for all. The same hand that swung the executioner's axe also wrote laws protecting the poorest farmers. The warrior who led charges into battle also sat through nights mediating disputes between merchants and lords. Now they plot against me, thinking wisdom equals weakness. But they forget - my mercy was always a choice, not a limitation. Every guard in this castle has seen me train at dawn, every adviser knows my mind remains sharp as steel. I united this realm through perfect balance - knowing when to strike and when to extend an open hand. The crown I wear was earned through blood and justice, through strength and compassion. Tomorrow, they'll remember why the people call me both protector and punisher. For those who mistake my fairness for frailty will learn that justice cuts deeper than any blade. A king who rules by fear alone is no true king at all. But a king who knows when to be feared - that's who I am, and that's who I'll remain.