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In the time when Kings were actually wanted, there was a young man who, like his father, was slated to be King. The King-to-be was a normal pampered royal kid. One afternoon, the King called his son to his chambers.

"Son," the old King wheezed, "it is your time to become ruler of this fine land."

"But father," the son cried, "I hate politics! I can't sit still during business meetings, how am I to preside over every court case and formal celebration?"

"Haven't your tutors been teaching you how to be a pompous King?" The King asked.

"No father, I banished them when I was six years old."

"But why, my son?" The old King's breathing became heavy.

"Because, father, I hate ruling people's lives! I don't have the right to boss everyone else around! I am not God, and nor do I have his power!", The son shouted. He stormed out of his father's bedroom, fuming with anger. He strode down to the stables and saddled his favorite-colored horse. Grabbing several weeks worth of food and water, some hunting weapons, and a portable color T.V. (a rare commodity in those days), he rode off into the sunset; forever forsaking his royalty.

The old King passed away mere days later, without having named a new heir. Because of this, the Royal Princess claimed the crown and the throne for her own. The Kingdom lived neutrally ever after. The son spent the rest of his life wandering the country ousting tyrannical rulers and helping sick people. Thus is the tale of he who would not be king, but instead a mercenary and paramedic.