adporn.net
Free Sex Stories & Erotic Stories @ XNXX.COM

sexstories.com

Font size : - +

Introduction:

The tournament continues.
The Second Round

“I hope you can appreciate the significance of this act,” said Berholm, leading Noah through the palace corridors while carrying a stool. It was the evening after the first round of tournament fights, and a deal had to be honored.

“Yes, I appreciate and understand. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Between your crimes against this country and Valon’s thievery, you’re lucky to even be allowed in the palace.”

“Yes, yes, you keep reminding me. Do you expect me to change my mind about this? To suddenly decide I’m not worthy of such a high honor? You’re a man of your word, so stop acting like you’re considering betraying me, unless, of course, you want me to never trust you.”

Berholm grunted in response. “We’re here.”

They entered a corridor flanked by guards, all standing at the ready. At the end of the passage was a large metal door like the entrance to a bank vault. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of a different material from the brick and stone corridors of the castle. It was seamless and solid, resembling obsidian glass, and it strangely reflected sound and energy.

“Sir Berholm, who is this?” one guard asked.

“A fellow knight, here to examine the relics, under my supervision, of course.”

“This is highly unorthodox.”

“I understand, but he has received permission. Now, all of you, leave us.”

The guards departed, and Berholm faced the door. An incomplete line of runes ran down the middle, with several dials on either side like safe tumblers, etched with more runes rather than numbers.

“Turn away, if you would,” said Berholm. Noah obliged, or his clone did. Noah didn’t want to miss the process.

Getting up on the stool, Berholm began turning the dials, each adding a rune to the sequence. It was similar to a math problem, full of variables that had to be solved. Finally, the runes lit up, and several gears and mechanics could be heard activating inside, opening the door.

“We’re standing in Enochian ruins, I presume?”

“Yes, the castle was built atop it. Little remains of the original structure, but whatever great cataclysm happened here before, how fitting that a vault would survive and be left behind? Now, let’s be quick about this.”

The vault was split into two halves, one side lined with shelves and display cases holding numerous artifacts. The relics included gem-encrusted weapons and magic tools, vases and art pieces, numerous scrolls and books, and various other trinkets made with bizarre materials and enchanted with spells. The other side of the vault hosted a stack of gold bars, a few chests full of coins, and various gems and metals. Valon was responsible for several missing relics, but it was the tumultuous events of the past few years that resulted in this modest treasury.

“These are some of the oldest and most sacred items in the country, far too valuable to be put on display in the palace. Unfortunately, Valon left with the most important pieces.”

“He did the same thing in Sylphtoria, but I created replacement pieces to rectify the theft. If you supply me with materials, I will fill these open spaces with treasures of similar value.”

“I’ll consider it. For now, just do what you came here to do.”

Berholm was short on patience, so Noah wasted no time and went to work. He picked the most interesting relic and pulled out a deck of spell cards, laying them out as if playing a game.

“Chemical Analysis.”

It was the same technique he used when he studied the Pack’s technology in Welindar. A magical circle appeared, displaying a list of the elements and compounds written in runic form. Noah took out a notebook and scribbled down the key points. Just like the Pack tech, what drew his attention were the exotic materials that existed beyond the field of chemistry. All matter conducted mana in some form or fashion, but two samples of the same material could have drastically different levels depending on their origins. A wand made from an Utheric tree would pale in comparison to a wand from a Sylphtorian tree. Magical radiation or residue, whatever it could be called, clung to materials and determined how powerful they were.

He also studied the runic formulations and their syntax. Runes were the same in every country, but different cultures discovered different ways of making them interconnect. The whole time Noah worked, Berholm never looked away, not for a moment, but watching Noah fulfill his task eventually dulled the daggers shooting from his eyes. That said, any time Noah made a sudden or unpredicted move, he’d tense up, ready to jump into battle, such as when Noah paused his work to examine a small chandelier. It was adorned with various jewels of different types and colors.

“This piece here, would you consider selling it to me?”

“What are you talking about? This is the royal vault, not a shop.”

“Name any price, and I’ll pay it.”

“Why that piece?”

“See these darkish gems here? They’re meruleum, specifically tralt jewels.”

Meruleum gems were a unique form of matter that was both crystalline and metallic, and, depending on their type, were often involved in creating magic tools. It could bend and refract light, but flex like steel to absorb impacts without cracking and conduct energy. Avenium fit in this category, same as enhancement gems, and just like them, these tralt jewels were an exceptionally powerful material for magic. Looking around, Noah saw many pieces encrusted with meruleum gems.

“When I was in Welindar, I searched high and low for gems like this. They’re exactly what I need to make ideal weapons for fighting the Profane. I’ll pay you three times its weight in diamonds.”

“It’s not up to me to sell it. Besides, how do I know you aren’t just telling me what I want to hear?”

“You want to take that risk? When the Profane make their move, and people start dying, people who could have been saved, are you going to say, “At least that dusty chandelier that never sees the light of day is still safe in the vault”? Look, just let me turn them into something useful, and once the Profane are gone, I’ll have no need for them, and you can have them back with even more provenance than before. They’ll go right back to sitting here in the dark, forgotten by everyone, but now with the added fame of being used to defeat the greatest threat to the world. For that matter, I’ll also buy any powerful materials you have in the treasury at well above market price.”

Berholm growled. “I’ll pass on your request to His Majesty. For now, stick to what you originally came here for.”

Noah resumed his work, examining the other artifacts. There were other pieces he wished to buy, but that would have to wait. “While I have you here, there is something I want to discuss. Have you heard of someone called ‘the Liege’ by any chance?”

“Of course. Lupin was sending updates back to the kingdom on his progress in Welindar, and warned us of someone working with the Profane.”

“Not just working with them. Both the beastman insurgents in Welindar and their Profane backers were being funded and supplied by the Liege, and it was he who desired a fiend army that would destroy this country. Whoever he is, he’s clever, rich, and powerful, and he’s subverting this country from under your nose.”

“Yes, I’ve been trying to track him down. I’ve found faint traces of his actions here and there, but whoever he is, he’s used many middlemen as degrees of separation to keep me from following the trail. The list of suspects is surprisingly long. I’ve been speaking with numerous guests coming to watch the tournament, all of them various nobles and businessmen capable of acting as the Liege.”

“Well, let me know if you have an update or need help with your investigation. I suppose now would be a good time to ask: What are your thoughts on Galvin? Has he really changed?”

“It seems he has. He’s not the impetuous young man he was at the academy.”

“Impetuous is too kind a word for what he was.”

“Why does this concern you?”

“Because whoever the Liege is, there is the strong possibility that destroying Colbrand wasn’t his actual goal.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, a massive army marches on Colbrand right after the king dies, and here comes Galvin, conveniently wielding the power to control a weapon that’s been out of commission for centuries. It’s too perfect. You need to consider the likelihood that Galvin taking the throne was part of the Liege’s plan.”

“You think Galvin was behind the attack?”

“The Liege has been aiding the beastmen and Profane for years. More likely, Galvin’s simply a pawn, with the Liege soaking in whatever benefits he gets from Galvin being in charge. At best, Galvin is ignorant of how he’s being used. At worst, he’s collaborating with the Liege, and there is a lot more blood on his hands than you’re aware of.”

“This is a troubling theory, very troubling.”

“Either the Liege is trying to destroy this country, or he’s willing to jeopardize it for his own gain. Both are concerning possibilities. Anyway, I’ve gotten enough information from these relics for now, but I’d like to return tomorrow.”

“Very well. Keep up the good work in the arena, and I’ll bring you back.” Thus, Noah collected his things and left with Berholm, and the heavy vault door closed behind them. He met up with Shannon in the main entryway of the palace, waiting to bring him back home.

“‘Till tomorrow then,” Noah said, bidding Berholm farewell.

Shannon assumed her centaur form, and Noah climbed onto her back. They began the return journey to Valia’s home down the dark city streets. The roads were empty, everyone having gone home, and unlike previous years, the sounds of evening battle were nonexistent. Every potential reveler had fought in the tournament and satiated their bloodlust for the day. Still, the citizens knew to clear the streets at night, so close to Knight’s Day.

“So, did they have anything good?” Shannon asked.

“A few pieces caught my eye at first glance, but I won’t know for sure until I examine them further. It would be great if I could make more anti-Profane weapons.”

Shannon giggled. “I remember, after Lupin beat Kaisen, that month you spent trying to make a bomb that would only hurt fiends. I kept hearing explosions from your room, and I’d see you with your face covered in soot and your hair a mess.”

“Yeah, I have a long and bad history of tinkering with bombs. Honestly, the reason I don’t use them very often in this world is because of all my bad memories of losing eyebrows and fingers in blasts gone wrong. In a few past lifetimes, if you were to try and shake my hand, it would be like holding a flipper.”

Shannon’s resulting laughter was cut short as Noah suddenly lurched forward, caused by an arrow striking him in the back. Fortunately, his wyvern coat and the titanium plating underneath stopped it from inflicting any real harm and protected him from his arrow curse. It seemed that the next bounty hunter in line had stepped up to the gallows.

“My Lord!” Shannon exclaimed, realizing he had been hit. She ducked into a nearby alley to check on him.

“Not to worry. At worst, I’ll have a bruise the next morning. But for someone to land a hit like that without me sensing them, they must either be excellent at stealth or shooting from a distance.” Noah slid off Shannon’s back. “I’m going to deal with this. You head back home, and I’ll be there shortly.”

“Shouldn’t I stay with you?”

“I’ll be fine. If anything, I’m too safe with you. I’d rather nip this in the bud, and they’re less likely to come close if you’re here. Besides, I’d hate for my sweet mare to get hurt.”

Shannon smiled and kissed him. “Good luck,” she said before leaving his side.

Noah sent his clone back out into the street. “All right, let’s get this over with,” he hollered through the illusion. It drew its phantasmal sword and swung it around, trying to bait his enemy. This time, Noah heard them coming, three arrows whistling through the air. They passed right through his clone, but in the dark of night, it would look like they’d simply failed to wound him. “You missed! Do better.”

More arrows started raining down in rapid succession. Then the angles started changing, partially due to the assailant changing their location, but the mana glowing along the shafts told Noah that magic was altering their trajectories. Still, he kept up the façade with his clone, making it seem like he was deflecting the arrows with his sword or side-stepping around them. Finally, he saw the archer approach from the end of the street.

“You’re certainly making me work for my money,” the hooded man said as he nocked another arrow.

“So, assassin, reveler, or bounty hunter?” Noah asked through his clone.

The man raised his bow, looking down the shaft of the arrow. “Is there any difference?” He released the arrow, sending it flying right through the clone. “That’s impossible,” he hissed.

“The difference is that if you’re an assassin, I might be convinced to spare your life in exchange for information on who hired you.” As Noah spoke through his clone, he, while invisible, pulled out his bow and shot the man with an arrow. It struck him in the stomach, bringing him to his knees. “But if you’re simply going after the Fain Morgan bounty, or just a reveler quenching his bloodlust, then there is nothing interesting you can tell me. Is there anything interesting you can tell me?”

The wounded man, realizing he had lost, raised his hands. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you want!”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Noah shot him in the center of the chest, ending his life. He searched the body for anything of value or interest and then resumed his journey home. Either a knight or soldier would come across the body and remove it, or the stray dogs would get a free meal.

The next day brought the second of eight rounds of fights, and the spectators were hungry for violence. Half of the initial combatants had been culled down to 128, and with each round, the difference between the weak and the strong would be redefined.

Noah had been given another list of church agents, and just like before, it was up to him and his illusory sniper rifle to take them down. From his perch, he watched his target enter the ring, a man named Bower wearing a chainmail shirt but no weapons. His opponent, Ilm, wielded an axe already wrapped in mana, and upon the beginning of the match, he charged towards Bower with a roar of fury. He swung his axe with lethal strength, but Bower launched himself to the side, propelled through the air with explosions igniting against his palms. Ilm chased after him, unperturbed by the weight of his weapon and swinging wildly. Regardless, Bower kept his distance with one jet burst after another, using his hands like rocket thrusters.

Bower hadn’t used this power in his earlier fight. If anything, he narrowly survived by the skin of his teeth, pulling off a win with pure dumb luck. At least, that’s what the audience was supposed to think. He made himself look weak earlier so that everyone would bet against him in this match, meaning a bigger payout for the church. At least that was the plan, but it was Noah’s job to turn the tables. Unfortunately, much like Ilm, Noah was struggling to get a lock on Bower.

Picking off moving targets was part of a sniper’s job, but Bower’s agility was something else. With each burst of fire from his hands, he could launch himself in any direction he wanted, even bouncing high over Ilm’s head. It was impressive, not just the speed and distance he could cross, but his resilience to inertia. As a former pilot, Noah knew that starting, stopping, and changing direction so quickly exacted a heavy toll on the body. With momentum like that, every G force experienced was like slamming into a brick wall.

With all of Bower’s rapid and random movements, trying to shoot him was like hitting a zipping house fly with a rubber band, and Noah was running out of time. After dodging so many attacks, Bower went on the offensive, turning his flames on Ilm. He’d avoid an axe swing by using one hand to launch himself out of the way, then use his other hand to blast Ilm point-blank. Ilm was well armored, and the flames splashed off his plate steel, but any areas not protected were being singed, and Bower was steadily pushing him back. If Ilm took a direct hit to the face, he’d be lucky to survive, let alone keep fighting.

Noah kept his eye glued to his scope, waiting for just the right moment. Ilm’s chances of victory were fading, but Noah got an idea. When Ilm made a desperate charge, Noah fired, not at Bower, but Ilm. He struck the warrior in the forearm, and while no wound was inflicted, Ilm’s body still reacted, and he ended up releasing his axe and throwing it. Bower narrowly dodged the flying weapon, shocked by the unexpected blunder, and in that moment of broken rhythm, Noah shot him in the center of the chest. Just like his allies, getting hit left him stunned, and in that moment, Ilm tackled him.

The two hit the ground, grappling and rolling, with Bower trying to hit Ilm with a fire blast. Noah continued his shots, each mana bullet shredding Bower’s focus and leaving him helpless. Ilm, unaware of his guardian angel, managed to get on top of Bower and start raining punches. He didn’t stop until Bower gave in, and the referee raised his arm.

“Ilm is the winner!”

The crowds cheered in excitement and satisfaction, while Noah dismissed his illusion and sighed. Even without fighting, this tournament was a challenge. However, the next target was not his to deal with. After a few more fights, Roc got his next chance in the spotlight, and he was up against an agent of the church, with Noah deciding to trust him with it. Unfortunately, the fight before his had been another beastman getting soundly beaten by a knight with flame magic, so the crowds were feeling smug and nasty. He entered the arena, once more receiving boos for his beastman traits. Their taunts fell on deaf ears, and he stood proud as his opponent, a robed mage named Beck, appeared.

“Begin!” the referee announced.

Roc charged towards his foe, and Beck raised his arms. “Lightning Spear!” Two javelins of focused electricity appeared in his hands to defend with, and Roc, who was about to deliver a kick, pulled back. It was a wise decision, as touching those spears would mean a severe burn, electrocution, or both. “Ha! You’re smart for a mangey heretic!” Beck jeered.

“I’m strong, too,” Roc countered as mana surged around his legs.

He again charged and then leaped towards his opponent, using his wings to accelerate. He spun through the air, unleashing a powerful kick, and though Beck used his spears to block the hit, the force still sent him airborne like a soccer ball. Roc stuck the landing and suppressed a grimace. Wrapping his leg in mana had offered him some protection, but that wasn’t to say he was uninjured. His pant leg was burned from touching one of the spears, and his shin was red and blistered. Fortunately, the electric shock he received numbed the pain, though it left his leg feeling asleep.

Beck, having hit the ground painfully and rolling through the dirt, was slow to get to his feet, but he still managed to beat the referee’s countdown. “You godless bastard! How dare you attack your better?!”

He then pulled back his arm and threw one of the spears at Roc, aiming for his heart. Roc stepped to the side to dodge, but at the last moment, the spear altered its trajectory and hit him in the shoulder. He was thrown back by the impact, and an electric charge surged through his muscles, while the spear burst in a flash of light like a firework. Magical lightning was different from regular electricity. Not only was it far slower, but the amperage was next to nothing, so there was no need to worry about his heart stopping, but for that brief moment, it was like sitting in the electric chair with a dry sponge, and Roc thought he tasted death.

He hit the ground with a mixture of smoke and steam from evaporated sweat wafting from his body, trembling from continuous muscle spasms. Getting hit with that spear reminded him of getting stabbed by Aithorn, but at least the lightning cauterized the wound, and he had been hit in the shoulder of his missing arm, so any compromise in his fighting ability was due only to pain.

“Come on, get up,” Noah muttered as he watched from his seat.

Roc got to his feet, but barely.

“Stay down, beast,” Beck taunted.

“Please, the mountain winds hit harder than that,” Roc countered.

“Well, here comes the thunder!”

Beck threw his other spear, and this time, Roc took off in a run, but just like before, the spear altered its trajectory in midflight, honing in on him like an angry wasp. He knocked the spear aside with another mana-laden kick, but before he could catch his breath, Beck conjured a third spear and threw it. He again dodged, and this time, it sheared through him just below the ribs, a nonlethal wound, but still ripping out a chunk of flesh and electrocuting him.

Roc was brought to his knees, struggling to breathe as pain surged through his body just like the lightning, all while Beck laughed. “You filthy beasts can’t hope to compare to the blessings of the gods!”

Roc got to his feet, his lungs refusing to work, and to the shock of everyone, he swung his arm and punched his wound, as though he was choking and performing the Heimlich Maneuver on himself. He staggered from the pain but straightened his posture, his breathing now steady.

“Funny, I never needed the gods’ blessings. I fly without them.” He then spread his wings, and with a mighty pulse of his legs, he launched himself into the sky.

“Get back here!” Beck shouted as he conjured two more spears and threw them at Roc.

Roc soared through the air with the spears chasing after him like heat-seeker missiles, but unlike before, they could not reach him. He flew over the stands with the awed spectators gasping at the sight, coming so close they almost could have reached out and touched him. Loose feathers falling from his wings were caught like foul balls at a baseball game. Beck continued conjuring and throwing spears, closing in on Roc from all directions, but with masterful acrobatics, he cut through the air at breakneck speed, dodging the spears better than he ever could on the ground. Before, they would have adjusted their flight at the last moment to hit him, but now, he’d leave them in the dust, and no matter how they altered themselves, they could not reach him.

Roc adjusted his angle and flew straight up, leading an entire volley of flying javelins. As he climbed ever higher, he spun through the air, causing the spears to do the same, closing into an ever-tightening helical path. Inevitably, they began colliding with each other, exploding on impact. The sky was filled with flashes of light as the spears burst one after another, drawing oohs and aahs from the crowds. Finally, Roc turned in the sky and wrapped himself in his wings, diving back towards the arena. Beck was running low on mana, but he could not stop. He continued hurling lightning bolts, with Roc spinning back and forth through the air to dodge.

He was closing in on Beck, his divebomb heralding certain victory, but all of a sudden, something seemed to hit him in the air, as if Noah himself had shot him with his sniper rifle. It was subtle, and few people had the reflexes and awareness to see it. Roc stumbled in his dive, and it took everything he had not to crash like a meteor and die a gruesome death. Beck jumped to the side, narrowly dodging as Roc hit the ground, skipping like a stone before smashing into the side of the ring. The sounds of amazement and adoration from the crowd, painstakingly earned through Roc’s efforts, had become mocking laughter.

“What just happened?” Shannon asked.

“Something hit him, some kind of spell, but it was fast and subtle. Even my eyes couldn’t catch it in detail,” said Valia.

“It looks like the church is realizing prayers won’t guarantee victory. They’ve recruited someone like me, someone to manipulate the outcome from the shadows,” Noah said.

Down below, the referee started counting, and it took everything Roc had to get to his feet. His wings were snapped and twisted, he had several broken ribs, a concussion, and internal damage, with blood pouring from multiple wounds. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone standing. On the other side of the ring, Beck was leaning on his knees, gasping for air. He barely had any energy left, and expending so much in such a short time had given him magical whiplash.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that,” Beck panted. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”

“Make it quick. I don’t have all day.”

Beck held out his hand and began channeling every last bit of mana he had, giving everything to craft one final spear. Roc assumed a fighting stance, his arm extended in front of him, with mana surging around his fingers. Though his body was wrecked, he had plenty of energy to spare, but the mana swirling in his head, which only Noah could see, was more intriguing.

“What are you up to?” Noah hummed, staring through his spyglass.

Though he could see the mana behind Roc’s eyes, what he and everyone else missed was their transformation into the eyes of an eagle. Eagles were known for their keen eyesight, but their reaction speed, far superior to humans’, was often overlooked, and Roc was betting everything on it. His brain was attempting to rewire itself at this very moment, transforming just like his eyes.

Abilities like these were difficult to manifest in a partially transformed state, a fact true for all beastmen. It would come naturally if he fully transformed into an eagle, but he had to combine the best of both worlds, bridging the processing and awareness of an eagle’s sight and reflexes through a human body. It was like trying to walk a tightrope, and Roc had never managed to pull it off.

The two foes faced each other, giving all they had for this final clash. The audience waited with still breath, afraid to blink and miss what was about to happen. Beck formed his lightning bolt, and with a whispered prayer, he hurled it at Roc. Roc stared it down, not even trying to block or dodge.

‘Now!’

Harnessing all of his focus and will, he unlocked the transformation for one brief moment, but it was enough for the whole world to slow to a crawl. He could see the lightning bolt flying towards him, not like a vicious wasp, but a lazy bee.

With all his mana divided between his eyes and his hand, he reached out and grabbed the lightning spear. He spun around, redirecting its inertia, and used the centrifugal force of his rotation to hurl it back at Beck. The lightning bolt shot back to its caster, and before he could think or act, it pierced him through the chest and burst in a flash of light. He was thrown through the air, releasing a garbled cry of pain before hitting the ground. He did not get up, and the referee counted down.

“And Roc is the winner!” he announced, drawing a mixed chorus of cheers and boos from the audience. It had been a fight for the ages, but Roc was too busy vomiting blood to enjoy it. Healers quickly tended to both combatants and cleared the ring for the next fight.

The battles continued, and eventually, it was Foley’s turn to return to the ring. Like Roc, he was up against one of the church’s agents. It was mage carrying several bags of stones and sporting an atrocious bowl cut.

“Let’s get this done quick, eh? I was halfway through taking a shit when my name was called,” said Foley.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be out in no time!” the mage laughed.

“Begin!” the referee announced.

Foley threw up his defenses, raising his shields and projecting a dome of energy. The mage began pulling stones out of his bags. “Geode Smasher!” He hurled them at Foley, and upon contact with his barrier, they all exploded like flameless grenades, hurling shards in all directions with deadly strength. “Take that! And that! And that!” the mage cackled, throwing rocks with crazed fervor. The chain of explosions sounded like unending thunder, and a dust cloud was quick to form, perpetually stirring with each burst of shrapnel. Yet despite the onslaught, Foley was enduring, protected from every flying piece by his mana.

Like his first match, it was a war of attrition, with both sides seeing who could hold out the longest. Realizing he was getting nowhere, the mage took the same tactic as his predecessor, running around Foley in search of a weak spot. He attacked from all directions, raining exploding rocks upon the dwarf, but he would have had more luck trying to destroy an anvil. As the old saying went, the best defense was a good offense, yet Foley’s defense was so potent that it was practically a weapon in and of itself.

As the fight continued, the mage discarded one empty bag after another, pouring sweat as he channeled his dwindling power into every last rock. Eventually, he ran out, frantically searching his pockets for any remaining ammunition. Realizing he had used up all his stones, he resorted to grabbing the shards and pebbles from his earlier attacks, but though powered by desperation, they could do little more than pop harmlessly. He was out of options, and Foley lowered his shields.

“Argh, that was loud as a motherfucker. My ears are going to be ringing all day. Do you have any idea how annoying that was? Whatever, let’s just get this done.”

He approached the mage, who was shaking in terror. “No! Stay away!” he screamed before taking off in a run around the ring.

“Get back here, you scrawny prick!” Foley barked as he pursued him. The one-sided fight had now become a comical chase, and though the audience laughed initially, they soon grew bored with the mage’s cowardice. As the boos began raining down, the referee raised his hand.

“Since his opponent refuses to battle, I declare Jim Foley the winner!”

The dwarf received cheers and applause while the shameful mage was jeered out of the ring. Not long after, Noah and Valia’s attention was caught as the nameless monk entered the ring. Glaring with his thousand-yard stare, he faced his foe, an earth mage. Yeld was his name, and he didn’t appear to be working for the church, but Noah had seen his earlier fight and was curious about how the monk would react. As soon as the referee began to match, Yeld touched the ground.

“Mineral Doll!”

They rose from the ground, hulking golems of sand and rock, each one a solid eight feet tall with fists like boulders. They were slow-moving, but Noah wasn’t sure he’d be able to defeat them without explosives. He could easily carve through flesh and bone, but his sword would be useless against those earthen monstrosities. They lumbered towards the monk, who remained utterly unperturbed.

“Hmmm, interesting. I’ve seen techniques like this before, the power to shape the elements into foot soldiers. When used properly, it is remarkably fearsome, but not this time.”

The nearest golem raised its mighty arm, but its head and torso were obliterated in the blink of an eye. The audience was shocked, for the monk hadn’t moved in the slightest, yet a magic circle could be seen at his feet, and those with sharp eyes and keen reflexes saw the burst of mana he exuded, though it was too fast to reveal any details.

The second reached out for him, and it, too, was smashed to dust in an instant. This time, however, Noah saw what was going on. The monk projected a copy of himself made of mana, not unlike Noah’s clone, but with a wispy appearance, as if made of glowing mist, much like warrior magic. It shot from his body and delivered a powerful kick to the center of the golem, pulverizing earth with its ethereal body before returning to the monk. Pouring sweat of unease, Yeld ushered his golems forward. They mindlessly charged, but every time they got close, the monk would project his mana effigy, and it would deliver a dynamic blow, pulverizing everything it touched. It could only inflict one attack before returning, but it moved with such speed and power that it was all but unstoppable.

“I’m afraid you won’t be able to touch me with such weak pawns,” said the monk.

He then began to approach Yeld, who once more cast his summoning spell, creating a small army of golems of varying size. They charged towards the monk, each one getting smashed to dust as soon as they got close. He simply walked through the oncoming crowd, destroying the golems without touching them. The apparition’s attacks weren’t simple by any means. The poses, the techniques, and the movements were all performed as if by a seasoned master of combat. It would dart from his body, destroy a golem, and return in a fraction of a second like a frog extending its tongue.

“The Touchless Kill, I had heard about it, but never seen it before,” said Valia. “Many consider it the ultimate form of martial arts, the final stage of monk magic.”

“How does it work?” Shannon asked.

“It requires flawless proficiency and dedication, to have reached such mastery of combat that you can punch someone without using your fist, kick them without moving your legs. It is essentially monk magic dense and powerful enough to be projected freely without physical movement. Imagine an artist who is so skilled that he can paint a portrait on the air itself.”

“How rare is it?” asked Noah.

“Only a handful of martial artists have ever mastered it. They were all dwarves who lived for centuries. They say it takes decades of training just to be able to deliver a Touchless punch. To think that a human could use it to such an extent. It’s unheard of. He must be from Vandheim, with dwarf ancestry. The dwarves are renowned for their skill in hand-to-hand combat. There are temples scattered throughout that sea of mountains, each with its own school of martial arts. I know Marcus trained for many years at one such temple, but whatever he learned, this monk has mastered.”

“But I’ve seen warrior magic that can accomplish similar feats. Alexis can launch arrows made of pure mana, and I knew a halberd-user who could create a row of spears made of pure energy.”

“Look at how he’s obliterating those golems. Do you think Alexis’s mana arrows can do that? Monk magic does not project the same way warrior magic does, so to match the effect, it has to be dozens of times more powerful. Imagine a footrace between an elf and a human without legs, and the human wins before the elf takes his first step. That is what this man has accomplished. And if you think he’s powerful now, think of how strong his attacks are when he actually uses his body.”

“Could you beat him? At full health, I mean?”

“I truly don’t know, and believe me, I don’t want to find out. Like all true warriors, I appreciate a good challenge, a worthy rival. But fighting him? I see a lot of pain coming.”

With the monk approaching, Yeld took a page out of Foley’s book, grouping all his golems around him and merging them into a massive dome of solid rock, several feet thick and made of stratifying layers of different minerals. The monk stood before the dome, and without moving his arms, he rained punches down with his apparition, inflicting numerous impacts every second. Each blow chipped away at the rock like a jackhammer, but considering how powerful his earlier attacks were, he was clearly holding back. Finally, he cracked open the dome like a walnut.

“I surrender! I surrender!” Yeld shrieked once exposed to the sunlight.

“The anonymous monk is the victor!” the referee shouted, drawing cheering and applause from the spectators.

“To think a master of the Touchless Kill would enter the tournament. Colbrand is certainly getting its money’s worth for this arena,” said Valia.

“I’ll have to try to talk to him later, discuss magic.”

“Like you did with the Harajin?”

“Hopefully, he’s smarter than they were.”

The fighting continued, and eventually, Noah had to fix another match. It was the second-to-last fight, and as he returned from his sniper’s perch, he spotted Adwith Tarnas standing in a corridor and watching Seraph battle through the window. Down below, the prince was doing his best against a swordsman.

“That boy of yours isn’t half bad. He impressed me in his earlier fight.”

Tarnas turned to Noah and scowled. “What do you want?”

“Just passing by, thought I’d say hello. You and I haven’t had the chance to properly talk,” said Noah as he approached. “While I was working for Lupin, he spoke very highly of you. You alone nearly doubled Uther’s size in its war of expansion. I get the feeling you haven’t lost a step with old age. You must be, what, in your sixties? It’s a shame you weren’t in Welindar. We certainly needed you.”

“You’re right. Maybe if I had been there instead of you, I could have prevented the colossal mess we’re stuck with.”

“No kidding, but you couldn’t be reached. You’re Uther’s champion, its greatest hero, while I, a felon, infamous for my crimes against the royal family, and at the time residing in Sylphtoria, was easier to contact than you were. I understand you were training Seraph, but would it have been so hard to stick close to home? Maybe keep the lines of communication open? That said, if you brought Seraph to Welindar, he probably would have been ripped to pieces the moment you turned your back.

Lupin also told me about your prophecy, about the return of the Profane. Twenty years ago, you, a man no one had ever seen before, burst into the throne room, telling the king that the Profane would return and that it was Seraph’s destiny to defeat them, or something along those lines. Against all odds, he believed you and restructured the knight academy to churn out qualified fighters in anticipation. How did you know they would come back?”

“Because I fought them a long time ago, and I was too weak to erase their evil from the world. I knew they would inevitably gather their strength and try to bring Somerset’s dream to fruition. Their power, there is an innate ambition in it, a hunger that cannot be satisfied. They may wait and bide their time, but they’ll never give up. I had hoped that Seraph could succeed where I failed, that with his power, we could end this nightmare once and for all. Then you came along and broke him.”

“You knew what he was like. Even if he was Light’s Emissary, the Profane would have swallowed him whole. I spared his life; they wouldn’t. How do you think he’d handle it when things got tough, and he was no longer in control of the situation? He wouldn’t die fighting, but screaming, throwing a temper tantrum because he thought he naturally deserved to win and that he was God’s favorite. Granted, had I known that the Profane were due to return and my methods would cost him his magic, I would have used different means to get the job done, but despite all of his power, he had no strength whatsoever. Tell me I’m wrong.”

Tarnas growled and turned his attention back to the fight. Seraph had managed to avoid any wounds, but he and his foe were at a stalemate. There was barely any confidence in his moves, just fear and desperation. Had he entered this tournament without fighting Noah, he’d be dominating his enemies, pulverizing them with ease, laughing and mocking them, and bragging about his superiority. The crowds would eat it up and engorge his ego even further. He would be completely out of control.

Noah looked out the window at the arena. “Honestly, this tournament, taking place after the city was nearly destroyed by an opponent growing more and more powerful every day, might be the dumbest thing in the world. I understand the value of recreation and keeping the citizens happy during hard times, but this is a waste of time, energy, and attention. While all eyes are focused here, the Profane are flourishing in Handent.”

“Have you ever encountered a force like them before?”

“Like I said in the War Room, I know an existential threat when I see one. In many realities I’ve visited, the world I lived on fell under attack by sentient machines or alien beings that cross the stars like you cross oceans. They’d arrive with bodies and technology beyond the comprehension of humanity’s greatest minds, and the slaughter would begin. They’d simultaneously attack all corners of the globe or start taking nations one by one.”

“Did the people ever win?”

“Sometimes they did, often they didn’t. A unique thing I noticed was that the longer the wars dragged on, the better the humans did. The great cities would be leveled, the majority of humanity either wiped out or enslaved, but as long as a resistance could function, there was always hope. Given enough time, they’d learn their enemy’s tactics, how to use their weapons against them, how to cripple the war machine so their greatest assets became unusable burdens, and how to get back on their feet and fight. A rag-tag group of rebels with knowledge and experience could win more battles against a superior force than a massive army marching on arrogance and ignorance.

Humans are quick to forget what their ancestors learned through blood, sweat, and tears. It’s why they keep making the same mistakes over and over again. On the other hand, it means that if you try to oppress them, no matter how hard you fight to break them down, each generation will be born with the renewed spirit to fight back. You can never fully conquer humanity. You’ll just be fighting the same battle over and over again. So long as they live, they can find their strength and overturn any defeat. They learn, they adapt, they rise to meet the challenge if you just give them a chance. It’s something I admire about the human race. If the elves, dwarves, and beastmen of this world are the same, and all four can work together, then there may be hope yet.”

“I won’t let this world burn. I promise you that. I have been preparing myself for this war since I was Seraph’s age, and no matter what it takes, I will defeat the Profane and save this world.”

“I hope so. Now, forgive me if this topic should agitate you, but there is one more thing I need to confirm. There has been a rumor circulating about you and Seraph for some time now, a rumor of who Seraph’s real father is. Suffice it to say, the resemblance between you two is uncanny, and would explain how he got his powers. But more importantly, if Seraph is your son and, therefore, not Galvin’s biological brother, then he is incapable of controlling the Wassengel. You can see why I find this concerning, yes?”

“You’re right; it does agitate me, but I speak the truth. Seraph is Leonard’s son. I never even met his mother. She died delivering Seraph before I had the chance, something I regret. You should know that Seraph and Galvin already proved it with the Wassengel manacle after we returned. It reacted to Seraph, which would only occur if he was royal blood.”

Noah stared at Tarnas for a few moments. “You are indeed speaking the truth. It’s good to know Galvin’s expendability and Seraph’s value.”

“I’m not sure I like what you’re saying.”

“Maybe you don’t, but you can’t tell me it doesn’t weigh on your thoughts, the implications and dangers of such a qualification for him. Seraph now has a shield on his front, but a target on his back. I would prefer we not lose him as an asset.”

Noah departed, leaving Tarnas, but his destination was not his box seat with Valia and Shannon. Instead, he journeyed into the bowels of the stadium, the corridors and rooms where the fighters were recovering their strength, known as the hypogeum. There were also soldiers down there to keep an eye out and ensure no one was up to anything, and Daniel was with them. Before the next round of fights, there would be an intermission, and the Bard of Rock was going to perform. It was a simple affair, him alone atop a small platform, playing for the crowd, but he still smoked a gonlief cigarette with shaky hands.

“You look excited,” said Noah, watching Daniel tune his guitar. He had been fiddling with it all day, never satisfied with the strings.

“Hell yeah, I am. This is the closest I’ll ever get to performing the Super Bowl Halftime Show.”

“You know, I did that once, played at the Super Bowl, as a musician in one life and quarterback in another.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true, I was the singer in a rock band, Eminence. You have no idea how much work goes into planning those shows; it’s surreal. So many dancers, so much choreography, just choosing the outfits, my God. Then, two days before the show, our lead got stabbed by his girlfriend. We found a replacement, but it was by the skin of our teeth. After the show, the guy got shot. Third guitarist? Someone accidentally lit him on fire, and he burned to death. Fourth? Cholera. I’m serious, he got cholera. To this day, I have no idea how. We were at the peak of our fame, but finding someone to play guitar for us was a nightmare. Everyone thought the position was cursed.”

“That’s a really great story to tell me before I go out there.”

“Relax, I’m kidding. All that happened to our drummers.”

“Honestly, I’m wicked nervous. A packed house at the Knight’s Sheath is one thing, but out there, there’s no curtain behind me and a lot more eyes. You know, I could really use some backup.”

“Maybe next time. Just play that song from the Red Revelry two years ago to start. The crowds will love it, and you’ll feel better. Then you can really cut loose.”

“Yeah, all right. Wish me luck.”

Once Noah and Daniel parted ways, he went off in search of Roc, finding him on one of many cots in a dimly lit infirmary, seemingly half-asleep. He was tapping his fingertips against his thumb in some dexterity exercise, perhaps to help him think, but he stopped when Noah approached and opened his eyes.

“That was an impressive match. When you caught that lightning bolt, even I gasped.”

“You couldn’t see it, but all the skin on my palm and fingers was burned off because of that. Luckily, we got plenty of healers and potions down here to keep us in tip-top shape.”

“So your wounds are all mended?”

“Yeah, but my wings took some effort. They were utterly mangled.”

“What happened during that dive? It looked like something hit you.”

“It certainly felt like it, but I didn’t see anything.”

“What exactly did it feel like? Was it like a solid impact? A concussive shockwave?”

“It was some kind of spell, but it all happened so fast that it’s just a blur. Why?”

“I think someone tried to sabotage you. That guy you were fighting worked for the church, and it seems he had a guardian angel.”

“Apparently, a lot of the fighters here work for them. It also could have been someone in the stands. These people hate my guts.”

“True, but I think you’re starting to grow on them.”

“I don’t mind their hatred. If anything, I like it that way. It makes my wins all the more satisfying, knowing they’re grinding their teeth in fury at my success.”

“Don’t tell me the real reason you joined the tournament was for spite.”

Roc gave a bitter laugh. “No, I genuinely came here to test myself, but infuriating the masses is certainly an added incentive. I remember you once asked me why I hated the nobles, and I told you it was just common sense. The real reason is that the nobles are driving the beastman slave trade. The simple barons and farmers will buy whoever they can to work the fields and do other chores, but it’s the noble elite who collect beastmen slaves and toy with them.

Utheric slavers routinely slip into Vandheim to try and snatch up valuable beastmen, and they sell them directly to the upper nobles who want an interesting pet to torment. Members of my own tribe have been stolen away to be sold as commodities, a few taken while I was at the academy. The attack on the city just heaped more hatred on us without lessening the threat of enslavement.

If the rich and powerful of Uther covet my people so greedily, fine, I’ll show them what we can do. I’ll grind their champions into the dirt and stand atop their broken bodies just like I did to their children at the academy. How fitting that the winner of Colbrand’s first fighting tournament will be a beastman, someone they despise and look down on. I welcome these church fanatics, these beastman haters who think I’m just a filthy animal. I want them to pray for victory and feel the gods abandon them in the ring.”

Noah sat down on the adjacent cot, suddenly remembering when he and Roc were neighbors in the academy barracks. “You know that wolfman you fought during the Red Revelries? He was a member of a terrorist group called the Pack. They claimed to be fighting for beastman liberation, to free Handent from Uther’s control, but they were just minions of the Profane, selling their souls and their kin for power.

My companion, Shannon, was from the Petosic horse tribe, and her village was raided by beastmen just like the one you fought, all sporting those black parasites and dragging away her friends and family in chains to be experimented on. You know who led them to the village? Her father, his mind twisted. And those monsters that attacked the city? They were the innocent citizens of Welindar, but Kaisen, the self-appointed leader of the beastmen, as well as being just another Profane crony, turned them into abominations and stole their free will.”

“What does that have to do anything? Trying to diminish the guilt of the Uther’s nobles by making the beastmen look bad?”

“I just felt it was something that should be mentioned, considering the topic of this conversation. I’m not defending anyone or trying to lecture you. I simply thought this was a good segue to getting you up to speed on what’s going on in Handent and informing you about the guy who took your arm. I swear, you claim to come from the eagle tribe, but sometimes I feel like I’m talking to a prickly little porcupine.”

“All right, all right, sorry.”

“It’s fine. I understand your anger and reason for fighting in the arena, but speaking of lectures and segues, you should be careful, especially if you insist on making everyone acknowledge you. Eventually, I suspect someone working for the Profane will approach you, offering you power, the power to make your dreams come true, to destroy your enemies, to protect your loved ones, whatever it is that you want. They’ll play on your fears, your anger, and tell you that they have the solution, that if you join their ranks, you’ll be the master of your fate. Don’t listen to them.

I just spent the last eight months fighting the poor souls who either fell for it willingly, or had that power forced upon them while bound in chains. They were nothing but tools for the Profane, enslaved in body and mind, and twisted into something hideous. Take it from me; you don’t want to end up like them. No matter what honeyed words you’re told, they’re all poison.”

“Thanks, I’ll be careful.”

“You know, I could use a man of your talents to fight the Profane. Inevitably, they will come for you and your people, pouring into the Ashok Mountains to conquer and feed.”

“If they do, I’ll deal with them, but just because I went to the knight academy doesn’t mean I’ll work for Uther.”

“I’m not asking you to work for Uther. I’m asking you to work alongside me. You don’t have to bow down and kiss someone’s ring to be a part of this fight. Cooperation doesn’t mean subservience. As a warrior, I imagine you dream of a meaningful fight, of a worthy cause. There is no cause more worthy than battling the Profane, because if they win, it will mean the end of this world. Fighting against them means protecting more than just your own people; it means protecting everyone and everything. You mean to tell me you’ve got something better to do than that?”

“Hmmm, I’ll think about it. Right now, I just want to focus on the tournament.”

“Fair enough. Know that I’ll be rooting for you.” Noah got up and approached the door.

“You know, when I was flying around the arena, dodging those lightning bolts, I saw you watching, and I remembered that talk we had after I lost my arm. You asked me if I would rather have lost a wing.”

Noah stopped and turned back around. “And? Would you?”

“I’ll admit, I spent a lot of time cursing you while learning to adapt, learning to live with one arm. My pride drove me to fight that wolf bastard, but he still came here because of you, and now I’ll never be whole. I admit, I do hold a bit of a grudge for that. But every time I take to the skies ... well, you may have had a point.”

“If it’s any consolation, you’ve impressed me with what you’ve been able to do with one arm. Like I said, I’ll be rooting for you.”

Next, Noah set his sights on the nameless monk. Warriors, recovering from their previous matches and preparing for their next, shot him wary glances. Was this stranger taking part in the tournament? If not, then who was he? What was he doing beneath the arena? As he searched the shadowy corridors, he could hear Daniel playing outside. He eventually came across the monk in an empty storage room, lit by a single candle burning on the floor. He was meditating with a duffle bag beside him.

Up close, his stature and physique were all the more impressive. Noah recognized this man as a true master of martial arts, and could well imagine how old he was and how long it took him to reach such heights. Even in worlds without magic, Noah had encountered men who had lived well over a hundred years with remarkable strength and vitality, thanks to their expertise in ancient forms of combat and healthy living. Cloistered in remote sanctuaries across various earths, they embodied the peak of what humans could reach.

Since the monk was meditating, Noah sat down and did the same, not wanting to commit the taboo of interrupting, and to show patience and respect to the practice. Noah often discarded such considerations and notions of etiquette while pursuing his goals, but he knew rudeness would only sabotage his efforts in this instance. He achieved perfect stillness and tranquility, with the only sound in the room being the flickering of the candle.

“Why are you here?” the monk eventually asked without opening his eyes.

“To seek knowledge and guidance,” Noah replied, keeping his shut as well.

“And who are you to ask for such things?”

“I am an admirer of the Touchless Kill, one who has, like you, devoted himself to mastery of the martial arts. I am Noah, the Wandering Spirit.”

“The Touchless Kill is not a technique that can be taught to outsiders.”

“It is not the technique I desire, but certain elements that make it. Using monk magic outside of your body requires unparalleled skill in mana projection. I wish to know how to hone my own projection abilities as you do. I am also interested in the runic formulas of the magic circle.”

“You expect me to hand over the secrets of my technique so easily? If I were to come up to you and ask for an explanation of the intricacies of your magic, how would you answer?”

“At the very least, I would share my training regimen. That’s all I wish from you. My path is clouded, and I’m not asking for a shortcut, simply a direction. I want to know how to project my mana as well as you do, so I might develop my own magic further. Please, tell me how I must train to hone that skill, and whatever power I receive, I’ll have earned, just as you did.”

The two men opened their eyes as though sharing the same thought.

“You sit before me with respect, when the rude and ignorant would have called out to me. Where did you learn this?”

“I have studied under the greatest teachers of martial arts, seeking them out in the far corners of the globe, from the densest jungles to the highest mountains. Temples, dojos, monasteries; I would track them down and sit before their leaders. I would greet them just as I greet you, and ask them to train me. They would test me, and I’d pass. They would challenge me, and I’d triumph. They would teach me, and I’d exceed.”

“And what of those who refused?”

Noah paused. “Those who refused and would not see reason, I engaged in battle, for if I could not learn their techniques through training, then I’d learn them through experience. I would never kill, for bloodshed was not my goal; only to cultivate my knowledge and fulfill the potential of my mortal coil. Eventually, it seemed there was nothing left for me to learn. The most sacred techniques and honed training regimens became rudimentary as the greatest masters and experts, ancient sages of combat, all fell before me.

Then I saw you in the arena and realized that I could still grow further, that there were still secrets to be unlocked and heights to be reached. I sit before you, not as a fool seeking glory and supremacy over others, but as an explorer, wishing to know all that I can. Will you help me?”

The monk was silent, thinking it over.

“Forgive me. It is rude to ask for something without offering anything in return,” Noah continued. “I have a workout routine aggregated from numerous cultures and schools of thought, containing both ancient knowledge and revolutionary insight on the human body. It is the perfect training regimen for health and fitness. Teach me how to project my mana with more force, and I’ll teach you this workout. Considering the physique you’ve already attained, it may not be of much use to you, but I’m sure you will be able to appreciate the complexity and precision, and sense the collective eons of practice and study that went into it. Keep it secret or teach it to others, whatever you want. Do we have a deal?”

The monk took a deep breath, then reached into his bag and pulled out a headband with a metal plate, on which a runic formula had been engraved. “I bid this to you to borrow, not to keep. Put it on, and it will place a magical binding on you, restricting all of your movements. Try as hard as you like, but no mere physical strength will be able to free you. The only way to resist it is to channel mana through your body, sending it rushing through your veins like your blood. You must keep your body continuously energized, or you’ll be lying stiff as a corpse. This will train your mana much the same way you hone muscle memory.”

Noah received the headband. “I had been toying with the idea of a device like this. This is perfect. Now I can duplicate the design and make one myself. You have my deepest gratitude.”

“Return it to me after the tournament, and then you can teach me that workout. Understand, I do this only because I can sense your determination. I see it in your eyes: You are one who truly understands the path of a warrior, having walked it under the blazing sun and icy storms.”

“An accurate summation. By the way, I never caught your name.”

“It is Saimallah, though I have no need for a name in the ring.”

“And what brings such a seasoned master of the martial arts to such a grandiose spectacle? I sense it is not fame you are after, nor the money, meaning you’re either trying to enter the knighthood, or it’s something unrelated to the prize altogether.”

“I’ve spent decades training in a dwarvish temple and decided I was due for a warrior’s pilgrimage. The dwarves are renowned for their skill in monk and warrior magic, but they have few mages, and most use earth magic. I thought this tournament would be an excellent opportunity to test my powers against a myriad of opponents, as well as spend some time around people my height. Unfortunately, I’m still tall, even by human standards.”

“Yeah, I can understand that. Thank you again,” said Noah, bowing.

He then got up and departed. The third round of matches would soon begin, and he had work to do. However, he wasn’t the only one who was busy. Berholm patrolled the upper corridors and boxes of the arena, keeping an eye on the various lords viewing the tournament. As he had told Noah, it was very likely that the Liege was present for this event, but who could it be? In his wanderings, he came across a lone man on a balcony, looking out not over the ring and Daniel’s performance, but over the city.

“Duke Veres, greetings.”

Boris, smoking a pipe full of gonlief, turned. “Sir Berholm, hello.”

“You’re not listening to the music? I’m surprised. People have been coming from miles around to hear the legendary Bard of Rock.”

Boris sighed. “I can’t. The music is beautiful, but for me, it’s tainted, and too painful to listen to.”

Berholm joined him in looking out over the city. “Because of the Knight’s Sheath?”

“It hurts to be reminded ... of her.”

“You speak of your daughter as if she has died, but you know where to find her.”

“I can’t face her, not after all that’s happened.”

“Because of what she did, or what you did? I heard that you and Lord Rosege had disowned those two, but Alexis and Sophia have proven their worth as heroes of the country. Is that not worth your pride? Your forgiveness?”

“She wouldn’t want my forgiveness, and I don’t deserve hers. Do you think I don’t understand the significance of her accomplishments? You think I don’t feel pride for what she’s done? And regret for giving up on her because of my rash judgment and foolishness? Alexis is a strong and proud warrior, fueled by noble endeavors and hope for the future, but at the very heart of it all is a hatred for me. I’ve seen it in her eyes since she was a child, when the love she felt for her father turned into disgust and shame.

I’ve raised sons and daughters, and I know what it is like when they rebel, but she was always different. She remained civil for the family’s sake, and didn’t say what she truly felt, but deep down, I knew she held no respect for me. Do you think her feelings have changed for the better since I disowned her? I always scolded her for burning bridges with other nobles and great houses, but I burned the most important bridge of all: the one between me and my child.”

“I’m not a father, Lord Veres, so I don’t know what it’s like to deal with a willful child. We dwarves are stubborn and proud, and normally only share our true feelings in the form of a curse-riddled shout. We wear our accomplishments on our sleeve, our grudges, our faith, but not our hearts, not our love. It’s one of the reasons why I prefer to be in the company of humans. They’re more honest with what they feel and they speak their minds. Take it from me, someone who has seen families and friendships destroyed by stony silence and bitter egos: better you let your words be heard, even if they vanish into the wind like smoke, than to let them burn in your belly until the day you die.”

“This country is changing, Marcus. It’s changing so fast. Our king is dead, our church is in ruins, and in the twilight of our years, we stand to watch the twilight of the world. This city was almost overrun, my daughter nearly killed by the Profane, and they will try again. This evil will swallow the young and leave us old men to wait for death.”

“We are far from helpless. I’m hunting an agent of the Profane, a spy working to undermine our efforts, and I could use your help.”

“What would you have me do?”

“Your family runs one of the main courier services in the nation, right? For years, someone has been shipping supplies into Handent to aid the Profane, including a kind of seaweed. Perhaps it’s one of your rivals, perhaps an illegal business, but this is a big operation, and even if they could keep out of sight of the kingdom, I suspect a businessman like yourself might be able to sniff them out. You know the tricks of the trade and the resources needed for such an endeavor. Help me find the man known as the Liege.”

“Understood, I’ll do what I can. Hopefully, I’ll find something to keep me in King Galvin’s good graces.”

“No, don’t tell the king. Whatever you find, bring to me directly.”

“Keeping things from King Galvin? Those are dangerous words. He’s maintaining appearances, but my head could be on the chopping block if I anger him.”

“My apologies, friend, but I don’t trust him. This mess with the Liege, the Profane army, the Wassengel ... I feel they’re too tightly linked to be coincidence. I continue to serve out of respect for his father and loyalty to this country, but as they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I pray you find something to exonerate him and alleviate my doubts, but we must be ready to accept the truth, whatever form it takes.”

“Secrets and lies, the foundation of any good alliance.”

Standing around the corner of the passage, Strauss listened intently to the conversation with Daniel’s music echoing in the distance. Berholm was getting too close for comfort and would soon have to be dealt with. For now, though, he was a critical lynchpin holding the kingdom and its authority together, and could not be carelessly removed. Timing was everything, but the grand plan was designed for such events. Soon enough, he heard the thunderous applause following Daniel’s show, and the tournament commenced its third round of fights.
1 comments

Ryojin JakkaReport 

2025-01-25 02:39:29
Another excellent chapter. I wish I could find more words to write, to offer something other then simple praises.

SUBMIT A COMMENT
You are not logged in.
Characters count: