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Introduction:

The tournament begins.
The Pool

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Shannon asked worriedly, trying to offer Valia her shoulder to lean on.

“Yes, I’m fine. I need this. If I don’t get out of bed and walk on my own two feet, my muscles will melt, and I’ll never regain my strength,” she replied, trying to hide her fatigue. She had run almost nonstop for weeks to get from Welindar to Colbrand, but now, just walking from her home to the palace was taking all her strength. “What did you call this, Noah? Physical therapy?”

“Yes, that’s right. It’s an important stage of healing, especially for the injuries you’ve suffered. But don’t push yourself too hard, otherwise it’ll do more harm than good.”

“More harm than good? Having you with me in the War Room might do that.”

“Seeing as how Adwith Tarnas has finally returned, I should greet him as a fellow gold-rank knight. Besides, almost every gold-rank knight in the country is attending this meeting, and we need to get on the same page regarding the Profane.”

“Just please try not to cause trouble.”

“I’m not the one you should be worried about.”

They arrived at the palace, and Noah and Valia flashed their emblems so the guards would let them enter. They walked the corridors towards the War Room, reminding Noah of his first visit. It was just after the Red Revelry, when all of his fellow cadets had been injured by the onslaught of bounty hunters roaming the city in search of him. Just one year ago, he entered as an academy cadet, and was now returning a gold-rank knight.

They paused at the door, and Valia turned to Shannon. “Down the hall is the waiting room for squires and attendants. You’ll have to stay there during the meeting.”

Shannon appeared dejected, but obeyed. She left Valia and Noah and went to the waiting room, finding it full of men and women garbed in polished armor and spotless uniforms. These were the trusted subordinates of the greatest knights in the kingdom, putting abundant effort into maintaining their appearance and that of their superiors to exude an aura of strength and dignity. Shannon, her horse ears and tail on display and wearing the clothes of her tribe, stood out like a sore thumb, and she could see it on their faces. Embarrassment and shame flooded her momentarily, but she shook those feelings aside and raised her chin. She had earned the right to serve Lady Valia and Lord Noah, earned the right to stand at their side, having fought with them against the might and horrors of the Profane.

“Good morning,” she said with a brisk nod before taking an open seat.

Back in the War Room, Noah and Valia were facing a similar reception. Noah, a former criminal and enemy of the state, and Valia, the seasoned knight who had abandoned her duties and fled the country with him. There were many faces that Noah didn’t recognize, gold-rank knights who were absent when he was here before, most of them glaring indignantly. And at the end of the table, shooting daggers from his one eye, was the legend himself, Adwith Tarnas. The last time Noah and Tarnas faced each other, a fiery barrier separated them, with the broken and bloody Prince Seraph lying nearby. Tarnas had sworn he’d kill Noah, but now they found themselves working together. At least Gradius was absent—a small blessing.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” one dark-haired man muttered.

“Dragon. For me, it’s “look what the dragon dragged in,” but don’t dwell on it,” said Noah. “Sir Elyot, Sir Aithorn,” he then greeted with a nod.

“Sir Noah.”

“Lord Noah.”

The two greeted him in kind, but Aithorn’s words caused a tremor. He always addressed fellow gold-rank knights with professional courtesy, but the respect in his voice had only ever been heard when he spoke to Tarnas.

“What is this lord business?” General Delta grumbled.

“I am a Sylphtorian lord, having earned the trust and friendship of Queen Elisandra and the elves.”

“And why would the elves trust someone like you?” a blonde woman asked coldly.

“You would be amazed by how helpful I can be when I’m not foolishly antagonized,” said Noah as he and Valia walked around the table to a pair of empty chairs and sat down. “You may not trust me as an ally of Uther, but you can trust me as an ally of Sylphtoria, making me an enemy of the Profane, same as all of you.”

“This coming from the man whose Profane whore killed the king,” said Berholm.

“Ah, Sir Berholm, good to see you. I had heard you were grievously wounded in the battle, but I’m glad you’re still with us. We’ll need your strength and wisdom for what is to come. I had nothing to do with Bella’s actions. She was driven by obsession and twisted by the power of the Profane. What happened to the king is tragic and serves as a perfect warning for the kind of enemies we’ll be facing. Look, I didn’t come here to argue. The Profane have their sights set on world domination, and we can’t waste time and energy squabbling amongst each other.”

“You have a lot of nerve to come here, acting so flippantly, especially after what you did to the prince,” Tarnas growled. Noah sighed. It didn’t seem like things could be glossed over, so he might as well bring it out into the open.

“Yes, that’s right, how is Seraph doing? Have you rebuilt him into a respectable warrior after I demolished that useless monolith of ego that stood before?”

“Noah…” Valia muttered, sensing the rising bloodlust in the room.

“I held him accountable for his crimes and taught him humility. Galvin murdered and maimed two dozen of his own citizens trying to kill me, and Seraph knew what he was doing and felt no need to stop him. Were they not royalty, they’d be kicking at the end of a rope. He was a catastrophe just waiting to happen, and I undid years of coddling and praise. You should be thanking me for letting him keep his life and giving him a chance to start over and live properly. If you’ve done your job right, hopefully, now he’s become a man with some backbone. So I ask again, how is he doing?”

“After he woke up from what you did to him, his powers were gone. I’ve spent the last year training with him out in the wild, and he’s barely regained a fraction of his original magic. He was our greatest weapon against the Profane, and you broke him.”

“Disappointing, though I’m holding out hope that he can still become the warrior you believe him to be. But enough about that. I have skills to contribute to this effort, and possess no ill will towards your country. Once we vanquish our shared enemy, I’ll move on to greener pastures, and you’ll be free of me. Until then, if not for Uther, then for the sake of professionalism, let’s try to work together and get this job done.”

“Noah and I spent eight months with Prince Lupin, helping him fight the Profane,” said Valia. “We’ve seen their strength up close, and the lasting damage they leave behind. Welindar has been rendered utterly toxic, saturated with dark energy that kills and corrupts all life. I don’t know if it can ever be repopulated. They’ve developed a method to turn humans and beastmen into quasi-Profane using special parasites that produce unholy venom, and have remade Handent into a farm to cultivate their ranks.”

“And now Lupin is dead, and you expect us to trust you,” said General Delta.

“Lupin was my friend. He and I fought side-by-side against Kaisen the Liger, a powerful beastman warrior who was turned into the ultimate fiend. During the battle, we split up. Lupin could no longer fight, so I left him with his healer, Nell, while I went to finish off Kaisen with my companion, Shannon. She delivered the finishing blow, but though we broke his body, his mind refused to die. The strength of his resolve is almost commendable. An explosion of dark energy swallowed the city, turning all of its inhabitants into the monsters that marched on Colbrand as per Kaisen’s will. If Lupin didn’t die in the explosion, he was turned into one of the beasts and killed by the Wassengel.”

“The Profane have already tried to destroy Sylphtoria,” said Valia, “but the elves are ready for war and standing by. They will fight alongside Uther, but we need a plan and strong leadership. What is King Galvin doing about the Profane?”

“If we spread our forces too thin trying to protect wild territory, the Profane will tear through us,” said Tarnas. “He’s ordered the legions to fall back to more secure areas and to bolster a solid defense. He’s spoken of building a wall lined with garrisons, but the time and resources it would take, even with magic, doesn’t make it feasible. A chain of forts and watchtowers are being constructed to defend against another horde and will slowly be improved. Handent is vast, and we don’t have the manpower to expunge the Profane, even with Sylphtoria and Vandheim helping us.”

“What is Vandheim’s stance on the issue?” Noah asked.

“They’re too busy dealing with their own internal issues to help with the Profane,” said Berholm. “Until a fiend army is on their doorstep, we shouldn’t expect them to invest much attention.”

“So for now, all we can do is remain on the defense, correct?” the blonde female knight pondered. “But the longer we wait, the more powerful they’ll become. What happens when they send another army to sweep across the countryside while staying out of range of the Wassengel?”

“Can the Wassengel leave the ocean and move inland?” Noah asked. Everyone exchanged glances, not sure of the answer.

“Colbrand is built on Enochian ruins, and the Wassengel was a defensive weapon they used for protection,” said Elyot. “Our human predecessors simply woke it up and managed to unlock the means to control it, but we shouldn’t put our hopes on sending it to the front line.”

“The dragon I rode here on, Roroaka, called it an angel, one of a handful of elemental beings that fell to this world during the Age of Enochians. They are sentient, but their thought processes are a mystery. For all we know, it’s not being controlled, but simply chooses to answer the call, and that might change. It’s a good defense against invasion, but I worry what could happen if it is repeatedly used.”

“And what of the dragon? Can we count on him to help us?” Aithorn asked.

“He told me that he has no intention of aligning himself with any king or country. He’s no ally of the Profane, but unless his territory is threatened, he won’t to get involved. I believe I can convince him to help us if the situation is dire enough, but we should consider him only as a last resort.”

“Even if we can’t face the Profane, army against army, is there any way to take out their leadership?” the dark-haired man asked.

“From what I understand, they have a mobile base where the bulk of their experimentation occurs, but I’ve been unable to track down any details, such as how it works or where it is currently. Even if we did know, it would take a month just to get to Welindar. Pursuing them just isn’t feasible at the moment. If we had a way to find and reach it quickly, we could invade and break the back of their operation. For now, we have to wait for them to come to us.”

“Why do you care so much about the Profane?” Berholm asked. “From what I’ve heard, isn’t this world just one of countless others? You’re just a tourist, aren’t you?”

“For one thing, they’re a nuisance with a bad habit of getting in my way. That said, I know an existential threat when I see one, and time and time again, I’ve watched fools bicker amongst each other while the threat grows, if they’re even smart enough not to bury their heads in the sand and call it a hoax. I’m used to it, used to watching doom rain down upon the world because those in charge couldn’t see six inches in front of their faces, and yet I still find it annoying. Normally, I’d just leave these worlds to their fates and die with the rest of humanity, unless saving them would entertain me, but I have a vested interest in the survival of this planet and its people.

You’ve all heard my story; you’ve been told what I am, how long I’ve lived, and just a few things I’ve lived through. I am not some drifter from a backwater village up north. I’m older than your country, and I’ve seen, done, and endured things beyond your comprehension. I’m willing to share my knowledge, skills, and expertise with you so that you don’t all die. You may not like me, you may not trust me, but I’ll do what I can to save your world. That said, defeating the Profane is only my third priority. My second is finding Valon, and my first is breaking my curse. At the moment, Valia and I are waiting for her to fully heal so we can continue our journey. However, when we do depart, I’d like to have left you prepared and ready to face this threat.”

Elsewhere in the palace, another reunion was taking place.

“Welcome, Brother,” said Galvin, hugging Seraph.

“Good to see you, Galvin,” replied Seraph. He was more soft-spoken than at their last meeting, and struggled to make eye contact, even with his brother. Galvin, on the other hand, was all smiles.

“You look good. Training in the countryside has done you well. I trust you’ve returned to us with a clear mind and refocused determination.”

“Y-y-yes. I see you’ve also h-healed,” Seraph nervously stammered.

Throughout the throne room, the royal guards bit their tongues. Seraph didn’t appear intimidated by Galvin, but he was still on edge, looking around like a mouse about to cross an open field.

“The wonders of magic and potions. Unfortunately, I can’t heal the way you do, but I am whole again.” He then turned to a nearby maid. “Bring us some drinks, will you? My brother and I wish to celebrate our reunion. Wine for him and tea for me, if you would.”

The way Galvin spoke and smiled stood out to Seraph, no longer hearing the disdain and arrogance that usually dripped from his brother’s words. He had never noticed it before, but now its absence was impossible to ignore. He was actually being polite. The maid bowed and departed to get their drinks.

Galvin then turned to one of the guards. “Leave us.”

The guards all exited the throne room, leaving Galvin and Seraph alone.

“Come, please, tell me of your training,” he said as he returned to the throne. Eased by Galvin’s pleasant mood, Seraph’s anxiety began to fade.

“Tarnas and I spent the last year in the wilderness, hunting and training. We’d spar, fight monsters with our bare hands, swim upstream in roaring rivers, and climb sheer cliffs to meditate at the peaks of mountains. When we left, my magic was completely gone. Over time, some of it began to return, but I’m nothing like I was before. I’m still broken.”

“Nonsense. You were born to be the greatest paladin who ever lived. You’re in a slump, but you will climb out of it.”

“I’m not so sure. Look.” Seraph pulled down his collar, revealing the spot on his chest where he once bore the sigil of Lumendori. His birthmark, originally so clear and distinctive, had almost completely faded away like an old scar. “I’ve lost my title as Light’s Emissary. God has turned his back on me, and rightfully so. I’m not worthy of such power. I never was.”

“But our dream is finally being realized. Remember? The future we spoke of? I on the throne, and you leading the grand armies of Uther? That time has finally come. We simply need to grow into our roles. Father and Lupin are gone, and we must honor them by living up to their example. All we have now is each other, but that’s all we’ve ever needed.”

The maid returned, carrying a tray with a goblet of wine and a mug of fragrant tea. “Your Majesty,” she said while bowing, presenting the tea to Galvin and the goblet to Seraph.

“Thank you,” Galvin said with a smile. She smiled in return and departed.

“I can smell that tea from all the way over here, like an apothecary jamming his fingers up my nose,” said Seraph with a small chuckle.

“All part of the healing process. I have to drink it multiple times a day. I used to hate the taste, but it’s grown on me. How is the wine?”

Seraph took a deep gulp and sighed. “More delicious than I remember.” He then stared at the cup. “I’ve had a lot of time to think, think about us, how we used to be, how we lived. Brother, do we really deserve this? I remember the things we did, the crimes we committed while saying we were above such things because of our bloodline and power. We were monsters. How can we possibly live up to Father and Lupin’s examples with so much blood on our hands?”

“We cannot undo the past, but we can devote ourselves to building a brighter future. That is our penance: the burden of responsibility for this country. May it hang on our shoulders with crushing weight.”

“And N-N-N-Noah, is he here in the city?” Seraph asked fearfully.

A muscle spasm shot through Galvin, the left side of his face twitching as though he was suffering from a stroke. “We do not say that name, and we do not talk about him, ever,” Galvin hissed, having lost his gentle confidence. Like Galvin, Seraph was trembling.

“I still have nightmares of what he did to me, of what he made me do. I know he’s here, in this castle. I’ve felt a chill since I arrived, like Death standing on my shadow. We deserve to suffer for what we’ve done, for the people we hurt and killed, but still, I’m so full of terror that I feel like I’m going to vomit it onto the floor. What if he comes for us again? What if he decides that it wasn’t enough? What if we do something else that angers him? I still see the flames every time I close my eyes.”

Galvin rushed over and grabbed Seraph by the shoulders. “Not another word, do you hear me?! Never say his name again! Don’t say it, don’t think it! Understand?!”

Seraph was fearful, having never seen Galvin like this. “Yes, I understand! I’m sorry!” The two separated, facing away from each other while they steadied their breath.

“Listen, what happened is in the past. Right now, we need to focus on the future. You think you’ve lost your strength, but I know it’s still in there, buried deep inside. I think I know how to bring it out, to prove to you and the world that you are still Light’s Emissary. Let me tell you about my tournament.”

----------

In the coming days, Noah took a break from researching his curse and turned instead to training his magic. Though it had grown by leaps and bounds since he first gained it two years prior, its true nature still eluded him. Regardless of the techniques he used, he had yet to project a magical circle displaying the core rune of his power. Either his powers were still incomplete and had yet to form a true magic circle, or he simply couldn’t see it.

He went back to his original training method from Clive, draining himself of physical stamina using both his unique exercise routine and vigorous sex. Valia’s recovery was still slow-going, and she helped wherever she could, but it was Shannon who received most of his lust, and she took it like a champ. Each morning, the house would be filled with moans, loud enough to reach outside and redden the cheeks of all who heard it. Shannon had built enough endurance to withstand Noah’s dynamic technique, receiving his thrusts for hour after hour, but she still couldn’t keep up with him. He would always leave her in an orgasm-induced coma, her naked body drained of every iota of strength and lying sticky and slick with a patina of their shared fluids. For her, hard work was its own reward.

Once he had exhausted his physical stamina, Noah would experiment with his magic, figuring out new uses and forms and pushing his mana reserves to their limit. He could now create multiple clones, and was getting better at piloting them with minimal focus. He soon discovered that the kinds of clones he used would affect his abilities.

If he summoned a clone from a lifetime in which he specialized in an instrument, he could take advantage of muscle memory and synaptic pathways from that lifetime to have it play a song without dictating every movement. Rather than puppets on strings, he could use them as programmable apparitions. When performing at the Knight’s Sheath, he’d assemble a whole band of clones, each one from a life devoted to music. They’d play with perfect harmony, operating on autopilot. In the mornings, the house would echo with moans, and in the afternoon, it was flooded with music.

He also spent a great deal of time looking for clues as to Valon’s whereabouts. While in Welindar, he had questioned travelers and merchants from across the continent, trying to find even the hint of a rumor, but came up emptyhanded. Here in Colbrand, the process was the same, and unfortunately, so were the results. Dark elves were rare, and Valon’s power left an impression. One might think he’d easily stand out, but no one had seen him. Had he gone to the other side of the planet? Or was he hidden so deeply in the wilderness that only the gods could find him?

As summer approached, the city filled with warriors planning to enter the fighting tournament. Every year, they’d flow into the city to try and enroll in the knight academy, or to take part in the nightly festival of violence. This year, however, the streets were mostly quiet at night. Until now, the Red Revelry had been a warrior’s purge, where blood-drunk fighters would clash in the darkness for no reason other than the thrill. Now, with the tournament, they had a better outlet for their violent desires. Why go out at night, killing each other for nothing, when they could save their strength for the arena and earn the adoration of the crowd? It was a shame that King Leonard met his end before he could see the success of his plan.

One day, Noah arrived at the Knight’s Sheath to find some old classmates sharing a bottle of spirits.

“Gideon, Foley, I wondered when our paths would ever cross again.”

“Noah!” Foley boomed while raising his glass in celebration.

“Greetings. It’s been a while,” said Gideon with a nod.

Noah joined them at the counter. “Welcome back to Colbrand. I’m guessing you’re both here for the tournament?”

“Of course, how could I resist?” replied Gideon.

“The lord of my village promised me his daughter if I could make it to the finals,” said Foley. “She’s got an ass like a wine barrel and a big pair of cow tits, so I’m ready to fight anyone.”

“You heard about the tournament all the way in the Ashok Mountains?” Noah asked Gideon.

“We get traveling merchants visiting our villages, and they bring news of the outside world. I’ve spent the last year training, and I thought this tournament would be a good chance to test myself and see how far I’ve come.”

“How’s the arm?” Noah asked.

“You mean the stump where my arm used to be? Well, I’ve stopped getting the Phantom Limb thing you mentioned, but it’s still been a major adjustment. However, it has given me a new avenue of focus for my training. By the way, call me Roc, that’s my real name, unless I get into trouble, then I’m hoping being Sir Gideon will protect me.”

“We heard you were back in town and decided to stop by,” said Foley. “The Knight’s Sheath is as popular as ever, I see. Any chance you’re planning another big party like that one before? When I told my brothers about my role in that little “open house,” they threw a fit of jealousy and denial. Then, of course, once stories of you started floating about, my tales suddenly seemed less far-fetched, and I became a local hero of sorts.”

“I heard about your fight with Seraph,” said Roc. “A little over the top, but it’s about time someone knocked him off his pedestal. I’d like to take a crack at him for old times’ sake; let him see how much stronger I’ve gotten.”

“You may have a good chance. He’s lost most of his powers since I beat him, so it would be a fair fight,” said Noah. He expected Roc to be fired up by the good news, but, on the contrary, the one-armed warrior simply turned back to his mug with a grunt of disappointment.

“Are you taking part in the tournament too?” Foley asked.

“The prize doesn’t interest me, so I’m just a spectator. Do me a favor and put on a good show. Dance, my puppets, dance.”

“That’s a shame. The only one I want to fight as much as Seraph is you,” said Roc, flashing him a challenger’s glare.

“Well, we don’t need a tournament for that. I could go for some quick sparring if you’re interested.”

“Really?”

“Sure, I’ve got time. Show me how much you’ve improved.”

“Oh, I got to see this.”

Still carrying his mug, Foley followed Noah and Roc outside and behind the Knight’s Sheath, where they wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Let’s not take this too seriously. You don’t want to go into the arena already sporting bruises.”

“Don’t worry about me; I welcome a good warm-up,” Roc shot back. He assumed a combat stance, but with his missing arm, the gap in his defense was undeniable.

“All right, enough beating around the bush, get on with it,” Foley groaned.

Foley’s complaint was the starting bell, and Roc launched himself towards Noah. He wasn’t using his wings, but even without them to provide propulsion, he was quite fast, able to cross the distance in an instant and begin hurling kicks with great ferocity. He spun like a top, touching the ground for only the briefest fraction of a second between each attack. Noah dodged the relentless kicks, not wanting to test his guard in a full-on block against such formidable force, but it wasn’t just the kicks he had to be wary of. Though Roc had lost an arm, he had trained to compensate, and the remaining arm was much stronger and faster. Every attempted punch was like the swing of a hammer, every nukite jab was like a spear thrust, and his chops reminded Noah of sword slashes. Since Roc could not overcome the gap in his defense, he threw everything into offence, and it was impressive.

Having seen what he wanted to see, Noah slipped past Roc’s guard and lightly jabbed him in three points running up the middle of his torso. He didn’t strike too hard, but it shattered his focus and crushed his momentum. Roc came to an immediate halt and instinctively covered the targeted area with his heart racing. The pain was minor, but still, he trembled with hushed breath, feeling his stomach rise into his throat. Noah was holding back when he struck him, but had he hit with real force, Roc knew he’d be puking his guts up and left out of commission for a good while.

“Goddammit,” he hissed while spitting. “Am I really so much weaker than you?”

“Don’t let it get you down. I myself have been bested a few times since we were knighted. That said, I can see how much you’ve improved. I didn’t dare receive any of your attacks because I could tell how powerful they were.”

“My thanks. You’ve also gotten stronger since we first fought. During the battle royale, I was able to at least land one or two blows.”

“Well, I certainly hope I’ve gotten stronger. Feel free to use that move. May it serve you well.”

At that moment, Alexis stepped outside. “What’s going on here?”

“Just some light sparring between former classmates,” said Noah. “You know, it occurs to me that you and I have never fought before. Want to take a crack at me?”

Alexis paused, realizing the truth in his words. She and Noah had battled side-by-side before, but never faced each other. Deep down, it was something she always wondered about. She knew that Noah was stronger than her, that he would win any fight between them, but part of her was still curious, wanting to know what it would be like to challenge him in combat. Still, she shook her head.

“Someday, you and I will have that chance, but for now, I’m still busy with work.”

“I remember you,” said Foley. “Weren’t we at the academy together?”

“Yes, I’m Alexis Veres. You’re Foley, right?”

“Indeed I am. I remember you racking up plenty of points by dueling. Tell me, are you entering the tournament?”

“That was just in the academy. I prefer to save my fights for a noble cause, rather than to be a spectacle for an audience.”

“Well, fewer opponents for me then.”

“Noah, there is someone inside asking for you,” Alexis then said. “He didn’t give a name, and I don’t recognize him.”

“Hmmm, curious. Let’s see who it is.”

The four of them went back inside to find a man sitting at the bar and resting his feet on a wooden box. He had a shaved head and a face covered in scars, with a pair of swords on his back. Try as he might, Noah couldn’t remember ever meeting this man.

“I hear you’re asking for me,” said Noah.

The man chuckled. “So you’re the Wandering Spirit, huh?”

Just from his tone, Noah could guess why he was there. “Let me guess, bounty hunter? And I’m betting your goal is to put my severed head in that box?”

The man, originally smiling, groaned. “Impressive, but you just ruined one of my favorite parts of this job.”

“Too lazy to drag an empty coffin behind you, huh?”

“All I need is your head, unless you’d rather I take you in alive?”

“You do understand you’re threatening a gold-rank knight in the nation’s capital, right? I could arrest you right now, put you in a cell where you’d never see sunlight again.”

“You may be gold-rank, but something tells me the knighthood would be glad to be rid of you. If anything, they’d pay me to take you off their hands.”

“I’ll admit, that’s a valid point. However, the only head going into that box will be yours if you don’t leave town. You could say I’ve accrued plenty of experience in beheading bounty hunters. I left a whole mountain of them last year.”

“Too bad for those guys that they weren’t me.”

Their conversation had gathered spectators, with customers and working girls quietly moving out of the way of the ensuing fight. Cyrilo was quick to arrive and put a damper on the situation. “Gentlemen, I will tolerate no bloodshed in my bar. Whatever this is about, take it outside.”

Noah chuckled to himself. “You know what? She’s right. Let’s say we settle this a different way. How about a game of drink? First one to empty their mug is the winner. If you win, I’ll come quietly, and you can collect the bounty. If I win, you leave Colbrand and never return.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Noah placed a few coins on the table. “Alexis, your finest ale in your largest mugs, please.”

She seemed wary of the situation, but obliged, filling two ornate steins up to the rim with ale. Noah and the bounty hunter stood at the bar counter, facing each other with their mugs in hand. Everyone in the parlor had gathered to watch. The Wandering Spirit in a drinking contest? If it was anything like his other exploits, this would be a once-in-a-lifetime show.

Alexis took one of the coins Noah paid with. “The match begins when the coin hits the counter. Ready?”

Noah and the man nodded, and Alexis flipped the coin. The second it landed, the man raised his mug and began drinking like a half-dead traveler in the desert. However, Noah hadn’t even taken a sip, and was just watching him drink without a care in the world. Everyone was confused, wondering what he was doing. There was no way he would simply give up. Was he going to wait until the last moment and then somehow empty his entire stein in one big gulp, and simply wanted to build the excitement? Looking at Noah from the corner of his eye, the bounty hunter assumed such a trick and drank even faster, not wanting to give Noah a chance to show off, but that was what Noah wanted.

When the maximum amount of ale was pouring down the man’s throat, Noah stepped forward in his invisible state and struck him in the Adam’s Apple. The response was instant, the man choking on his drink as it flowed into his windpipe. Between that and the pain in his throat, he dropped his mug and fell into the most brutal coughing fit of his life, fighting to get any air in. He crumbled to his knees, his whole body spasming from pain. He puked up the ale he had drank, but he couldn’t clear his lungs.

Only now did Noah raise his stein. “You don’t chug fine liquor; you savor it. Didn’t your father ever teach you what it means to be a real man? What kind of fool doesn’t know such a basic tenet?” Noah emptied the mug slowly while the man at his feet struggled for every breath. He was still coughing by the time Noah finished. “Lucius, I think this guy could use some fresh air. He’s had enough to drink for one day.”

Lucius shrugged and grabbed the bounty hunter, pulling him outside. As the challenger was dragged away, everyone applauded Noah’s victory. It wasn’t the outcome they expected, but it was still incredible. For Noah to predict his opponent would choke and seize victory with such refinement, it was just another story to tell of the Wandering Spirit. Once everyone had congratulated him and returned to their seats, Noah turned to Alexis.

“You did something, didn’t you?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Of course I did. You know me.”

“Well, you’d better hope that guy doesn’t realize it, or he’ll come back mad as a bull.”

“Not to worry, he’ll be dead before morning.” Alexis stared at him with a look of shock, silently demanding an explanation. “All that fluid in his lungs? He’s a goner. No potion or healing magic can undo that.”

“Was that your plan the whole time?” she sighed.

“Need I remind you that he brought a box to hold my severed head? It was either this, or cause a big bloody mess out in the street.”

Alexis wanted to argue, but simply gave up and sighed. “Vomit is hardly better than blood. Your mess, you clean it up.”

----------

As the tournament and Knight’s Day drew closer, it wasn’t just warriors flooding the city. Countless nobles were arriving to watch the fights, and more importantly, gamble. This was going to be an incredible event, with lots of money changing hands. King Leonard was dead, and Galvin had taken the throne without enough time to properly mourn the previous king, attend the crowning ceremony, or, most importantly, make a power grab. For many nobles, this was disastrous. The iron had cooled before they had the chance to strike. Now it was time to kiss the ring, as well as test their new king’s mettle.

Sitting at the end of a long table, flanked by two rows of indignant nobles, Galvin maintained a stoic expression and regal bearing, lacking the conceited smirk he was typically known for. However, no one could ignore that the most loyal sycophants were sitting closest to him, all elevated to lofty positions of command and governance.

Ziradith Herald had once controlled a mighty faction within the aristocracy, gaining supporters with everything from bribery to blackmail. The faction had all but crumbled after her humiliation at the Knight’s Sheath, and those who abandoned the sinking ship were now watching it sail away without them. A notable absence was Ziradith herself, not that anyone expected her to show her face. Plenty of nobles now present had been there to watch Noah ravish her atop that stage. The sight of her legs in the air and breasts heaving as Noah thrust deep into her asshole was one they would never forget. However, this meant Galvin was no longer on her leash, and all were curious as to how he would act.

He held a cup of fragrant tee, tapping it with a ringed finger as he listened to the nobles bicker.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, these tax increases are preposterous! My territory can’t pay this!” a noble exclaimed, slapping a notice on the table listing his new financial obligations.

“Marquess Dren, we are facing the greatest threat of our age,” Galvin countered. “We will not survive with frugality and hesitance. The Wassengel has protected Colbrand, but our country, as a whole, needs a revamped military.”

“We understand the need for more troops,” said a nearby earl. “Your father also invested heavily in the military, but after years of funding the war of expansion, the country is exhausted mentally and financially. Though we gained new territory, most of the land is still wild and untamed, and cannot yet provide the assets and wealth needed for this new conflict.”

“While unwelcome, this tax increase is not equal across the board. The rate depends on what your lands can afford to pay, as well as what loyalty and support you can offer. For those of you who have helped serve as the backbone of this country and continue to bring prosperity and order, your financial obligation is lessened. Those of you who bring nothing to the table but complaints, you will have to pay a steeper cost for your inadequacy. That said, just as loyalty and support are needed, so shall they be your rewards.”

Standing in the corner was Marcus Berholm and the royal guard, keeping a close watch on the proceedings. Berholm’s focus on Galvin wasn’t simply for the young king’s safety, but to try and satiate the gnawing unease he felt. He didn’t become the Royal Adjudicator for nothing; his critical mind and deductive instincts earned him the title, and now they were telling him that something was wrong with the picture before him. He had known Galvin since he was a child, and knew what kind of person he was. This new man before him had royal blood, confirmed by the Wassengel, but every time he spoke, Berholm’s doubts as to his identity started to simmer.

“A fair judgment, but that doesn’t change the numbers. We need a readily exploitable resource right now. Otherwise, this kingdom will quickly go bankrupt.”

The words came from Duke Boris Veres. All eyes were drawn to him, everyone thinking the same thing. The Veres and Herald families were not on good terms at the moment. His willful daughter had burned numerous bridges to get out of marrying Galvin. Then there was the catastrophe with his niece, and, of course, their employment at the Knight’s Sheath, where the Herald matriarch had been humiliated. Many nobles were surprised he hadn’t been stripped of his rank or even executed, let alone allowed to attend this meeting. Was he trying to test the waters? Everyone awaited Galvin’s response.

“Too true, Lord Veres. Your wisdom is always welcome. However, said resource is already flowing into our country as we speak like a mighty river.” Galvin got up and began to saunter around the long table. “The forts and garrisons along our border aren’t there just to keep the Profane out. They are our fishing nets, catching a bountiful haul. Every moment, refugees are fleeing Handent, each one a slave in waiting. Consider them a gift from your grateful empire, to help protect your lands, tend your fields, and perform all other tasks. Those who aren’t put to work here will be sold abroad. Beastman slaves are a prized commodity and will help to pay for this war.”

Many nobles exchanged glances and nods. That much labor could fell entire forests, strip mountains of their ore, and turn fields into oceans of wheat. In the long term, the war with the Profane could be quite profitable.

“The floods of spring inevitably slow to the summer trickle,” Boris continued. “Handent will soon be emptied of its inhabitants, with every man, woman, and child either corrupted by them or enslaved by us. What then?”

“You are forgetting about the arena,” said Lord Strauss. “For its commemoration, the fighting tournament will be free for the people to watch, but that’s not to say it will be unused for the rest of the year, or that every spectacle will be without cost to the viewers. We will keep the public entertained with violence and theater, and once they’ve had a taste for it, they’ll pay to indulge further. Our battles in the arena will pay for our battles on the front line.”

“Lord Strauss has done all the calculations,” said Galvin. “This war is easily affordable. More than that, it is winnable. My father spent twenty years preparing for the Profane to arrive, and I shall finish what he started. Our men have cut their teeth and gained experience fighting the beastman savages, and an army of knights led by Adwith Tarnas can crush any unholy resistance. With the Wassengel defending the heart and soul of this country, we can always rebuild, no matter what damage we sustain. Any inch of land the Profane take, they will not keep. Once all of our pieces are in order, we shall strike deep into the heart of the enemy and wipe them out.”

“If we are to fight against this evil force, we cannot do so without the power of the gods,” said one noble. “We will need the church on our side if this holy war is to succeed.”

“The church overstepped their authority and conspired against all of us!” a man on the other side of the table argued. “I had to purge my lands of traitorous knights who had secretly sworn allegiance to those greedy priests. Let them back into the fold, and your own men will turn on you in the name of the gods!”

“We must have faith in the church and the gods! Only by their grace can we be saved from the Profane! What authority is greater than that of the divine?!”

“You’re a blind fool, handing over all agency and control to a corrupt clergy!”

Nobles started shouting back and forth, many getting to their feet and swinging their arms to accentuate their boisterous words.

“Be silent, all of you!” Galvin barked, quieting the angry aristocrats. He returned to his seat. “I have already come to an agreement with the church. I am allowing their return to Colbrand after the tournament under the condition that they pledge allegiance to my rule, swearing under the eyes of the gods. The damage they sustained from the purge and the assets we’ve seized shall be their punishment for overstepping, with the understanding that they’ll adhere to the proper order and keep their hands off the knighthood and military. Beyond that, the matter will be treated as water under the bridge. We aren’t in a position where we can be turning down allies and dividing our forces.”

Berholm watched the exchange closely. Charismatic, respectful, and intelligent; this new Galvin was a marvel. With this man leading the country, there may yet be hope for the future, but still, Berholm couldn’t erase his unease.

“There is another issue that must be addressed,” said Boris, looking down at the table and rubbing his palms together. The nobles held their breath, knowing what he was about to say. “What of the Wandering Spirit? He has humiliated both of our families and remains untrustworthy and uncontrollable. He is a threat to our nation, having already caused irreparable damage, yet he walks the streets with freedom and authority.”

Galvin’s eye twitched, and his head spasmed to the side. “Do… not… mention him to me. H-h-he is not your concern.” He paused to stop his stuttering and drank his tea with a shaky hand. “Our nation is too mighty to be brought down by one man. So long as… he… doesn’t cause trouble, I will let sleeping dogs lie for the sake of peace.”

All the nobles were silent, unnerved by Galvin’s mannerisms. For all of his effort into showing his new face, his smile had a noticeable crack.

“Let’s change the subject, shall we?” Strauss suggested. “I’d like to go over materials and resources we’ll need for the war, and which territories will be responsible for production.”

Thus, the meeting resumed, and the bean counters planned for the future.

----------

On the opening day of the tournament, the arena was flooded with spectators. It was a sea of excited faces and waving arms, all cheering and hollering in anticipation. For Noah, this was the closest he would get to seeing the Colosseum in the golden age of Rome, and he wanted to enjoy it. As gold-rank knights, he and Valia got access to the exclusive box seats with the nobles, giving them a perfect view of the fighting below. Of course, Noah gave the royal section a wide berth. He didn’t want to be anywhere near Galvin, and many knights were nervous with him around, fearful he might try something against their king.

At the moment, however, Galvin was busy giving a speech, thanking everyone for coming, both spectators and combatants, and commemorating the arena to the memory of his late father. He had been giving frequent speeches, holding rallies at the palace, and cultivating a loud and loyal following, lauding the resilience and strength of Uther, able to celebrate while fighting against the Profane and their beastman minions.

Many did not find his words encouraging, and Shannon was among them, listening as Galvin stirred the crowd with vitriol. Sitting with Noah and Valia, she touched her horse ears. Perhaps it would be better if she reverted to a completely human form, if not for her own safety, then to protect her Lord and Lady from being ostracized for their association with her. Her animal traits represented more than just her ties to the spirits of nature and her totem beast; they were her last link to her tribe, but perhaps that didn’t matter now.

“Don’t,” said Noah, touching her shoulder.

“My Lord?”

“There is a time and a place to blend in, to disguise yourself and your true nature. This isn’t it. I will not have my noble steed be ashamed of who she is and where she comes from. All you should feel is pride in yourself. Besides, I’ve gone to great lengths to make sure the people of this city know what happens when I am antagonized. Only the greatest fools would think of giving you grief, and if they do, remind them of that.”

Shannon smiled. “Thank you, My Lord.” Her smile then grew, and she giggled bashfully as he rubbed her ears. “Oh yes, right there! That’s the spot!”

Down below, the tournament participants were gathered in the ring, standing in formation for the sake of pageantry. There were well over two hundred competitors in a tournament that would continue until Knight’s Day. Many were already aiming to enroll in the academy after the tournament and thought they’d try to skip the hassle. Noah saw several familiar faces from his days at the academy. Winning the tournament wasn’t just about the money or promotion to silver rank; it was the chance to earn fame and have their supremacy etched into history.

The brackets had already been organized into eight levels of matches, but the first round would involve over a hundred fights. In a way, the actual tournament had yet to begin. This was simply thinning the ranks while letting spectators watch. The actual tournament would start once the army of warriors was whittled down a bit.

With the end of Galvin’s speech, the bloodshed could finally begin. All of the fighters, save for two, left the ring for the first match. The rules were simple: fight until one side could not compete, and in the result of a draw, a rematch would be set later. There was no true ring to be pushed out of, so the loser would either surrender, lose consciousness, or die. If a fighter was knocked to the ground, they had until the count of 10 to get back on their feet, or they lost. Knights participating could not use their official equipment, but all other weapons and magic were allowed, as was killing an opponent, so long as they were standing. Executing a defeated enemy brought disqualification.

The two men circled each other, one with an axe and the other with a sword and shield. As they lunged for each other, the crowds cheered with thunderous applause, all thirsty for blood. For Noah, the violence was inconsequential. All he really cared about was observing the magic that would come into play, but all he was seeing so far was low-level warrior and monk spells, the most common magic. With the two fighters failing to catch his interest, he was focused more on the person approaching him from behind. Valia had also noticed, but it wasn’t a threat from how she was acting.

“Sir Noah, a word?”

Noah turned to find Berholm standing behind him.

“Sir Berholm, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping we could speak in private. If you would follow me, please.”

“Of course.” Noah left the room with Berholm, following him down the stone corridors to a balcony overlooking the ring. “Should I be worried about the possibility of assassination? You brought me to the perfect place for a well-aimed arrow. From this perch, I’m visible to all, but no one would see me die.”

“Not this time. I actually wanted to ask for your help with something. Above the cheering crowd, not even the sharpest-eared elf can hear us. Tell me, is it true you can change your face at will?”

“I can take on the appearances of past lives, yes.” He gave a quick demonstration, shifting his face multiple times. “I think I have a good idea of where this is headed, and I’m not interested.”

Berholm grimaced. “Just hear me out. You are aware of the church’s downfall, correct?”

“Yes, I know all about it. I was the one who found the evidence in Commandant Ford’s office when I was at the academy.”

“Yes, and ever since this was revealed, we’ve been working to purge the military of the clergy’s control and influence. We arrested a few cardinals and several other high-level members of the church. Still, many fled the city and built up their power in the countryside under the protection of sympathetic nobles. Madam Cyrilo was helping us track them down using alchemically-replicated truth serum, on the condition that it would be made only on a case-by-case basis and administered only by her.”

“A wise condition. I wouldn’t trust the kingdom either, seeing how deeply it had been infiltrated.”

“She did trust King Leonard, but didn’t want to leave any truth serum lying around for others to use.”

“Such as his successor?”

“Correct,” Berholm huffed. “Since Galvin took the throne, she’s become much more reluctant to get involved. However, that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Galvin is trying to make peace with the church and get them on our side to help fight the Profane. That said, being so quick to trust the church at this stage is a grave mistake. We’ve broken their hold on the knighthood and ripped them from their lofty mansions, yet the remaining cardinals still possess significant assets and military might. They will inevitably return to their old schemes and try again to seize power.

The church infiltrated the knighthood with their agents, so I did the reverse and now have a mole in the clergy. Thanks to my mole, I got a list of the participants the church sent to enter the tournament, some obvious, some hidden. They’re trying to rack up funds and are using the tournament betting pool to do it by fixing the matches. I’m sure they’d also like to get one of their top agents back into the knighthood.”

“And you want to do the same to counter them, to bleed them of even more money. You can’t simply arrest the church’s participants and the agents making the bets because that would compromise your informant, and possibly trigger a riot from the bloodthirsty spectators cheated out of their entertainment.”

“It’s not just that; it’s what you said in the War Room. We can’t waste time squabbling with each other now that the Profane are on the move. I do not trust your character, but the words you spoke are the truth. I am hoping we can recruit the church to help fight the Profane. All of the warriors the church planted in the tournament, simply arresting or executing them would be a waste of talent. I’d rather put them to work for the good of the nation and the world.”

“Cheating them out of their bets. That’s an unusual olive branch.”

“We need to put the church at a loss without them knowing it was according to our plan. We need them desperate so we can ensure their partnership while loosening the old regime’s hold. Ultimately, the church must realign with the kingdom if either are to survive the Profane assault, but for that, serious changes need to be made. The original cardinals must be supplanted with new leaders loyal to Uther. Until that happens, the conflict continues so that it may end.”

“‘The conflict continues so that it may end,’ I like that,” Noah chuckled. “It’s a tale as old as time, but you’re the first person to put it so eloquently.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“Not a damn thing. It never means anything.”

Berholm grunted. “I need to make sure they lose when they’re supposed to and win before they can take a fall, and that’s where you come in. With your combat skills and appearance alteration, I would like you to impersonate specific participants and ensure things go according to plan.”

“And is this Galvin’s idea?”

“Mine, but he’s given it his approval, and I won’t tell him you’re involved.”

“You say that my words changed your thinking, but the kingdom and the church are still bickering with each other instead of working together. So what if the church is treacherous? So what if they misused the authority of the knighthood? That is hardly the priority when facing the threat of the Profane. Just let bygones be bygones, and once the Profane are destroyed, if you still haven’t had your fill of violence and strife, you can go to war with the church.”

“How can you expect us to forgive them when they are a threat to the authority of the kingdom?”

“Forget the kingdom. Forget the country. It’s all just land and people, dividing themselves over imaginary lines and petty ideologies. I’ve seen entire planets get destroyed, billions of souls lost, and nations erased like doodles in the sand getting swept over. Do you really think the rule of your primitive little monarchy matters to me?

Whether destroyed by Profane, overtaken by the church, or washed over by the passage of time, your nation will inevitably fall, or it will simply change so much that you won’t recognize it. Both possibilities are acceptable losses compared to what the Profane have in store for this world. You need to stop focusing on the insignificant domestic issues and start thinking about how to protect this planet as a whole from what’s coming.”

“Spoken as a visitor with no stake in this country. You don’t care because it doesn’t affect you, but we lowly mortals must suffer our choices and their consequences for the rest of our lives. We have to think about what happens after the Profane. So what if we stop them? What good is it when we suffer a famine or civil war after because of who we put our trust in?”

“Then that’ll be Uther’s problem, but the world will be safe. On a global scale, the temporary strife of one country is hardly significant compared to the horrors averted if everyone can work together.” Berholm seemed annoyed and despondent, but Noah continued. “That said, you’re lucky I’m such a hypocrite focused on my own gains. If you simply want me to fix the matches, that’s easy. I’ll sabotage anyone you want; just tell me who. However, I want something in return.”

“You’re a knight, are you not?”

“I am, but if I’m caught fixing the fights, will you defend me as one? Or will you label me as a criminal and use it as an excuse to lock me away? For all I know, that could be your true plan. Assuming the likelihood of such a scenario, I need some kind of compensation or collateral. Trust needs to go both ways.”

“Very well, what do you want?”

“In exchange for one day’s work, I want to examine the relics in the royal vault this evening.”

Berholm turned to him with fury in his eyes. “You’re mad if you think I’d let you anywhere near the royal vault!”

“You’re welcome to supervise. I only want to see the enchanted relics and perform a magical analysis. I want to know what they’re made of, what ink they’re inscribed with, and what the sequencing is. Maybe they’ll give me some ideas. Considering the risk I’m taking, is the chance to appreciate some art and history really such an insane recompense?”

“The vault holds more than just artifacts and relics! It contains our treasury!”

“Who do you think taught Cyrilo how to turn dirt into diamonds? Your gold isn’t worth the effort it takes to carry. I’m only interested in antiquities.”

Berholm glared at Noah, then sighed. “Very well. You have a deal. It would be best to gradually remove the church’s spies. I doubt they would send a bunch of pushovers, and if they were to all lose in their very first fight, it would draw suspicion. Here’s a list of your targets for today.” Berholm handed him a piece of parchment with several names.

“Excellent. I’ll see you at the palace after the fights conclude.” Noah walked past Berholm and stopped. “Oh, and another thing: tell Galvin to knock it off with the anti-beastman propaganda. If my companion or anyone at the Knight’s Sheath gets any grief because of your king’s bile, I will consider that an act of aggression against me on his part. I’m sure you remember what happened the last time he provoked me. I suggest you do everything you can to get the message across.”

The two locked eyes, and as those heavy words sank, mana filled the air, radiating from Berholm like heat from a bonfire. It was a warning that Noah had gone too far and risked death if he did not repent. Noah replied with a countering surge, energizing the atmosphere around them with a repelling aura, a warning that the dwarf knew not who he was challenging. The two warriors communicated, not with words, not even with fists, but projected killing intent.

Berholm knew, before he even got Noah’s response, that he did not have the strength to back up his warning. His body wasn’t fully healed from his fight with Bella, and in all likelihood, he would never regain his full strength, but he was still duty-bound to rebuke Noah’s threat against Galvin. Yet when Berholm sensed his powers, his defiance was replaced with begrudging acknowledgment. By mana alone, Noah was already worthy to wear a gold-rank knight emblem, and his combat ability, both known and unknown, perhaps put him even higher. Berholm, sensing his certain death, eased back, and Noah did the same.

“I have no interest in being your enemy, Sir Berholm, so please don’t give me a reason to.”

The two parted ways, and Noah returned to Valia and Shannon.

“What did Marcus want?” Valia asked.

“He has some sketchy work for me to do regarding the tournament. I’ll have to step out every now and then, but for now, let’s just enjoy the show.”

Soon, Roc got his turn to fight, and unlike his days at the academy, he arrived with his wings on full display. Galvin’s rhetoric had already rubbed off on many spectators, as there was a great deal of heckling from the crowds. He ignored them and reached the middle of the ring, just as his opponent arrived. He was a man wearing chainmail and carrying a spear.

‘Oh great. The last time I came here and fought a spear-user, I ended up impaled and thrown in the dungeon.’ He turned and scanned the belligerent crowd. ‘Are you there, Aithorn? Do you see me? Do you remember when we fought two years ago? I’ll never forget it.’

The referee stepped forward, a large man with a voice like thunder, great for reaching the crowd. “In this corner, we have Roc, of the Ashok eagle tribe! And in this corner, Nux, of Took! Let the fight begin!”

Nux charged towards Roc with his spear glowing with an aura of power. His thrusts came fast, like the needle of a sewing machine. Roc kept his distance, using his wings to push himself back so he wouldn’t end up skewered. He was studying his opponent and searching for patterns and weaknesses. Though the power of his attacks was unquestionable, he lacked the speed and grace that overwhelmed Roc when fighting against Aithorn. Compared to the elf warrior, Nux might as well have been moving in slow motion.

Finally, when the timing was right, Roc grabbed the shaft and jumped up, delivering an explosive kick to the side of Nux’s head that knocked him off his feet. He hit the ground without resistance and lay there, unmoving, his neck bent at an awkward angle. Roc tossed the spear aside as the referee counted down, but Nux didn’t get up.

“And the winner is Roc!” the referee announced as he raised Roc’s hand. There was no cheering for the beastman warrior, but in time, that would change.

The matches continued, with combatants stepping out one by one to fight for riches and glory. There were so many participants that it would take days for the tournament to finally be decided, but the crowds seemed undaunted by the long hours. Blood and magic filled the air, and as combatants fell to the ground, the spectators rose to their feet, cheering and demanding more carnage. Drinks and food were distributed to keep them fueled and happy, and a net of sails overhead provided shade.

Noah paid close attention to the techniques and moves of the various warriors, as well as their magic, always searching for new factors he could add to his combat repertoire. He also looked for clues on who might be working for the church. Their agents would most likely be using elemental magic, and there were some powerful contenders. He already had several ideas for fixing the matches, but the tricky part would be making sure they remained ignorant of his influence. Even if they couldn’t identify him or prove that he had intervened in their fights, if enough of them realized that something was happening, then Berholm’s plan would be revealed.

Eventually, one of the listed church spies entered the ring. It was time to go to work. Noah excused himself and left Valia and Shannon, returning to the empty balcony. There, he had a perfect view of the ring and the two combatants: a powerful lightning-user and a warrior with two swords. Activating his illusion magic, Noah produced a phantasmal sniper rifle. He had used this model extensively in one of his past lives, appreciating its accuracy and low volume. Still, he also conjured a crow and perched it nearby to help cover the noise.

Staring down the illusory scope, he focused on the mage, waiting for the perfect moment. The two combatants were fighting it out, and though the swordsman was putting up a decent fight, it was clear he wouldn’t win the battle. Fortunately for him, that’s why Noah was there. Down to the wire, the mage began to charge his ultimate spell, and his foe sprinted towards him for one last desperate attack. Noah pulled the trigger, while nearby, his summoned crow gave a shrill cry, overshadowing the suppressed crack of the rifle.

A bullet of condensed mana fired from the gun, crossing the vast open space into the ring and striking the mage, shattering his focus and disrupting his spell. These bullets couldn’t cause physical harm or damage, and left no residue or traces of their impact. They were increments of killing intent, imparting an overwhelming sense of vulnerability and mortality.

The moment the mage was struck, his instincts screamed that he had just been fatally wounded, despite not a single drop of blood spilling. With his magic disrupted and his thoughts scattered, the mage couldn’t defend himself in time, and the swordsman cut him down with two slashes. The mage collapsed, and the crowds released thunderous applause at the sight of so much blood. With his job done for the moment, Noah returned to Valia and Shannon.

“What did you do?” Valia asked.

“Just some official knight work, don’t worry about it.”

After several more fights, Foley entered the ring, carrying a shield on each arm. His opponent was a robed mage with a staff.

The referee raised his hand. “In this corner, Sir Jim Foley of Wahr Village! And in this corner, Pine Alco of Theben! Let the match begin!

“Oh Lord Byrnestoir, have mercy on my opponent! May your flames embrace him like a lover’s arms, so that he might come to know your splendor!” Pine shouted. It was a safe bet that this man was one of the church agents, and Foley seemed unimpressed.

“Feel free to use as much flame magic as you want, but just know that I had beans for breakfast. Try to attack me from behind, and you’ll get swallowed up in a fireball that’ll melt steel.”

“Such blasphemy! You know nothing of the power of God!”

“Your mother knows all about God after I made her cry out to him over and over! Now let’s get this over with; you’re boring me!”

“Burn for your sins! Dragon’s Breath!” Pine aimed his staff at Foley and released a mighty stream of fire.

“Steel Rampart!” Foley cast.

Mana radiated from his shields and shrouded him in a dome of energy. The flames splashed off the dome like a blowtorch spraying a cannonball, unable to pierce Foley’s defenses or even challenge him.

“Is this it? This is the best you can do? I felt more heat taking a piss after I fucked your slag mother!”

“You disgusting little cretin! Take this!” Pine increased the output of his blast, honing it from a flamethrower-like surge into a focused jet. It was impressive, almost on par with one of Gradius’s attacks, yet Foley still endured without stepping back.

“Maybe I could use this opportunity to light a smoke! That’s all you seem to be good for!”

Seeing that he wasn’t getting anywhere, Pine changed his tactics. He began running in a large circle around Foley while aiming at him with his staff. “Flare Burst!”

Fireballs shot from the end of his staff and bombarded Foley like artillery, releasing thermal and concussive energy, yet the dwarf remained undaunted. Pine ran and attacked from all angles, searching for a weak spot in Foley’s defenses.

“Oh look, it’s raining! Or is that supposed to be your attack?” Foley taunted. “Byrnestoir must really be scraping the bottom of the barrel to let a weaselly little cocksucker like you use his name!”

Baited by Foley, Pine charged forward while channeling all of his remaining mana into his staff, forming a massive fireball, which he swung down on the dwarf like a hammer. Upon contact with the mana dome, the fireball burst in a blinding explosion, forcing many spectators to shield their faces from the light and the heat. Pine thought victory was his, until Foley’s arm reached out of the flames and struck him in the solar plexus, sending him staggering back. It was more than just a simple punch. The tip of his shield extended past his fist like a blade, leaving a large stab wound.

Foley emerged, patting out some sparks nesting in his beard. “Sorry, pal, but God has no love for losers.”

With his last desperate burst of strength, Pine swung at him with his staff, but Foley blocked it with one shield and countered with the other, delivering another blow to Pine’s chest, this time higher up. The wound was deep, and Pine collapsed with blood streaming from his chest. The referee counted down, and the crowd cheered for Foley’s victory. Watching with Valia and Shannon, even Noah was impressed. This was the first time he’d ever seen Foley fight, and though he had heard rumors about his impressive defenses, shrugging off that many fire attacks went beyond his expectations.

Morning turned to afternoon, and after Noah took out the eighth church spy on his list, another former classmate of his entered the ring.

“That’s Ken Rilgis, correct? I remember him from the academy. He had a real knack for the sword,” said Valia.

“That’s right,” said Noah. “Let’s hope that skill serves him well.”

The sharp-eyed young man held a single-edged sword, similar to a katana, and his opponent was a tall bearded monk wearing only a pair of trousers to show off his muscles. The match was initiated, and Ken held out his sword, wrapping it in an aura of energy. He then charged towards the monk, bringing down his blade with a mighty slash. The monk stepped to the side to dodge, but what caught Noah’s attention was how quick Ken reacted, already harnessing the momentum of his first attack to propel him into his next. He pursued the monk with an ongoing chain of attacks, never letting his sword pause for even a moment. Jumping, swinging, spinning, he was in constant motion, but his moves were slower than Noah expected, and the monk easily avoided each slash.

“You fight with much vigor,” said the monk, “but your sword might as well be a fluttering moth. You can’t hope to win if this is the best you can do.”

“I recognize that style,” said Valia. “You used it against me when we fought at the academy while wielding that huge claymore. It seems you left a real impression on him.”

“Yes, his ability to blend his attacks together without wasting energy is superb, but his speed should be higher, unless….”

“Unless what?” Shannon asked.

“Look at his sword; it’s growing brighter and brighter. It must be like Lupin’s chain. The longer his sword remains in motion, the more energy it accumulates. It’s just one continuous slash, growing more and more powerful the longer it lasts. I get it. He wants his opponent to dodge so that he can charge up his attack. That’s why he’s moving so slow.”

Finally, when Ken had gathered enough energy, and his sword was burning with mana, he made one final lunge, this time at full speed. “Biding Slash!”

He swung towards the monk’s neck, ready to take his head and obliterate half of his body in the process. But without effort, the monk reached up and caught the blade with his bare hand. Ken was stopped in his tracks, with all the gathered energy instantly dissipating. Everyone stared in shock, unable to believe such a powerful attack could be blocked so easily. Even Noah and Valia were bewildered.

“I see now the hidden power of your skill. Not bad. You might have lasted longer in this tournament had you been on the other end of the bracket.”

The next moment, a powerful shockwave surged from the monk, slamming into Ken like a charging bull and tossing him through the air. He rolled across the ground with blood streaming from his mouth. He wasn’t getting up.

“What just happened?” Shannon asked.

“I have an idea, but I’d rather not say until I know for sure,” said Valia.

“Either way, that monk has my interest,” said Noah, with everyone in the audience agreeing.

After the monk’s battle, Noah had to take down two more church agents. Just like the first, he neutralized them with his illusory sniper rifle. No one in the audience heard the muffled gunshots, or they didn’t give the strange sound any thought. He waited for the perfect moment, when the church’s fighters were betting everything on their magic. A single bullet was all it took to break their spells, and with their focus shattered by the feeling of dread, they were defenseless against their opponents.

Finally, as the sun began to set, the last match began. The spectators were tired, and the arena seats weren’t cushioned. At this point, they were ready to call it a day and come back tomorrow, but their interest was suddenly reinvigorated by the referee’s words.

“And now, for the final match of the day! Last, but certainly not least, Prince Seraph Albion!”

Seraph entered the arena, trying to keep his nerve. Not long ago, the idea of fighting before the crowds, earning their love and adoration as he unleashed his awesome strength, would have made his heart race with endless excitement. Now, fear gripped him. The last time he fought in front of an audience was when Noah was beating him to death. His fellow knights, his subjects, watched him crawl with broken legs, dragging himself to the poison plum so he could kill himself and escape Noah’s wrath. The horror of that day, the humiliation, still pulled him from sleep every night, drenched in a cold sweat. What if it happened again? What if, after spending the last year painstakingly trying to put the pieces of his shattered life back together, the entire city would watch him get ground into the dirt?

The reaction from the crowd wasn’t exactly uniform. Despite his legendary power, Seraph did not hold the hearts and minds of the community, mainly due to his history of violence and megalomania. His soul-crushing defeat at the hands of Noah and absence during the king’s death and fiend army battle certainly did not help. Still, the return of their prince was worth cheering for, and he got some welcoming applause.

“Well, well, well, the prodigal son returns,” said Noah.

“He’s the one you beat up, correct?” Shannon asked.

“That’s right. He was nothing more than a violent narcissist with the mother of all God complexes, so I broke him down and destroyed who he once was. Hopefully, Tarnas has succeeded in putting some steel in his spine.”

Seraph’s opponent arrived, a man with a bow and quiver of arrows. “So, it’s my first fight, and I get to battle against the Crown Prince of Uther. Lucky me,” he said with a wry grin.

Seraph, swallowing the lump in his throat, assumed a combat stance. He was armed with a mace, but the radiant aura of holy light that once shrouded him for battle was now just a minor shimmer.

“Now let the match begin!” the referee announced.

Quick as a flash, the archer nocked an arrow and shot it at Seraph. He deflected it with his mace and paused to gather his nerve. His training under Tarnas in the wilderness had been challenging, and he had engaged in plenty of fights in the past year to try and regain his strength. Still, he couldn’t help but be afraid. All these eyes on him, reminding him of that day. Even worse, he knew that somewhere in that crowd was Noah, watching him.

Shaking him from his thoughts, the archer shot another arrow. Seraph narrowly blocked it, and the arrow broke against his mace and sent a sliver of wood shooting past him and scratching his cheek. The pain of that cut snapped him back to the moment. Gathering his courage, he charged towards the archer and swung at him with his mace. The archer dodged and launched another arrow, and this time, though Seraph managed to prevent it from drilling into his chest, it still grazed his shoulder like a bullet, reacquainting him with the heat of fresh blood streaming from a wound. Unlike before, this injury wasn’t healing automatically, just another reminder of how broken he was.

“He’s not doing very well,” Noah muttered.

“Physically, there is no issue, but his heart just isn’t in it. There is nothing but fear and uncertainty in his movements,” said Valia.

Seraph lunged once again, swinging his mace with frenzied power. He was naturally swift and strong, but the archer dodged his attacks with practiced acrobatics and honed agility. Seraph had the advantage if he could just keep his foe moving so he couldn’t launch another arrow. He focused his holy energy into his muscles to boost his speed, but what would have once made him nearly fast as lightning now only made him half a step quicker.

He bet everything on one attack, launching himself towards the archer and swinging his mace. The archer dodged and nocked an arrow, its tip alight with condensing mana. He shot Seraph in the side and set off a silver explosion, knocking the prince through the air. He hit the ground rolling, with the side of his chest a mess of shredded tissue and muscle. Writhing in the dirt, he wanted to howl in agony, but he couldn’t breathe. If someone told him that he lost a lung to that attack, he’d believe them.

“So this is the best that Uther’s mightiest prince can do?” the archer scoffed as he approached. “It’s disgraceful. If anything, fighting you will just sully my name. The Wandering Spirit should have just killed you and saved us both the embarrassment of this match.”

Hearing Noah mentioned twisted Seraph’s stomach in knots. Maybe he should have just died back then. Now he knew how Gideon felt, always getting demolished in their duels. How did he do it? How did he keep getting up and fighting when it was impossible? He remembered thinking the young warrior was mad, challenging him over and over again despite the outcome never changing, ending each day beaten into submission as one big bloody bruise, only to come at him again the next day, but was it really madness? Or a form of strength so foreign to him that he simply could not recognize it? Tenacity, that frustratingly stubborn will, that’s what it was. It wasn’t about power; it was about strength, and Seraph felt like he was finally starting to understand the difference.

The referee began to count down, but with a hiss of pain, Seraph forced himself up onto his feet. He saw Gideon get up the same way so many times. There was no excuse for him not to be able to do it once. “I’m not done yet.”

There was some cheering in the crowd, and even Noah cracked a smirk.

“So, you want to keep going? Fine,” the archer taunted. “I just hope no one holds it against me when I tear you to shreds.”

Seraph gave a pained laugh, remembering how he used to talk like that. He aimed his palm at the archer and began gathering his mana into his hand. He didn’t have nearly as much as he used to, and as he scrounged around for every last spark of magical energy in his body, he realized how wasteful he had been with it before. Now, he was grateful for all he had, and would use it for all its worth. A sphere of light formed in his hand, weak and diminutive, but he folded it like Damascus steel over and over to remove all impurities and weaknesses, condensing and reforming the energy with each passing second to hone it to perfection. What he lacked in quantity, he was going to make up for in quality.

The archer began to run, circling Seraph while keeping his distance. Seraph didn’t even look at him; he focused his eyes dead ahead while charging his attack. An arrow was launched, drawing sounds of shock from the crowd as it planted itself in Seraph’s side. He grimaced and shook from the pain, but did not break his posture or stop his preparation. The archer continued to circle him while launching arrows. The bolts hit their mark, piercing his leg, his shoulder, and his gut, yet Seraph endured the pain.

‘Be like that dwarf with the shield. He took everything I threw at him and didn’t falter, even when he was spitting up blood. If he did it, so can I.’

His own blood was soaking his clothes and dripping onto the ground, with each pained muscle spasm augmenting the flow, but still, he held on, focusing on his attack.

Finally, the archer stood behind him and loaded his last arrow, taking aim at Seraph’s heart. “Not bad, but this is where it ends.”

He released the arrow, and in that moment, Seraph spun around while sidestepping out of its path. “Searing Radiance!”

He aimed his hand at the archer, and the sphere of light erupted into a beam of radiant gold energy. Though far weaker than it would have been at the academy, the blast hit the archer dead on, frying him from the chest up. He staggered back, screaming in pain and covering his face, blinded by the light and feeling like every cell in his body had been seared blistering red by the sun.

Pain, adrenaline, and desperation; Seraph harnessed these sensations and more, using everything at his disposal to get moving. Though the arrows lodged in his muscles left him awkward and unbalanced, he still threw himself forward, and with a howl of determination, he struck the archer in the side with his mace. The archer was knocked off his feet, his arm and ribcage broken, and Seraph, by the skin of his teeth, managed to keep from collapsing.

“And the winner is Prince Seraph!” the referee announced, drawing thunderous applause from the audience.

“Hmmm, there may be hope for him yet, wouldn’t you say?” Valia asked.

“Maybe, but the tournament has only just begun,” replied Noah.

Please comment! Tell me your thoughts!
2 comments

oldFReport 

2025-01-24 14:30:20
i hope noah gets his hands on that wessenengel thing.

Ryojin JakkaReport 

2025-01-20 10:15:25
Another excellent chapter. I hope the two prince's have truly changed.

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