The convoy of trucks rumbled down the winding path across the rolling hills to the great city state of Holforth, it had been a long trying three days over some of the worst roads Dereck had every driven over but their pace was what he had figured. As they approached, Derreck could finally see their destination up close—Holforth. The city stretched out before him, a shimmering sea of white marble that stretched along the tip of the southern coast, its grand towers and spires rising proudly against the deep blue sky and a shimmering ocean backdrop. The architecture was breathtaking, a testament to the wealth and power of the king who ruled this land. Walls of polished stone gleamed in the sunlight, and wide cobblestone streets lined with columns and statues led up to the heart of the city, and the massive domed council hall off the main palace that served as the seat of the council of kings of Varinja where kings of Varinja came each month to air differences and foster a lasting peace throughout the peninsula.

  "It’s magnificent," Lady Amelia said quietly, her eyes filled with wonder as she gazed upon the city. "I haven’t seen my city in some time, but it’s more beautiful than I remember." She said as her face seemed to glow in a way Derreck couldn’t ignore.

  he nodded, he couldn’t ignore Ameila’s excitement though he had to refocus. His thoughts were elsewhere. They had come to Holforth not just to marvel at its grandeur, but to meet with the council of kings. Lady Amelia had insisted on escorting him personally, hoping her presence would give him credibility among the nobility. But Derreck knew that the council would be no easy audience to impress even with tales of his glory and his terrifying orc knights. He was an outsider, a foreigner, and despite his growing reputation in the north, there were many who might rather see him fail then gain favor at the council.

  As the convoy approached the city gates, they were greeted by a contingent of royal guards, their silver armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. They guided the convoy through the gates and up the main avenue, the people of Holforth gathering on either side of the street to catch a glimpse of the new arrivals and their strange carriages. Derreck could feel their eyes on him, could hear the murmurs as they recognized Lady Amelia.

  The trucks came to a halt in front of the council hall, and Derreck, Lady Amelia, Clyde, and the rest of their party dismounted. Knights and orcs stood together, an unusual sight in a city as formal and dignified as Holforth. The orcs dressed in knights armor stood out the most in the odd grouping but their demeanor was serious though and their loyalty to Derreck unquestionable.

  "Stay sharp," Derreck said quietly to Clyde as they approached the grand doors of the council hall. "We don’t exactly know what we’re walking into."

  Clyde nodded, his hand resting in a familiar fashion as of late on the hilt of his sword as they made their way inside.

  The interior of the council hall was just as grand as its exterior. Massive columns lined the walls, and the domed ceiling was adorned with intricate mosaics depicting the history of Holforth and its kings. At the far end of the hall, a long table had been set up, where the council of kings awaited them. There were seven of them in total, each representing a different region of Virinja, their crowns resting on their heads as they watched Derreck and his party approach.

  Lady Amelia stepped forward, her head held high. "My lords, I present to you Derreck Langston, Lord of the floating fortress of Atalantha, viscount of the north lands of the Sadar mountains, and orc chieftain and Warlord of the North under the mighty Tarrack Nor orc of orc’s, and his company. He has come to Holforth to discuss matters of great importance regarding the Empire of Zion."

  The kings were shocked at the mixed accomplishments of this stranger who had carved out a territory in the north under their noses, they regarded Derreck with cold, calculating eyes. The air in the hall was thick with tension, the weight of their judgment pressing down on him. But before any of them could respond, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall, and a figure emerged from a side entrance, his shining new armor clanking as he strode toward the council.

  Rupert Vargas.

  He had arrived ahead of them at the council, and by the look of him, he had been eagerly waiting for this moment. His face was twisted in a sneer as he came to stand before the kings, his voice ringing out with authority.

  "My lords, I demand that this man be arrested at once!" Rupert’s voice was filled with indignation, and his gaze locked onto Derreck with a venomous hatred. "He is no noble! He is a criminal and a traitor, and he has no right to stand before you!"

  Derreck’s hand instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t draw it. His knights were already bristling at the insult, and it was clear that they were ready to fight their way free if necessary. The orcs, especially, growled low in their throats, their eyes fixed on Rupert knowing the hatred of their old enemy well.

  Lady Amelia stepped forward, her eyes blazing with fury. "How dare you, Rupert Vargas! Was it not you who abandoned me to die in orc lands while your men begged you to spur you to action as you questionably investigated the sky fall, and now you dare to accuse lord Derreck of treason? Isn’t it also true you’ve been inciting the orcs to raid in your lands while you engage in the deplorable act of killing their women and children while their warriors were away on hunts. It is you who is the true traitor to Holforth here, not Lord Derreck!"

  Rupert’s sneer deepened, and he turned to the kings. "These claims are false, my lords! She’s only trying to cover for her pet savage. I demand satisfaction for these crimes against my honor."

  Derreck finally spoke, his voice calm but cold. "You don’t have the right to demand anything, Rupert. You’re not even a noble, anymore."

  With a swift motion, Derreck produced a rolled-up document from inside his coat and handed it to a Paige to be read aloud. The expressions of everyone in attendance shifted as the words were read. The document made its way through the lords in attendance until it rested in front of king Thuragon himself who confirmed that it was Rupert’s signet and seal at the bottom.

  "Does this document bears your signet, Rupert," great king Thuragon said, his voice heavy with accusation. "Signed in your own blood, no less. It strips you of your title and all your lands."

  Rupert’s face turned red with rage. "That document was forced out of me! It’s not binding! I was under duress!"

  Derreck shook his head. "You signed it willingly in front of witnesses, your own force captain will testify to that. You were afraid, Rupert. And now you’re trying to weasel your way out of it. But it doesn’t matter. You’re done."

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  The kings exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. King Thuragon, the lord of Holforth and the eldest of the council, finally spoke. "This is a grave matter. A dispute between nobles cannot be resolved so easily especially while this council is in attendance. There are claims on both sides, and the truth must be revealed. Therefore, I decree and I’m sure my follow kings would agree that this matter be settled in the old way—through a battle of champions. The winner will decide who holds the title of lord of the Northlands of the Vargas family."

  The hall fell silent. Rupert’s sneer returned, and he glanced at Derreck with malicious glee, he fully expected this to happen, his father warned him that old king Thuragon was nostalgic for the past when kings rode at the head of their army and settled differences with shows of strength like this. "Very well, my lord. I will choose my champion, and this Derreck may choose his."

  Rupert gestured to the far side of the hall, and from the shadows emerged a hulking figure, his arms and legs bound in heavy iron shackles. The man was enormous, easily seven feet tall and built like a mountain. His face was scarred, and his eyes burned with a savage intensity. He was clearly a prisoner, likely one of Rupert’s most dangerous assets.

  As the shackles were removed, Rupert smiled. "Choose your champion well and your weapon wisely, Derreck."

  Derreck stood still for a moment, his gaze locking onto the hulking man as the crowd in the hall began to murmur. His knights shifted uneasily at the sight of this monster of a man, even Lady Amelia seemed concerned. Only the orcs remained ready for action, they had taken to puffing up their chests and looking more aggressive so their lord would pick them to battle in his honor. Derreck stopped for a moment sizing up his opponenet then looking to the kings in attendance watching their faces of mixed concern and contempt for Rupert in using a criminal to settle a matter of honor. But then, a slow smile crept across Derreck’s face, and he glanced at Rupert with a glint of amusement in his eyes, a plan of action had formed.

  "we choose lopping, my lords in attendance. Lopping," Derreck said, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.

  The room fell into stunned silence. Lopping was a brutal, almost barbaric form of bare-knuckle boxing, with few rules and a high likelihood of fatalities. It was considered a crude sport, one that only the most desperate or reckless would engage in and only the lowest of men would watch as sport. The nobles of Holforth stared at Derreck in disbelief, wondering if he had lost his mind.

  “And for my champion I choose myself” Derreck added as gasps of disapproval rose up from many lords but not king Thuragon an old king who remembered his youth when a mans kingdom rested on the back of his horse and was kept by his the strength of his army. A single nod of approval was all Derrck received from the great king but to many no greater compliment existed from the great king.

  The grand commotion grew as all those in attendance now rightly knew this man must be mad to pit himself this titan of an opponent.

  Rupert Vargas blinked, taken aback for a moment, before he regained his composure. "Lopping? Are you mad? You can’t possibly think you’ll survive this."

  Derreck’s smile widened. "I think I’ll manage."

  Clyde stepped up to Derreck’s side as he was removing his shirt, his face pale with concern. "Are you sure about this, lord Derreck? I know That man, he’s killed twenty men with his bare hands for the Vargas family. This is suicide."

  Derreck chuckled as he handed Clyde his wristwatch. "Hold onto this for me. When the timer hits two minutes, call out to me."

  Clyde looked down at the watch, then back up at Derreck, his brows furrowed in confusion. "You think you’ll last that long?"

  Derreck’s smile didn’t falter thinking of his heightened abilities. "Just do it."

  The crowd began to move toward the arena—a private space within the council hall, reserved for such duels. The nobles followed in eager anticipation, their curiosity piqued by this Derreck’s unusual choice to settle this dispute. Rupert’s champion, the hulking man, was already warming up, cracking his knuckles and grinning savagely. He looked like a force of nature, ready to tear Derreck apart.

  Derreck’s revealing his lean, muscular frame, and stepped into the arena. His eyes were calm, focused, as if he were already preparing for the inevitable onslaught. Lady Amelia, watching from a riser reserved for the kings on the sidelines, seemed visibly distressed, though she kept her composure.

  "Derreck," she called out softly as he passed by. "Are you sure about this?"

  He turned to her, his expression softening for a moment. "Trust me." But in truth this would be a huge leap of faith that his blessings would give him the edge.

  The contest began, and the hulking man wasted no time. He charged at Derreck like a bull, swinging massive fists that could have shattered stone. Derreck raised his arms moved into his opponents strike, blocking the blows with his arms bent at an angle, each punch sent him reeling, knocking him back and forth across the arena like a rag doll but somehow he was still standing. The crowd laughed, and Rupert smirked, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

  A particularly hard blow sent Derreck crashing to the ground. For a moment, it seemed as if the fight was over. Lady Amelia turned her face away, unable to watch as her father held her hand to comfort her, while Rupert chuckled darkly from the stands. But then, slowly, Derreck pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping from a cut above his right eye.

  Clyde, who had been watching the watch intently, cried out, "Two minutes, Derreck!"

  The crowd fell silent, their laughter dying on their lips replaced by confusion, why did he need to know the time at a moment like this. Even the hulking man, confused by Derreck’s sudden rise, hesitated for a moment. Derreck’s entire demeanor changed. He moved with a newfound grace and speed, dodging the man’s blows with ease or taking them with no visible signs of damage. The crowd gasped as he began landing precise strikes to the nerve clusters on the man’s arms, causing him to bellow in pain and frustration as Derreck moved in to of balance the man and throw him to the ground in a way that looked like the large man weighed nothing.

  Derreck ducked under a wild swing and darted forward, slamming his elbow into the man’s solar plexus. The man doubled over, gasping for breath, and Derreck seized the opportunity. He grabbed the man around the waist, executing a flawless hip throw that sent the giant crashing to the ground yet again. Without missing a beat, Derreck locked in a rear naked choke, his arms tightening around the man’s thick neck.

  The hulking man struggled, his massive hands clawing at Derreck’s arms, but it was no use. Within minutes, his struggles ceased, and he lay motionless on the ground dead.

  The arena was silent, the nobles staring in disbelief. Rupert’s face had turned an ashen shade of white, his smug grin completely wiped away.

  King Thuragon rose to his feet, his voice booming across the arena in an excited tone he couldn’t hide. "The contest is over. Lord Derreck of Atalantha Viscount of the northlands of Varinja, warlord of the north is the victor."

  Rupert, now trembling with rage and fear, tried to protest, but the king’s guards were already moving toward him. "Rupert Vargas," King Thuragon said coldly, "you are hereby stripped of your title and lands, and you will answer for your crimes against the orcs and the people of the Northlands."

  As Rupert was led away in shackles, Derreck rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his brow. The kings looked at him with a mixture of fear and awe he couldn’t quite understand, it was almost as if they’ve seen that kind of fighting before and it terrified them, even Lady Amelia, who had feared for him just moments before was now regarded him with a new sense of astonishment.

  "Your title of viscount of the northlands as well as your kingship of the floating fortress of Atalantha is now recognized," King Thuragon said. "You’ve proven your worth, lord Derreck of Atalantha."

  The delegation retired for the evening agreeing to discuss lord Derreck’s new business first thing in the morning, this leaving the open crowd around the arena buzzing with talk of the strange and powerful fighting style of the knights of Atalantha and how similar but different it was from that of the soldiers of Zion. As Derreck walked back to his quarters, Clyde handed him his watch, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "I don’t know exactly how you pulled that off that trick, but I need to learn that."

  Derreck smiled, slipping the watch back onto his wrist. "It’s all about timing."