27th day of Zun’s Rest, twelfth month of the year, 983

  ‘“Don’t you dare die on me, Simon! Why in the Nethers would you block an arrow aimed at a mage?! I swear upon Elenia that I am going to stab your ass with that very arrow once I fix you!” Around a young Noct, armoured and acting a soldier, a successful ambush had put his company on the back foot. In his panic, his orders were nonexistent, causing his men to be picked one after another while they struggled in an every man for themselves mindset. While he tried to heal the man who had taken an arrow for him, six of his men were killed, only for Simon to quickly follow, Noct’s treatment unable to stop his death. Regret being overshadowed by red, he soon ro…’

  He screamed, body rushing to a sitting position, adding physical pain to that scream. Adrenaline high, he tried to get up on his feet before falling again, his new scar on the side and still healing knee causing it. Sighing, he wiped his eyes, tracing the second new scar across his eye. “This will take a while to repair…” He mumbled. ‘Maybe the instability of my mana caused a reaction to Sorak’s treatment? It doesn’t make sense, yet I have…’

  “Took you long enough to wake up.” That sentence caused Noct’s hand to shoot to his blade as he turned around. His eye relearned the structure of the tent from his new perspective, finally remembering where he was. And who had spoken.

  “Lady Soral copied your sleep spell.” Sorak added, sitting calmly in a chair. She did not bother to hide her frown nor the pity in it as she stared at his scars. There was no joy in her expression, a surprising thing. “You should congratulate her magical progress. That was a feat deserving of one.”

  Despising that look, Noct turned his head away. “Gotten worse. Given worse.” He growled. Taking a deep breath, he sat back down, slowly recovering his usual bearings. “It was unnecessary of you to carry me back to the tent, yet I shall offer you my thanks. I would have added the treatment in them if I hadn’t seen better healers in taverns past midnight.”

  “That was not normal. Do you have any idea what could have caused it?” Her tone was almost a whisper. Soft. Permissive. It continued to irritate Noct to no end. He clutched his hands as he frowned.

  “No damned idea.” He clenched his teeth and he started to check his armour. He would have to repair the haubergeon and maybe redo the enchantments of that chain mail. His left hand patted the helmet. It was fine. “I was expelled from the Imperial College before being instructed on curse magic.” His eye would have to wait, he would rather not risk another anomaly. Today, at least.

  “Do…do you really not know anything?” Her pity now slipping into her voice, Noct punched the ground, his fist sinking a bit onto the cloth, as the ground below was unfrozen thanks to the tent.

  “If I knew it would not have happened!” His glare fell on the paladin. “Could have happened while treating the elf, as I have always had a low amount of internal mana. It could have run amok after, having further depleted it. By my knowledge, this affecting your Goddess is not possible yet here I lay!” He let out an irate breath and let a few seconds pass. “Do you have any more useless questions, paladin?”

  She scoffed a bit, pity deepening despite her best wishes. “No, regent. But I believe I have come to know you a bit more.” Getting out of her chair she started to leave the tent. She ignored the “Then scram!”, knowing it for what it was. The lashing out of a cornered and scared animal.

  Now alone his energy slowly depleted. Holding his head in his hands, he cursed himself again. Four men had died in the exact same manner as those in the nightmares. Yet again he had been felled by panic. Failed as a leader. He had exchanged one life for four. His command? What command was this? A failure of a leader. A failure of a mage. His mind played the memory of Mulia, almost dying because he had forgotten to use magic. A failure of a warrior. His hands traced his new scars, his new injuries. A failure of a brother. The whimpers of her sister replayed constantly in his mind, her hands frostbitten.

  His right hand travelled to and gripped the handle of his sword until his knuckles turned white. Standing up, forcing his knee to a working position, he left the tent while sending a mental message to Eve. “Investigate the bandits I have just felled. Follow my actual coordinates.”. His usual glare, his usual stride, donning his usual armour. His usual frown let him perfectly hide the tics caused by pain, his armour the weakness in his steps, his new scar the paleness of his face. He looked around, seeing that the guards left had already finished their breakfast and were preparing to resume the march. Mulia was waiting near the tent and, unimpeded by the clear weather and calm wind, started to approach him.

  A curt nod to her, his eye was soon locked onto the recently dug graves in the distance. He feared she could hear him grind his teeth so, ignoring Mulia, he sped towards Soral’s tent, using Lia’s treatment as an excuse.

  Not being able to knock, Noct announced himself. “I am going to enter.” Waiting a few seconds, he flapped open the tent and strolled inside. Being somewhat careful, as an awake Lia was being fed soup by Soral, he silently kneeled in front of Lia and started to review the healing, ignoring the sudden fire in his veins as his mana rebelled again. ‘The skull has mended better than I expected…The work of the paladin, I suspect. Her blood levels are fine. The cerebrospinal fluid is within the normal parameters…The brain matter…Gods be praised, it healed fine.’

  “How are you feeling, Lia?” He whispered. A look granted Lia the permission to speak.

  Lia, dying to ask hundreds of questions, rushed to speak, her words coming out in a warbled hybrid of common, the three types of elvish and a bit of northern dwarven. Getting increasingly terrified of not being able to get her point across, she started to hyperventilate as she forced her voice to sound the way she wanted to. Fearing a panic attack, Noct cut her before she could start to spiral out of control with a raised hand.

  “Not being able to properly talk is expected. Wait a bit.” Lia appeared to be incapable of understanding him and was trying to get up, making Soral drop the plate of soup to hold her down. Finishing his spell, Noct forced his mind upon Lia’s, his amateurish control of the emotion spell invalidating any capabilities for manipulation.

  “Now, can you hear me? Nod if yes.” Sended Noct a magic message.

  Lia, calming down a bit, nodded.

  “You may have a slight cause of temporal brain damage until it finalises integrating the new matter.” Seeing her desperate look, Noct quickly added, “I know it sounds bad, but you being able to understand this type of communication is proof that your brain is currently relearning to understand how to speak. You are not broken. Nevertheless, I need you to stay calm, not make any heavy efforts and try to keep your emotions stable. In short, let your brain rest.”

  Lia gestured to the outside, her eyes harbouring both fear and worry.

  Realising what he was asking, he added soberly “Tiamat, Ymus, Caesar and Mulligan died protecting us. They died like warriors. Find no fault in them, for their bravery met death and stared her down.”

  Lia started to cry and Soral, with her clothes drenched in soup and keeping her irritation in check, started to try to console her.

  Knowing he would not help, Noct left the tent, using that as an excuse to no longer face Lia. He was both an intruder in her pain of losing comrades and the direct cause of their death. He could not escape that easily from his guilt, as Likos was waiting for him outside, together with Mulia.

  He glared at the dwarf, doing his best to ignore Mulia’s worried gaze.

  Bowing his head, he asked, “My regent, have we got enough time for a proper funeral?”

  A bit taken aback, Noct nodded. “We are in no hurry. If you are content with a paladin of Elenia’s cult, you may commence whenever.”

  “She already did, my regent. I was asking you, in case you wanted to speak some words, of course.”

  “Then you ask in vain. I will not dishonour their memory with the words of the commander who failed them.” Noct turned around, taking the conversation over with.

  Likos bowed further, hiding the sadness in his eyes. “If that is your will.”

  Mulia opened his mouth to speak, yet Noct’s back was already too far for him to be able to hear her. She turned away, not knowing if he was doing alright. Not that later, they resumed their march.

  ……….

  Soral inspected the inside of the carriage, her head resting on her right hand. The space was, now, enough to house all of them with some difficulties. The luggage of a noblewoman, hers, that they had defended and carried now was insulting on her mind, occupying more than the six people inside. Plain arrogance. A vile show of luxury after their life or death battle. The rich smell of blood, thanks to their sustained injuries, made her lightly shake her head. Her gaze fell to the carriage’s floor. They have changed their strategy, scratching the idea of them guarding the carriage as they marched. That let them no need to slow down, now marching as quickly as the mufalos and the warg could endure, as Sorak would be the only one escorting them.

  Looking ahead, to the seatings on the front, she eyes her brother without his knowledge. The ring he had left with her being toyed with in her left hand, he was doing a pretty bad job of hiding his pain. Everytime the cart shook or trembled he could but silently grunt in pain. Her eyes backed from him, now falling onto her hands. A magic barrier, different from the one from the ring, had activated while she had been holding Lia’s spells, preventing frostbite for a long time. How long had that protection been there? She did not know.

  Getting out of her seat, the other guards struggling to keep their usual jovial attitude, she strolled to the front. “Brother, let me have the reins. You are doing a horrible job of controlling the animals at this speed.” She did her best to not let her gaze divert from his new scar. Was pity moving her to try to lessen his burden? She tried nonetheless.

  Not looking at her, he wordlessly entrusted her with the reins, further proof of how hard a time he was having, not having the energy to even try to fight her. Looking ahead again, he reclined on the carriage bench and closed his eye, the second still being repaired, trying to rest.

  “Now that I think about it…” Started Soral, remembering the sight of her brother while healing Lia and of these past months, “weren’t your eyes green before?”

  Half asleep, his voice came soft, “What do you mean? They are brown.”

  “No? They are green.” Soral turned to the unmoving Noct. “...now that I think about it…You had brown eyes. Yes, you did…so…” Noticing his slow breathing, she sighed, dropping the topic. If the problem was what she feared it was she would say nothing more.

  ………….

  Now, with the capital of the county of Astar being their destination, their travels were met with an increasingly bigger road and more and more travelers as they left the Frozen Plains. After all, it was one of the metropolises in the cold North, home to an appalling two thousand hundred, give or take. Its architecture mimicked heavily the central cities of the empire, trying to gain some elitism over the rest of the counties. What’s more, being one of the older ones, its construction flowed outwards ever expanding in a keen resemblance to the wheel of a cart. Eight straight great roads that ended in the White Rose palace and followed, in straight lines, the eight cardinal directions.

  As was always mandated, the palace, or, in other poorer places, the castle, was the centre of the city. Its name came from the living murals of its wall, painting the image of a titanic Ice Rose, flower unique to the far north, near the Frontier. That plant was also the protagonist of legends passed down on the Rosekeepers household as a gift given by white drakes to call for their aid. This art lived the life cycle of the flower thanks to its magic, withering and blooming as the seasons passed. Currently, in the depths of winter, it was at its most beautiful, its petals having bloomed in full.

  The palace itself also followed Imperial architecture. An imposing building with several towers that rose to the very sky made of dyed granite that gave it a silver glow. Its rectangular shape was made divine thanks to the reflections of light, further illuminating the enormous garden it was surrounded by. If the palace took ten hectares, the garden ate ten times that number, creating a forest, home to the palace’s servants and gardeners, inside the city that housed almost all species of plants of the north, focusing fully on the different varieties of flowers and, more precisely, roses.

  Covering a hundred and ten hectares, it was the biggest palace of the count’s stratum of society, being able to outshine the southern duchess’ palace. It spoke whole theses about the richness of the Rosekeepers, gained thanks to ruling over the second and last commercial checkpoint of the north, granting them the ability to tax half of the total imports and exports of the duchy. They also administered the highroads of the west side of the duchy, granting them easy and reliable access to the taxation of the barons under them. All in all, they were merchant nobles through and through. not ashamed of the fact.

  Returning to the city, which looked smaller than the palace when viewed from above, it was similar to Bonfire in that there were high buildings in the central area that gave way to shorter but wider houses as they neared the walls. The similarities ended there, as the wall surrounding the city was twenty meters tall, with several watchtowers and abundant patrols, accompanied by a forty metre wall that separated the palace from the city. Another heavy difference would be the road grid. Except for the main roads that separated the city into eight districts, the roads were poorly organised and labyrinthic, becoming more and more chaotic as they left the richer, inner, parts of the city.

  Lastly, after Soral crossed the gates, meeting the guards and confirming her identity, something she had forgotten about, a smell from her earlier years, hit her nostrils. The city lacked a well oiled sewer system outside of the palace and garden, only present in the rich parts of the city and in the shopping and craftment districts that had been able to afford it themselves.

  Finally passing through the northwest gate, one of the guards left his post in a hurry, with enough care to evade the notice of anyone but Noct, whose furtive gaze followed him.

  “What are your orders, Lady Soral?” Asked Sorak from her position outside the carriage, still mounted on the warg, as she guarded it, unsure of what to do. Was she supposed to leave her mount in the garden, in the palace or in the city?

  “We go to the palace and let the countess know we are here. After she gives us our loggins and manages our carriage we will see.” Lightly explained Soral, doing her best to not let her facade be broken by the horrid smell.

  “Understood.” Unperturbed by it, Sorak hit her chestplate and returned to her position.

  “And us?” Asked Likos, on behalf of the guards, from inside the carriage.

  “You come too. But get out and do your jobs.” Added Soral, slightly irritated by the questions.

  As they crossed the city, the beggars and poor people that had tried to swarm their cart before being pushed by the guards and warg turned into well dressed peasants and well off merchants. The guards also got progressively better at their job, doing it with more energy in the richer parts, as it would seem by their better discipline and respect towards the people.

  Her facade giving away to a slight frown, Soral passed the awakened Noct the reigns of the animals. A job unfit for a noble lady, she had to give a proper atmosphere. That had the added problem of leaving her more time to think about the dissonance of this city, Garden. In most parts of it, unsanitary conditions and poverty was the norm. In the richer parts the contrary was true. And yet, when merchants pointed at the best cities to live in, half of the answers always came to it. She couldn't help but compare it to her home, which she had always thought of as a sad and pitiful one. Could she call her home that and call this one a happy town? Her mind returned to the dirty roads they had seen as they entered. The half dead people on dark alleys. Her idealised vision of both of them crumbling down, she tried to distract herself.

  “Have you been here before, brother?”

  “In the rural parts of the county. I also fought in the villages near the city but I only stayed in the city itself for a few weeks.” His healed eye giving him trouble, he scratched his face. “I have to say, it wasn’t as bad as other northern cities and it cannot be compared with the central province’s cities.”

  The grim reality caused her distraction to fail as it was pointed right back at the topic she had wanted to avoid. She let the conversation die. Noct said nothing, as if intending for Soral to see how it was like. She let her gaze wander to the beautiful garden and the silver buildings surrounding it.

  …………….

  Her cart having been taken care of, together with their guards being assigned housing, Sorak, Soral and Noct were guided to the throne room. Keeping up with the style, it was an enormous room, made of silver and gold. Dozens of sapphire statues were intercalated with guards clad in full plate armour, with rows and rows of servants behind in a display of prosperity and superiority. On the throne, made of pure diamond, the countess was waiting for them. Simil of the Rosekeepers, scarlet hair and a complex dark blue dress made of diamond and sapphire threats, let her pleasant surprise show as she watched the trio appear in front of her.

  Soral stepped forward as both Noct and Sorak kneeled and, curtsying herself, she broke protocol by talking first. “The Ashen household presents its regards at your kindness for inviting me to such a joyful occasion.” Soral struggled to not smirk as the red eyes of countess turned to her instead of her brother.

  Her scarlet hair waving a bit as she moved on the throne, she smiled and answered in a warm and kind tone. “How could I not invite such tranquil and unproblematic vassals. But I fear some of the unfounded and baseless rumours that the merchant association is disseminating across my city so it could cause some problems to your unblemished reputation if you stay for too long.” She let her fingers trail the armrest of her throne. “Of course, it is to be expected of such a young baroness to be making a lot of mistakes. Speaking of which, were you also the one who read the invitation, Lady Ash? Could you have made another mistake?” She sighed, pity and compassion flowing into her words. “Is your regent really doing his work? Maybe it was an ill suited position for an expelled mage.”

  Returning to a standing position, Soral returned Simil’s smile. “Blessed thanks for your kind words. Oh, and you know how high commanders can be. I have heard that some have not mastered the letters so he could have made a mistake. But I am sure that such an important thing as writing the invitations to the coming of age of your heir must have had your full attention so, if any mistake was made, it would have been catched by you. So no, neither I nor my regent made any mistake. And, if any was made on your part, I would take no offence. I am sure a countess of your worth has a lot of work that impedes her to answer all of her Empire mandated responsibilities.”

  Her left hand toyed with her silver fan as nodded along. “I am delighted by your understanding, Lady Ash. As you have admitted, I have way too many vassals and duties that make it very hard to meet the enormously high standard of the Imperial court. I was sure you would understand, as your position and barony leaves you a lot of free time to meditate and continue to better your patience. I have also heard that you have taken swordsmanship as a hobby? Oh, how I wish I could have that much free time to waste on frivolities but a woman of my position could never.” Simil let her smirk be seen before upping and starting to use her fan.

  Soral enthusiastically nodded along. “As they say, the workload a ruler has to deal with is indirectly proportional to their qualities. Maybe it could be my talented vassals but, reforming the agricultural techniques, expanding my sewer systems and enriching my poorest regions have given me little pause. Maybe I could learn from you, my countess. Maybe slow and steady does win the race.” Soral’s smirk finally broke through her facade. “And the non smell of Bonfre’s road could never win against the homely and heavy atmosphere of Garden, right?”

  Her smile freezing behind her fan, she let herself lose the first battle. That young girl was not the target of her ire, after all. “Of course. Lady Ash, my numerous servants will show you your rooms. Remember that you may use it all, do not feel overwhelmed.” She nodded to the rows of servants nearby who rushed to their new duties.

  Soral curtsied again. “I thank you for wasting time communicating such an unimportant decision for our enjoyment. Letting us in your guest rooms is greatly appreciated, as our travels have been rough and long.”

  “Of course they have been.”

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  Getting out of their kneeling position, the three of them were led to the east wing of the palace, where the guest rooms were. On their way there, they crossed paths with dozens upon dozens of servarts going on with their day. ‘I would bet on half of them just standing around, acting as if they are working.’ Her mood worsening by the steps, and deliberately ignoring the artistry they found at every step of the way, they soon, more like half an hour of walking, arrived in their rooms.

  The servant who was guiding them bowed several times once they arrived. “I am extremely sorry.” They started, not daring to eye Noct, still in his full body armour. “We di…weren’t able to prepare more than one noble room for your entourage, Lady Soral.” The presence of Noct made them remember her name. They seemed to slowly diminish in size the more they talked. “You will have to…to share.”

  Both Noct and Sorak shrugged for different reasons. “Of no consequence. I will join the guards in their quarters.” Stated Noct, giving Sorak a glare to aid her motivation in protecting Soral. That statement caused Soral to turn towards him, a perplexed expression in stark contrast to the now pale servant.

  Eyeing the surroundings for help, they caved in. “May…I was wrong, your excellency Noct of the Ashen! There was another guest room available for…” Now they kneeled as Noct’s gaze turned to them. Soral stopped a tic from showing on her face. “You are free to go whenever you please, of course!”

  Noct nodded, already melting in the shadows and leaving the entourage.

  Soral stopped her hand from raising and a curse from slipping out. Turning towards the servant, she apologised, “Take no offence from my brother’s actions. We had some problems along the way and he was restless. He wanted to check on the guards, that’s all. Send my regards to the countess.”

  Nodding a few times, they almost bolted out of the picture. Sighing, Soral was the first one to enter. A furnitureness room with one bed was the sight that welcomed her. She clutched her hands as she repressed a growl. Waving a hand, she teleported her luggage to the floor next to her before proceeding to throw herself on the bed, exhausted already.

  Slowly closing the door behind her, Sorak mumbled, “So…do you want to go sightseeing, my lady?”

  “Nethers no.” Turning around so as to gaze at the ceiling, she sighed. “I just want to rest for tomorrow.”

  “I do believe some air woul…”

  “I do not care.” Hissed Soral. “I have seen enough of the city for it to last a lifetime.”

  Understanding her irritation, Sorak grabbed one of the new chairs that Soral had teleported in and slowly sat down. “It is indeed not a pretty sight.” ‘And the church has a lot of influence here, too.’ Slightly shaking her head, she gazed at Soral. She opened her mouth before closing it again. What could she say to share her burden? What could she do? This was not her battle nor was she capable of helping her lady in any meaningful capacity.

  Repressing a shudder for what was to come tomorrow, Soral closed her eyes. “Do find my brother before midnight. I believe he may have mistaken what tomorrow’s ball will be about. Only nobles can participate and disinherited ones don’t count. What I need less is to lack an escort.”

  Sorak raised her eyebrows, having never told her that. After a few seconds she nodded, not that Soral saw. “I vow to find him.”

  Not hearing a response, Sorak left the room as quietly as possible. Detecting a lack of friendly presence around Soral, one of the defensive enchantments on her activated, causing four very small green fires to appear in the shadows under her bed that started to inspect the surroundings.

  ………………

  “The Ashen Household presents itself.” Said the servant who was introducing all the nobles when they entered the ball.

  An original tradition from outside the Empire, the ball was a practice introduced from the Theocracy and, along the years, it had suffered heavy changes. When the original balls of the undead courts were dances and reunion between nobles to find a lover and future partner, they had been corrupted by the shallowness of the Empire’s nobility and turned into shows where nobles tried to one up one another, be it by showing off their femininity and their skills in ruling their lands. Sewing, chess, strategy games and administrative contests weren’t that uncommon, and they used to be as vicious as the duels of the orc tribes. For, if anything was true, it was that the pettiness of Imperial nobles for those they deemed incapable or barbarian knew no bounds. And, usually, dislike was equated to incapability.

  The room itself was as big as the Ashen castle. But, unlike it, it was filled with furniture, decoration, servants, paintings of all kinds and magic chandeliers that switched tonality and brightness along with the songs. Windows traced the history of the Rosekeepers in painted crystals surrounded in silver roses and enormous columns and statues towered among the mortals, illuminating with blue and white torches.

  ‘What a waste of coins.’ The utilitarian mindset of Soral could but chastise such lavish spending as she entered by the gates and the brightness almost blinded her. So many things that would never offer anything in return. Of course, a tiny part of her was somewhat envious of the funds that made such foolishness possible. She knew better than to listen, of course. All of the colourful life of the imperial nobility was not worth this much coin spent in useless drivel and vacuous shows.

  Taking a deep and well hidden breath, she walked forward, an ocean of stares befalling them. The deep purple of her dress contrasted heavily with the argent of the countess, as if reflecting their very battle. Her hands free and unbothered at her sides, she did her best to prevent any cold sweat from appearing. The continuous and familiar metal steps of her brother helped immensely, as most gazes turned from her to Noct, clad in his usual spiked plate armour. Helmet closed, almost all his face was hidden from view, only his eyes shone from its inside, adding even more weight to his usual aura. Most conversations dimmed, and the music seemed to face a drop in quality before slowly recovering. Yet jealousy started to build up. A tiny part of her knew that no one was really looking at her. They were not talking about her. Her gaze turned to her brother as she followed the stares.

  ‘His eyes are green again.’ The thought passed by. Her facade turned from hiding her nervousness to hiding her ire at Noct disregarding all notions from nobility celebrations and appearing both armed and armoured at a ball. Nevertheless, she could not stop a smirk from coming out as she noticed how the rest of the nobles forced themselves to return to their conversations of before, the mocking glares and whispered commentary all but gone. The contempt for the style of her dress, forgotten. She could live with that, her appreciation for her clothing choice slowly growing as that hate couldn’t hide the greed in their eyes.

  Having made their entrance, she walked to one of the tables. Seeing as how it immediately was vacated, she shrugged in the tiniest fashion. The hope of making connections with other houses despite their fallen status went out of one of those painted windows and she didn’t bother.

  Her stomach a tight knot, she still filled her plate with food as a way to pass time, trying to look as relaxed as possible. Noct did the same, not needing to force himself, as he was used to eating in the most difficult situations. The buffet of that day consisted of different vegetarian recipes from fruits and vegetables freshly harvested by serfs from the Palace’s Garde together with some imported mufalo from the central provinces. The food itself was worth its weight in gold, as it could not be locally grown. Looking like she had been waiting for that moment, countess Simil started to slowly approach them, heiress behind, as they welcomed every guest, making a show of leaving the Ashen for last.

  Finally arriving, Simil smiled warmly. “I am happy to see that my worst fears have not come to mind. You have surprised me by being able to be so presentable in my ball, Lady Ash.”

  Walking forward and leaving the shadow of her mother, Maliz butted in. “Indeed. Do you find our ball comfortable? We feared you would not be accustomed to all the decorations.” Her beautiful hair and eyes a clone of her mother’s, her ice white dress lost the war against Soral’s, the last one’s being so vibrant and alive that shadowed Maliz’s.

  Smiling in return, not bowing, Soral answered without lowering her plate. “I thank you both for paying such a lowly baroness to be with so much attention. And yes, this ball is wastefully breathtaking.” Noticing Maliz twitch, her smile grew a tiny bit more real. “This food tastes incredible. I guess the consequences of enormous profit do pay off, don’t they?” Soral did her best to not cower under the increasingly intense glare of Simil. She needed a show of force or she would never be taken seriously. Surrendering to the countess would doom her. She would answer unearned disrespect in kind.

  Raising a hand to stop her daughter, Simil turned towards Noct. “And you, baron Noct?” Nearby conversations turned incongruent as the surrounding nobles’ attention turned to that question. Soral was unable to hide the twitch this time.

  Not turning around, Noct finished his last bite of the food, cleaned his clean helmet with a napkin, slowly rested the plate on the table, savoured a sip of his glass of wine and turned towards the countess with the glass still on his hand. “Regent. I believe that is my correct title.” Drinking in the stunned silence as well as another sip of his glass, he added. “And I prefer military rations. The food’s too sugary, I worry my teeth will go bad.”

  Soral’s struggle reached untold proportions, having to fight both the urge to roar in laughter and to strike her brother with an iron rod for his insolence.

  Simil’s smile froze. Still, she tried again, as she could not allow the mascot of the empress to pick the duchess’ side. Despite her hate of his undeserved prestige. “My apologies for the food not meeting your standards, but I was asking if you were having a good time, regent Noct.”

  Putting down the glass with a loud thud, his cold glare fully focused on the countess. “Pardon me then. No. I am not. I do not like to be surrounded by such an overabundance of unusable wealth. I find it off putting. Ever the more for people in your case, who have not fought for it.” Not bothering to lower his voice, he continued. “You ordered me to toil fighting your rebellions and this is what you do with the fruits of my and my men’s labour. What their deaths earned.” He shook his head in another slow motion. “At least build some hospitals. Every year, during every spring, this city suffers the same plague circles. It stopped being entertaining three years ago.” Silence reigned supreme. Music had stopped playing. “So, to reiterate as to prevent further confusions, no. I aren’t.”

  Soral’s face was as pale as Malik’s dress. Malik’s face was as red as Simil’s hair.

  Finally dropping the facade of affability, Simil coldly asked, gears already turning in her calculating mind. “I can take this as the Ashen household presuming to know better than me? To be able to best me on lordly work?”

  “I do not presume. I know.” Stated with overwhelming certainty. “If not me, the baroness to be at my side would double the productivity in five years. We could be of assistance if you required us, not that I would honour the request.”

  Soral, suddenly shoved into the spotlight, tried to appear as confident as she could. ‘I am killing this bastard.’

  “Bold words for a man.” Spat Maliz. The hand of her mother shushing her backwards, Simil interrupted her. Her gaze turned from the untouchable empress’ pet to the baroness to be it had just mentioned. Maybe he was not that untouchable.

  “I will take that as a declaration of challenge by the Ashen household. Lady Soral, as the last remaining member of the house not in an extraordinary position, such as acting as regent, shall take the place as challenger with no possible delegation on another household member, then.” Simil enjoyed immensely seeing the surprised look in Noct’s eyes, which soon turned into anger.

  …….

  As the whole room had quieted down, the scene picked the interest of the Duchess, who had come to recruit noblewomen to her cause, exploiting the ceremony. ‘What a good opportunity. Blinding the empress by taking in her attack dog. Definitely, the Ashen would be a good help in breaking free from the empire.’ With those traitorous thoughts, she walked towards them. She could not believe she would have a second try after the mess their men had done.

  …………..

  “As the challenged party, I will select the characteristics of the duel.” Her warm smile of before now predatory, Simil’s hand waved at one of the knights guarding the ball. “As the Ashen are a warrior’s house, nobody will object to me selecting High Knight Pozos of the Rosekeepers, right? I am sure his veterany on the republican front and twenty years of service and numerous condecorations will prove a worthy match to Lady Soral of the Ashen.”

  The surrounding nods and words of agreement from the ball attendees almost made Soral faint. Even she knew that man! Nethers, he was already in some popular fairy tales. She glared at her brother, who had effectively killed her. His hand was on his sword, and that caused her to grow confused. Her trained eyes also detected a magic spell and his shadow grew darker. Focusing on it, she detected a multitude of green points on it. Was he preparing to fight? Were the Gods telling her that his fuckup had not been intentional?!

  But, before Noct could unsheathe his sword and order his undead army to come to dance, an authoritarian voice rang out.

  “While the Ashen household is a reputed warrior household, the last few decades have shown their skill in statecraft, haven’t they? I, for one, would find it somewhat unsavory to condemn a sixteen year old woman to duel in martial combat. Are we really that barbaric?” Asked rhetorically the voice of the duchess. All gazes turned to her, cladded in modest clothing above a light armour.

  All nobles outside of the dispute kneeled down. Simil and Maliz bowed, knowing this opportunity was slipping away. “What would your highness suggest as adequate, then?” Whispered Simil, in her most humble tone.

  Turning to Soral, Duchess Larra continued, “If you rule as well as your regent, why don’t we base the duel around that? A wits challenge. Plain and simple.”

  Simil’s facade didn’t break yet she raised her fan just in case. “A very fair and just assessment, your highness. My sincerest apologies for having overreacted.”

  Noct let his shadow lighten, seeing as the danger was over. Larra smirked. “Of course, I am not trying to be partial here. If she fails, you may proceed however you want, as well as challenge her back if she happens to win.”

  Grateful for her life being granted an opportunity to be saved by her own hand, Soral nodded. Having experienced enough stress to last three years, she vowed to throw her brother out of a window.

  “I would agree with these terms, yes.” Plainly stated Soral. “I have no problem facing your challenges.”

  “Then I will be the judge.” Accepted Larra.

  “And I will represent my House.” Wanting some kind of payback, Maliz was quick to say.

  …………….

  Two hours later, the screams of Maliz resounded over the ballroom as she almost knocked over the table.

  “You viper!” Having lost all three games of chess and the three simulations of two countries fighting for dominance in the famous game ‘Imperial Dominance’, she found herself enraged beyond relief. Soral had been toying with her all along, in every move, in every strategy, in all small victories she thought she had won, Soral had, afterwards, mercilessly reminded her that she had lost those on purpose to beat her up at the last moment. Losing towns, pawns, armies, everything she had lost had been to rub her in the face that she was worse than her.

  Her anger was somewhat understandable, as all noblewoman had come to observe the challenge and were, in utmost noble fashion, mocking and degrading Maliz among themselves.

  “Oh my, I thought the conflict would stop after I won.” Sung Soral. She had expected some difficulty but had been thoroughly enjoying thrashing Maliz. If this was all she could muster, Soral would be even grateful for the duel, as this was a proper show of force. Beating the countess’ heiress. She puffed her chest out, pride overflowing. Now they were looking at her. Talking about her. Praising her. Now, she was no one’s shadow.

  Acting the arbiter, Duchess Larra hadn’t dared to dream about an absolute defeat at the hands of Soral. She had tried to give Maliz a chance not including a sewing duel and just having two wits challenges but it wouldn’t have made a difference even if Soral, against all appearances, turned out to be manly in that aspect. She had to stop herself from salivating at the prospect of grabbing the Ashen for herself as direct vassals, as a new countess household. If the magic binder that was Noct was not enough of a gem, his enchanted weapons being both feared and envied across the north, Lady Soral was showing herself a diamond waiting for a chance to shine. While it was true that the Rosekeepers were anything but incapable, being good rulers in their own right, it was like comparing a ‘Knight with a King’ in chess talk. Maybe she had been too hasty in trying to kill her.

  Enraged and publically humiliated, Maliz throwed her fan at the feet of Soral, who was sitting somewhat disrespectfully, sheer outrage at her losses causing her recklessness.

  Before her surprised, and disappointed, mother could stop her, Maliz roared, mistaking her own fury for power, “Pick it up or live in shame, I demand another duel! This time a martial one!” Simil was stopped with a wave from Larra, as she had stated this to be within the rules.

  Before Soral could react Noct, who had been stalking two steps behind and one at the right of Soral, walked up and picked the fan. His gelid tone slowly emptied Maliz’s confidence. “As the guardian of the challenged, I am allowed to switch positions with the challenged. And, as the regent of the challenged, I am the one who agrees to both the duel and the switch.” His glare turned to Maliz. “I, as the challenged, will pick the characteristics of the duel. Now. To death. Magicless.”

  Maliz froze for a few seconds before her ire and juvenile confidence flared again. Pozos was a knight and Noct was a magic binder. “So be it! I will delegate my position to High Knight Pozos!” Her pride slowly transformed her words into a powerful declaration. The high knight that Simil had pointed at before slowly walked to the left side of Maliz. They gave Noct a regretful nod, knowing themselves better than their opponent at martial progress alone.

  As Maliz’s corporal language gloated about the situation ending in a draw, Larra stepped forwards. “So a new duel has been proposed and agreed on. I will arbitrate this one too. May we leave them enough space?” At her words, the crowd widened, leaving a ring for the two soldiers.

  Both heiresses were the last ones to retreat. Maliz smirking and Soral slowly growing spiteful at her. ‘I will remember your face.’ Part of her shrouded in anger at being cast to the shadows again. Part of her not knowing the reason why she was getting both worried and protective of her brother. She tried to convince herself that Noct could win against a high knight of legend. She couldn’t.

  “May the duelist accept?”

  “I accept.” Said, at the same time, both Pozos and Noct. The former bored, the latter emotionless. The crowd slowly worked itself up. Martial duels were very uncommon and it would be a novel and enjoyable happenstance.

  Larra grew silent, waiting for them to ready up. Pozos unsheathed his sword and phased his shield from his spatial pocket. His armour slowly appeared around him as he got into a proper stance. His shining armour and sword lighted the area around him. Noct unsheathed his longsword, the light around it dimming.

  Noct’s glare was fully focused on Pozos. All the self hate, fear and regret of having put Soral on unfixable risk were projected onto his figure. His gauntlets creaked upon the strain. Dying for the duel to start, he positioned Void in the same stance that Pozos had. Pommel near his shoulder, end pointed towards the opponent. Under his helmet, a frigid smirk that betrayed the dark impulses he would indulge in. They dared to try and play around him? To manoeuvre against the true heir of the Ashen? He would have to show them what would succeed her if she died. He would show them what he was and how much they should support her sister for him to no longer be in his position. He would show them how much worse he was.

  His pulse accelerated. His legs locked in, ready for the rush required of them. His instincts took control, zoning his vision on the high knight and putting everything else to the side. He was dying to feel the emotion of battle, of being the punishing force. Crouching a bit, his eyes inspected their equipment. It would not be enough. He would crush that magic shield with his bare hands. He could cleave through the arm behind. ‘I could disembowel you in front of your crowd of people pleaser hedonists. I could behead you after tainting the floor with your blood. A city High Knight? Don’t make me laugh. I will rip your heart and crush it beneath my boot.’

  So lost in his own thoughts he almost missed the Duchess giving them the order to engage. Instantly dropping his longsword, he merely pounced on the rushing knight. Their sword leaving an argent after image that powered the very light around it, they mirrored his advance. Noct smiled. ‘Face me, Knight. And pray to Dice you get a good hit.’

  ………….

  Pozos could not believe his eyes, as Noct charged straight at him after having dropped his longsword. What did he intend to do? Beat him with his bare hands? Feeling like he had the leeway to sigh, he did so. Slowing his rush, he raised his shield and readied his magic sword for the winning slash against Noct’s neck.

  Unrelenting, Noct stepped into Pozos’ strike distance and they struck, as quick as a viper. Pozos’ surprise as their sword chipped against the armour was overshadowed by the strength that Noct pulled his shield with. Grunting as he felt his shield being ripped from his arm, they jumped backward and struck time and time again, his sword being chipped and repaired by itself time and time again. They could not find a weak spot on the armour between dodging punches, kicks and grapples even as they danced around Noct. Their skill a beautiful art form, they parried, backed and sidestepped, their sword always striking true and always unable to pierce through. Pozos frowned, unable to aim at any weak spot of the armour other than the neck, as Noct was being too protective over them. Seconds turned into minutes, the blow of his armour reflecting on the growing sweat drops on their forehead. His breath turned heavier and heavier as his blows did the same, fighting to pierce through. He couldn’t. Noct, on the other hand, showed no signs of exhaustion.

  The status quo could not hold for much longer, of course. Building panic and tiredness caused Pozos to be just that bit slowed. To be just that bit too close. For his mind to not see the true aim until that bit too late. Noct’s left gauntlet sank into their sword, clawed fingers piercing through steel and breaking the blade in half, purging it of its enchantments. They let go of it, jumping further back and finally saw Noct’s eyes, broadcasting their murderous intent. They found themselves outmatched from the beginning. All of his dance, all of his speed, all of his techniques could not have broken through that enchanted armour. They had lost when they had agreed on the duel. Pozos had lost long ago, they would only grow more and more tired. The better armour had won.

  “I surrender!” They screamed, hearing their fear and acting as it mandated. Yet the words from the Duchess never came. ‘To death.’ The words were remembered. Their blood had cooled down. Their face had turned grey. Knowing it was already over, he was too shaken up to properly react to prevent Noct’s left gauntlet piercing his chest plate, pulling it out by breaking the metal by the seams. Raising their arms to defend their face, they fell to the ground thanks to Noct tackling them.

  In a panicked frenzy, Pozos screamed bloody murder as they begged for the fight to stop. As Noct pulled their armour apart, piece by piece, one section by one, while Pozos tried to punch back between begs. His target defenseless, Noct started to punch, his grin growing bigger with each crack underneath him, the helmet hiding his terrifying expresion. The screams grew in intensity before suddenly dimming after a crack, mandible broken. The punches never lowered in volume. Hit. Hit. Hit. A pool of blood, flesh and bone slowly grew around Noct’s frenzied strikes. The grunts died, yet the punching didn’t until Noct, content with his work, slowly came to a standing position right next to Pozos’ corpse. Blood dripped from his gauntlets. From his chest plate. His cape didn’t fly free, burdened by the taint.

  His eyes slowly looked at the face of every noblewoman in the room, excluding Soral who he didn’t dare look at. His murderous glare stopped on Simil, who met him with her own, if scared, glare. After a few seconds of that flare, Noct stomped on the corpse’s chest, crushing its heart beneath his boot. Simil gulped and nodded, getting the message.

  “Lady Soral has won the martial duel.” Plainly stated Larra. Her smile didn’t show through her artificial indifference. Yes, the Ashen would prove a good asset.

  Noct nodded. Walking to his earlier position, he sheathed Void back in its scabbard, leaving a trail of bloody footprints on the floor along the way. He let the dirty armour stand as it was. No gaze was directly directed at him as he slowly stalked and returned to his escorting position, there finally cleaning the blood with a magic spell.

  …………………………