Sebastian Willcotts discovered a new threshold of frustration. A childhood under the guise of his perfectionist mother Ursula Willcotts, the master of the Holy Guard who had demanded so much of him in his youth and teen years, would be preferable to live again one hundred times over than deal with his current conundrum. In those days, most of his stressors and challenges could be resolved through hacking and slashing; from training with experienced guards twice his weight, scrubbing and caring for horses and halls alike, and carrying the burden of swords and armor plates across endless courtyards, such duties could similarly be completed through brute effort. But this responsibility was not his area of expertise, and as much as he wanted to drive his sword into the man he was currently berating, Sebastian feared that such action would only further complicate his dilemma. The lousy pigeoneer needed to get his act together now.
“You are fucking this up for me in grand fashion, Pidgey. You assured me that the noisy squawking of those filthy birds which nearly drove me insane on the ship was fear-driven, but you’re a damn liar. What the hell was that?” Sebastian said, standing in the personal space of the pigeoneer, whom he towered over.
“Sir Willcotts, sir I...I don't know!” Sebastian didn't know the man's real name, and so Pidgy it was, and Pidgy looked scared and a mess as tears, sweat, and snot coexisted on his face, “I never, never have had this happen! The newer birds, they’re-”
“They’re what, huh? Are you going to call a pigeon stupid? Of course, they’re fucking stupid, but somehow under your tutelage they’ve transcended their capabilities, and have embraced the ranks of moronic. Ten birds, five-set for the church, and five for my mother. You know who my mother is, right Pidgey?” Sebastian's teeth were grinding together.
“O-of course I-”
“What do you think the master of the Holy Guard will think when she finds out that pigeons are successfully making the voyage home to the church, while four of the five pigeons set for her report are heading fucking east?” Sebastian could feel the side of his temple pulsing with an anxious rage.
“Sir, it's not my fault I-I swear it! I don’t think the ocean would throw the birds off this much, it-it’s like...these new birds have always been difficult, I just-”
“The new birds have always been difficult? Fifty fucking birds trained to fly to my mother's keep, did someone order a bad batch for you? Good God Pidgy, have some self-respect at least. I would've thought someone with a bird’s brain like you would at least show some decency for your own kind. Blaming the pigeons-”
“But sir I swear! Not just these fifty, these fifty are the best of the batch! And look at how they still struggle! This spring was so different, the hardest I’ve had to work, and yet-”
“And yet you failed. And your failure is my failure, so I have failed. I, Sebastian Willcotts, do not accept failure, so your pitiful excuses don’t even register with me. If this was High Hillford, I’d have your tongue just for interrupting me. But you’ll need that tongue to explain your failures to the captain herself.” Sebastian turned on a heel and began walking away.
Pidgey’s eyes widened in alarm, “Sir Sebastian, please! Give the birds a chance!” He cried as he followed the knight.
Sebastian drove one metal heel after another into the soft dirt, ignoring the continuing pleas coming from behind him as his mind went elsewhere. Even after tens of thousands of hours crafting and honing the skills that gained him fear and respect for his prowess in battle, Sebastian increasingly realized that the voyage, unfamiliar terrain, and the vast distance between home and here played crucial factors in his confidence and therefore his chances of success. For the man who had spent so many hours in repetition, from practicing the art of combat in all its forms, raising and riding horses, to studying the facts of the world around him, Sebastian found himself in uncharted waters for the first time in his young adult life.
He tried to calm himself by focusing on the sounds and commotion around him as he made his way through the courtyard; men shouting orders and commands at one another about where a certain supply should go, the clashing of metal on metal between swords, shields and the slower yet forceful blows of those who preferred hammers and axes, the sharpening of blades and arrowheads. The sounds that made up his past, present, and future soothed him, serving to bring his mind back to the greater picture. Home and the implications of getting information may be important, but his troop and the battle were right here. In this large, strange country, Sebastian would fulfill his destiny.
Of the many struggles Sebastian anticipated he would face before getting to this point, the strangest finding of them all had to be that he had worried himself too much. He recalled how crazed he felt as they landed on shore, running around and shouting orders at his men to prepare for an ambush that could take them before they even reached the land. He had nearly chopped the head off of a soldier who seemed to be moving lazily, and in his condemning of the soldier's lack of action, he found that mostly all of the soldiers seemed to be half-assing it. Set to burst, Sebastian unsheathed his bastard sword on his hip, gripped the legendary claymore on his back, and waited solemnly at the head of the ship. Less than an hour later, Sebastian still stood there, his face a mess of wetness, as the crew began to offload the ship and horses onto the desolate beach.
She had known that this would be the case. Arriving in a staggered format over a month, the Holy Order and Grand Bishop Paulo easily succeeded in keeping the attack as covert as possible. Generations of sending priests as recruits to the main continent of Angela amounted to so many countries overlooking the actions of High Hillford, writing them off as annoying yet unproblematic. This was only amplified in the country of Runswick, where the masses were more free and diverse than any of its neighbors. King Whitewood seemed to be in high regard among the public, though the security of the nation found itself in the opposite spectrum. With few laws restricting them, and seemingly less lawlessness occurring, the strong people of Runswick felt safe with every neighbor. And that, she had told him, would be their grave downfall.
She was the captain, and as Sebastian made his way out of the courtyard under a broken, mossy stone arch, he could only feel his relief grow. While Sebastian always carried a supreme confidence in himself, he was raised far better than to be a fool. Arranging attacks, defensive strategy, one-on-one or on-on-many combat, all of these things came easy to him and his best instinct on each topic carried far greater weight than the words of anyone sans his own mother. But all of that had been earned by countless hours of practice and training experience, two sources he did not have such luxury on when it came to the attributes and differences between High Hillford and the many countries that comprised Angea. He would need to rely on his captain for that, and throughout the journey, his confidence in her only grew. He figured he should have known, as she was a Visconti, Veronica Visconti.
The Visconti name was nearly a household one across the continent; generations of the finest tourney participants in so many different competitions made them synonymous with being the favorite and winning. The Visconti bloodline was also one that was coveted, no more so than by the family themselves; to bed, a Visconti meant that the family believed in your genes and ability to conceive a stronger child than the two hosts. Strict internal discipline over the many generations saw the fruit of its labor in the form of Veronica, who may have been the finest specimen Sebastian had ever laid his eyes on. Traveling to each country three times or more, her experiences and knowledge of the land were paramount to their success.
Sebastian appreciated two things; ambition and strength. While his worldview was so narrow compared to hers, the knight assumed that no greater female existed. Could there be finer, more formal, or better behaved that did exist? Without a doubt, a resounding yes as he had met them in High Hillford. But no woman alive demanded more greatness out of herself first and others second than...well maybe his mother.
He shook his head at that, cursing under his breath as once again his mother was hijacking his thoughts. Sebastian was nearly a hundred yards away from his destination and could make out the shape of the person in the lit window of the tower he would enter. It was the single tower that was still standing at the abandoned and destroyed fortress they called camp. There had been many structures along the journey that seemed similar to this one, some being occupied and others remaining empty. Sebastian was aware of the history of Angela and knew men and women much weaker than himself and Veronica died fighting. To die in battle was admirable of course, but far less so when the battle seemed as lopsided as it must have been, he had mused when he was still on horseback.
A small stable resided to the right of the tower’s entrance, where out of the corner of his eye, Sebastian thought he saw something bizarre. The stable hand seemed to be either throwing up or dry heaving, shaking over outside of the stable. The knight did not bother to confirm his glimpse, as the pigeoneer that persisted in following him this way seemed to believe the look was for him, and now was hurrying to come shoulder to shoulder with Sebastian. The knight spun on a heel as he made it to the door of the tower.
“You, Pidgey. Stay here and either pray to God or jerk yourself off, whichever will make you feel better about yourself. Don’t even fucking think-” Sebastian found himself interrupted by a loud bang coming from the window three floors overhead. Sebastian sprung in and up a winding staircase before he could even think about what he was doing.
Reaching the third-floor landing, Sebastian burst into the only room the floor housed. A hand on his bastard sword, any threats he believed he was about to face were nullified by many sets of surprised eyes. The small room he found himself in was overcrowded with men standing everywhere, most being some of the larger and stronger soldiers in the camp. A few lanterns found a home on the remains of what may have been a bookshelf, and outside of a half curtain swaying with the wind at the window, was the only remains of what once was a room.
Shifting their gaze from Sebastian back to the spectacle in the middle of the room, Sebastian had already noted a man standing with his wrist in his hand, waving a bloodied hand in obvious pain. This told the knight exactly all he needed to know; the troop was arm wrestling.
“Who’s next, huh? None of you? Well, that leaves you captain.” The man seated at the small, square table in the middle of the room may have gone by Reginald or Reggie, Sebastian thought before realizing he didn’t care in the slightest.
“Excuse me, what the hell are you doing over there?” On the opposite side of the room, Veronica Visconti stood up from her chair. Long, careless pitch pitch-black hair swam over both broad shoulders, meeting the same colored padded jacket with golden buckles running along its right side. Tanned skin like bronze highlighted the gold jewelry housed on her left hand and wrist, and as her long yet thick legs moved towards a stunned man, a whip could be seen swaying on her hip.
There was a pause in the room, seemingly confused by whom she was addressing, before a small voice spoke, “M-m-me Captain?” The voice belonged to a man who might as well be Pidgey’s long-lost brother, sharing the same meager stature and wavering voice. “Oh, Captain I just thought that since I am done with my duties, I could observe the sport tonigh-”
“Done with your duties? Observe? Those would be two commands I can’t seem to remember stating. When is it that I told you that you were done, or that you could linger to watch?” Veronica was eye-to-eye with the man, noses nearly touching. The man was far from a soldier and by far the smallest man in the room. Sebastian pitied him.
“N-n-no captain, I suppose you had not explicitly-”
“I asked when boy. Not if, are you calling me a liar?”
“God no captain please I misspoke, it's just you didn’t-”
“So you’re confirming that I am a liar!”
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
“No! Please, captain, I shouldn’t have assumed anything I promise I won’t again!” The man was looking quite pathetic now, and to that, Veronica scoffed and sighed.
“Keep it together will you? Why God wastes his time making men pathetic, a mystery to me! For what it’s worth, I was just about to let you off for the night.” Veronica said, putting a hand on the shoulder of the man, who flinched at her moving. “Just one more task. Arm wrestle that man for me, would you? Keep him entertained while I go for a lady-like squat.” A slap to the back later, Veronica was making her way in the direction of Sebastian.
“C-c-captain! But I could never beat...him!” The broken man sounded lost and looked defeated as the man seated, now forever Reggie to Sebastian, burst into a knee-slapping laughter.
Veronica stopped short, glancing at her lower right, then left, before snatching a knife from its folder from a soldier standing there as quick as a viper would snatch its food. Half spinning, Veronica made her way back to the boy with the knife held up between her eyes.
“A captain must inspire confidence, right gentlemen! Listen here, the greatest law in war, what is it? It certainly is not being strong, nor is it being smart, thank the heavens for that.” She spun around and made a point to look at each chuckling man in the room, her eyes falling on Sebastian’s before returning to her help, “No, the first law of war, is that the battle is won before it is fought. You, my lowly food boy, have set yourself up for grand failure! But I, your captain, will make you a better man today. Unfortunately for you, that doesn't mean getting between my legs.”
The room burst with laughter at that, even garnering a bit of a smile from Sebastian. Weeks traveling together had begun to penetrate the fine tongue and ears the knight was raised with, and the lewd jokes had started to become funny to him as well. Watching Veronica stride from the help to the table, his grin quickly turned to a low whistle, as Veronica drove the knife up, under, and through the table. About a half inch of steel pierced through the top of the table, stuck in its place.
“With your backs against the wall men, you may find that you must create your own confidence. Will there be times that a confident man perishes? Absolutely, every day it happens! But the boost could just save your life one day as well! Now, I really must use the latrine.” Veronica nodded at the boy, whose mouth was agape in silent shock.
“Make sure to clean real nice down there, Cap! I will most appreciate it later!” Reggie yelled, earning a smirk from Veronica as she strode through and passed Sebastian, who looked at her quizzically.
“Jesus, that guy has got some balls to be talking to Cap like that. But hell, looks like he’ll be bedding her.” A voice said from behind Sebastian.
“What?” Sebastian turned quickly, finding the man who still held his limp hand, “The guy is bedding her?”
“Yes, Captain's orders sir. The strongest man in this room gets the prize between her thighs. Got to beat her as well though.”
“What the?” Sebastian felt himself choke up a bit, coughed the annoyance away, and continued “Has this been happening regularly?”
“Oh yeah, more of the troop have been getting invited by her each time too. Think the woman is horny or something, must be judging that no one has claimed a win.”
Sebastian needed to confirm, “No one has won?”
“No sir, she’s the toughest bitch of them all. But Reginald here, he’s got that real stupid man's strength. Words and numbers had his fists clashing with walls growing up, or so I hear.” The man looked from Sebastian back to the table, and Sebastian followed, where he found a quivering man lined up to face an overjoyed strongman, his elbow already in position. Nested in the table, jutting out a forearm length to the right of the man was the sharp end of the knife.
“Now before you start begging me for mercy, boy,” Reggie started, “realize that our Captain is doing you a great service tonight. She’s going to toughen you up, one way or another, and have you prepared for battle!”
“B-b-but I, I prepare soups and meals, sir, this is outside my-”
“The enemy will still skin you alive still! Don’t you get that you fuckin idiot? Maybe they’ll let you make them a meal first, with plenty of potatoes, carrots, and the skin from your kneecaps. Let’s get this over with, pony up would ya.” Reggie had his elbow dug into the table, his hand raised and open, and a look a shark might have right before sinking its jaws into its prey.
Reggie wasn’t about to make this a goodhearted lesson, Sebastian thought, shaking his head at the ridiculousness of both the situation and the lies the man had just spewed. While he had no first-hand experience, there had been plenty he had learned about the many countries that comprised Angea. Out of all of its points of interest, Runswick was the farthest from such ruthless and cruel violence. Not only did his mother teach this, but so did the Grand Bishop Paulo, as it had been one of the driving factors in beginning the war here, where the path was least resilient. Sebastian sighed, watching the timid man shake as he slowly and dreadfully placed an elbow on the table. Another man came to the table's side, ready to lock the fighters together and pronounce go, but Sebastian interrupted.
“I shall be this lad's champion, gentlemen,” Sebastian said, feeling the eyes of the room all land on him as he placed his hand on the cook's shaking shoulder.
Reggie groaned, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Willcotts?”
“Know your place soldier, it’s Captain Willcotts to you,” Sebastian said, ripping the chair from under the cook, who still looked at him in wonder and glory on the floor before crawling away.
“With all due respect Willcotts, the title of captain must be earned. Prove yourself in the days to come, maybe I’ll address you right. It makes me ill thinking I have to call a younger, inexperienced, blade as clean as a whistle like you my captain. And that’s the truth of the matter.” Reggie had a cold look in his eyes, and his hand was still in position, ready to go.
Sebastian refused to show the frustration building in himself, “I’d be glad to give you a sample of what I intend to show in battle, here and now.” Sebastian took the seat, matching the humorless look of his opponent. Rolling up the sleeve on his right arm, Sebastian looked at the knife still lodged and protruding in the table, glanced to his left and then to his right. Once he finished fixing the sleeve so that it stayed in place, Sebastian raised his left hand open and above his head.
“Two rows back, the man with the quiver over his shoulder. Bring me the knife in your right boot, my good man.” Sebastian said, generating a murmur from the onlookers before the man he had singled out came to his side, where he placed a knife in his hand.
“How’d ya see that, Cap?” The young archer said, his face having a feminine smoothness to it.
“I’ve been in this room for nearly four minutes now soldier. I have a strong grasp on the weapons, equipment, strengths, and weaknesses of each person present. The knife in your boot appeared to be nearly identical to the one which Visconti used before, so I was just hoping to even the playing field.” Sebastian said, offering a smile to the archer before shifting to his opponent, where his smile evolved into a wicked one. “How about it, Reggie? The loser gets a brand new scar.” Sebastian drove up and stabbed the knife through the table, making the surface symmetrical.
His opponent scoffed, “It’s Reginald to you, Reginald Harthwright. Don’t you forget it, boy?”
Sebastian slammed his elbow to the table, “It’s Captain Sebastian Willcotts to you, Reggie. You won’t forget it.”
The men locked hands then, each taking a calculated interest in the positions of their opponent's knives and slightly adjusting so that the other’s hand would surely feel it’s presence. Sebastian sensed most of the world around him drown out as he focused on the formula to win this battle, as he had been taught all his life to do. Left behind in his thoughts was the noise in the room, the visual of his opponent’s grinning face, and all reason as to why he came to this room in the first place. Only did he allow his spatial senses to remain, accounting for any individuals that were present in the room, and who could enter the room through either the door or the third-floor window.
Every battle had its own recipe, but in the preparation for these wars were true foundations that one could rely upon. Much like sword fighting, arm wrestling had its nuances that displayed the experience of one’s self before the fight even began. Sebastian felt for those nuances as the man acting as a judge came to their side and held each other's wrists. A twitch of the wrist towards the body of his opponent, and Sebastian knew the style; Reggie planned on executing an outside takedown, where the contestant would pull the rival's hand toward their own body and use the leverage created to win the bout. Such technique should have been expected, yet Sebastian was a bit surprised. There was a possibility that Reggie was a bit more than just brash, and he had no doubt the large man did not just appear to be strong.
“Alrighty now men, the chance to face the Captain between the undefeated Reginald Harthwright and the green Captain Sebastian Willcotts. Last call for your side bets, going once, going twice...ok men. On three now.” Sebastian hadn’t heard a word the man said, as his world might as well have been him, this table, and the man's hand he held now. “One, two, three!”
Every millisecond in an arm wrestling bout is vital, something both challengers seemingly took seriously; as expected, Reggie moved to secure the leverage by utilizing his bicep muscle in order to bring Sebastian’s hand closer. Sebastian combated the style by focusing on his hand and finger muscles, forcing Reggie’s wrist back but not fast enough to nullify his opponent's strategy. Both of their off hands dug into the sides of the table, and Reggie was now dipping his shoulder in an attempt to add even more leverage, which was working. Although his wrist wasn’t driving down and inward, Reggie was forcing Sebastian’s hand towards the knife on the table. The two men grinded teeth, but it was Reggie who began to sweat first. Reggie’s temple quickly became the epicenter of veins and effort, and as the man tried with all his might to drive the hand of his captain into the blade, he let out a prolonged exhale that may as well have been a roar. A half inch above the blade, his wrist turned the opposite way yet so close to defeating his opponent, that the exhaled roar ceased. Sebastian's moment took form.
In the split second Reggie’s breathing turned from exhale to inhale, and Sebastian finally engaged completely. Having his opponent's hand and wrist in a favorable position, Sebastian forced his opponent's hand toward his own body, effectively winning the match right there. Dealing with men bigger than yourself was always an annoyance, due to the patience it likely required. Persevering through the initial burst, Sebastian had Reggie exactly where he planned to have him ever since he planned to sit across from him. In a burst of rage and power, Sebastian screamed as he brought their hands from his right side to the left side, exploding through and down as Reggie's hand met the knife. Sebastian could feel the blade prick the middle of his palm but had no care for the small pain. He had won, and winning was everything to him.
Reggie Harthwright cursed out in cruel agony, his hand pinned to the table. The blade protruded through the palm of his hand, where it was beginning to get hidden by a growing pool of blood.
Sebastian wasn’t enjoying the sight, yet, “Now Reggie, you’re never, never going to disrespect me in front of my subordinates again. Address me properly or I’ll be sure that hand never leaves this table.”
Reggie Harthwright looked at him in both anger and distress, his face twisting as his hand exploded in pain, before lowering his gaze in embarrassment. Through gritted teeth, the man announced “Yes-ah shit, this hurts-yes, Captain Willcotts. I know my place, sir.”
In the direction of the door, a slow, loud clap entered the room, brought on by a smiling Veronica. She had been leaning there, and Sebastian concluded that she must have been there since the start of his bout, although he hadn’t sensed her enter. He took note of his lapse as the men in front of him parted, allowing Veronica a clear path to the table.
She made her way then, each step methodical, and powerful, and her face displayed seduction, “We have a true champion among us!” She announced, throwing her hands up in the air, “How foolish you all were to believe that this soldier could take on a captain, a truly marvelous man at that.” Veronica settled next to Sebastian, slapping him on the back and proceeding to rub the area in a large circle.
Sebastian felt an uneasy excitement growing within him, one he wished would halt immediately, “Reggie here put up a good fight, and I am sure he will give our enemies hell on the battlefield, right Reg?”
Sebastian reached under the table and pulled the knife from where it was lodged in both the table and the man's hand. Reggie groaned in pain, but Sebastian had expected screaming, and for that the man deserved a bit of respect for.
“Someone get Reginald Harthwright here some ale on his way to the doctor. I look forward to sharing the battles to come with you, soldier.” Sebastian went to offer his right hand and proceeded to swap it for his left, realizing his error.
Reginald Harthwright looked at him differently then, even managing a half smile, “If you manage to have even half the fight your good mother has, it’ll be my honor, Captain.” The two men shook hands then, an equal amount of respect earned from one another.
Veronica interrupted the moment with a burst of laughter, “Should I find a different room? Or are you going to pony up and face me, Sebastian?” Veronica swept her way around the table, moving with a quietness that Sebastian had to take note of. “Reginald, your cockiness has left you with a clean cock tonight. Out of the damn seat now.” Veronica said, receiving a round of laughter from the men in the room, Reginald included as he gave his seat up for her.
Sebastian, still standing next to his chair, thought: God be good, this woman really does intend to bed the champion tonight. And as of right now… Sebastian searched his thoughts for anything and everything he could distract himself with: had he tested his blade today? He should have sharpened it; Was his horse being taken care of? He should be the one to care for the steed; What could his mother be doing right now? Most likely drinking wine. Turning random thoughts over and over in his head, Sebastian realized he was far from successful. He could not stop the hardening in his pants.
“That’s enough for today boys. Willcotts and I intend to finish this alone, one way or another.” Veronica bit her lip then, darting her eyes down to Sebastian’s waistline. “Everyone, out!” Her voice boomed through the room, and the men obeyed.
“Wait!” Sebastian called out, stopping the men in their tracks. Veronica looked at him, puzzlingly, “Everyone out, except you, Pidgey.”
The man known as Pidgey remained standing in his place, still as a statue minus the shiver in his knees, as men much bigger than him passed by and exited the room.
“Good idea, we do need a judge.” Veronica said, before taking a seat.