His hand went immediately for the hilt hidden under his cloak. Besides a handful of villagers he noted that only Kalys and two other guards surrounded him.

    Kalys lowered his chin and tucked his thumbs behind his belt.

    “Try it dog. It won’t go as it did the last time.”

    “And shame you twice in as many days,” he said. “I wouldn’t dare.”

    One of the guards grabbed his arm. He twisted suddenly, sidestepping him as he snatched the man’s wrist and yanked his arm behind his back, forcing the guard to his knees.

    As the guard cried out he ripped his saber free of its scabbard and leveled the edge of the blade across the other guard’s neck before the man had even known what happened.

    “Tell your pigs not to lay a hand on me. Unless you want to keep the lord waiting?”

    Kalys ground his teeth and scowled, cursing his men with an order he gave grudgingly.

    He kept his saber out, sheathing it only after he was sure the guards wouldn’t attack him. They kept their distance but openly glared at his back.

    He eyed Kalys sideways and grinned. The Master of Arms grumbled under his breath, obviously disappointed that he couldn’t rough him up beforehand.

    Falden sat upon a rise overlooking the banks of the Goldwater Rush, a deep river swollen by melting snow and ice. Wood and stone rose out of the mud and grass like a crown of shops and homes.

    On the edge of the rise, commanding a wide view of the twisting river below and yawning fields to the south, stood the Albryte manor.

    A large square that made the village commons separated the manor from the rest of the village. Long wooden tables and benches surrounded a platform where various contests to entertain the village folk would take place.

    Anticipation simmered in his skull as they crossed the commons and stopped outside a gated black iron fence. A lone guard recognized them and opened the gate from the inside, letting them through.

    Several stories tall, no other building in the village stood taller. Columns flanked either side of the main entrance where a servant ushered them inside.

    Velvet chairs and couches lined walls decorated with paintings and murals of people he didn’t recognize and battles he knew nothing about.

    It bothered him how unsightly he appeared next to the manor’s lavishness. Even after bathing and a good night’s rest he looked awful.

    His black hair hung low against his shoulders, thick and slightly wavy. He hadn’t shaved in over a month and his clothes were tattered, the color faded from exposure.

    It wasn’t long before the guards brought him before a large doorway. Its tall wooden doors stood open, revealing a large room inside.

    Shelves full of books lined well over half the walls. A suit of armor stood in a corner and beside it on a table lay both a scabbard and a sword displayed on a small tiered rack.

    In the middle of the room lord Albryte sat at his desk writing, a pile of papers stacked to one side and several open books laid on the other.

    His close cropped hair glowed white under the light streaming through a pair of tall rounded glass windows behind him. Shadows obscured his face as he hunched over his writing.

    His clothes were new and rich. His red jacket was slashed with white. The buttons polished to a shine and the cloak slung over his chair lined with glistening black fur.

    Lord Albryte laid down his pen and reclined in his chair upon their arrival.

    “Saul,” he said, pronouncing his name as he would an insult. “I’m so pleased you could attend me at this hour. I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

    “Of course not, my lord,” he said steadily meeting the man’s shadowed gaze.

    “Good. I’ve heard something quite interesting recently. Now that you stand before me I see that it’s true.”

    The lord crossed his legs and drummed his fingers on the arms of his chair.

    “An eighth realm first World essence practitioner. It’s been so long since I was at that level. I still remember the day it happened, how excited I was to finally take a step into a world of power. I thought I could take on anybody. When I think of that I can understand where you found the audacity to challenge my sons.”

    The lord chuckled softly.

    “Sadly, you aren’t even in the same World as they are. I’m willing to overlook it just this once.”

    “You’re too kind, my lord.”

    The lord snorted, readjusting himself in his seat.

    “You wouldn’t be the first to say so. But still, I would like to congratulate you on becoming a cultivator. Fortunately for you it happened at the best possible time.”

    He held his breath and braced himself, suddenly wary of what that could mean.

    Lord Albryte leaned forward and in doing so the shadows retreated from his face. The lord gave him a cold unblinking stare.

    “Have you heard yet of the soldiers gracing our little village? I had a chance to speak with their captain this morning and he seemed quite open to the idea of enlisting your service.”

    His mouth went dry as he groped for something to say. He would have laughed if not for the lord’s piercing blue eyes that sent a shiver down his spine.

    Lord Albryte studied him, waiting for a response. When none came he smirked.

    “No need to thank me. I know you haven’t been,” the lord gestured lazily, “satisfied with your life so far. This is perfect for you! Imagine the adventure. The excitement! If Vocaria deems you lucky, you may not even die on a barbarian’s blade.”

    The lord chuckled, clearly satisfied with himself.

    He held his hands behind his back and balled them into fists. It was better than the other thing he had in mind.

    “My lord,” he said, clearing his throat. “My father’s health has gotten worse. He’s weak and frail and needs me at home. I’m afraid to disappoint you, but I can’t accept your generosity. I’m not going.”

    The lord paused. His cold stare unreadable and for a long moment he feared that he’d taken a step too far.

    The lord stood and waved indifferently at Kalys and the guards standing by the entrance.

    “Wait outside and close the door.”

    Kalys and the guards bowed their heads and echoed, “Yes, lord.” The doors swung silently, clicking softy when they closed.

    He watched over his shoulder as they left. All together it couldn’t have been more than a few moments long.

    But when he looked back at Albryte’s desk the lord was no longer sitting in his chair but standing over him, cupping his chin.

    He jerked back, holding in a cry. The lord stood well above him leaving him no choice but to look up at the man.

    When the shock subsided anger took its place. First a threat, now intimidation when that didn’t work. He clenched his jaw and stared back defiantly.

    “I have to admit,” the lord said. “I didn’t believe them at first when they told me you challenged them to a fight. You were always so…submissive. To think you were hiding this much defiance in you. Was cultivation all you needed to give you this confidence, or is there something more?”

    What he had would help him catch up to the twins but it wasn’t enough to fight this man. He didn’t know what World the lord was in but he imagined it was well beyond him.

    “I’m just tired of it,” he said simply. “They don’t care enough to know the difference between a peasant and a slave and it’s about time someone taught them that.”

    “Interesting,” Albryte said. His lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. “You’re lucky, Saul. Once upon a time I would have beheaded you for that kind of disrespect. But you’ve piqued my interest. How about striking a deal with me?”

    He hesitated. “What does my lord have in mind?”

    “I’ll allow your fight to take place at the sword skill tournament. If you can beat either of my sons I won’t force you into the legions.

    “I’ll even extend an olive branch. Working so hard to find enough money to pay for Allanir’s medicine while barely scraping by must be so difficult. I’ll take that burden upon myself. I’ll pay for it all. I’ll even bring in a proper doctor from Solaren to care for him.”

    “And should I lose?”

    The lord smiled for real this time. Only it never once touched his eyes.

    “Then off you go, to the frontier or the border, or wherever it is the legions go these days. I would also like to point out that should you lose to either one or drop out of the tournament before you face them, then that’s also a loss.”

    He backed away from the lord and looked around the room. Clearly a study.

    So much wealth and power resided in this one place. How could so much fall into the hands of just a single person?

    Albryte’s deal was better than he could have ever hoped for. It should have excited him. But something didn’t add up right.

    He cocked his head and met the lord’s unblinking gaze.

    “Why make a deal? I can think of several other ways you could get rid of me. That is if all of this really is about your son,” he said slowly, pausing deliberately before adding, “my lord.”

    The lord frowned and walked over to the door giving it a knock. It opened wide enough for a guard to look inside.

    “Show him to the gate.”

    The doors opened then all the way. The two guards who brought him there came into the room. Kalys was no longer around.

    Lord Albryte walked over to his desk, settled back in his seat, and took up his pen.

    “Just think about it, Saul. It’s a generous offer. So much more than you deserve. And do give me your answer no later than tomorrow.”

    With that the lord waved him off with a flick of his fingers.

    The guards ushered him out of the room, without grabbing him, he noticed, and led him back the way they came.

    Only the sound of their boots thumping softly against the richly carpeted floor separated them from total silence.

    He felt grateful for the lack of conversation. Not that he cared to talk to them. The quiet simply made it easier for him to think.

    Of course he had no choice but to accept the lord’s offer. The reward was simply too good to pass up. But if he failed? Could Albryte really force him into service?

    Sure, life and death was something a noble could play around with at his leisure but was this in the scope of the lord’s power? And why offer him a deal at all?

    It made sense if he looked at it from a certain angle.

    Albryte held all the power. Why make a bet where he could lose unless he never intends to honor it in the first place. The deal was just a ruse to make him play along.

    He frowned deeply and gripped the hilt of his sword.

    Win or lose, the lord was sending him off for good.

    He could flee right after the tournament. He could even flee before the tournament. But in the end, running away meant abandoning his father who needed him now more than ever.

    It pained him to think about, but it seemed his old plan was now his only option.

    He faltered after rounding a corner.

    A young man with blue eyes and long golden hair hugging his shoulders stepped out from a doorway, smiling through a thick curly brown beard. Behind him followed a young woman.

    She wore her red hair in a ponytail that hung to her waist. Her bangs overshadowed large, bright green eyes that crinkled with a little smile she half hid behind a black gloved hand that reached past her elbow.

    Golden vines twisted vertically along the sides of a dark red dress she wore underneath a brown fur cloak that hugged her shoulders and flared open in the front revealing a gilded leather belt buckled around her waist.

    The guards paused in the hallway to bow their heads, muttering, “My lady.”

    He ignored her and turned on the young man.

    “Didn’t I tell you not to come back here?” He breathed.

    Taren glanced away, chuckling nervously. His beard couldn’t hide the blush that painted his checks red.

    “You did? Are you sure about that?”

    He bristled at his brother’s feigned ignorance.

    Before he could say another word a guard cut him off.

    “Quit wasting time. Let’s go.”

    “It’s alright,” the young woman said. “Instead you can answer me why Saul should need an escort as if he’s a criminal.”

    “The lord had business with the boy. Now he wants him taken to the gate.”

    “I can do that myself,” she said, nodding slightly. “Take this moment to visit the kitchen or resume your normal duties.”

    “My lady, that’s-”

    “Perfectly acceptable. I’m happy you agree.” She smiled at the guard until he shared a glance with his colleague who shrugged.

    They offered her another bow of their heads, uttered “My lady,” and stalked toward the end of the hallway until they reached a row of tall windows, taking positions on either side of the hall and blending seamlessly into the manor’s décor.

    “Well, that was lovely,” Taren said.

    The young woman gave him a tight hug. He looked away with a frown.

    “Thanks,” he grunted.

    “Saul,” she said. “I’m happy to see you’re looking well.”

    He glanced down the hallway at the guards and the woman followed his look.

    “It’s alright. They won’t bite.”

    He looked back at her. She stood just a little taller than him and his brother. He crossed his arms, glancing up into her eyes.

    Despite her name, Sylvia Albryte was very much unlike her brothers. She blinked a few times, returning his flat stare with warm hospitality.

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    “You realize the two of you are pushing your luck,” he said. “The moment your father catches wind of this it’ll be over for both of you. What do you think he’ll do to the commoner who dares to lay his eyes on his daughter?”

    She hesitated.

    “It was only a conversation between friends,” she added quickly, her pale cheeks flushed a deep red. “The two of you practically grew up around here. He shouldn’t find it strange at all.”

    “You’re worrying too much,” Taren said. He clapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “It’s not like that at all.”

    “I hope you’re right,” he mused, shaking his head. “But don’t you find it odd? Couldn’t either of you find someone more appropriate to talk to? Someone whose family could get along more nicely with the other?”

    “Oh come on,” Taren said, rolling his eyes. “It’s not her fault and you know it.”

    “When father takes us to the city all I’m allowed to do is study,” Sylvia said. “History and politics are fascinating topics, but you can’t have a conversation with a book.”

    He opened his mouth, about to tell her she should try, when a loud voice cut through the hallway.

    “What’s going on here?”

    Rolling his eyes, he groaned, sparing the newcomer a glance. Barin stomped down the hallway followed by his twin.

    “I do hope you both have a good reason for bothering our sister,” Jon said coolly. “Isn’t that right Sylvia? Aren’t you bothered by them?”

    He thought for a moment that Barin would shove his way between them. Instead he crossed his arms and frowned.

    “How did a pair of stray dogs wander in? Does father even know you’re here? And you,” Barin said, looking over Sylvia who visibly wilted. “What are you doing here with them?”

    “I was…,” she said. Her voice trembled slightly under the weight of her brother’s stare.

    “I was summoned,” he said suddenly.

    “What for?” Jon said, frowning at him.

    There was no way, he decided, that he was going to tell the twins about his deal with lord Albryte. He barely gave it a thought before a grin slowly crept over his face.

    “He’s worried about you, your father is. Thinks you won’t beat me in the tournament. So he tried to buy me off.”

    He shrugged as if it were no big deal, enjoying the startled look that flashed between them.

    “It didn’t work,” he smiled.

    Barin’s pale face flushed a bright red. Uncrossing his arms he took a threatening step forward, close enough to almost breathe down on him.

    “You filthy liar,” he snarled. “Father would never acknowledge the son of a slave. You’re just a lowborn peasant with nothing to your name but the rags on your back. You’re lucky enough to even shovel horse shit.”

    He kept his smile and regarded Barin with a tilt of his head. No more bowing and scraping. These two, especially Barin, were never going to see him cower again.

    Locking eyes with the young man, the same heat in Barin’s pretty face rose in his own.

    “For once you’re actually right about something,” he said. “I am lucky. Do you know why?”

    He balled his fists. The cold metal of the black ring bit into his flesh. His smile twisted, but not in pain. His voice came dangerously close to yelling.

    “Because I had people like you in my life. People who always looked down on me as if I weren’t even human. You made it come to this. You forced me to be what I am today. If not for you I might never have found the passion I needed to cultivate and learn the way of the sword.”

    Sylvia reached out to him but he jerked away from her touch.

    “Do you think I’m grateful for the chance I was given to waste my days cleaning stables? Do you think I never had to train to become as skilled as I am? You were given everything from the moment you were born while I’ve had to work harder than the both of you little shits combined.”

    Jon, always so cold and indifferent, gaped as though he’d been slapped. His jaw dropped. Barin’s eyes bulged and for a long moment no one said a thing.

    Then suddenly Barin moved for the knife at his belt. Jon grabbed him before the blonde man could pull it free.

    “Piss off,” Barin said.

    He shoved his twin away, reaching again for the knife, and hesitated.

    Jon flipped it around in his palm and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it flying down the hallway spinning end over end until it sank point first into a painting.

    The commotion drew the guard’s attention and Sylvia moved to stop them.

    Jon regarded him coolly. His pale eyes were cold as ice and relayed a lot more restraint than his brother Barin.

    “Bold words coming from someone who just recently learned how to cultivate. Why don’t you prove it then?” Jon said. A hint of anger simmered beneath his tone. “The two of us against you. Right now.”

    Barin snorted and straightened his sleeve with an irritated twitch.

    “Don’t even bother. I can take him myself.”

    “I’m sure that cousin Cera would have said the same.” Jon replied.

    His anger boiled over at the casual way Barin dismissed him and it burst out as a laugh, pure and unbridled laughter that brought a tear to his eye.

    He thought he heard Taren pleading with him not to fight but his ears were pounding. His blood was hot and he needed this now, he realized. More than anything.

    “This day just keeps getting better,” he said. “Where do you want to do it?”

    He looked around the hallway, noting the guards who had resumed their spot at the opposite end. “It’s a bit inconvenient here, don’t you think?”

    Barin scowled but otherwise ignored his outburst.

    Jon nodded his head and waved him forward. “This way. We have just the place.”

    The twins led him to a small courtyard at the rear of the mansion. Arches lined the yard on three sides where the fourth lay open to the river and fields that spread out below.

    Leaning against one of the stone archways stood a man in full uniform.

    He wore a nearly full suit of white. White pants stuffed down knee length shiny black boots. A white cloak lined in black fur draped over one shoulder of his white jacket.

    Silver chains decorated the other shoulder and hooked onto a high collar. A sword hung from his belt and on his breast appeared a large crest. A Dragon’s head crowned by a rising sun.

    The man looked up from a book he held in black gloved hands and gave them all a curious look. The twins ignored him as they strode across the paved ground.

    On one side of the courtyard stood a rack full of weapons. He wished there was real steel among them. It held only wooden practice swords and staffs.

    The twins each took a sword. Jon favored one while his brother chose two. Barin swung his wooden blades in a few complex circles before resting them on his shoulders. The blonde man turned, giving him a smug look.

    “Feel free to use the sword you have there, dog.”

    “No need,” he said unbuckling his sword from his belt.

    He tossed it to Taren who caught it awkwardly. Sylvia stood beside his brother, watching silently with her arms folded beneath her breasts.

    He glanced over the rack and settled on a long staff roughly his own height. He considered the swords but quickly dismissed them. A staff would serve him better in a fight against two people.

    He gripped the staff and spun it a few times around from side to side and over his head. He spun it behind his back and brought it forward again, catching it in his hand with a slap. Feeling satisfied he closed his eyes to activate his essence body.

    Strength washed over him like he’d stepped in front of an open forge. Essence pulsed through his muscles. He smiled and turned to face the twins.

    “So, how do you want to-”

    Barin closed in on him without warning. He laughed at the cowardly move and swung his staff to connect with the first blow.

    Barin snarled and swung his blades in a torrent of strikes, each blade moving at the same time but striking separate spots.

    “What’s wrong,” he chided. “Is this all you’re capable of without using your Dragon form?”

    He blocked every strike as they came with blinding speed and narrowly backed away from the corner the blonde man had tried forcing him into.

    But he might have laughed too soon.

    He doubted Barin was more skilled but the young man still had a higher cultivation. It showed in the heaviness and swiftness of his blows.

    He had to end it quickly or Barin would overcome him with sheer force alone.

    “Why should I when you’re making this too easy!” Barin yelled.

    The young man flashed his teeth, laughing hysterically. His eagerness added more power to his blows and it came with a cost.

    Barin’s movements were sloppy and predictable. Such a waste of power.

    He swung his staff and roared, suddenly taking the offensive. The furry and precision behind his blows caught Barin off guard who now stumbled backward.

    Barin strained himself behind his feeble defense. Anger bleed through his eyes as he brought his staff up in a fast fluid arc, sending one of Barin’s swords flying into the air, and plunged the other end of his staff deep into Barin’s gut.

    Barin dropped his other sword, gripping his stomach as he fell to his knees coughing. That should have been the end of it but the thrill of the fight had fully taken him and in his anger a profound need to punish these two men seized him.

    He tossed aside his staff and kicked up into his hand Barin’s dropped sword.

    “Pathetic,” he said. “Whoever taught you must have been a fool if it hadn’t been drilled into your head not to ever drop your sword during a fight.”

    He paused. “Or maybe they had, and you’re just an idiot.”

    Barin coughed into his sleeve and looked up at him. He swung the blade just as the young man looked up, slamming it straight across his eyes. Barin fell onto his back unconscious.

    He turned and found Jon standing alone in the center of the courtyard gripping his practice blade before him, knuckles white with tension.

    He slowly approached the other man whose eyes held a mixture of bewilderment and fear. He’d made the wrong choice in not attacking together with his twin.

    “Higher cultivation doesn’t mean shit if all you do is swing your sword around like it’s a toy,” he said.

    Jon took a few quick steps forward and raised his blade, meaning to strike him over the head. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.

    The wooden sword in his hand trembled. He’d almost lost his grip from the sheer force behind the blow, but otherwise his parry had been perfect.

    The sword in Jon’s hands spun to the side end over end and clattered across the courtyard.

    He opened his eyes and regarded Jon with a cold grin.

    “Three things can make a cultivator powerful but only one will make him strong.”

    His blade came around in a blur. The hard rockwood connected with the side of Jon’s head with a meaty crunch and the man crumpled to the ground.

    He tossed the broken sword aside and eyed the twins with a hungry look. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more but these two hadn’t satisfied him.

    The fight had barely lasted five minutes.

    He shook his head and sighed, watching the heat of his breath disappear into the cool air. Underneath the anger, he vaguely felt the impression he’d done something he would later regret. Oh well. It was far too late to go back now.

    A hand gripped his shoulder and he twisted, prepared to punch whoever it was.

    Taren looked as though he’d seen a ghost. His face had turned deathly pale, his eyes bulging out of his head.

    “Are you stupid?” his brother cried. “Look what you did to them.”

    He glanced back at the twins lying unconscious on the ground. Luckily none of the guards had been around to watch.

    Sylvia was no longer there. He doubted that she’d call for the guards.

    Then he remembered the man in white.

    He glanced around quickly but the man was nowhere to be seen.

    “I won’t deny that you might be right about that,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “But damn was it fun. Shame they couldn’t last a bit longer.”

    Taren stood there, speechless. But quickly found his tongue.

    “You need to get out of here,” he said. “Lord Albryte might just hang you for this.”

    “I highly doubt that," a voice said from behind.

    They both jumped and spun to find a man standing just a few feet away. It was the man in white from before. How had he snuck up on them so easily?

    “One word from me,” the man said. “And old man Raemis Albryte will bite his tongue and look the other way.”

    The man regarded him with deep blue eyes and a friendly smile.

    “Those were some nice moves, by the way. I’d wager there’s a good story behind them. How about you share it with me over a nice glass of Falden’s rockwood ale?”

    He exchanged a quick look with his brother.

    “Who are you?” he asked.

    Behind him Barin moaned as he began to stir.

    “Oh, that’s right,” the man said. “I should introduce myself. My bad.”

    He offered them both a slight bow and struck a dignified pose.

    “My name is Alazar Maxillion, cousin to the new queen Eliza Zaryph. May her reign be both long and blessed with peace. But you can call me Alazar.”