The crowd’s applause was tepid at best, an obligatory patter rather than genuine excitement. Given the massive audience, the brief duel seemed almost underwhelming—expectations had been high for the summoned champion, only for Niles to fall within moments.

Aurelia, outwardly composed, couldn’t hide the worry in her eyes, though she dared not step from her place. Xemena’s expression was a study in smug indifference, her raised brow almost speaking: “What did you expect?” Meanwhile, Xhiva, now done with his pastries, lumbered toward the dessert table, unbothered by the fight’s conclusion, as if it had been nothing more than an uninteresting interruption.

The king stood silent, perhaps appearing unsatisfied to those who didn’t know him well. In truth, something deeper lingered in his gaze as he looked across at his eldest son, Xander, their scarlet eyes connecting. Between them, unspoken but understood, was a shared realization: if Niles’s barrier had been fully formed—a true, solid wall—Xerxes’s reckless rush might have turned out differently. Charging in rage after Niles’s sand trick had been a novice mistake, and the king knew it. This duel had served its purpose, but it had also left him with a feeling that he’d learned… something. He wasn’t sure what yet, but it had seeded curiosity.

With a last glance at the fallen Niles, Xerxes turned on his heel, heading back to his corner as the cheering finally started to build.

Gustavus and Roy rushed over to Niles. “How’re you feeling?” Gustavus asked, leaning in.

“Not very manly,” Niles mumbled.

“Don’t worry, no one ever thought you were,” Roy snickered.

Niles chuckled despite himself. “But my body hurts. That slap packed more—”

“Healing!” Gustavus shouted, interrupting with a flourish. Green light wrapped around Niles like a soft, glowing blanket, and he had just enough time to shout, “WAIT, DON’T YOU D-…”

Suddenly, the pain in his body eased. He exhaled, surprised. “Oh… it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

Gustavus puffed up with pride. “Can’t heal your broken pride, though,” he said smugly, “but hey, congratulations on being my first satisfied patient!”

Niles considered pretending the healing had gone wrong just to mess with him, but seeing Gustavus’s pride, he settled for a sincere, “Thanks.”

Roy pulled him to his feet, and Niles offered both of them a genuine smile. “Thank you, guys.”

They returned his grin, but the moment was short-lived. Gustavus quipped, “Pity I can’t heal your useless skill,” “How about his face?” Roy smirked. “I’m a healer – not a surgeon.” Gustavus laughed.

The assistant’s voice boomed over the arena, leaving no time for Niles to answer on his planet buddies verbal betrayal. “Light the ovens! All duelists, report to your prep stations!”

Niles exhaled deeply, steeling himself. “Alright, guys,” he grinned. “This one’s in the bag. Just watch.”

The assistant’s voice rang over the training court, announcing the rules. “This baking duel will have a time limit of one hour.”

Niles nodded confidently, turning to Roy and Gustavus. “An hour? That’s plenty!”

The three exchanged determined glances as the assistant continued, “The duelists will be judged by a panel of three. The contestant with the most votes wins!” A dramatic pause hung over the crowd before the assistant concluded, “And I am proud to announce that our judges will be none other than prince Xander, princess Xemera, and prince Xhiva.”

The crowd erupted in cheers. “Show them what we’re made of!” someone shouted, while another voice echoed, “Long live King Xerxes!”

The mood in Niles’s corner deflated. His confidence—shared by Roy and Gustavus moments before—wavered. The king’s children? Their chances of a fair win suddenly seemed bleak.

Across the court, Aurelia sat motionless, eyes wide with worry, her neutrality as the goddess tested. Xemena’s scarlet gaze flicked toward her, a smirk pulling at her lips. “Oh, goddess, that look suits you.” She leaned in, voice dripping with malice. “I’ve never seen a goddess cry before. I wonder… which would taste sweeter: our father’s victory, or your tears as you watch your ‘champion’ lose his head?” She laughed, her laughter echoed by Xhiva, who watched Aurelia with a hungry glint.

Aurelia forced herself to stay calm, but as her champion readied himself, she couldn’t help but silently plead for a miracle.

In the center of the training square, the royal kitchen had set up an impressive spread of ingredients and tools, a full pantry at the ready.

“BEGIN!” the assistant’s voice echoed after a short break.

King Xerxes wasted no time, darting to the temporary pantry and snatching ingredients in swift, efficient movements, like a man grabbing essentials at the market minutes before closing. Ingredients piled high in his basket as he moved with determination.

Niles, on the other hand, strolled up to the pantry, his approach calm and meticulous. He took his time inspecting the options, noting the absence of baking powder—an item that apparently didn’t exist in this world. With a mental note to improvise, he selected a variety of flours, salt, butter, and milk. Grabbing a few useful kitchen tools, he set off back to his station.

Over at the king’s station, activity was already a flurry of motion. Xerxes had seeds roasting in the oven and was vigorously mixing ingredients in a large bowl. His loyal kitchen staff cheered him on, their passion and pride evident as his station practically blazed with energy.

Niles took a different approach. Carefully, he weighed his ingredients and noticed that the flour he’d chosen wasn’t finely sifted enough. Without hesitation, he began sifting it by hand. Seeing this, the royal kitchen staff burst into laughter.

“Look at him,” one chef sneered. “Wasting time grinding flour? And using butter and milk for bread? This duel’s over before it started!”

The crowd around the chefs joined in, their laughter echoing across the square. But as Niles worked, he seemed completely at ease, focused and absorbed as if in his own world. Aurelia watched, worry flickering in her eyes; he didn’t seem to grasp the high stakes of the contest. Her gaze shifted to Roy and Gustavus, and when she saw them, her anxiety faded. Both of Niles’s friends stood at the edge of the square, nodding approvingly at his approach, giving off an air of quiet confidence. They seemed to understand something the crowd didn’t.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

She glanced at the king. He was kneading his dough aggressively, the kind of bread fit for an army—crusty, solid, almost intimidating. Niles, meanwhile, worked as if he were baking for family. He sifted the flour to the finest texture, then folded in soft butter and a touch of salt. Once the dough reached a certain consistency, he added the milk, kneading with the focus of someone determined to make something truly special.

“Milk in bread?” the head chef scoffed, shaking his head. “He’s treating this duel as lightly as he did the first one.”

“Thirty minutes remaining!” the assistant announced.

The king had just finished shaping his loaves—heavy, dense rounds the size of large hockey pucks. He placed them onto the oven shovel with a precise motion, then slammed the shovel’s handle onto the ground, planting it like a spear, his expression one of utter confidence.

“Fifteen minutes remaining!” the assistant’s voice rang out over the square.

“Is this all you’re capable of?” the king’s voice boomed toward Niles, challenging him openly. “You still haven’t put your dough in the oven.” His eyes glinted as he mocked, “You’re out of time.”

Niles, steady and unruffled, slid his dough onto the bread shovel. He had carefully presliced it into triangles and pierced it with holes, allowing for airflow during baking. “I’m just getting started,” he replied.

But then, without warning, Niles’s body convulsed as a piercing, agonizing pain exploded through him, dragging him to the ground. It felt as if lightning had torn through his bones, leaving him reeling in unbearable torment. The bread shovel, which he’d been seconds away from placing into the oven, now lay abandoned beside him like an anchor weighing him down.

“What’s happening?!” Roy shouted, panic coloring his voice.

“Fourteen minutes!” the assistant shouted, his voice a cruel reminder of time slipping away.

“Is he going to lose by default?” Roy’s voice pitched higher in alarm, his eyes darting to Niles and then back to Gustavus.

Gustavus, realization dawning, exclaimed, “It must be an aftereffect from my skill—the pain-relief wears off. I think that’s what’s happening now!”

Roy’s eyes widened in horror. “So he’s feeling the full brunt of the king’s hit… right now?” His voice dropped as he watched Niles struggling on the ground, face contorted in agony.

Every movement sent new waves of torment through Niles. The adrenaline that had carried him through the duel was gone, replaced by raw, relentless pain. He glanced at the bread shovel lying so close, yet so impossibly far. Defeat was a taste in his mouth, bitter and heavy. He closed his eyes as tears stung, not just from pain but from the knowledge of falling short once again—a failure, he thought, just as he’d always been.

The crowd fell silent as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, draping the square in darkness. For a moment, it seemed as if all hope was lost, as if Niles’s journey had reached a quiet end on the cold ground of the training square.

But sometimes, you can’t just wish for a miracle—you have to create the miracle yourself.

“NILES, GET UP!” Aurelia’s voice cracked like thunder as she sprang from her chair, leaving Xemena stunned. Her plea echoed across the square, sharp and desperate. Tears streamed down her cheeks, her neutrality shattered. “You have to get up. Please—it’s not over!” She paused, catching her breath, her voice softening as she choked out, “Remember your dream… you must get up.” Her words trembled as she spoke, tears glistening in her eyes. “I believe in you,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, “and I believe in your dream… and…” She dabbed her tears away with her sleeve. “I believe in your promise. So please—” Her gaze held him as her voice broke, “please, get up.”

Niles’s groans of agony shifted, determination replacing pain. With a surge of strength, his arm wrapped around the bread shovel, his legs steadying beneath him. Like a puppeteer regaining control, he forced his body upright, one labored movement at a time. He straightened his grip on the shovel, each step forward a testament to his will.

“Thirteen minutes remaining!” the assistant announced, his tone betraying a hint of support as he called out to the weary challenger.

With a final push, Niles slid the dough into the oven, his grip loosening as he retracted the shovel. He collapsed back to the ground, breaths heavy, every inch of his body protesting. Roy’s voice cut through his pain. “Niles! You’ve got time—take a breath! We’re here, we’re with you!”

“Breathe through it,” Gustavus encouraged, his own voice steady. Niles’s focus steadied with his friends’ support, their voices tethering him through the haze.

Far back in the crowd, Prince Xander watched, an approving smile flickering on his face. “So that’s what it means to fight together,” he murmured, glancing up at the emerging stars. “Not bad.”

“One minute remaining!” The king, focused and unwavering, removed his bread from the oven with a proud flourish. Niles, having reclaimed a sliver of strength, rose again. He approached the oven, ready to retrieve his bread, when a voice called from the crowd.

“Not yet!” Niles looked up, eyes searching. A middle-aged man with a stout build, thick beard, and arms like iron—a smith, by the look of him—gestured from the sidelines. “Give it just one moment more.” There was a sincerity in his voice that stilled Niles, instinct telling him to trust it. Niles nodded, heart pounding as he waited.

“Now!” the smith called, a spark of excitement in his voice. Niles moved swiftly, withdrawing the bread and setting it gently onto a nearby table.

“Time’s up!” the assistant announced. “Judges, please come forward!”

Xander, Xemera, and Xhiva moved forward, taking seats at the table set with the two platters of bread. The assistant raised his voice, addressing the crowd. “Since the king claimed victory in the first duel, the judges will taste his bread first.”

The king’s bread—a dense, brown-gray loaf—still steamed as they sliced into it, releasing a faint, smoky aroma. The audience held their breath, eyes fixed on the royal children as they each took a piece. Xander, Xemera, and Xhiva remained stone-faced, savoring each bite without betraying a hint of opinion. The loaf was much like the bread provided to the armies, yet there were traces of roasted seeds and fresh berries, an attempt to elevate the simple recipe. Xhiva grabbed another slice, adding butter, ham, and cheese, building a thick sandwich he quickly polished off.

At last, it was Niles’s turn. His scones, golden and inviting, emitted a rich, buttery aroma. Xemera hesitated, casting a doubtful glance at the pastries. Bread from him? It seemed beneath her. Meanwhile, Xhiva had already begun helping himself, tearing into the scones with gusto. “This is really good, sister! You’ve got to try it!”

Xander, calm and composed, remarked dryly, “I’d better take one before our brother eats them all.” He reached over and took two for himself.

Unable to resist her brothers’ enthusiasm, Xemera finally reached for a scone, taking a tentative bite. The moment she tasted it, her eyes widened in surprise. She’d never had anything quite like it, her usual mask of pride slipping just for an instant. Niles gave a small, polite bow. “Your royal highness, it’s traditionally served with butter and cheese—a classic pairing from our world.”

“Or try it with whipped cream and jam!” Gustavus called from the sidelines, eager to join the discussion. Roy wrinkled his nose. “What? No, bacon and mayonnaise is the way to go,” he argued back, clearly horrified by Gustavus’s suggestion.

Niles turned to Xemera, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “What my friends are trying to say, your highness, is that scones are best enjoyed with one’s own favorite toppings.” He paused, then added in a lower, playful tone, “But anyone who goes for anything other than butter and cheese… well, they’re a lunatic and deserve to be locked up, with the key thrown out.”

The crowd chuckled softly at his jest, while Xemera fought to keep her expression composed. Beside her, Xander’s usually reserved face showed the faintest flicker of a smile.

The assistant stepped forward once again, his voice carrying over the arena. “Honored judges, are you ready to deliver your verdict?”

The three royal siblings nodded, and the assistant raised a hand to quiet the crowd. “Our judges hold red and blue signs. A vote with the red sign will award the win to the king, while blue will go to the challenger.”

The crowd watched intently as the assistant began the countdown. “Three… two… one!”

The judges held up their signs, their eyes closed for a moment of finality. Xhiva’s sign flashed red. Xemera followed, also holding red. She cast a satisfied glance toward her brother Xhiva, confidence shining in her smile. The duel was over—the king had won. She glanced at him, waiting for his triumphant gaze. But King Xerxes wasn’t looking at her or Xhiva.

She turned toward her oldest brother, her smile faltering. Xander had raised his sign—blue.