Year 921 P.C.,

The increasingly long days were starting to get warmer, and the golden crops swayed on the hills surrounding the citadel of Zelfiria. On a pleasant late Tetrestes afternoon, Viryl was lounging on the couch in his small room, reading a racy adventure book full of obscene illustrations. The way he had procured such a forbidden object was in itself a feat worthy of celebration.

The old hag at the newsstand in Croce square would never have sold it to him, and he would never have asked her in the first place. The son of Yustass of Zelfiria had a reputation to uphold.

That was the booty obtained in his honorable battle in defense of the weak and the oppressed. Weak and oppressed was his cousin Tolomer, the son of the doctor of Zelfiria. How the son of one of the city's most prominent figures could be considered weak and defenseless was easy to explain. The rowdy country boys wouldn’t care about one’s family prestige, if he were to dress like a dandy prince and behave in society like a disturbing bookworm, with those glasses as thick as the bottom of a demijohn and a book bigger than himself always tucked under his arm. One had to earn his respect.

Tolomer had taken the bold decision, as dusk fell, to sneak into an abandoned ruin under the walls and perform a bizarre ritual on a dead frog. An obscure naturalist philosopher of the Classian era believed that by drawing a convoluted pentagram with a horrendous mixture of cat feces and a paste of Vitulla Nuts and heliotrope flowers, while reciting a prayer to the goddess Fenia, daughter of Ilixanthia, one could reanimate the body of a small animal that had died less than twelve hours ago for a mere ten seconds.

Certain blasphemous things were best done away from prying eyes, because, even if it was unlikely that the Inquisition would put you to the stake, it was much more liable that the priest, if he caught you, he would give you an hour and a half sermon and if he felt inspired he would even give you a sound beating, with your father giving you the rest as you got home.

The ruin had seemed to Tolomer an elegant solution for conducting his vile experiments. What Tolomer didn't know was that in the aforementioned ruin, the kids from the vocational schools used to go smoke cigarettes and play dice. Their reaction must have been of sheer hilarity when they saw a cautious little nerd enter their lair, carrying a jar of strange stuff and a dead frog. They had knocked him to the ground, kicked him, and after sniffing the pestilential jar, they had smeared his face with its contents, drawing squiggles on it with a stick. Somehow his glasses had miraculously escaped unscathed, but the rest of Tolomer had come out of it rather worse for wear.

Viryl crossed paths with Tolomer as he was returning home from his fencing lessons. That afternoon Viryl's hands were itching quite a bit. That fetid wretch Radios, as usual, had put him back in his place. In school, Radios was no match for Viryl; Viryl was superior to him in every subject. Even their private tutor in etiquette and chivalric code was firmly convinced that Viryl was undoubtedly sharper and more brilliant than Radios. But then they would go to fencing lessons, and Radios would pour out all the frustration he had bottled up in the previous days on Viryl. All the relentless athletic training that Yustass forced his son to do was for naught. Radios' reflexes were lightning fast, and his eyes seemed to be constantly fixed on everything that was happening on the battlefield, as if there was a hawk watching over him from above and communicating telepathically from where every single thrust would come from, from every blind corner.

“Who was it this time?” Viryl asked, seeing his cousin so horribly battered.

“The big ones…” Tolomer replied, tears welling up behind his thick glasses.

“And what did the big ones want from you?”

“You know the abandoned villa beyond your house?”

“Yes, well?”

“Uh. I wanted to go there to perform a ritual described by Agenor Claudius of Lirne in his De Neferii Deum Officia and…”

Viryl ran a hand over his face, expressing his bewilderment in a theatrical way, and exclaimed, “Tolomer! Only a fool wouldn't know that at dusk the kids from the vocational schools go there to smoke and gamble!”

“I'm so sorry, Viryl, you know I don't go out often and…” Tolomer said, dismayed, sniffing his nose.

“But I can't let those brainless louts get away with it. They shouldn't even try to lay a finger on my cousin.”

Tolomer looked at Viryl with bright eyes. They walked up the road together to Viryl's residence, and Viryl went in for just a couple of minutes, to leave his rapier and pick up his slingshot and wooden sword.

“First, we need a plan,” Viryl said thoughtfully, then added, “Do you remember how many they are, Tolomer?”

“I think at least five,” Tolomer replied, running after Viryl as he headed towards the villa, dragging behind a wooden sword almost taller than himself.

“They're a lot, but I can handle them if I catch them off guard,” Viryl observed.

Once they reached the villa, Viryl crouched near its fence and motioned for Tolomer to be quiet. He whispered to him, "You wait here for me," and like a lightning bolt, keeping himself low and as much out of sight of the windows as possible, he ran towards the back of the building.

The back wall of the villa was built against the Zelfiria city wall, and the rough bricks that formed its base were easily climbable, at least up to the cornice of the first floor. Viryl climbed the base, rested his wooden sword on the cornice, and hoisted himself up. He took back the sword with his left hand and began to slide along the wall, holding on with his right. He reached the first shutter along the way and was about to break it when he noticed that the glass had already been smashed. He took advantage of this to reach inside and lower the handle, slipping into the villa without making a sound. He crept forward to the landing overlooking the atrium: from there he had a perfect view of the hooligans up to their mischief.

A single, fairly narrow staircase led to the first floor, making it an obligatory route, so before launching the attack, Viryl decided to set a trap: he balanced a rounded piece of furniture on the landing that could roll down once pushed. The evildoers didn't think an ambush was being prepared against them, so they paid no attention to the noises coming from above.

Once the trap was set, Viryl positioned himself between two columns of the mezzanine railing and took aim with his slingshot. There were many more enemies than Tolomer had reported: there were six or seven just in his line of fire.

Viryl hurled the first stone at the head of one of the bullies who had settled in a corner to flip through an illustrated book by candlelight. The bully screamed and instinctively covered the bleeding wound with his hand, then he turned around and saw a group playing dice behind him: out of control, he slapped the first one he saw, thinking they had played a trick on him.

“Morchias, what the hell are you doing?!” yelled one of the other two gamblers, and together with his gambling companion, he scuffled with the aggressor, while the third tried to figure out where the punch that had stunned him had come from.

As the four enemies began to fight each other, Viryl took aim at a second thug who was smoking on the doorstep with another: he managed to hit him precisely in the left eye socket, as they turned to watch the brawl. This time the second one realized that someone was attacking them, and while he was yelling that there was someone upstairs, he got a stone in his mouth and a piece of his incisor chipped.

Four kids mad like furies rushed up the stairs, and Viryl took a deep breath. It was time for a show. He pulled down the small piece of furniture that knocked over the group that was trying to climb up. Taking advantage of the momentum of the piece of furniture, Viryl lunged with a war cry and his two-handed sword raised high on his shoulder. He leaped over those who had fallen and began to swing at the two who had already been hit by the slingshot projectiles, and they, already bruised, fled outside.

Then Viryl charged into the brawl of the gamblers, which had initially spread to two other thugs and was now subsiding, as even the dumbest ones had realized that something was amiss. Nevertheless, the bullies in the brawl could barely fathom the long wooden blade coming down like a reaper's scythe on helpless ears of wheat. A couple of them immediately took a blow to their kneecaps, while others tried to stand up to Viryl, but having already taken their share during the scuffle, it didn't take long for even the most aggressive ones to give up the fight.

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When the last of the bullies was also put to flight, Viryl planted his broadsword between his feet and leaned on it, panting, while admiring his work of devastation. Then he took a deep breath and shouted, “And don't you dare come back ever again, cowards!”

With the gang routed, Viryl indulged in rummaging through the belongings that had been abandoned in the dark gambling den.

It was there that he had come into possession of the forbidden magazine that he now held in his hands. There wasn't much of a plot beyond the explicit scenes, that's for sure. However, the licentious illustrator, who signed his cartoons "Torè El Kàstiga," showed a morbid imagination. Viryl had a rather limited idea of what a "morbid imagination" was.

In any case, while he was engaged in these considerations, the doorbell of Master Yustass's residence rang twice. "Here comes Tolomer," Viryl thought, annoyed. It was his typical ring, as if he was afraid that the person who had to answer, being distracted, might think they had only imagined the first ring and the second was to confirm that they had heard correctly.

“Viryl, your cousin is here!” Lady Lurtinia, Viryl’s mother, shouted from the second floor.

What a nuisance. But for a knight, every promise was a debt, and Viryl had promised Tolomer that he would help him complete the forbidden ritual that had been interrupted two days ago. Even though, in theory, it would have been his second and last day of rest for the current month.

Viryl jumped off the couch, grabbed his wooden broadsword, and descended the two flights of stairs that separated him from the entrance hall of his residence.

Tolomer seemed completely hyped up, with his jar of cat feces and this time, instead of a frog, a dead mouse that had been picked up from a trap in his basement. Viryl led the way with his sword on his shoulder and a grim expression on his face.

When they reached the courtyard of the abandoned villa, now designated as the headquarters of the "Daredevils' Congregation”, an organization newly founded and headed by Viryl of Zelfiria, and for the time being consisting only of Viryl and Tolomer, the two found an unexpected surprise.

Under the porch, sitting cross-legged, with his neck resting on a bamboo rapier wedged between his thighs, Radios of Zelfiria, son of Eubemos, Shining Ray of Zelfiria, distinguished knight of the Low Table of the Order of Ferlonia, was awaiting them.

“I heard rumors from some villagers that you dared to evict them from this abandoned building, where they had established their recreational circle, in order to take possession of it yourself, Viryl son of Yustass. Yesterday you and your lackey were tinkering around here all afternoon. Did you think your misdeeds would go unnoticed and unpunished?” Radios proclaimed with solemn disgust.

Viryl could have objected, but he knew that this situation would not be resolved with chatter: he gripped his broadsword and assumed a fighting stance. Radios stood up, brandished his rapier, and added, “How low you have fallen, Viryl. Such dishonor, such cowardice, to perpetrate cruelty on defenseless yokels. You are not worthy of aspiring to the title of knight.”

Once again, Viryl did not say a word, but began to circle his opponent and study him, while Radios did the same. Tolomer ran to hide behind the iron gate of the villa.

Radios struck first, but Viryl parried the thrust just above the hilt and responded with a wide sweep, which Radios dodged by jumping back. Viryl was galvanized by this unexpected duel: finally, he had a chance to prove that outside the rigid rules of fencing, his arrogant nemesis had no chance of victory. Intoxicated by his desire for revenge, Viryl lunged forward, delivering a combination of two thrusts, the first from above and the second from below. Radios dodged the first and deflected the second: Viryl's guard being left open, Radios took advantage of it to thrust at his side.

Viryl grunted but maintained his position and delivered a third thrust from above that grazed Radios' shoulder. The latter staggered back a couple of steps and repositioned himself unsteadily, as if he had felt the scratch on his shoulder.

Viryl didn't want to give him a break and advanced with a lunge, but Radios dodged sideways and lashed out at Viryl's face, who tried to pursue him with a second blow to the side where Radios had moved. Viryl's move was too hasty, so the blow was weak and only unbalanced him forward. Radios took the opportunity to step forward and get behind Viryl: he seized the opportunity to deliver two more lashes, much heavier than the first, to Viryl's back, who fell face down in the dirt. Radios placed a foot on his back and pointed his rapier at the back of his neck. Once again, Viryl's defeat had been unequivocal.

As Radios held Viryl subdued and decided what to do with him, a squealing cry was heard from behind the iron gate. Three of the vocational school brats entered the courtyard, one holding Tolomer by the scruff of the neck, while the other was smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke in his face.

Radios looked up from Viryl and said, annoyed, “What the hell are you up to?!”

“No big deal, sir knight, thanks for your services and for giving us back our 'recreational circle'. We'll take it from here,” the smirking bully who was holding Tolomer, the one with a chipped tooth, said.

Viryl trembled with rage, and Radios had to kneel on his back to hold him down.

“I told you I would deal with this situation. What do you intend to do to the little bookworm?” Radios asked, his voice growing increasingly nervous.

“We have to give him back as much as he gave us,” the one who seemed the least bright of the three retorted, as he wrapped a chain around his own hand. It was Morchias, the guy who had caught the first stone to the head.

“No! Not again!” Tolomer cried, trying to wriggle free, having understood how this was going to end. Radios observed Tolomer. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt and shorts, and his limbs bore bruises from a few days ago. Something wasn't right. According to what the vocational school kids had told him when they came to seek his services, the little bookworm hadn't taken part in the brawl.

“A reprisal? I don't think so. Let him go and explain again what happened here two days ago. And watch your words,” Radios said.

“Oh oh oh! Calm down, knight, and get lost. We're the good guys, remember?” said the chipped-tooth guy again.

Processing that situation, Radios came to the conclusion that he had just been used by the vocational school kids to incapacitate Viryl, taking advantage of the well-known rivalry between the two of them. Afterall everyone in town had heard about it. A particularly mean tactic considering that, if they had wanted to, the vocational school guys could have taken their own revenge on Viryl. Sure, he would have resisted fiercely, and they would have gotten a few whacks on their shins. But in any case, a nine-year-old boy would not have won against a bunch of thirteen-year-olds in a fair fight. In fact, calling it a “fair fight” was an euphemysm. A “lynching” would have been more correct. Given the discrepancy in power between the parts, It didn’t even matter if Viryl had really been the one to pick the fight or not. Radios felt that his own naivety and arrogance, the idea of having helped in that sordid act, could not be condoned.

Ashamed and furious for having been made a fool of, Radios lunged at the vocational school bullies, attempting a thrust at the one holding Tolomer pinned down. The guy who was smoking, the one who had caught the second bullet the day before and now had a black eye, stepped forward and swiftly grabbed Radios' bamboo rapier, snatching it from his hand.

As Radios and the thug wrestled over the cane, Viryl got to his feet and charged towards the one with the chain wrapped around his hand, who was preparing to punch Radios: being intent on calmly winding up a punch, he took Viryl's thrust straight in the stomach and staggered back screaming.

The black-eyed guy was distracted by his companion's scream, and Radios took the opportunity to snatch the rapier from his hands and begin to pound his legs with resounding lashes.

Taking advantage of the reversal of the situation, Tolomer turned around and bit the hand of the chipped-tooth guy, who let him go and instinctively looked at the mark imprinted between his palm and the back of his hand. It was the last thing he saw, because Viryl had swooped down on him and delivered a thrust to his good eye.

Radios continued to inflict further lashes on both the chipped-tooth guy and the one with the wound on the back of his neck, until the three bullies were once again put to flight.

“Thanks for having my back,” Radios said to Viryl, his forehead beaded with sweat.

“Thanks for doing the right thing,” Viryl replied, exhausted, leaning on his broadsword.

*****

52 years later, twenty-second day of Syliphicus, 15:32, paved road north to Zelfiria,

Anker and Viryl walked slowly along the paved road north of Zelfiria, and the mountains that loomed on the horizon were getting closer and closer. Viryl’s steps were still unsteady, after the clash with Radios. Yet his expression was strangely calm and determined, as if the knight’s ultimatum had left him completely indifferent. In fact, it seemed as if nothing in particular had happened, and Anker was starting to find Viryl’s silence unnerving. So he decided to break it.

“Does it hurt?” Anker asked his companion, pointing to the spot on his chest where Radios had embedded that nub of molten rock.

“No, not particularly. It burns a little, but I’ll treat the wound tonight,” Viryl replied, continuing to walk, not even deigning to look at him.

“That was the ‘Holographic Eye’ spell, wasn’t it?”

“Do you really need to ask me that, kid?” Viryl looked annoyed by the question. The answer was obvious.

“You just don’t seem the least bit concerned, and you’re not in good waters.”

“Yeah, I would have preferred not to be in these waters, but I’ll just have to find that fucking Exoplion before Radios comes looking for me.”

“Will we succeed?”

“What am I, a fortune teller? But if you have any doubts about that, why did you follow me?”

Anker didn’t answer immediately, and took a moment to think. Then he murmured, “Radios of the Shining Sun certainly seems to resent you quite a bit. Why does he despise you so much?”

“Because I let him down. We had a certain mutual respect, even if we’re not the simpering types. When I decided to give up my title, the reasons why I did it… he didn’t take it well.”

“He treated you like a worm.”

“Yeah… to him, I’m just a skeleton to hide in the closet. An ass he’s tired of covering. But he knows I'm a man who keeps his word. And you can be sure of one thing, he keeps it too..."