When the last wisp of magic entered his dream-form, Aryon knew that today was going to be a great day.

‘Awakened at last!’

He wanted so desperately to just stand up and break out from his coffin, but he had airs to put up; a king shouldn’t act so crudely. ‘And it is better to savour the moment.’

The wisps of magic came… erratically. They came at small intervals first, then two large bursts finally fulfilled the required amount to give him what he needed: the impetus of reanimation.

He felt himself leaving that dark dream… right into another darkness. But this was real and not his dream. He could feel again. A dull and distant feeling, yes, but it was something.

‘Time for my grand awakening.’

He closed his ‘eyes’ and raised his hand to push the lid off, mentally focusing on each movement. Ah, to move at last! Slowly, surely, he stood up in a manner he imagined to be dignified and impressive.

He slowly opened his eyes, letting that beautiful light to enter his sight once more. Resisting the urge to take a breath, he intoned in his most commanding voice: “I have awoken at last. Who…”

‘...are you people?’

He looked around once. Twice. He rubbed his ‘face’, poking at the hollow eye-slits of his faceguard to remove any blockages. Still he was seeing what he shouldn’t be seeing.

He wasn’t in the royal tower, nor an opulent war-tent. There was no king or council members greeting him. Instead there was a forest, a battlefield and a gathering of strange people: dark-haired, slant of eye and wearing foreign equipment.

And he was right in the middle of these people.

They all stared at him blankly, just as he did. He noted by their clothes that one group was gathered together, while the other surrounded them. All of them had weapons drawn and taken stances.

A larger-than-most stranger came forward, pointing at him.

“=== == ====? == == === == ====?”

‘A foreign tongue?’

Another man, wearing concealing leathers, began giving commands. “==== =====! ==== ===== == = ===== == ===== ==== ====!”

Subtly, Aryon wove the fingers on one of his lowered hands. Intoning under his breath, he completed the spell and lightly tapped his armoured thigh casually.

“[Comprehend Languages]”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“==eak, you sect dogs! What manner of trick is this?”

“Captain Gong! Look!” The concealed man pointed at his coffin. “Mystic treasures!”

“Really? Good! Go kill these brats, men! We’ll take these treasures for ourselves!”

‘Take -my- things?!’

The situation was growing out of control. He raised both hands, waving them at the muscled brute. “Now hold on there, we c-”

Before he could finish a fist collided with the side his armoured helm, sending him flying out of his coffin.

‘What…’

The force of that fist was something a mere mortal could not produce. Though his armour and his current state gave him great physical resistance, even he was a bit dazed from the strike.

‘Self-strengthening magic? What spell or item does he have to grant him such strength?”

He flew for a good ten feet, arcing up over the encirclement and crashing on one of the nearby trees. He shook his head to re-orient himself, then stood up whilst dusting the dirt from his armour.

“So you can take a punch, huh? That armour of yours must be some great treasure as well.”

The hulking man and his companion walked towards him slowly and arrogantly.

“Be careful, Captain Gong.”

“What’s there to be careful about? I can sense no cultivation on him.

“His treasures might possess strange powers.”

“Pah. A man who fights with items only is a weakling. Hey, you! If you discard your armour and kneel before this daddy in surrender, I might just spare you.”

‘Calm down, Arry. Calm down.’ he repeated in his mind. ‘A king must be dignified.’ He stood up straight and spoke. “There is no need for violence. I am sure you are reasonable and enlightened folk. Cease your hostilities, and we can-”

Another fist came his way. The hulking man moved too fast for him to catch up with his eyes, and he was knocked backwards onto the tree again.

‘I keep forgetting that diplomacy works best in a position of strength.’

“Still yapping? Hurry up and remove that armour, or else-”

“[Forceful Hand]”

He swung out with his own mailed fist wreathed in ethereal light, connecting with the hulking man’s chest. The brute was sent flying off a fair distance, spitting blood out in the process.

The concealed man stood there in shock at the sight.

As did Aryon.

‘That was… stronger than usual.’

Recovering from his surprise, the concealed man wove a spell before him. Tongues of flame shot out from his outstretched arm towards him.

‘Hm, a mage! A sorcerer, perhaps?’

Aryon saw every step of that spell being formed. Crude and simple yet not lacking in power on average. The stranger didn’t intone any words, and his somatic component involved only a few waves of his hand.

He gave him three points out of five.

The flames struck Aryon to no effect, his mastercrafted armour flaring up its hidden runic wards to absorb the blow. “You should work on that, student.” said he as he gave a dismissing wave at the stranger. “[Hold Person]”

Cursing, the concealed man prepared another spell, only to find that his entire body had stopped moving.

“You will be happy to know that our little conclusion here will end with you leaving unharmed.” said Aryon. “You will have to deal with the local authorities, though.” ‘A king should obey the local custom, wherever this place is anyway.’

He picked up the paralyzed man over his shoulder like timber, and proceeded towards the direction of where the battle was still occuring.