“A hundred men,” he said calmly. “Step forth for your captain.”

            But none answered his call.

            The men ignored him. They continued to tell their tales, and ate to their heart’s content. It was as if silence was only proper for his request. Matias stared grimly at the blatant act of disrespect. His head began to ache. It seemed there was no avoiding in what he had to do now.

            He glanced at Nito behind him, and nodded weakly.

            The old man’s smile widened instantly. As if understanding what Matias silently meant, he stepped forward and landed beside his fellow captain. After a swiveling gaze of his own, his voice sounded forth.

            “Zekel,” Nito said with a brimming smile. “Bring ten of your best men, and escort Captain Matias here for a simple match.”

            A man slowly stood up with the grace of a lumbering beast. He stood straight as a soldier would in front of his superior. Eyes mixed with respect, awe and fear surrounded him as they gazed above.

  The man was big, and comparably tall, easily surpassing any man in the mess hall. His tanned skin, bordering on the color bronze, glinted softly under the half-spheres’ light. He had arms almost as big as a man’s thigh, and a chest as wide as a drum. A deep scar snaked across his face.

            Zekel turned slowly and met the gaze of the old man, respect and dread clear in his eyes. He then turned to Matias, a sneer creeping across his lips. He laughed softly, showing no regard to the frail white-haired man.

            Zekel shook his head dismissively. With a beastly smile, he straightened himself once more. A moment later, he snapped his two feet together as the men around him quickly gave space. With a click, he boomed a husky voice.

            “Captain!” He raised a salute with a relaxed smile. “An easy task to comply,”

            “Good,” Nito said, before looking to his fellow captain. “Come, Matias. To the courtyard where the match will be held.”

            Matias grunted and prepared to move. He knew the place well, and it would be simple for him to head for the nearest courtyard. As he paced a couple steps forward, a voice gave way.

            “Is ten men really necessary, sir?” Zekel interrupted, halting Matias in his steps.

            Laughter rang out softly from a handful of guards.

  Matias stood passively, his thoughts unknown. As he stared at the guards, his headache worsened each passing moment.

            “Oh?” Nito lackadaisically turned to face Zekel. “Why is that, sergeant?” asked Nito with a smile.

            Zekel guffawed. “I mean no disrespect—“ He swiveled his head towards Matias. “But three men should suffice for someone who barely qualifies to be a warrior of the third-circle.”

            More of the guards laughed, their grating voices bouncing off the walls. Matias seemed unperturbed and held on against the second wave of insubordination. But seeing how it failed to incensed him, the guards took it him as him being weak. It only provided more fuel.

  Jeers sounded out amongst their ranks. They reaffirmed how Matias was only as strong as the weakest guard in Zekel’s best ten. They told him how he had no right to hold the same rank as Captain Nito.

  But Matias, took it in stride. He let the insults be, and stood there quietly.

  “Surely,” Zekel continued as he riled up the guards. “We don’t want our captain to suffer during a match beyond him.”

  The jeering continued until half a minute had passed. Only a few voices remained as the rest of the guards had their fill of entertainment for the day. They waited in their seats, waiting if new material would sprout for them to enjoy.

  Matias kept his calm. And unbeknownst to all, his eyes holding a faint luster, swept the hall. When it passed by Zekel, it lingered for a second longer before continuing on.

  Zekel glanced at the unmoving Matias. Seeing how the frail white-haired man remained silent still, he only felt scorn. He refused to follow a captain who had not the will to speak against his men.

  What would happen then in a battle where more perils awaited him. Would he abandoned their lives to save his own? Or make unruly decisions with no worth?  

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  His ruminations bred more anger in him. Respect had to be given to where it was due. Left with nothing else, he scoffed at Matias. He just had to show this would-be captain of his on how the people of Sateya earned respect.

  Zekel gave a salute once more to Nito. As his eyes laid upon the wide smile of the captain he feared, he was baffled. What had caused his captain to be so amused? With little time to consider why it was so, he began to make way for the courtyard with his men.

  “I do not mind,” sounded a cold, relaxed voice.

  Zekel started as the voice suddenly seemed familiar. He halted his steps and turned. The rest of the guards did as well, attracted they were as if moths to a flame.

  “Whether it be one more, or one less, it does not matter,” said Matias, his gaze settled on the pommel of his broadsword. “Bring all ten of your men.” He raised his head. He looked straight at the guard who had ridiculed him.  

  Suddenly, Zekel felt a shiver crept up his spine. His fearless and tasteless smile disappeared. Against the gaze of the white-haired man who he deemed weak, something moved in the deepest, darkest corners of his mind. Cold sweat began to form across his person. Fear began to gnaw on his nerves. Memories of a time he fought his first battle swam in his mind. The voice of the man before him began to stoke the embers of his past.

  “And weapons—,” said Matias slowly, his voice etching deeper into Zekel’s psyche. “No wooden wasters. With real weapons we will fight. It would be no fun if it was just a simple spar.”

  Zekel felt the air turning cold. Horrifying memories sprung up even more. The gaze of the white-haired man had spurred his darkest terrors from the muck of his mind. Soon, the silhouette of a person he tried to blot out ever since, overlapped with the man ahead of him.

  The instincts Zekel honed in countless battles screamed at him to flee. Not once had it ever acted like that. In the battles before, his instincts compelled him to fight till his last breath. As of now, it told him he had to escape and lock the nightmares once more lest it be too late.

  Zekel gritted his teeth, and forced himself to smile. He refused to make a fool of himself. And be it through a stubborn will or misplaced courage, he tried to hold on.

  A moment later, though it seemed an eternity to Zekel, he removed his gaze. He looked down at the ground, his sight wavering into a blur. His breathing became labored and heavy.

  He was thoroughly shaken. He only lasted a few seconds at most. Abject fear riddled his face. Who was this man, Zekel screamed in his thoughts. The impression he received from Matias was no weaker than that of the specter of the battlefield. Matias was like death itself.

  Trying to force down his instinctual urge to preserve his life, Zekel smiled savagely. As of now, he keenly felt a premonition. His instincts told him that maybe...

  He would die this day.

  Heaving a deep breath to hide his terror, he motioned his men to continue on. He spent one last glance at Matias before heading off as well.

  Murmurs filled the hall. No matter how Zekel tried to hide his emotions, the signs were still there. The others knew there was something wrong with their exchange. And the guards, being warriors themselves, had felt it too that the captain had more to him. He was not as simple as he seemed to be.

  Deciding it was not proper to discuss under the watchful eyes of two captains, the guards began to move towards the courtyard. There, the answers to their doubts would be found. The sounds of shuffling feet and the thuds of shifting tables and chairs cascaded in the mess hall before dying out.

  Matias heaved a breath, and relaxed his guard. He stared lazily at the celing of the hall. It had really been a long time. He was never used to the rules of the battlefield but he had no choice to comply. Hostility had to be repaid.

  In the end, he sighed softly, and a faint smile cross his lips. With all the preparations done, he had a match to look after. There, he had an opponent to best with his sword.

  “White-haired friend,” said Nito by his side. “It may not be proper for me to request this, but please, do not slaughter my men.” Nito had the same smile still.

  “I’ll try,” Matias replied. “But do not take my word as set in stone.”

            “Certainly,” said Nito. He then inspected his white-haired friend with a wary gaze. “It may be late, but congratulations are to be in order for finally stepping into the third-circle.”

            Matias wryly smiled. “With this age of mine, it is a disgrace than anything.”

            Nito laughed at the self-deprecation. “It only applies for the common man, but you my friend, is far from common.”

            “You jest,” Matias said dryly. “It is nothing more but the whims of the weak.”

            “Indeed,” agreed Nito. “But the men and women you had killed would say otherwise.”

            Matias shook his head. He was proud of what he could do, but it had its limits. He would rather have the talent of weaving more mana. After all, he had suffered under the hands of his own incompetence.

In the years before, he had bitterly struggled, and subjected himself to hardships that others would easily overcome. He toiled, and broke sweat and blood to better himself. But in the end, he had little gain and could not surpass the chains of fate. Left with no recourse, he learned to accept himself as the years went by. It was better to spend his remaining days in happiness, regardless of how shallow it truly was.

            He ended his deliberation. He calculated the time, and realized enough had passed for his opponents to finish their preparations. He said to Nito, “Let us go.” He then moved towards the direction of the courtyard.

            Nito silently followed, walking by his side.

            Walking along the pathway and a few meters away from the area of the courtyard, Matias, without turning his head, asked, “What circle?”

            Nito easily deduced what his white-haired friend meant. Smiling widely and a boastful tone, he said, “In the middle fourth-circle.”

            Unknown if Matias heard him or not, the duo entered the courtyard. A clear blue sky loomed overhead, but traces of red smoke crept ever closer at the edge. It reminded Matias that he was not here to indulge in his own satisfaction. He had to end the match as fast as he could.

  Unwilling he may be, he had a duty to fulfill.

  He settled his gaze down and swept the courtyard. A few of the guards had found some seats to use, while the remaining stood by the sidelines. They were waiting for the match, and afterwards, they would head out depending on who had won.

  Matias moved his gaze ahead, and an opened door came to view. Within, he could see his opponents. When they moved into the light of the courtyard, they showed their forms. Cladded in thick leather armor they were, and equipped with weapons of war. Standing at the forefront was a bear of a man, Zekel. And in his hands was a shield and hammer, oddly fitting for his size.

  Matias felt his excitement rise but he held the compulsion to rush in. It had been a long time since he had fought. After heaving a deep breath, replicating the odd practice he learned to calm himself, he walked into view. Unknown to him, a smile tugged the corner of his lips.