If before the pouring rain had seemed to avoid Valente, now it chose to avoid the street entirely, like a curtain rising to honor Aspreay's challenge. A set of four near-translucent walls had spawned around the Lord and the Hangman, so elegant that they almost felt as if they did not exist at all.

Until that moment, not a single thing today had shocked Adam. Not Eric's betrayal, nor the Dark Captain's appearance. Even his own death at the hands of the Emperor was something he'd accounted for.

This, however–

"Aspreay…what the hell are you doing?" Adam muttered. The translucent barrier stood tall in front of him like an impenetrable Wall. "You're supposed to be a selfish asshole, this doesn't fucking track!"

He shook his head and grit his teeth. "Damn it! I don't want to see anyone dying because of – damn it!"

Adam wrapped Stained Ink around his hand, then punched at the Walls of Aspreay's Realm. His fist bounced back like a ricocheting bullet, nearly pushing him back with its momentum. A dark, hazy steam began emanating from his hand, its burning ink clashing heavily against the pouring rain.

Too strong, Adam marveled. His gaze shifted from his injured fist over to the translucent barrier. It's far stronger than the barrier he set up around Penumbria. Is it because it's smaller? So…larger Realms are weaker? That's why it's harder to track individual people when a Realm is the size of a city?

There was still far too much that Adam didn't know about Realms and the Lord Talent. He'd only utilized his Lord Talent to its minimal extent – what choice did he have, when doing otherwise would've meant the death of Penumbria? His own ignorance was something that he was keenly aware of.

Even so…

Beholding Aspreay's Walls, he couldn't help but realize just how truly little he knew of Lordship. This mastery was–

"Adam!" a voice called out. "Get in here, quickly!"

Suddenly, a carriage pulled by two dark horses appeared beside him, the sound of its arrival camouflaged by the heavy rain. Adam's first instinct was to reach for his Stained Ink, but he relaxed upon seeing the carriage's driver.

"Inside," Tenver barked. "Hurry and shut the blinds – we're leaving the city now."

"Don't think I've ever been so glad to see you," Adam, with a smile.

Tenver returned the smile, but only briefly. "No time. Hop in before anyone sees you."

Adam nodded; there was ill time for pleasantries. Despite that, he spared one last glance as he climbed into the carriage, looking at the duel taking place inside Aspreay's Realm. Such was his haste that he only allowed himself the luxury of reflection after their carriage had started moving forward, re-entering the storm.

You're a difficult man, Aspreay, he mused. With the same tone you would use to damn an unfortunate wretch, you also declare your intention to save another. I've learned enough of your soul to commit it to ink…

And I still feel like I don't know you at all.

--

Imperial Hangmen are more than just harbingers of death – they are its wielders. To face them in battle is to throw yourself neck-first onto the executioner's axe. Their speed and power are such that Valente could have killed Aspreay long before the former Lord finished reconstructing his Realm around them.

Only one thing kept Valente from doing so; his sincere dedication to the Empire and its laws. Until Aspreay had called upon his Realm, he was not yet guilty of a crime.

But now he was.

"Your punishment needn't be death," Valente said, in a firm tone. "I promise clemency if you call off your realm and surrender. Avoid suffering a villain's fate, Aspreay."

It was an option. "I rather mislike being told what to do." Aspreay did not take it. "No. One of us shall perish today."

Bold words, he knew, to utter to the Empire's sharpest blade.

Why am I raising my sword against the living incarnation of death? Aspreay wondered. Do I consider the brat to be noble in some way? Or is it simply that loving the fool from Gama has finally become the death of me?

This and many other thoughts fluttered within Aspreay's mind, frustration and confusion welling up inside – but only for a moment. It had all ceased the moment his Realm was summoned.

Nothing else mattered except the opponent standing before him.

Back when the Emperor first granted Aspreay land, some had privately questioned his decision to reward a nameless lord of meager renown. Theories whirled amidst the capital, chief among them the notion that Aspreay harbored some secret Talent that could rival even the Hangmen themselves.

The truth was much more mundane. It was not hidden strength or genius aptitude that drew the Emperor's attention. He'd merely taken note of Aspreay's single-minded focus and ability to calmly analyze his surroundings – then judged it would be easier to reward the idealistic, wide-eyed young man than to fight him.

Because during his time at the Academy, despite possessing a lower Rank than the other Lords…Aspreay had never lost a single duel.

He fixed his gaze on the specter of death that was the Hangman. His motives for helping the Painter, his hatred at the injustice done to him, even his desire to survive – all were burnt to ashes as his Realm spread around them. In his mind, only a single, solitary thought remained:

Victory at all costs.

The Hangman's glare threatened death. "Heed the Emperor's orders, Aspreay. Forget not that we are inside His Realm."

"And yet also inside mine," Aspreay stated. "So heed my order: Kill yourself, Peasant."

Valente's eyes shot open. He did not tremble so much as vibrate, his body locked in near-complete stillness. Then, less than a second later, the Hangman shook himself like a wet half-breed dog coming out of a river. He appeared wholly undamaged, sending the former Lord a feeling of mild whiplash over his failed command.

–And immediately killed Aspreay four times in response.

It took Aspreay until his fourth death to even notice what was transpiring. The Hangman had been clustering his Orbs together into a physical form, then flinging them as one would flip a coin, each projectile faster than an arrow and far deadlier.

The Hangman Talent bestows death upon all of his attacks, Aspreay calmly thought. Anything his violence touches will result in death. However, he cannot permanently kill me inside my Realm – Noble Guard grants me life.

"What a curious exchange that was," Valente remarked. "I don't suppose I could get you to surrender?"

"It was only curious to an uneducated peasant who never anticipated that he'd stand on a stage of this grandeur," Aspreay fired back. "This result was expected."

Aspreay's opening move had been to use the Realm's First Pillar, the Royal Order, to order the Hangman to kill himself. Anyone or anything inside a Lord's Realm was compelled to heed his command upon its declaration. Yet the move failed to produce an effect – which was also as expected.

"A mere Baron such as myself managed to make an Emperor's Hangman tremble? Pathetic." The Lord sounded proud of his own deed, and mocking of his opponent for allowing him to accomplish it. Neither was a lie for the sake of a taunt, both reflected his heart's truth. "Mayhap today I will slay the Incarnation of Death."

"I have fought Lords before," the Hangman declared. "That Noble Order is your only offensive power. If you can't command me," – Valente flicked three Orbs at Aspreay – "you can't kill me, either."

Each Orb collided with Aspreay's body, piercing it and killing him three times over, to no effect. "Then you should already know," he said, "that the Second Pillar of Realms, the Noble Guard, will keep murder from your fingers as well. While we are inside my Realm, I cannot be slain."

Even if you prove immune to my Orders, Noble Guard affects me, not you. This isn't something that can be changed with raw violence alone. "There are many legends of your might, Hangman. Pray tell – does the legend have a way to pierce through the reality of my Realm's unbreakable laws?"

"Watch and behold the legend you speak of," the Captain spat out. "I daren't spoil the surprise. Even a villain such as yourself wouldn't want to violate a duel's sportsmanship to that degree."

He would.

And did.

Inside a Lord's Realm, everything he desired became his belonging.

The final, Third Pillar of Realms, Divine Knowledge gave Aspreay the answer he craved. Much like the Emperor could track one's position, or even speak directly into their mind, a Baron's Realm could trace an opponent's very thoughts…provided his Realm was small enough.

And Aspreay had refined this one to the size of a single, narrow street.

'If his Realm keeps him invulnerable, all I need to do is to destroy it,' the Hangman thought.

'Were the philistine to think in another language,' Aspreay noted, 'I would not be able to read him so accurately. He lacks the necessary preparation. Powerful, but untrained. A pitiful peasant.'

Images of the Dark Captain's plan flooded Aspreay's mind. They were blurry, yet just distinctive enough to make out: Valente's duel against the Puppet Lord, flying atop the Puppet Mountains.

It was right before the massacre that created a fated tunnel. As Aspreay watched, he saw in his mind how the Hangman had attacked the Puppet Lord's barrier from inside, and–

Imbecile! "Don't do it, peasant!" he cried out. "Don't launch an attack–"

Valente let out an eerie laugh. "You think to stop me, Villain? I know thy weakness! Those invisible Walls of yours are weaker from the inside than the outside, are they not?"

He juggled a number of Orbs with one hand, at first with skill, then seeming to move them as if they were forced to orbit around the wrist. "Once I shatter it, you will fall – like the Puppet villain before you!"

This attack felt different than the others. Before, the Spheres had hardly caused much damage to their surroundings, only bringing death upon Aspreay. Now that the Hangman's aim was the Wall itself, his Spheres had taken on an aura of overwhelming violence. Valente intended to have them explode upon impact.

"Stop!" Aspreay shouted. "You don't understand–!"

In a fraction of a second, Divine Knowledge told him everything he needed. His thoughts now raced faster than his own body could move. Information that should have taken nearly a minute to understand instantly formed inside Aspreay's brain.

Valente did not understand how Walls worked – although he thought he did.

The Hangman had been so young during the Assault on Puppet Mountain that there was barely any hair on his face. He'd only been present on account of his unparalleled genius.

His duel against the Puppet Lord had not been unlike this one, with the monster trapping them both inside a small, reconstructed Realm. At one point, the Hangman's attack missed the Puppet Lord and collided with the Wall, causing the Puppet intense pain. Noticing this, Valente struck at the Wall instead of the Lord, bludgeoning it until the man's Realm collapsed…and then killed him without effort.

From this, his youthful immaturity had drawn a conclusion: that Walls were weaker on the inside than outside, and – more importantly – that you could escape a Realm by assaulting it mercilessly.

YOU FOOL! THEY ARE EQUALLY STRONG!

It was true that damaging the Walls would injure the Lord in ways Noble Guard was unable to protect from. Given time and persistence, a concerned onslaught might undo the Realm itself.

What Valente had missed, though, was that Walls didn't inherently stop things from passing through. Aside from Stained creatures, every other restriction needed to be intentionally added by the Lord.

Aspreay himself, after Reconstructing his Realm in this very duel, had added the Realm Law to match his intentions. He'd banished humans and other living beings from entering or exiting his Realm – a common restriction.

In your memory, as you fought atop the mountain…when you launched your attack on the Wall…it would have destroyed the Puppet's home. Killed countless innocents.

Aspreay bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. You don't understand, you idiot! He could have saved himself! It's not that the barrier was weak – it's that the Lord was forced to endure your attack multiple times to keep you from harming his people!

This isn't the perfect counter you think it is!

The Hangman locked eyes with Aspreay's, as if waiting for a meaningful interruption. Yet try as he might, the Lord couldn't find a way to convey what he knew in the scant few seconds that were available to him. While Divine Knowledge sped up his thoughts, it did little for his speech. I have to try. I have to–

"You'll kill those people!" Aspreay shouted, gesturing at the buildings behind him. It was all he could get out.

And it wasn't enough. How could it be? The Hangman had no reason to listen to him.

Valente flicked his hand, speeding up the rotation orbit of the Orbs around his wrist. He grinned confidently with the sinfully naive smile of a young hero. "With this, your cheating of death shall end, Villain." He whipped his arm away from Aspreay and towards the empty air–towards the Wall–towards the streets.

STOP! "The Walls don't work like you–"

"Behold," Valente declared, "this Meteoric Rain of mine."

The Orbs may as well have been a comet tearing through the heavens. They blazed forward at the building, glowing brighter and redder, converting into a single scarlet sphere that built up speed every passing moment.

To Aspreay, the split second when the Orb collided with his barrier might as well have been an eternity. Clashing sparks flew between them. The sphere vibrated, and the fabric of reality around it seemed as if it was threatening to shatter.

His many thoughts, accelerated by Divine Knowledge, raced and competed with each other for dominance.

I can still stop this, he realized. I'm faster than anyone at Reconstruction. There should still be enough time to add a Law to my Wall. If I trap his attack inside my Realm, it won't hurt any of the common people.

It would cost his life, however.

Aspreay had no doubts about that. Either the transferred damage from his Wall would be enough to tear his body asunder…or he would be left defenseless, his Realm shattered. If he cared about his life – about Vasco's, even – then that just wasn't an option.

But…

"Will you truly not lift the barrier in Penumbria, even in the face of death?" Aspreay had asked the brat.

The Painter opened his eyes and glared. "If I wasn't willing to do this much, I would have had no right to take Penumbria from you."

The memory flooded his mind suddenly and without invitation. Had the Painter been the one here, mayhap…mayhap he would have died to protect the innocent.

'Death won't be enough to stop me,' Aspreay had told Vasco a lifetime ago. 'Just you wait! Together, we shall change the world!'

A few years back, he likely would have, too.

But I am not my yesterday. Today's Aspreay yet yearns for a tomorrow.

Just as suddenly as the clash started – his Wall allowed the Orb through.

Since the first Emperor started his conquest, the Capital had been the Imperial Family's crowning achievement. Not once had it seen bloodshed, its citizens living blissfully unaware of the violence spawned from the Lords and Stained outside. For over three hundred years, this record had been maintained with no small amount of pride by both commoners and nobles alike.

It all ended today.

Upon impact, the Orb swallowed up the building – and its neighbors – in a violent eruption of death. The beautiful Imperial architecture was engulfed by a massive explosion, several structures losing nearly all of their outer walls, most of their back, and collapsing the majority of their floors.

Embers briefly ignited here and there, small flames that danced among the debris like malevolent ghosts cackling at death. For a moment, it was only the sound of those villainous flames, and nothing else, that rang throughout the world.

Inside the translucent barrier, behind the Realm's Walls, the two duelists stood in opposite reactions.

Valente gaped at the carnage. First open-mouthed, then covering it in sheer horror, as if to keep himself from emptying his stomach at the terror of his own creation – at the haunting sight of dozens of shattered corpses and splattered blood. Gazing upon that wrought destruction, the Strongest Man in the World trembled with numb shock, paralyzed by the appalling loss of life.

The villainous Lord had not the luxury of sorrow. Without delay, he seized upon his chance to attack.

Whether someone possessed the strongest sword or the fastest reflexes…they meant nothing when a man was frozen by despair.

Shocked at the consequence of your ignorance? Good. Aspreay dashed forward. Choke on the sin of your naivety and die.

Now a prisoner to mixed thoughts of astonishment, confusion, and guilt, the Hangman hesitated. He raised one trembling hand, a single Orb contained within–

Then dropped it.

'What if that hurts more innocent people?' Valente thought. It was essentially impossible – he was too fast and accurate to miss an attack aimed at a single target. Besides, nothing could go wrong if he simply infused his Orb with death rather than destruction. It was a foolish concern.

'And…and there's no point in attacking,' Valente's mind continued, encouraging him to lower his hand. 'He can keep himself healed, and he can't actually harm me.'

This, of course, was the mindset of a loser. Nothing more than weak rationalizations conjured up to allow Valente to enslave himself to his emotions. Deep inside, the Hangman knew that, although he would never admit it. Pain took over his heart, and he thought to himself, 'Just…just two seconds…I just need a mere two seconds to recompose myself. I deserve that much.'

Aspreay did not waste those 'mere' two seconds.

In his dash, he shortened the distance between them from 27 to 14 meters.

'What is he doing?' the Hangman wondered. 'Why is he approaching me? No! I can't – I can't let him kill any more people!'

Even in his state of numbed shock, enough urgency returned to him that Valente readied an attack. In truth, it was to be expected.

The Dark Captain was, above all else, a genius.

He was inexperienced, uneducated, and poorly trained – but a genius nonetheless. Aspreay's warning had been sufficient for him to realize both his mistake and the gravity of his current situation. Beneath the surface, Valente blamed himself…but for now, he needed to blame Aspreay in order to steady his will and keep fighting.

'It's the Villain's fault,' thought the Hangman. 'He chose to kill innocents instead of losing his Realm.'

Divine Knowledge granted Aspreay knowledge of that thought – and he acted upon it. 'Now is my chance.'

Aspreay undid his Realm.

It was an assault on Valente's rationalizations that shocked him to his core. 'He…he killed dozens of innocents to keep his Realm from shattering. Why is he undoing it right now? I could slay him any moment. I could–'

"–REALM–RECONSTRUCTION–!" Aspreay thundered. Jolts of pain burned in his body, and he ignored them.

Immediately after understanding what transpired, the Hangman fired his death-infused Orb – but the delay proved too much. The Realm had already been rebuilt. In irrational fury, he fired another barrage, yet Noble Guard would not allow the Lord to die, reviving him again and again.

'Why did he bother with all that? He could have died!' Valente desperately tried to gather his thoughts, to recover from the chaotic massacre unleashed upon the city. 'And are Lords able to reconstruct their realms as many times as they want? I thought–'

"Kill yourself, peasant," Aspreay snarled.

At first, its impact wasn't any different from the last time. Valente felt his body momentarily shake, but hardly felt any pain at all. He looked up, grinning, and said, "How many times do I–"

Then it set in.

A feeling of being punched in the gut suddenly had the Captain hunched over, nearly dropping to his knees. What…the? Why is this one harder to resist? What–

Aspreay raised his chin, ignored his pain from the blowback, and sneered at the Hangman. "Pathetic. You truly can't do better with your powers?"

The Hangman's assumption that Aspreay had merely undone and redone his Realm was correct. Yet you didn't notice,' the Lord thought, with contempt, 'that my Realm is smaller now, did you?'

At the start of the duel, Aspreay's realm had been 27 meters long. After the Hangman's barrage of death, during those two seconds he'd been able to move freely, he'd shortened the distance to 14 meters. Then, he called off his Realm and Reconstructed it, but smaller.

It was the same principle as to why his Realm could work at all inside the Emperor's City. 'The smaller and more concentrated a Realm is, the more capable it becomes at slaying heavier giants than itself.' This applied not only to Divine Knowledge, but to Royal Order as well.

Aspreay's battle instincts told him that the Hangman would soon understand what had happened. 'I need to attack his mind,' he reasoned, calmly and coldly. 'He is as the bards sing of him – the Strongest Man in the World. But he lacks experience. He lacks resolve. And…'

Aspreay glared at the man. '...he will lose to me.'

"People died," Valente muttered weakly. "How can you just stand there with nary a tear on your face? How can guilt not overflow from your very being?"

Aspreay let out a derisive laugh. "You would have me feel guilt over not jumping in front of an innocent to shield them from your crossbow? Nay, bastard." He laughed again, as if he was addressing a petitioner in his court, rather than the strongest, most dangerous man in the Empire. "I will not share your sins. They are yours to bear."

"It–it isn't my fault!" Valente cried out. His desperate argument was meant more for himself than for his opponent. "I didn't know, I couldn't have–"

"–Do you think lack of ability justifies your crimes?" Memories of Aspreay's time as Lord of Penumbria flowed into his mind. He did not suppress them. There were dozens, hundreds, thousands of people whose death he'd failed to prevent – that mayhap a different lord could have. "They are your sins. Carry them. Take responsibility. This show of cowardice insults your victims twice; first you kill them, then you feign innocence."

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

He frowned at the cockroach. "Disgusting."

"But I…" The Hangman shook his head and averted his gaze. "I just–"

He looked away! Aspreay thought. Immediately, he shouted, "Cobblestone: I order you to suffocate the man!"

The stone beneath their feet ripped itself off the ground, flying upward to collect into one enormous group. Suddenly, it curved downward towards the Hangman, resembling something between a murder of crows and a hail of arrows–

And had no effect on him.

The mass of cobblestone froze before reaching Valente, as if its time had forever stopped. While it still trembled, almost seeing to travel down an invisible road, that was all.

'This isn't part of his Hangman Talent,' Aspreay noted.

'The gods may yet forgive me, but I shall never forgive myself,' Valente thought. 'And even if it won't undo my crimes…at least I can stop a monster that sneers at death from roaming this earth.'

The Hangman was many things. Overwhelmed. Shocked. Guilty. All of those and more.

But he was still a genius.

'Damaging an opponent of higher Rank using the terrain is an obvious move,' Valente pondered, 'but I doubt he believed it would work. No – his aim was to distract me while narrowing the distance between us. He wants the Realm to be even smaller.'

The Hangman aimed his projectile Spheres at Aspreay, yet this time death was not imbued upon them. They were merely shot forward at incredible speeds, passing cleanly through his arms and legs like the sharpest of arrows.

Aspreay stopped his charge forward. His Noble Guard still protected him from death and healed every injury – it wasn't enough.

'If I kill him before he realizes what happened,' Valente thought, 'then his Realm just brings him back straight away. He'll simply go on like nothing happened, as he never had the time to suffer. But if I instead leave him alive, his pain and injuries will slow his pace. He can't approach me in that state.'

Valente was not raised by tutors like most other Hangmen, and he'd been taught very little of Realms. But he knew this much from his own fights against Lords: Realms were slower to heal injuries than to revive a user from immediate death.

This difference amounted to just a scant few seconds. Yet in this duel of titans…

That could be enough to kill the unkillable.

"You cannot and will not take a single step toward me, Aspreay!" Valente snarled. "Villains do not have the will of a hero! They have no cause noble enough to will their bodies through the worst of pains."

"I need no cause, peasant," Aspreay fired back. "We are inside my Realm now, and so long we stay here, your knees shall bend before me, and your lord shall go wherever he pleases."

His taunt appeared to shake the Hangman's resolve, yet not enough for his attacks to falter. The barrage of spheres continued, drawing out wounds and hindering Aspreay's march. 'Bastard', he thought, with a grimace. 'Even if Emperor Ciro can't detect the use of Lordly Talents, everyone in the city will have noticed the explosion Valente caused earlier. I have to finish this quickly.'

That was easier said than done. He hadn't even managed to progress a single meter since his last advance.

As the Hangman kept up his assault, he contemplated the stage that Aspreay had set. 'He intends to strengthen his Realm by refining it and reducing its size multiple times.'

Aspreay smiled at his enemy's thoughts. Although his opponent could not hear his response, he imagined one nonetheless. 'Considering our difference in rank, I would have to narrow down my Realm to the size of a closet. We would have to be within striking distance of one another's fist for it to have a prayer of working.

Yet this strategy held a massive risk – one that the Hangman was well-aware of. 'He can only use Noble Guard inside his Realm, and last time, he took nearly a full second to use Realm Reconstruction. I am more than capable of killing him in that period. That's why he wants to distract me.'

Even so, the Talent of a Lord could not be ignored. The risk and reward were plain.

'If I manage to narrow my Realm down even more–' Aspreay thought.

'If I manage to reach him before he can use Reconstruction–' Valente thought.

Both steadied their resolve.

'–THEN I CAN KILL HIM!–'

Aspreay made the first move. When his lips started to move, Valente readied himself to react at a moment's notice.

"Kill yourself, Peasant."

There was no way to avoid the order, but neither was there a reason to try doing so. The gut punch sensation it inflicted was uncomfortable, yet nothing Valente could not withstand. A momentary distraction at most; not even long enough for Aspreay to reconstruct his Realm.

"Disperse, sand."

Valente did not anticipate this order, nor could he have done much to stop it, regardless. Compacted sand rose up from underground, obscuring his vision. 'Wait…his previous order, where he lifted the cobblestone…it wasn't meant to harm me – but to expose the sand underneath. How did he know it was there?'

'Do you really think I wouldn't know what lies beneath the streets of the Empire capital I served?' Aspreay thought, almost offended. 'I will have you pay for your insolence.'

He dashed through the blinding dust that his Order had created. While his death command failed to harm Valente, it delayed the Hangman long enough that he wasn't ready to attack before Aspreay had already moved elsewhere.

Upon recovering, Valente launched a number of injuring spheres in every direction. Fast as he was, though, he failed to land a hit. There were simply too many places for Aspreay to hide, and whenever he thought of a place to aim, the Lord knew to avoid that area. 'Where is he? What is he–'

The Realm dissipated.

"NO!" Valente screamed. He shot forth his Orbs like a hailstorm of arrows. "Where are you, villain?! Show yours–"

"–REALM–RECONSTRUCTION–!"

Just as the cloud of sand dissipated, Valente was finally able to make out the vague shape of Aspreay standing arrogant and proud. "8 meters," said the lord, through heavy breaths. "Down from 14."

"You basta–" the Hangman started, then stopped as he examined Aspreay more carefully. The lord hadn't come out of their exchange unscathed. He was now clutching his left shoulder, blood flowing from the left side of his torso. One Orb had gone directly through Aspreay's body, and another had lightly grazed it.

'Why hasn't he healed yet?' the Hangman wondered.

Aspreay outwardly maintained his grin, trying not to let the pain show. 'Noble Guard only heals wounds that take place inside my Realm. You'll figure that out soon enough, won't you, troublesome little shit?'

Had it been just that, it wouldn't have been a problem. The issue came with Valente's second realization. 'He seems exhausted…of course.'

"You're getting weaker," the Hangman noted, a smile creeping across his features. "I did find it strange that a Lord could Reconstruct his Realm as many times as you have. My knowledge of your Talent may be lackluster, but I was still confident that you were only capable of doing that once per day at most."

"Limits only apply to the unblessed commoners that were born without skill," Aspreay coughed out. His breathing had become more ragged, and his vision was starting to blur. "They do not befit someone of my station."

"And yet you are now paying the cost of overusing your Realm," the Hangman said, confidently. "This is where your little game ends. It's taking longer and longer for you to construct it."

That, unfortunately, was correct.

"You have also lost the capacity to impede me with your Orders," Valente pointed out. "The narrower your Realm becomes, the more powerful your Royal Orders are…however, this also means that the recoil from failed Orders hurts far more."

That, too, was correct.

"Lastly – if you try the same trick with the sand again, you'll be pierced to death."

That was likely true as well.

The Hangman adopted a conceited expression of victory. "Surrender now, Aspreay, and face the Emperor's justice rather than–"

"–Kill yourself, peasant."

It didn't matter that his Canvas was bloodied and falling apart; at 8 meters, the Royal Order was stronger than before. If the last had been comparable to a sudden gut punch, this was closer to a disorienting sequence of strikes. Coupled with his surprise at the sudden defiance, Valente was frozen stunned for one fleeting moment.

It was enough for Aspreay.

"Blind him, sand!"

The same game from before took place – but with more lethal consequences. When inside of a Realm only 8 meters long, the Royal Order became increasingly powerful. The sand behaved with active malice, not just blinding the Hangman, but creeping beneath his eyelids like insects hunting for moisture.

'Even a Hangman would need a moment to compose himself after that kind of sensation,' Aspreay thought. He dispersed his Realm, ready to dash forward.

Only for the sand to disperse as well, leaving Valente unharmed.

This came as a stark surprise to the Lord. Even after dispelling his Realm, its Orders should have continued for at least a few seconds. Yet the sand appeared to have left Valente's eyes as if it had never been there in the first place. More came for him immediately after, and he swept it aside with ease.

'How is he dispersing the sand?' Aspreay wondered. 'That's not a Hangman Talent. Does he…have another Talent? But that–'

Valente's gaze shifted. While he hadn't fully discerned Aspreay's location, enough sand was gone that he'd gotten a rough estimate. The Hangman readied more Orbs, preparing to fling them.

SHIT–

"–REALM–RECONSTRUCTION–!"

The Hangman's hypothesis had been correct. Aspreay was taking longer to rebuild his Realm – and this time, it had almost proved fatal. The Orbs had pierced both his legs; mayhap pierced his knee, even. He didn't think he could walk any longer. As soon as his body fell, it would not stand back up again.

Divine Knowledge pushed his thoughts to race faster and faster. 'The moment the last of the sand is gone, I'll be on the ground, defenseless. How can I keep myself from falling?'

The answer came to him almost in synchronicity with his own order. "Street: give me my lord's right!"

Valente's thoughts were those of triumph. Although he was unhappy about using something called Distance on the sand, he believed that as Aspreay was close to death, and that as no onlookers could see through the cloud of dirt, even the Emperor wouldn't have been too upset about him employing it here.

He expected to see the Villain on the ground, writhing in pain, his Realm nearly shattered, and his will gone. 'He will beg for forgiveness–he will admit fault in the death of the commoners–he will confess to his sins!'

Then the dust cleared, and his expectations shattered.

"What in His Imperial Majesty's name…" Valente began, then trailed off. In front of him was the personification of the Realm he found himself constricted within. Cobblestone, sand, metal, dirt – they had all been sucked into a single spot and then forcibly arranged into a single piece of furniture.

A throne.

And sitting upon it, one bloody leg crossed over another, one elbow on the armrest, chin on his hand, was Aspreay. The Lord smiled through his pain, the pleasure of the fragile genius' shocked face empowering him. He gazed down at the Hangman as if looking at a mere petitioner in his court. "How pitiful," Aspreay coldly spat out, "that the Empire's greatest genius is also its worst coward."

'He, he can't even stand. It doesn't matter how grandiose of an entrance he makes – there's nothing he can do!' the Hangman told himself. "No use in bluffing, Aspreay. You can barely talk, let alone fight."

They were 4 meters apart now. Closer than before, but not enough to land any sort of definitive blow.

"Aspreay…be reasonable. Any further Royal Orders might kill you. Just surrender – it's your best chance of survival."

"Survival?" Aspreay threw his head back and laughed. "Do you think me a man so petty as to be concerned with that?" His grin widened. "I seek not life, but victory."

"You dare waste the life the Emperor gave you?" Valented accused. "I name you villain, traitor, and blasphemer!"

"And you disgrace the memory of those you've killed." Aspreay's laugh turned from manic to derisive. "Tell me, Hangman. Do you think yourself blameless for the Puppet massacre? Do you tell yourself that you were just a child? A naive youth who knew not what he did?"

"I…I did not massacre them," Valente fired back. "I only defeated their lord and destroyed the mountain. The…the others handled…"

"What a farce," Aspreay stated, in a mixture of amusement and disgust. "Who would have thought the Empire's sharpest blade to be so soft? You were wielded like a weapon, because you did not want to be a man. Do you truly believe yourself to be innocent? Do you think there were no Puppets hiding in the Mountains after your lot massacred the rest? Do you think yourself blameless for the murder of innocents after you tore away their only protection?'

"I…that's not…"

"And need I remind you, Hangman," Aspreay continued, gesturing wildly from his throne, "that you killed a lord by making him offer his life to protect his people?"

"I didn't know!" Valente screamed, his eyes full of tears. "I had no idea that–"

"It seems like no one ever taught you manners. I suppose that's to be expected. You come not from any noble blood, as I understand? Orbs may buy rank, yet regrettably, they do not and cannot buy class. Dress a pig in riches and power if you wish – he'll still be a filthy commoner who doesn't deserve to lick the mud off my boots."

Valente angrily shook his head. He wanted to fling himself at Aspreay, to come closer and deliver violence upon him, but knew better than to play into the man's hands. "You will show me the respect I deserve, Villain."

"Speaking of respect," Aspreay mocked, "you now stand before a lord and his throne."

He stretched out a hand. "Kneel."

It all happened at once. Valente had earnestly believed that Aspreay wouldn't use another order in his injured state. Combined with his guilty mind wandering to the deaths he'd caused since the Emperor rescued him, he hesitated – and then felt his knees hit the ground.

'Kneel..?' It was the first order Aspreay had given that wasn't a proclamation of death. Valente's eyes widened as he understood why. 'His orders until now…he wasn't just trying to kill me in one move. He wanted me to assume that he couldn't issue less demanding types of orders!'

The Hangman struggled in vain. While he could have rejected an order to die, he couldn't reject one meant to restrain him – not from 4 meters apart. Valente was so focused on attempting to rise that he paid little to the next order that came out of Aspreay's mouth.

"Send me forward."

The throne he had created, the incarnation of his pride, launched him forward at Valente, whose lowered gaze did not immediately notice the incoming lord. Mid-flight, Apsreay called off his Realm. Immediately after, before even reaching the ground, he cried out–

"–REALM–RECONSTRUCTION–!"

It felt like agony, like his very soul was being ripped off from his body – yet he would not yield. Death was acceptable, but not to a brat like this. Aspreay extended his arm, frenzied laughter washing over him as the last of the Wall was reconstructed behind.

The falling Lord and the unsteady Hangman were now less than 1 meter apart.

"KILL YOURSELF, PEASANT!"

'Increase the Distance at the ends of his Realm – keep his hand from touching me!' Valente thought.

Every outcome and reaction unfolded at the same time, his visions of the past mingling with the reality of the present. 'I…I had to do it. He would have killed me!' For a moment, Aspreay appeared not unlike that Puppet Lord from years ago, spurring Valente into a fit of desperate action.

The Hangman used his Talent to increase the distance of Aspreay's Realm ever so slightly. His mind raced with guilt as he pushed against the wall. He'd only had the time to increase it back up to 3 meters.

Although truth be told, it wouldn't have mattered if he failed entirely. Even at less than 1 meter, Aspreay's order wasn't strong enough to seriously injure – let alone kill – a Hangman of Valente's Rank.

And that was fine.

'So you have another Talent…one that the Emperor didn't want you to use. That's why you have the title of Strongest.' Aspreay grinned at the man, letting realization sink in. 'I'll take this gift of knowledge with me. This is my little victory against you, Strongest Man.'

"Like hell I'll let–"

The Order had nonetheless caused the Hangman to stumble and feel a small amount of blood in his throat, his body involuntarily hunching over to cough it out. It was barely a wound, closer to an inconvenience – and Aspreay had nearly died to obtain it.

But the Hangman still feared him.

And this combination of events was the opening he needed to issue his final order. "I BANISH: MYSELF!"

Much like he'd once sent a woman flying through the walls of his castle, he now issued himself the same order – flinging his own body through his Realm. He crashed through the debris of a destroyed building, breaking something inside himself, although he wasn't sure what.

The Hangman started to go after him, but was rebuffed by the Wall. "Consider yourself sealed for now," Aspreay muttered. "You could easily break though…but you think that an attack like that might end up hurting more civilians, don't you? So you'll just have to wait. Wait…for now…."

--

When Aspreay's consciousness returned to him, he was already upright and stumbling forward through the ruins of the destroyed city district. Amidst frantic chaos and injured citizens, the bloodied lord did not stand out among the crowd.

So many people died today, he thought absently, biting his lip to keep from coughing blood. 'I doomed hundreds to save Vasco.' His eyes lingered on the rubble, the many clouds of dust, and desperate waves of people crowding around fallen buildings. And I would have gladly doomed thousands more, he determined, with an odd calmness.

Aspreay didn't mind how far he'd gone, but he knew of less where to go from here. His injuries were numerous, and the Emperor would soon send someone to kill him – not that there was much need for it. He was doomed to die within a few weeks. Days, even.

Such was the price for Reconstructing his Realm so many times in a row. His Canvas was likely stained with blood, if not downright rotten. Twice would have been strenuous; five was a slow suicide.

Albeit a glorious one.

Alas, despite feeling rather content with the coming end, Aspreay found his weary feet treading through rubble nonetheless. He knew not the cause of his restlessness. A beautiful end to an ugly life, one where his honor – against all odds – was kept. This was what men dreamed of. Why balk at death now?

He truly didn't know why his heart refused to accept the notion. Distantly, he considered the possibility that he never would.

Then he spotted his horse, and could no longer conceive of dying.

"Silver?" Aspreay said, dull surprise coloring his tone. "You're still here?" He managed a hollow laugh. "Weird creature. You get spooked by your own shadow, yet you didn't run when Valente exploded entire buildings?" Tenderness entered his voice. "Stupid horse."

He approached slowly. With care, Aspreay brushed his bloodied hand against the horse. Bitterly, he half-expected it to run, yet somehow wasn't surprised when it didn't. Silver was the one thing he'd taken from Penumbria – the only thing he refused to leave behind.

'A gift?' Aspreay had said years ago. 'You're hardly one for big gestures. What curse befell you?'

'One bearing your name,' Vasco grumbled. He held his gaze for a moment too long – a moment not long enough – then shook his head. 'Search far and wide for a better horse. You'll come up short.'

The Lord of Penumbria nodded, studying the horse of white with spots of black. 'Strong. Well-trained. Appearance aside, there are many horses like this one in the Empire.' He turned around to look at the man. 'What makes this one so special?'

Vasco put two fingers beneath Aspreay's chin and lifted it upward until their eyes met once more. 'This one will always bring you back to me,' he whispered, in a low voice.

Aspreay's vision blurred as his life faded, but that one memory remained clear as it had ever been. "Good thing you're here," he told Silver. Injured ribs pressed against his stomach as he forced himself to mount the horse. Heavens, he wished there had been a saddle nearby. In his state, all he could do was collapse onto the animal and wrap his arms around its neck.

"Hey there boy," Aspreay said, softly. "Apologies. This might be uncomfortable. I know we haven't ridden without a saddle in a while, so bear with me. I'm not sure I can stay conscious…but it's not like my lead has ever done much but slow you down, eh?"

A weak laugh crawled out from his throat. Gods, did it hurt. "Take me to Vasco, please."

Silver started to gallop. Aspreay struggled not to fall, swaying dangerously as the city passed him by. Inky blackness gradually crept into the corners of his vision, his mind losing its battle to stay conscious.

Will I live to see him? It would be wonderful if he did, although unlikely – yet not impossible. Thanks to Silver, death was no longer a certainty. Mayhap he could survive this and escape the capital before the Hangmen came.

A miracle that would need another, when my injuries are too great for most to recover from. But now, chasing that miracle within a miracle actually seemed appealing.

"I feel...oddly refreshed," Aspreay said, as darkness befell his eyes.