A hall vast enough to house hundreds stood silent. Seemingly made of marble, light reflected off its veins, creating an ominous contrast of black and gold. Dressed in the finest silks and jewels or sporting armor and equipment, a few dozen people filled the hall. Except for the three people in the heart of the hall, everybody stood a healthy distance away from each other. Nothing could be heard except the regular, almost rhythmic tapping. All eyes trained upon a single person sitting on the throne. Huge. Majestic. Imposing. These were the few words that would ring in the heads of those who could look at it. The audience was noteworthy to say the least, equaling either nobility or even royalty anywhere on the entire continent. Yet, the hall vast enough to house hundreds stood silent.
Counting those capable of keeping such an audience waiting wouldn't be more than the fingers on somebody's hand. Among them was Alaric Nester Hightower, the Emperor of Valhalla, the mightiest human sovereign in the United Aalarchrist continent, ruling one of its three empires.
The group of three wore long, elegant, red-colored wizard-y robes. The leader of the three bowed and reported, "Your Majesty, the date which was agreed upon will arrive in just a couple of decades, and our forces are growing stronger every year. The edict has been delivered to all our subsidiaries, and seven of the Kingdoms have agreed to our proposal." pausing briefly, he continued, "However, two remain undecided and have adopted a wait-and-see attitude."
The man atop the throne nonchalantly drummed his fingers on the armrest as if the report didn't concern him. An almost child-like courtier, well above an imposing 4 feet- at least according to him, - gritted his teeth and spat, "How dare those mice not accept the grace our Empire has shown them?"
Seething with anger in loose armor, he bowed at the Emperor and added, "Your Majesty, please allow Walker and I to take two squads each and visit their Kings personally. Let's see if they still don't know their place within a day."
After a few seconds of consideration, the Emperor turned his head to face the red-robed mage, raised a brow, and inquired, "Tell me, Walker, should this be settled as Edward suggests?"
Walker pondered for a bit and replied, "Your Majesty, force might not be the best way to solve the issue at hand. How about letting Roland visit both the Kingdoms discreetly and use both coercion and threat?"
Many of those present nodded, satisfied with the course of action Walker suggested. "Roland, what are your thoughts?" The Emperor asked.
"Your words will ring true Your Majesty, whatever they may be." replied a figure draped in black robes. The person seemed to blend into darkness, with nothing but a vague outline of his figure being visible.
With no change in emotion, Alaric turned his head to his right to one of the few people dressed in ordinary clothes, at least comparatively. Although pretty, it was more of a little girl's charm than a woman's. The youngest person in the hall, and the subject of Alaric's gaze was none other than his third daughter, Zharra Hightower. Alaric looked at her and asked her opinion on the matter.
Zharra, prepared for the question, spoke, "Father, naturally, we can use either method proposed by Sir Walker or Sir Edward, but it's not those countries we should be concerned with, but rather the other two Empires. Although we have amicable diplomatic ties to both, if we were to handle this poorly they might use this as an excuse and form an alliance to apply pressure on us."
Hearing the little princess's reply, some smiled while nodding, while others simply shook their heads. What she said was true and hadn't been stated before, but it was something so obvious that nobody said it.
But none of those present dared to berate the princess; after all, she was only nine. Why bother with a thankless, fool's errand?
Alaric also had a faint smile on his face. He finally asked a person to his left, "Alexamin, what are your thoughts on this?" Alexamin Tyseph, the Imperial advisor of Valhalla, was a tall, middle-aged man with golden hair that fell gently along the sides of his head. Notably, his figure was half transparent, hinting that it was a projection of him transmitted through his will.
In the entire empire and its subsidiaries, perhaps he only dared to send a projection in attendance; even Sacred Generals like Edward, Walker, and Roland had to be present in person or announce their absence in advance.
It was rumored that Alexamin had been by Emperor Alaric's side since Alaric started his journey from the lower rungs of society and built his way up. He was older than Alaric and looked like he had been through much in life, but his strength was rumored to be second only to Alaric in the Empire and even beating him when it came to wisdom.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Alexamin pondered for a moment before saying, "I believe you should put off making the two Kingdoms submit to you for now and help the remaining seven grow. Before long, there will be an obvious difference in strength between the subsidiaries. Although they all report to us, their inner competition has never ceased. We can also recruit every Kingdom's promising youths, especially from the royal families, to further their knowledge and power at the Imperial Academy. With this, diplomatic relations will strengthen, and we will grow as a whole. The recruitment would seem more believable if we held a tournament."
Nodding once, Alaric asked the court if anyone had any better ways to resolve the issue, but everybody agreed that Alexamin's proposal was the most appropriate. Finally, after thinking for a couple of minutes, Alaric waved his hand and materialized out of nowhere ten golden scrolls on which appeared the words-
"By the Decree of I, Alaric Nester Hightower, the first Emperor of Valhalla, there will be a martial competition held every eight years in all nine subsidiary Kingdoms with the first one in seven years. Every Kingdom must filter out a total of one hundred and eleven competitors so that the promising youth of the generation can come to the Imperial Capital to pursue both knowledge and strength. A total of 999 people will form an elite force under the leadership of Imperial Prince Alberu Hightower, with Imperial Princess Zharra Hightower as the second-in-command. The force will be under the direct command of Imperial advisor Alexamin Tyseph and will learn from the Third Student. Every new group of recruits selected from the martial competition will be added to the squad as trainees. The squad will permanently maintain a member count of 1001. Only the finest will be given a spot, and the rest will be assigned as reserve forces or take positions in the military under the sacred generals based on their ability. The squad will be known as Crimson Pegasus and signify nobility and compassion during peace and decisiveness and ruthlessness during the war. Those not older than forty years of age may join the martial competition. The competition will have three age brackets: from sixteen to twenty-two, twenty-two to thirty, and thirty to forty."
Once the decrees were inscribed, one of the courtiers took them and left to make the appropriate preparations. After arranging the finer details, the meeting ended, and everyone except Zharra, Alaric, and Alexamin left the hall. Zharra couldn't hold her curiosity any longer and asked Alaric, "Father, how would a tournament help us with the problem at hand?"
Alaric smiled dotingly and replied, "Zharra, if every Kingdom is given 111 spots, then the royal families will at least monopolize some of them due to the abundant resources, ideal environment, and smooth paths provided to the younger generation. Thus, the most promising youth of every Kingdom and a couple of their princes and princesses are bound to come to the imperial city. Without a doubt, every Kingdom will keep some of their 'aces' hidden, but the majority will be ours to recruit. Offering an enticing position, honor, and riches, they'd be like moths to a flame. Without aid, the princes and princesses that were sent here would grow by leaps and bounds and would contend for their respective thrones. We can both create political instability and a scarcity of talent this way as we reap the rewards."
"So the tournament is just a façade to hold other princes and princesses hostage while robbing the Kingdoms of their promising youth?" Zharra gasped and pouted, the earlier noble demeanor replaced by a more childish one. She didn't fully agree with her father's and teacher's plans, but she knew that it wasn't something she had a say in. After satisfying her curiosity, little Zharra went on her way to play with her cousins and friends.
Exchanging glances, both men burst out in amused smiles, knowing that the little demoness didn't approve of their methods and would surely 'strike' back and have her way in some other matter.
While laughing, Alaric got off the throne and waved his hand, conjuring two simple chairs and a table in the middle of the hall. On top of the table was a board with thousands of pieces. Forgoing formalities, both sat down and started a game, just like they used to in their earlier days.
After a long while, the game's result was still uncertain, and a petty argument broke out, leading to Alaric throwing the board off and Alex leaving out of frustration simultaneously. Recalling that his youngest child disagreed with the arrangements, he could only shake his head helplessly.
He had no qualms using such an open plot but seeing a daughter's disapproving look still stung. However, he too was impatient to finish his objective to return to the damn hell hole of a tower as soon as he cleared this floor. The last floor's trial was set at the most demanding rating.
The tower, an entity that nobody knew anything about. Every now and then, it'd bring in participants it was interested in and give them two options. To perish or to climb. It contained one hundred floors, and each floor had a trial. The climber could challenge the trial with a rating of their choosing, or they could decide to settle down on a base once they had climbed high enough.
Two hundred years. Alaric began this particular trial two hundred years ago, an imaginary world where his goals were vague at best.
Sighing to himself, he thought how wonderful it'd be for him to be able to take those that were dear to him from this trial to the damn tower? Starting from the little family he had in Pehevell, till now as the Emperor of Valhalla.
He was one of the strongest people in this trial and could get anything, but familial love was something he could never truly bring out, as everything was imaginary. He hated the tower for having him experience something that would never be truly his own.
Nobody knew what the tower looked like. Some said it appeared different to everyone who looked at it, and others guessed it existed in a void. But despite the different opinions, one thing that almost everyone who climbed the tower had in common was their indifference to its appearance as they were too preoccupied with climbing. After all, it was well known that there was one and only one possible way to leave the tower, and that was to clear it.
Anyone who climbed a certain number of floors and had certain status or strength was privy to the information that after one completed all 100 floors, they would be rewarded according to their performance.
There were a variety of ratings. One could choose from ‘Babying you’, ‘You’re basic’, ‘Wow how average’, ‘Wow, above average’, ‘Almost hard’, and ‘A little hard’.
Nobody knew if the administrators or tower were playing a prank on them or trying to provoke them, but when asked, the administrators simply shrugged and denied all accusations.
But what irritated the climbers weren't the rating's names. What annoyed them was the rule that dictated that a climber couldn't select a rating lower than their first rating chosen. If a participant chose the 'Wow how average’' rating at the start, they could no longer choose a rating lower than 'basic' for the rest of the floors. Thinking of the Tower and the trial Alaric sank into contemplation.
Although he wasn't the first fool to attempt the hardest rating, he sure as hell was the first person to make this much progress. While thinking of the tower, many emotions flashed through his eyes - confusion, rage, anticipation, excitement, helplessness, and emptiness. He had attempted the first floor on the 'Are you a masochist?' rating, a long long time ago and still relentlessly pursued his goal of clearing every floor on the same rating. The hardest hidden rating.