Are you fucking—why does it have to be that guy? Now he realized what the old man had meant when he said that things would get interesting if Nolan decided to show up to the feast. What did I ever do to you? Is this how you repay people? Goddamn it!
He angrily snatched up a gleaming goblet and filled it to the brim with dark red wine. This is bullshit, he sulked as he saw that the so-called Keplin of the Nightshade Sect had noticed him and his friends. He didn’t put down the jug, but chugged down the contents of his cup and then rushed to refill it. His friends noticed his exasperation and quickly caught on.
“That old man set a trap for us.” Ian grabbed one of the six other jugs that rested atop their table and helped himself with a bit of tension in his voice.
“Are we in trouble?” said Esteban, hushed. “I’m sure Haldi wouldn’t let anything—”
“Listen up, guys. If things go south and I give the signal then grab hold of me or my shirt or something and I’ll bring us back to that place. We left earlier than we had to last time, so we can still head back there as a last resort. Only, we’d only be able to stay there for about two months or so, which should be something like a day out here.”
“Hang on guys,” said Sean as he nodded up at the head table. “This might not be what you’re thinking.”
The king of Ridgerock was a middle-aged man with a slim, sallow face and deep emerald eyes. Sweaty tangles of thin black hair hung limply at shoulder-level, though the thick golden circlet around his head kept his hair parted and assured that his irritated frown was visible for all to see. In contrast to his kind albeit sickly appearance, the king’s wife was young and beautiful. Long hair the colour of ripe lemons rested atop a strong and yet softly feminine face, her light blue eyes darting from Keplin to her son as her pretty lips pursed in rage.
Nolan and his friends had to focus in order to look past the surrounding conversations and hone in on the dialogue that hundreds of people were pretending to ignore.
“I’m serious,” said Keplin, who ignored the look of discomfort that his beady-eyed disciple shot at him from his side. His youngest disciple sat furthest to the left, eyes on his plate as he half-heartedly picked at his food and occasionally used his inner essence to summon food from somewhere on the table.
“Compared to all of the other trash I’ve seen your boy is pretty good. Only nine-years-old yet he’s already at the eighth level of Profound Entry. I’m sure it’ll only be a few years before he reaches the Integration stage. He’ll probably catch up with me before his thirtieth birthday.”
The king fixed him with a level stare. “Even if you want to take him as a disciple, he doesn’t want to go. The matter is settled, no?”
“I came all the way out to this backwater land to find someone suitable to become my third disciple. You’re good friends with Asson, aren’t you? Didn’t he tell you that our sect master issued a recruitment order? I can’t return unless it’s with another disciple, and your boy has the most potential of all the kids I’ve seen in this backwater kingdom, let alone the rest of all these random mountain clans.”
“That may be so, but that’s no problem of mine, or my son’s. I’m honoured that you, a member of one of the most powerful sects of the western isles, has decided to pay a visit to my kingdom during this time of celebration. Out of respect for my friend Asson and the sect that you both belong to, I’ve shown you every courtesy. My son isn’t going anywhere. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”
Keplin sipped at his wine. “If you say so, but you don’t know what kind of opportunity you’re turning down, Caimen.”
As the king motioned for the servants to bring more wine to his table, the sudden arrival of a young couple stirred Nolan from his thoughts.
“Hello,” said the young man, who looked a few years younger than Sean. “I’m Reynolds and this is my wife, Katerina. Do you think that we could sit here with you? Your table is the only one with so many empty seats.” The friendly pair wore awkward smiles as they indicated toward the seats furthest from the group.
“We won’t bother you,” said Katerina, a pretty young woman with a head of short brown curls and a brow creased with thin stress lines. She smiled and considered them with happy hazel eyes.
“Uh, yeah,” said Nolan, “knock yourselves out.”
They looked taken aback.
“I mean that you can sit down.”
“Oh,” said Reynolds. “Many thanks, friend.”
After some brief introductions the two of them took a seat and began to talk in hushed tones. True to their word they kept to themselves as the food continued to arrive, at least until Esteban struck up a conversation with them. Apparently the feast had commenced an hour ago, with many people coming and going throughout the evening. Their new dinner partners had already eaten earlier on and had simply returned to enjoy the unlimited wine that they had already paid for.
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“Hey, do you guys know why the situation’s so tense up there?”
Katerina leaned in and whispered across the table. “People are saying that the man next to the king belongs to an incredibly powerful sect from the western islands. Well, I heard that the royal court wasn’t pleased with his temperament.”
“He’ll insult the king to his face,” said Reynolds, “as you can see. He doesn’t even care that we’re on the king’s own property.”
“Wait, what? Isn’t this a public square? There’re buildings on every side of… Well, now that you mention it they’re all connected, huh?” It seemed that they’d arrived at a massive C-shaped palace where each wing stood four storeys tall, one constructed of black stone and one of azure, one of rouge brick and one of some unknown white mineral.
“You seem to think that this is optional,” snorted Keplin from the central table. “All of our disciples come from tiny kingdoms like this. Look at these two. Hal here is the son of a Thebian marquis, and Recks is the king of Brimhaeven’s youngest cousin. Although it’s not a big deal to us, that’s a kingdom with a population dozens of times the size of your little valley community.”
“Be that as it may, the answer is no.” The king’s knuckles were white over his golden goblet. “Will you force me to make a tragedy out of this festival?”
“Humph, and doom every one of your citizens to a fate worse than death? This is an honour that nobody, neither counts nor kings, can turn down.” The man considered those around him, who had gone eerily silent. “I am a fair man, Caimen. How about this? Why don’t we have a little friendly competition, the winner of which will decide the young prince’s fate?”
“What kind of competition?”
“I’ll gladly champion for you, Sire.”
“Honey, don’t be foolish.”
The man next to Cera had spoken up and she’d hurried to scold him.
“That’s Commander Hueler,” whispered Reynolds once he saw their confusion. “He’s a general in the king’s army and also the strongest warrior in the kingdom. It’s already been a decade since he reached the second level of Genesis. And that lady that the sect elder just told off, she’s Hueler’s wife.”
“You do not speak to me, wench!”
Jesus…
Commander Hueler rolled his neck with a few popping sounds, though the king shook his head and made a discrete motion with his hand for the man to back down.
“I asked you a question, Keplin.”
“I’m getting to that. I propose a friendly competition, a martial bout of sorts.”
“You wish to fight?” laughed King Caimen. “Alright then. You may pick your opponent. Your choices are between me, Hueler, or my father.”
Nolan’s eyebrows jumped when he saw the king motion towards Hueler and then the yellow-robed elder that had hosted the competition in the royal square, who was quietly chatting with another old man at a table near the royal family.
“Where would the fun be in that?” Keplin shook his head with a sly smile. “No, the ones participating will be Recks and your son. It’s only deserving that the young prince should get to fight for his own fate, don’t you think? Unless you think he would lose, in which case you can just admit this and we can leave it at that.”
Both the prince and Recks were at the eighth level of Profound Entry, so it appeared to be a fair proposition on the surface.
“The royal family of Ridgerock doesn’t respond to random provocations. Surely you know how ridiculous your request sounds.”
“Then why not choose another child to champion for him? Surely there is another young one around here that could put up a fight against Recks?” The gathering remained silent, as the mood had long since gone sour. “What a pity. I came all this way from the western part of the Dragon’s Tail because I’d heard that there was a small territory where people were much stronger than the others in the region, but those were obviously rumours that reached my ear. I guess I’ve just stumbled upon another backwater land full of weaklings.”
Keplin rose from his seat and motioned for his disciples to follow after him. Before he left the area around the table, the boy named Recks spat onto the platter of pork that he'd been picking at much to the chagrin of the crowd. Grumbles of discontent filled the square almost immediately, though these were quelled by the king’s call for silence.
“Don’t think that you can simply leave after repaying our hospitality with such disrespect.”
“You don’t plan on hindering me, do you? I’ve got colleagues in the area. All it’ll take is a simple sound transmission and the situation will have completely reversed.”
It was at that moment that the young dark-haired prince suddenly stood up with enough force to topple his golden chair. Face red with anger, he said, “Father, let me fight that boy. I’ll show him what happens when he disrespects our family like this!”
King Caimen hushed his son and then turned to the offenders. “You ask my son, the crown prince of this kingdom, to wager his future in this little bout that you’ve proposed. What about young Recks there? What is he risking for this fight or you for that matter?”
“I suppose so,” mumbled Keplin. “How about this?” A tiny yellow medicinal pellet appeared in his hand, two black dots at its centre. “If your boy wins then I’ll reward him with this. It’s a marrow mending pellet of medium grade that I personally received from our sect master. It can heal broken bones, torn flesh and ruptured organs in a matter of minutes. Surely this life-saving medicine is good enough for the wager? Besides, your son’s cultivation is above Recks’s by one level. The balances are already tipped in your favour.”
King Caimen was quiet for a few moments, though he suddenly turned to stare at Hueler who was staring at him in turn.
They’re talking, Nolan realized. He couldn’t sense the king’s cultivation level but now he was positive that he was also a Genesis-staged cultivator.
“Father, please.”
Staring at his son, the king turned back to Keplin and said, “I will agree on two conditions. First; weapons, treasures, medicinal pellets and martial skills—none can be used. This will be a fight of fists and feet. Second, it won’t be my son that participates, but Hueler’s boy. What do you think?”
“So it’s agreed?”