22th of Firstleaf, third month of 984:
A tornado carrying some trees, a lot of dirt and dust and a few bodies raged in the newly formed clearing. On top of one of the mentioned trees, Noct grappled against both gravity and wind as he rode the trunk from one of the destroyed trees. Using ‘wind domination’ to lessen the pressure, he stood, crouched, firmly attached thanks to his sword, which was stabbed on the tree. ‘Eight left.’
Trying to look behind the mayhem only dust and vegetation remains meet his scrutiny, at least before a fireball ignited the fuse that was all of the flammable material and moving oxygen of a tornado, turning it into a firestorm.
…..
Outside, eight mages, four controlling the tornado and the fifth the flames, stalked the artificial phenomenon. The last three were preparing a water spell, trying to drown the bastard that had killed seven of their companions.
The fire mage had started to sweat. ‘More. Just a bit more. Until that bastard has been reduced to cinders!’ His magic spell flaring up, he started to detect a deviation in the mana flow. Something was disturbing…no, breaking in half the flow of the spells, turning them unstable. “Hey! Care with th….” An explosion interrupted his desperate warning. A veritable wall of flames in the form of a whip had appeared from the centre of the tornado and was flying against them at an alarming velocity.
Losing control over their spell, the first four started to work on dispelling magic while the last three launched their spell early, willing through its holes and trying to negate most of the flames. The fire mage noticed that most of it was his mana and mentally pushed against it, slowing its movements. A headache swinging in full force and nose starting to bleed, he managed to slow it just enough for the water spell to weaken it, granting the first four the opportunity, that they took, to dispel both the spells.
Falling backwards from exhaustion, he watched as a cloud of ashes dispersed in all directions, bestowing a light shadow upon all of them. He had no more time to contemplate their hubris, for a scream on his left made him look.
…….
His right side charred. His right eye not working. Nevertheless, he had prioritised defending his lungs and limbs. His sword had acted as the ideal shield from both their and his spell. Even so, Noct could only hope that the regeneration would catch up before his wounds did. This was not to say he could think of anything right now, nor that he needed to. He had managed to shield himself behind the trunk and wrestle control of the fire spell for himself. He did not need more plans as he phased from one of the shadows of the three mages working on the water spells.
Neither did his sword as it cut, effortlessly, through the first magic shield. Beheading the first, a swift kick pushed the body against one of the other two mages, letting him turn and stab the last one in the chest before he could finish his water blade spell. The sound of a body hitting the ground was his signal to roll forward, evading a ‘water cannon’ that gorged deep into the ground. Getting up from the roll, he tossed his sword backwards, missing the target but dispelling his teleport. Clenching his first, a ring shining in an ominous black light, the screams of the last water mage were the only proof he needed to know that his shadow spikes had found meat. The quickly bleeding out body, from dozens of spall stabs, fell to the ground just as Noct rushed forward.
He sidestepped at the last moment, thanks to his injured eye, a fire bolt, which exploded close enough as to make him stumble. Five metres away from the fire mage and the true danger showed itself. His eye catched it just as it started. A whirlwind directly aimed at him. The force of four synchronised spell circles let it split open the ground, enough width to let a grown man sleep comfortably inside the fissure, carrying uncountable stones, dirt chunks and itself with terrifying speed.
Twenty metres ahead, two to the left, it was of no danger to the fire mage. To Noct, it carried bad news, for he would not be able to evade in time, as the stumble had taken some precious tenths. Acting by muscle memory, one of his rings shined red and casted ‘conflagration’, evoking a small explosion at his feet, knocking him back and raising a cloud of dust. Cloud that was cleaned away half a second later with severe prejudice, along with a portion of the innocent ground.
The whirlwind crashed against the forest before the spell ran its course, finally calming the air down. An eerie silence settled on the clearing as both the ash and the new dirt slowly danced onto the ground. An even more creepy sound, steel leaving wood, resonated in the clearing, making the five mages jump.
Near the beginning of the forest, close to where the whirlwind had impacted, a figure clad in black and ash had recovered its blade from the trunk of another tree. A stillness remained as both parties judged each other’s last resources.
Gulping, the fire mage took a step forward, readying another spell and having resolved himself to gain as much time as he could while the last four started to carve another spell. Moving forward a hand with a flame, his last resort, he puffed his chest out. a challenge.
Noct answered and sinked into the tree’s shadows. Soon enough, the shadows at the fire mage’s feet started to bloom. Smirking, he waited until he felt the fang of steel skewering his chest before activating his spell. His body grew cracks of fire and blew up in flames. The mage didn’t notice the shadows defending Noct from his sacrifice.
Jumping out of the smoke, gore and fire, Noct dashed towards the last mages, his green eyes tracing the magic signatures in the ground. Jumping, he evaded a water slash. Jumping again on a platform of compressed air, he evaded the unnatural and quickly formed pond where he would have landed. ‘Ten metres.’ Landing with a roll, the residual heat of a light attack congratulated him on his dodging efforts.
He had made it. Close enough for them to stop casting. The first of the mages jumped forward, brandishing a sword made of magic and trying to duel in swords. An overhead slash dispelled the magic, leaving the betrayed mage to its fate. The last three soon followed.
…..
Ilkom grimaced as he watched the last mage being cut down. ‘Just my luck. It would have been better to send the knights. Who knew the bastard had a sword that could dispel magic by itself!’. His mind started to deliberate on the choice he had made. Should he recall the last eight mages before they engaged? He looked fairly injured, maybe they would manage. ‘Still….’ Eyeing the despieced banner and the pacing Queen, what if they failed?
He grabbed the hilt of his two daggers and started to plot. Maybe there was a third choice.
…..
‘Twenty eight.’ The blood slowly dropped off his sword. It never remained on enchanted weapons after all. It just didn’t stick. Grabbing his flank, which was almost fully healed, he took in the view. He had managed to ambush the reinforcements, as the chaos of broken trees, corpses and some flames testified. His fett making a branch crack beneath it, he started to walk out of it.
What hadn’t healed was his new slash in the shoulder, disabling his left arm until he could regrow the nerves. Magic swords didn’t slow down when they hit, as they had enough cutting power to cut steel like water. Ergo, it was a deep wound. His hand filling with flames, he cauterised the opening, the pain and anaemia making him crash against another tree.
‘Now I only need to…’ His eyes cut that line of thinking abruptly, as they had detected a flow of illusion magic dispelling a bit far to the south, behind enemy lines. ‘The head of the snake.’ Resolution taking hold in his mind, he gazed to the south east, watching as the cloud of smoke continued its ascent, not minding the screams and fighting sounds. He clutched the hilt of his sword, the inertia elevating its tip to a ‘ready to use’ position. Out of internal mana. Out of blood. Out of stamina.
A laugh, an hybrid of a grunt and a dark chuckle, highlighted the disarray he had caused in the forest. Once his pain stopped flaring, he rushed towards the tent.
……..
Ilkom stalked behind the opening of the tent. Larra was ignorant of his little plan. Stopping the illusion spell had been easy. And it would be easy to kill that bastard now. Completely trusting in his skills, his belt shined briefly and he turned translucent, mixing with the whiteness of their headquarters.
‘Steps. At the count of three.’ The rush of armoured boots told him all he needed to know and, most importantly, they told him where to strike, for his steps sounded uneven. ‘Dismissing the guards was a good idea. Unknowing. Heh, It will be fun.’
A shadowy silhouette jumping in and another jumping against the first. A surprised grunt, an impact and a scream sounded in the tent, alerting Larra.
An arrogant kick from Ilkom embedded his left dagger from Noct’s left side into his guts and pushed him away. Noct crashed against some furniture and grabbed into it to stabilise himself.
“Welcome, Lord of the Ashen Household. How was my greeting? Was it, respectful enough?” He didn’t bother to hide his smirk. That stab was a mortal wound, and the dagger was still there. He had already won. His stance debilitating, he unsheathed another dagger and mockingly bowed down.
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Noct calmed down and, holding in another scream, teared out the dagger, a dangerous low amount of blood coming out. His hand burning in fires, he cauterised the wound under the amused gaze of Ilkom.
Nodding, he added, “Good manners. Blood is such a hassle to get out of carpets.” Shaking his head to add more weight to his joke, he added, “You really come from a reputable household.”
The only sound Ilkom got was the noise the furniture made as Noct changed his posture.
A cruel smile blooming, he added, “Cat got your tongue? Those are bad m….”
The lunge of Noct was quick enough to surprise him. Flourishing his daggers, he cross parried the sideways slash. Overconfidence blinded him against Noct’s kick, hitting him in the knee and making him roll to the left. Pain making him flinch, he reacted to now parry an overhead strike. Jumping back to evade another kick, he joked, “Calm d…”
A stab almost got his hand before he sidestepped it. A shoulder bash of Noct made Ilkom rell backwards. Noct followed with another slash, more wild this time as his injured shoulder cried out, forcing Ilkom to jump backwards and hitting a chair, making him fall to the ground. Rolling around, he watched as Noct’s sword embedded itself halfway into the soil after taking a good chunk of his hair. Quickly raising up, he growled, “Hey, bast…!”
The chair now flying towards him, he doubled down to dodge, forcing him to block his sword again. A chunk of one of his daggers breaking out, he cursed out loud. ‘Damned be the four seas! A misstep, a failed strike, something to recover the initiative!’ He had been too confident and that had carried him to his back feet, forcing him to react and not counter his movements. He inspected his daggers as he backed off, as Noct continued to press the attack, ‘Two more blocks.’ He turned his head to avoid a stab and tried to retort with his right dagger. Hitting the shoulder part of the right arm of Noct, his replacement dagger proved too powerless to bite into his shoulder.
Nonetheless, not all was bad news, for Noct was visibly tiring himself. Pain and blood loss weren’t good companions in a fight. Recovering bit by bit his stance and confidence, Ilkom slowly switched from running away to pressing the attack. Seconds passed by and he was now the one advancing.
“Ja! Not very popular with the ladies are you?” Quipped Ilkom as his left dagger brought blood out of Noct’s left check. The answer of Noct was another kick, Ilkom responding in kind. Both achieved their aim and guts were hit. Ilkom smiled through the pain, for Noct had to suppress a pained grunt. “Do not worry, I heard you are richer enough for it to not be a problem. If you do not mind sharing your women!” His dagger sliding Noct’s sword, he punched him in the face.
Noct, forced back, tried to reposition himself, his right hand trembling uneasy. ‘An opening!’ Like a coiled snake, Ilkom struck again the weak defence of the sword, not noticing that Noct had used that movement to switch to a reverse grab, and stabbed him in the guts, twisting the dagger for more effect. What he got was not a scream from Noct but from his sixth sense. Backing away in a panic, not quick enough, his stomach was split open by the reverse strike of Noct. His left dagger stuck in Noct’s body, he raised his right dagger as Noct switched again to a normal grip and turned the resting position into a diagonal and overheard attack.
Seeing stars, Ilkom stumbled when his dagger broke under the strain of its last block against that black longsword. Dice was on his side, for that stumble saved his head from being separated from his body. Still, as it had lowered his position, it didn’t save his eye nor check nor jaw from the slash, tearing a gruesome injury on his face and crushing his left eye.
Noct couldn’t continue to stand up and followed his strike, falling to the ground. Ilkom retreated with fearful steps, screaming incoherencies. His right eye seeing Noct raising up again he screamed and ran away leaving a trail of blood.
Noct grabbed his sheath, tearing out and using it as a cane and turned towards Larra, guts slightly bleeding and sword raised as tall as he could. Larra walked calmly towards Noct and, unsheathing her own sword, parried the weak strike Noct attacked with when she got to close. Void flying through the air, Noct fell onto the ground after a stab in his good shoulder, which had pierced the armour.
“I am not a trophy of your duel. I am the Duchess of the North and I know how to defend myself.” Spat with hate.
“I….I demand your surrender.” Coughed Noct.
A smirk broke through her poker face, “You know. When you told me you would stop me when I raised my armies, I laughed it off as a joke, as simple arrogance.” All semblance of finding it fun was gone. Her face had only hate. “I shouldn’t have taken you for a liar.”
“You should….I am one after all.” A weak laughter resounded in the tent. “I won’t carry it out after all.”
Larra’s gaze locked eyes with Noct and slowly nodded, hate fading away to show reverence and regret. ”You did more than enough. To think my army would fall against petty tricks and a force a tenth of its number.” She slowly shaked his head before weight came back to her words. “Carry onto whatever afterworld knowing that.”
Her sword raising into the air, she contemplated the man that had been the architect of her failure. Looking like a broken man, too injured to even stand up and completely powerless. She frowned. She had expected, hoped, to face him in a duel, not to execute him to calm down her fury and misgivings. Her sword fell and a clank was heard.
A swift kick from an armoured boot hit her in her midsection, bending her ceremonial plate armour and pushing her backwards. Looking up, she saw an older man clad in armour. A shield and a white, shining sword.
“By the orders of Lord Noct of the Ashen Household, I, Andras, ask of you to stand by and surrender, both you and your army. The date of your trial will be decided later on.”
Larra raised her sword and lunged forward. A block, edge first, cut her sword in two. Surprised, she was too slow to react to a shield bash, hitting her head and knocking her into the ground. A sword followed her and nestled itself into her collarbone.
“Surrender.”
Her hands unclenching, “So be it.” Relief filled her mind. No more men should die today.
…………….
Soral, dressed in a white dress, addressed the mob before her. The garden of the Ashen castle had been prepared, for the first time in almost a decade, for a public event. For her coming of age ceremony. At her side, Adelene, bishop of Elenia. Behind, Sorak without a Surname.
“I would like to thank all of you for coming to my first event and the day I become your Lady. While the continent has been in chaos since the Old Empire fell, and the fog of war bathes more clearly than ever our North, I can assure you Stability and Justice. No enemy shall invade these walls nor will your life worsen in my administration. I bow to Elenia.”
Silence finally settled in, the crowd quieting down, Soral continued, doubt and unconfidence in her oratory skills slowing down her speech. “My brother brought a system. A cruel one. An unforgiving one. But not an unjust one. Everybody paid what they could, not one coin more. Everyone was treated the same, no riches buying no privileges nor innocence. I won’t tear it down! Instead, I will, no, we will all reform it! We gained something only a few baronies have, and that’s an economy based on our, on my Household. The Ashen Household protects and feeds this barony, now directly. The Ashen Household protects and forces your rights, no employer, merchant or landowner plotting below our watch! The Ashen Household is, and has always been, here for your protection.” Breathing in for a few seconds, the crowd was drawn in, and roared, “I am a noble! By my veins flows the blood of the Ancestors that first settled in these inhospitable lands!! The blood of the first settlers! The blood of the First Rulers!”
“I am your ruler! By birthright. By tradition. By standing. By my actions. By the pact between vassal and Lord, so long ago forged!” Soral stopped and her gaze slowly traversed the garden, full of people she had to protect. “Today, I bow under the watch of the Gods. Today, I reaffirm the oath that has brought prosperity to these lands. Today, I bow under both the gaze of the Sun, our protector and Father. Today, I bow under Zun’s gaze.” The face of Adalene almost cracked under the hate that tried to seep through. She eyed the rest of the priests, one for every religion of the Empire. She glared at the surprised, but delighted, face of the Zun priest. ‘This was not the plan…Maybe it is still salvageable.’ She stood still, her polite smile stopped trembling. Sorak was a good pawn, she wouldn't fail.
The Zun priest advanced forward and kneeled in front of Soral. Her gaze turning soft, as she remembered the paladin that had healed her, she continued, “Our barony has been Godless long enough. And,“ Her gaze returned to the coldness of a leader’s, “Tradition has proved invaluable on our lands. The tradition to fight for each other. To defend each other. To share and form a common front against the dangers of winter. So, under His warm gaze, I will vow again and assume my position.” Soral turned and kneeled before Sorak. The priest rose up and, as his hands burned in white flames, with a voice that contrasted with his meek appearance, he solemnly started,
“Will you do everything that’s in your hands to protect the week, watch over all of your vassals, no matter who, no matter what?”
“I bow.” The priest lowered his hands, the flames slowly forming a circle around Soral.
“Will you accept all who come to seek refuge. No matter who, no matter what they think, no matter what they may be?”
“I bow.” The fires raging, they grew until they reached Soral’s shoulders.
“Will you be just but not unforgiving? Wise but not unkind? Resolute but not stubborn? Patient but not a coward? Brave but not rash? Will you become our rightful leader instead of demanding it?”
“I bow.” The fires grew inward, burning and heating the stone beneath, caressing Soral. An almost unnoticeable dark smoke started to come out of Soral, a thing that made Sorak flinch.
“Will you forgive? And, would you lend, again and again, your hand if it could save a life? Will you always fight for what you believe it's just, no matter what?”
“I bow.” The fires completely hid her, her voice was more felt than heard. Once she finished speaking, the fires rapidly receded until not one cinder remained. In her right hand, the emblem of Zun, a green plain with a Golden Sun, stated its presence. Sorak paled a bit, ‘A real path.’ Fear stained her mind, for the ones that broke it would see the return of the very flames that carved that oath.
“Then I welcome you, Lady Soral of the Ashen Household. Always stand proudly on your feet, our rightful ruler!” Bellowed the priest.
Soral rose to her full height, a small, sixteen years old kid that should be too young to carry this burden, and turned towards Sorak.
Sorak unsheathed her sword, devoid of any flames, and, raising it to the air, she declared, “As emissary of the Church of Elenia, I recognise this Ceremony as valid.” Her sword fell, blunt side, onto her left shoulder and bursted out in blue flames. A cloud of black smoke flew from Soral, dispelling the curse of protection of Noct.
Pandemonium overtaking the crowd, the guards started to bide for control over the chaos.
…………………...