As Lord Theodor hurried off to discuss the change of terms with the Marradi, Edwin marched in the opposite direction. Amos was hot on his heels, trying to condense a lecture on duels into the few minutes they had left.
“The good thing is that there aren’t many rules for you to keep in mind. You’re not allowed to use ranged weapons like bows or crossbows, and… that’s already it, I think. The creators of the Noble Pursuit likely felt that in a duel to the death, too many rules would just lead to them being broken.”
Edwin stopped in his tracks, Amos barely managing to dodge his broad back.
“Death?”
Amos opened his mouth, then closed it again. When he finally spoke, he looked embarrassed. “I’m sure I said that at the beginning, no?”
Edwin arched an eyebrow, shaking his head.
“Oh, well… I’m sorry. I hope it doesn’t change your answer because it’s kind of late now…”
Edwin scratched his chin, letting his gaze roam across the forested countryside. He didn’t mind killing, that was how he spent most of his days after all. His opponent would have to agree to the terms as well, so they would have to be prepared to die to enter the ring. Thinking about it rationally, it seemed that his annoyance simply stemmed from having made a decision with incomplete information.
“It’s fine,” he judged, continuing forward.
“Thank you!” Amos said, sighing in relief.
“So I just have to kill the guy in any way I want?”
“Pretty much, yep. It’s likely you won’t have to, though. A duelist can request to forfeit, though it has to be agreed to by their sponsor and their opponent. It’s a last resort for when a duelist is too badly maimed to continue fighting and a huge stain on someone’s honor, so he won’t do it easily. Throw him around a little, maybe chop off a limb or two, and he should concede. Once he does, it’s considered good manners to accept.”
“Chop off a limb or two?” Edwin asked, amused. “When did you get so bloodthirsty?”
“What? That’s what you do, isn’t it?” Amos gestured in the air as if he was swinging a polearm. “Chopping people up.”
Edwin laughed.
Amos finally gave up trying to match his long strides and fell into a jog to catch up. “Where are you going anyway? We don’t have much time.”
“Got to fetch something from the supply wagons.”
“What?
“Helmet.”
Amos looked up at him with worry, pointing. “Erm, Edwin… your helmet is at your belt.”
“Not this thing. My actual helmet. I’m tired of worrying about getting stabbed in the face.”
While Amos didn’t know exactly where that specific box was stored, once he’d asked a few questions he could at least tell Edwin which wagon it should be in. Edwin still had to shuffle through piles of spears and other stored items to find it, and by the time he did, Amos was nervously stepping from one foot to the other.
“Look, they’re already calling for you! Just use the one you have!”
“Amos, if you’re not going to help me at least shut… up! Found it!”
“Finally! Come on, let’s go!”
Edwin stuck the box under his arm and let himself be dragged along by the shorter noble. When they arrived back at the meeting place, the gathered officials let out a collective sigh of relief.
“There you are!” Bordan greeted him with a consternated look on his face. “Don’t just run off like that, nobody knew where you’d gone!”
“Sorry,” Edwin shrugged. “Just found out that I’m fighting a duel, so I had to fetch something.”
Bordan looked at him questioningly, and Edwin tossed the box at him, which he barely caught. Bordan turned it in his hands to figure out what it was but quickly gave up when he realized that the lid was closed, tucking it under his arm with a sigh.
“Well, are you ready?”
“Sure.”
“Excellent,” Lord Theodor jumped in. “As we hoped, Lord Ambertris agreed to our terms. He seemed quite content when he did so, I assume he was offered a sizeable reward for the opportunity by whichever Vonochev is with him. Time is running out though, so if you would like to follow me…”
“Lead the way.”
“Thank you. Bordan, bring along your unit banner if you please. Since Edwin has no family colors, this will do instead.”
While Bordan shouted for the adventurers’ banner carrier, Theodor turned to Edwin.
“As the nominal leader of our division, the challenge is directed at me. That means I will be your sponsor. Your part in this will be the hardest, but the simplest as well. Do not attack anyone until the duel has officially begun, and once it has, do not lose.”
Edwin snorted. “I think I can remember that.”
Theodor nodded, not sharing his amusement. “Lastly, if you feel like you are unable to win after all, please do not hesitate to ask for a surrender.”
“Amos said that was considered dishonorable.”
“My honor will be fine, I assure you, and unless you plan on becoming a duelist yourself in the future, it should not impact you overmuch either.”
“Well, thanks, but it doesn’t matter either way,” Edwin chuckled. “You could chop off one of my arms right now and I’d still win.”
Lord Theodor looked at him with arched eyebrows, but when Edwin didn’t show any signs of having told a joke, he nodded. Stepping through the Harvand battle lines, they arrived in the empty space between the two armies. A small group in mostly red was just reaching the halfway mark and stopping, colorful flags flying above them. Edwin studied them as he got closer.
There were about a dozen people, but one immediately drew his eyes. He was clad head to toe in shiny steel, only his face visible under his helmet. Behind him, a servant held a flag bearing a red bird, the background diagonally split into white and yellow. It wasn’t a particularly good flag, Edwin decided. He’d never cared much about fashion or the like, but even he could tell that the colors kind of clashed. Also, the crane looked more like a deformed chicken someone had given up on plucking halfway through.
The man himself sparked immediate dislike in Edwin, which wasn’t surprising, as he represented most of the things he hated about the nobility. A fop who’d never worked a day in his life, hanging onto customs that should’ve died ages ago, basing their perceived superiority on the deeds of long-dead ancestors. Sure, he was probably a great duelist, but as far as Edwin was concerned, that was a sport, not real fighting.
The rest of the party was made up of yet more servants carrying flags and other things, as well as a few people in finery. The only other one wearing armor, this one looking like an ornate version of the one the regular infantry wore, was an older man with greying hair, watching their approach with a grim expression. It took Edwin a few seconds to realize that this had to be the army officer leading the formation. While in Marrad, the noble in charge of a unit actually made the decisions, they still had an officer as a military advisor. It was like a reversal of roles from the way Harvand did it.
Finally, the one standing in front of the party had to be Lord Ambertris. Edwin could immediately tell why Lord Theodor had found the idea of fighting the man in a duel amusing. Ambertris was likely around the same age as Theodor, but where the latter seemed like an embodiment of the Lidion virtues, tall, blonde, unflappable, and physically in good shape, Ambertris clearly didn’t stem from a line of monster hunters. He was easily a head shorter, but what he lacked in height he made up for in width, of which he had plenty. Like all nobles he carried a sword, but Edwin would’ve bet on Theodor without hesitation.
“Are you sure you can’t finagle it so you two get to fight?” Edwin asked, and for a single moment, the shadow of a smile wrinkled Theodor’s lips.
“Please concentrate on the fight ahead of you, Edwin,” Theodor admonished him without heat. “Now, go ahead and greet your opponent while the General and I finalize matters with their leaders.”
Edwin rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dad.”
Before the lord could reply, Edwin broke off to the right where Lord Vonochev was waiting with a smug smile on his punchable face. A small voice in the back of Edwin’s mind suggested that his immediate dislike of the other man was completely without basis except for what he’d heard about the family from Firetail. Edwin considered that but decided that his unfair prejudices didn’t matter, as the man would be dead in a few minutes. Edwin couldn’t see most of his body, but from his face, he estimated the man’s age in his mid-twenties.
“Welcome and greetings!” the other man called when Edwin approached, raising his arms like he wanted to hug him. He seemed way too chipper for someone about to die, which annoyed Edwin even more. He stopped, noticing that Bordan and the kid who carried the battalion flag had followed him.
The guy seemed to be waiting for an answer, so Edwin finally responded.
“Hello.”
Little boy Vonochev’s smile cracked slightly, much to Edwin’s amusement, but he didn’t let that slow him down.
“First, let me thank you for this opportunity! It is rare, truly rare these days, to find a gentleman with the fortitude and strength of will to pursue the dueling arts with as much fervor as they deserve! And your armor is such a fine piece of craftsmanship! Please, good sir, may I have your name?”
Pompous cunt. “Edwin.”
Again, his smile wavered ever so slightly. “Lord Edwin then, it is a true pleasure to meet you, and doubly so to meet you on a field of challenge such as this! I have the honor to be Fedor Vonochev of House Vonochev. Forgive me, but to my great shame, I must admit that I do not recognize your colors. Are you perchance a member of House Lidion as well?”
“Nope.”
The boy had real trouble keeping up his chipper attitude now, but he managed.
“Then please enlighten me, what great house do you hail from?”
“None.”
Fedor stared at him, then up at the banner, while his smile slowly morphed into a frown.
“You’re a commoner?” He finally asked flatly. “A soldier?”
“Adventurer actually,” Edwin answered, and now it was his turn to smile as he pointed his thumb at the flag behind him. “5th division, ninth battalion. They were looking for a volunteer for a duel and it sounded like fun.”
Fedor stared at him for so long, Edwin was starting to wonder if the shock had fried his brain. Finally, the noble clicked his tongue, throwing a baleful look at Lord Theodor.
“A commoner. I forgot that True Duels lacked the proper requirement for participation.” He returned his gaze to Edwin and looked him up and down. “So, is this supposed to be some kind of insult, to trick me into fighting a peasant? Or were your betters too scared to draw steel themselves so they picked whichever brute was dumb enough to agree to terms they didn’t understand? I’d heard the Lidions were an honorable bunch with backbone. It seems I heard wrong.”
Edwin raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure you’re bad at any number of things. It wouldn’t surprise me if hearing was among them.”
Fedor studied him like he was an insect. “Are you at least decent with a blade? I can’t imagine you’re a duelist, or you wouldn’t wear this ugly atrocity. Is that supposed to be armor? Did you make that yourself from the things you killed like some kind of savage?”
Hearing Fedor attack his armor after he’d complimented it just a minute ago did more to amuse Edwin than to hurt him, especially considering his suit was crafted by one of the top armor smiths on the continent.
“I did, in fact. Maybe I’ll add your scalp to it after we’re done here. By the way, your armor looks cute. Seems a little thin though. Are you sure it isn’t just painted on?”
Fedor snorted. “This is what real dueling armor looks like, though I’m not surprised you’ve never seen one. Well, feast your eyes. It’s worth more than you’ll make in your lifetime.”
Edwin very much doubted that. Adventurers were paid very well, much better than any other profession open to commoners. Only the fact that they had to buy their own equipment and their dependence on the availability of monsters evened them out with regular jobs when it came to the amount of coins they had remaining in their pockets at the end of the day. The direbeast armor had been heavily discounted, but it had still cost as much as a house in one of the better parts of Pel Darni. He’d had to dip into Walter’s funds to pay it off early.
“If you like it that is your prerogative, I suppose, but I’m surprised you feel at all protected. I could crumple it up like parchment.” Edwin rapped his knuckles against his chest plate. “Nothing short of a ballista will get through this baby.”
Fedor laughed derisively. “And I’m sure that’s great for you, but it’s not ballistae you need to worry about.” With a fluid movement, he drew his blade, leveling the point at Edwin. “This will be the instrument of your demise, and it cares not for the thickness of your plates.”
Edwin inspected the sword and understanding dawned on him. It was of a middling size, longer than the arming swords the soldiers carried but short enough to control easily. The blade was thin and razor sharp, and instead of a cross guard the hand was protected by an ornate basket. If this was a dueling sword, he understood why Fedor’s armor was the way it was. Regular duels probably used some kind of point system for drawing blood instead of inflicting real harm, and the equipment reflected that.
The young Vonochev was wearing plate mail, though the plates seemed almost wafer thin. Additional smaller plates were placed tactically to protect the elbows and armpits, such that no weaknesses were ever presented to the opponent. Both the sword and the armor prioritized speed, granting just enough protection to turn the likely lightning-fast stabs and slashes that the light swords could inflict. It made sense in a duel where people didn’t come at you with axes, maces, or hammers. However, even a heavy sword like Borm’s Zweihänder would likely tear through the plates.
Edwin’s glaive wouldn’t even slow down.
He chuckled, lifting the weapon to let the light reflect off the silver inlays. “Your armor would have to be a lot thicker to turn my weapon. I don’t play duels, I fight. Are you prepared for that?”
“Play duels?” Fedor hissed. He seemed like he was about to yell, but caught himself and continued in a calm, yet derisive tone. “Of course a rube like you can’t fathom the intricacies of honorable combat. Well, do not worry, I will educate you shortly. You may have brawled in bars, but a gentleman fights true and pure. An effort that is wasted on you, but it shall be my final gift to you.”
Edwin shook his head, feigning sadness. “There is nothing honorable, true, or pure about combat. You either win or you lose, and how you get there doesn’t matter in the slightest. You play games, Fedor, that’s why you have so many rules. For the first time in your life, you’re about to experience real combat. You won’t enjoy it, I’m afraid, but I promise that it will be over quickly.”
Fedor growled. “That’s Lord Fedor to you, peasant! If you think your childish taunts will enrage me, think again. I have studied the sword since the moment I could walk! You are about to experience what a true master of the weapon can do!”
He paused, looking at the glaive. “It is an interesting stick you have there, though I would hesitate to call it a weapon. Maybe I will keep it and hang it on my wall. It would give you face you don’t deserve, but I have to thank you somehow for giving me the opportunity to become Champion, even if the occasion is sullied by your common blood.”
The boy’s superiority complex was starting to grate on Edwin. “I see. So my common blood is such a problem to you?”
“Of course,” Fedor sniffed. “I would never have agreed to fight you if I’d known that you are of low birth. This was supposed to be the moment of my greatest triumph. Defeating you to gain the title will forever leave a sour taste in my mouth.”
He cocked his head, looking Edwin straight in the eye. “Don’t bother surrendering, by the way. If you’d been a noble I would’ve graciously allowed you to concede, eventually, but if I fought a peasant and let him live it would make an undue mockery of the institution. So please, fight as best as your meager skills allow. You should be honored that your death will play a small part in furthering my legacy as one of the greatest duelists of all time.”
Edwin looked over to Lord Theodor, who was still in deep discussion with Ambertris. General Asher and the enemy commander were standing next to them, though instead of conversing the two military men seemed to mostly be scowling at each other.
“You seem to be much more worried about your own legacy than you are about the outcome of this war,” Edwin said conversationally.
“That’s why you peasants are so exhausting to deal with,” Fedor said with a theatrical sigh. “You have your nose so deep in the dirt, you can’t see the big picture. Harvand lost the war the moment our king decided to get serious. We have more troops, more equipment, more mages, and most of all, we are led by true-blooded nobles, not commoners with delusions above their station.
“You may be struggling, but it is futile. Even your leaders are aware that Archibald’s Overlook will fall within weeks, so by the time I arrive there, they will be desperate for a way out and will easily accept a challenge to duel for its fate. Once the fortress has fallen to my skills, the knights will have free roam of your countryside and our army will march on Pel Mahavir – and once the city is blockaded, Harvand’s defeat is a matter of weeks. That is if the armies on the other fronts don’t rout your conscripted rabble before that.”
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Edwin boggled at the sheer audacity of calling the war effectively over, but one part gave him pause.
“The knights?”
Fedor rolled his eyes. “Surely even you have heard of them? Or are your leaders too afraid to tell the rank and file about our king’s accomplishment, scared you would run off and desert at the sheer thought of facing hundreds of mounted knights?”
Edwin was thoroughly confused. Did Marrad have more knights than they knew about? That should be impossible, there simply weren’t enough horses. Then, did Fedor not know that they were dead?
Did he actually know what was going on at the front? He seemed to think that they were winning everywhere, but that’s not what Edwin had been told. According to General Asher, there was hard fighting on all fronts, but with the victory at Artelby drawing away troops from other theaters to secure the breach in the defenses, things were starting to turn in Harvand’s favor. Were the Marradi lying to their own people?
“That might worry me… except we slaughtered your beloved knights outside of Artelby a few weeks ago. Tell me, are you delusional or is your dear king merely lying to you?”
Fedor studied him curiously. “What is your game, peasant? What can you hope to achieve with such an obvious lie?”
“Is it?” Edwin asked, taking a deep breath. “Then why can I still smell burning horses whenever I close my eyes? No, they’re very dead. Didn’t go easy either.”
Fedor’s face darkened. “Are you trying to rile me up? An obvious ruse, lacking in both grace and depth. It won’t work, I’m afraid. Rabble like you could never hope to win against His Highness’s knights.”
Edwin shook his head. “You’re a small man with a small mind, dancing on the strings of a lying madman like a good little puppet. You know what? I pity you. I had intended to kill you, but I’ve changed my mind. If you get on your knees – assuming you still can at that point – and beg for your life, I will grant it, just to give you the opportunity to learn how much of a fool you were.”
Fedor’s face contorted into a grimace, his skin flushing red.
“I will rip out your eyes!” he hissed. “I will saw off your limbs until you crawl on the ground like the worm you are. And when I’m done with you and your duchy is divided up between my peers, I’ll find anyone you ever cared about and do the same to them!”
Edwin’s eyes narrowed. “Careful, boy. My generosity has limits, and you’re testing them.”
“Your generosity?” Fedor spat. “I will end your entire filthy family line! They will serve as an example to remind your countrymen to pay proper respect to their betters!”
Edwin turned his back to the Marradi noble and walked back to Bordan, who was waiting a few steps away alongside the banner bearer, both of whom had followed their conversation with great interest.
“Here,” Edwin grunted, shoving his glaive toward his friend. “I’ll trade you.”
Bordan took the weapon, leaning it against his shoulder while he handed Edwin the wooden box he’d been holding on to, watching curiously as the larger man grabbed it tightly and pried the lid off with a gloved hand. Edwin reached inside, rifling through the scraps of cloth that had been used as padding, then pulled out what he found. Bordan inhaled sharply.
Edwin’s eyes narrowed as he studied the final piece of his armor for the second time. When first receiving it, he’d only looked at it briefly before deciding that he’d rather lose his head than wear it. Now he took his time, turning it over in his hands and truly appreciating the level of detail and craftsmanship that had gone into the helmet.
Like the rest of his armor, it was made from the overlapping bones of direbeast shields, which gave it a lot more thickness and heft than a steel helmet. The face was covered almost completely, with only an uneven slit less than two fingers wide providing vision. To protect the throat, the face plates extended below the chin. In the back, the ends of the segmented direshields fell to the wearer’s shoulders and upper back to cover the neck. The design was eye-catching enough due to its color and the texture of the bones, but it was a different aspect that immediately caught the attention of the beholder.
With the helmet being the last part of the project, Master Quinnick had already burned through most of his stock of direshields. The best plates with the correct size and shape to wrap around a head had been used on the shoulders, arms, legs, or in a dozen other spots. As the master smith rummaged through the pile of direshield scraps that he’d been unable to use so far, he realized that one type of piece was represented more than any other: The head plate, the one that covered a direbeast’s forehead.
It was a great plate, except for the wickedly curved horn that all direbeasts, from rats to bears, shared. Having horns randomly extend from your armor was a good way to get stuck or hurt yourself and would also give opponents handles to aid in grappling, so at every junction when he’d searched for the perfect plate, he’d discarded them. Only then, looking at a small pile of the things while still ruminating about the final design of the helmet, did Quinnick see a way to make use of them.
Two rows of horned plates ringed the helmet, providing the majority of the protection on top and on the sides. The upper row was made up of smaller plates, likely of large rodents or other, similar creatures, while the lower ones were probably from direwolves, which were the most common direbeasts near Pel Darni. Two concentric circles of seven horns each extended from the plates, growing outwards only to curve upward and slightly inward like a crown of bone. The inner seven were smaller, so the outer ones extended slightly higher despite being affixed lower at the base.
“What in the hells is that?” Bordan whispered.
“That’s who I’m going to become,” Edwin answered grimly, then raised it up and placed it on his head.
It fit like a glove, which should’ve been no surprise, as like the rest of the armor, it was made to the exact dimensions of his body. It also didn’t restrict the movement of his head as much as he’d feared, with the frontal plates only scraping against his pauldrons if he tried to look all the way behind him and the protections in the back flexible enough to not to hinder him at all. The big downside compared to his previous helmet was his greatly limited vision. The open-faced steel infantry helmet hadn’t hindered it at all, so the narrow slit for his eyes seemed claustrophobic. Edwin shook his head to test the fit, then turned around to return to his opponent.
“Hey!” Bordan called after him. “Your glaive?”
Edwin waved him off. “Won’t need it.”
Fedor was watching his approach. The noble’s face was now hidden behind a steel mask that hooked into his helmet’s sides, so it was harder to read his emotions, but it clearly took him a moment to regain his cheer.
“What is this then, the attire of a jester? Or have you come to crown yourself the king of fools, perhaps?”
Edwin ignored him, instead looking towards Lord Theodor and the other nobles.
“Hey!” he called, getting their attention. “Can we start yet? I’ve grown tired of the whelp’s yapping.”
“Ah… yes, I think we can,” Theodor answered, quickly overcoming his surprise at Edwin’s appearance. “Come, gentlemen, let us begin.”
As the higher-ups approached the duelists, Fedor unsheathed his sword, readying it with a practiced motion.
“Have you forgotten your weapon, peasant? You do remember that we are about to fight, yes?”
“No, we’re not,” Edwin answered calmly. “I’m about to kill you, and you’re about to watch. If our conversation has taught me one thing, it’s that I wouldn’t want your blood befouling my glaive.”
“I will flay you,” Fedor growled. “And then I will flay your mother for giving birth to a cretin such as you!”
Ignoring him, Edwin turned his head to meet Theodor’s eyes. The noble cleared his throat.
“Calling all who attend to order, I announce the commencement of this True Duel. In the name of His Grace Duke Harvand, I, Theodor of House Lidion, issue the challenge.”
Standing beside, him, Lord Ambertris continued the ritual. “In the name of His Highness King Marrad, I, Quernius of House Ambertris, accept the challenge.”
“Fighting in the name of Duke Harvand is Edwin, loyal subject of His Grace.”
“Fighting in the name of King Marrad is Lord Fedor, loyal subject of His Highness.”
The two nobles exchanged a look, then Ambertris continued. “As per the Noble Pursuit, for this True Duel there will be no arbiter. The fight begins once this handkerchief touches the ground and ends only once one of the duelists has perished or a surrender has been accepted.” He produced the article in question from his pocket. “Duelists, are you ready?”
Edwin turned back to Fedor, their narrowed eyes meeting. “Ready,” both answered.
Without any further fanfare, Ambertris dropped the kerchief, the piece of cloth falling faster than Edwin had anticipated. As it reached the top of the knee-high grass, Fedor lunged forward, the tip of his sword flashing toward Edwin’s eyes. Surprised, Edwin barely managed to turn his head, hearing the blade scrape along the outside of his helmet.
Dirty cheater! Edwin fumed. It hadn’t even touched the ground yet. I guess ‘no arbiter’ means that the rules aren’t as strictly enforced. Well, cheating or not, it won’t make a difference.
Recovering from his initial shock, Edwin lowered his head and blasted forward, his boots throwing up clumps of dirt as his toes dug into the soil. As much as Edwin disdained Fedor, he had to grudgingly admit that the noble was clearly a seasoned duelist. Where a lesser fighter might’ve been caught out by Edwin’s explosive movement, Fedor reacted immediately, retreating backward and sideways all the while continuing his assault of lightning-fast jabs at weaknesses in Edwin’s armor as his plates shifted while he moved.
Step one. Short, as Edwin was only just beginning to gather speed. His opponent’s sword quested toward his eyes again, but the smallest turn of his head made the blade miss. A pinprick of pain blossomed from the side of his torso, his opponent having switched targets at the last moment.
Step two, this one longer, finally beginning to close the distance between the two fighters. A strike slid off Edwin’s armor, then a feint opened the way for a vicious slice to the crook of his elbow. It drew blood but didn’t damage any of the tendons. Edwin grabbed at the retreating blade but his fingers closed on air.
Step three, the ground shaking under his heavy steps. Fedor’s eyes widened as he realized that Edwin was about to catch up to him, the larger man much faster running forwards than he himself was retreating backward. The noble redoubled his efforts, stabs and slashes pelting Edwin’s armor like hail, a surprising number of them drawing blood as the thin sword exploited weaknesses that regular weapons couldn’t. Again, Edwin grasped at the weapon with his gloved hands but didn’t quite manage to catch it, earning himself a slash along the inside of his forearm instead.
Step four, his armored form practically flying across the field. Edwin was almost in arm’s reach of his opponent, which put him too close for Fedor to wield his weapon as effectively as before. The noble aimed for Edwin’s legs, desperately trying to stop his charge, but he finally slipped up. On the third strike, Edwin managed to snatch the blade before his opponent retracted it. Fedor yanked at his sword, his eyes widening as it didn’t budge in Edwin’s vise-like grip.
Step five. Fedor let go of his sword, preparing to draw a dagger from his belt, trying to change direction and lunge past the onrushing adventurer when Edwin’s free hand took hold of his arm. The dagger slipped free of its sheath, but Fedor never got a chance to use it. Edwin slid to a halt, his grip on Fedor forcing the other man to do the same. The noble dropped his dagger to catch it with his free hand, but Edwin almost casually kicked his legs out from under his body and yanked him to the side.
Fedor shouted in surprise as he was dragged along his extended arm like a child being flung about by their parent, then his shout became a scream as Edwin stepped forward and transformed the movement from a horizontal to a vertical one, flinging the noble over his head as if he weighed nothing. The scream abruptly ended as Fedor, still tightly held by his forearm, slammed into the ground face down, the impact forcing the air from his lungs. Before he could regain his senses, Edwin casually stepped on his back, forcing him deeper into the grass.
Taking a deep breath, Edwin raised his head, meeting the shocked gazes of the spectators. Below his foot, Fedor was regaining his senses and trying to wriggle out from his hold, but Edwin simply shifted his considerable weight onto the man’s back, resulting in a strangled cry. He rolled his shoulders, then leaned down, taking a firm grasp on Fedor’s helmet with both hands.
“I surrender!” Fedor cried in a shrill voice. “I surrender!”
“Yes!” Lord Ambertris quickly jumped in. “Yes, we surrender!”
“Do you now?” Edwin asked conversationally. Then he pulled.
Fedor only had time for a strangled gargle as Edwin twisted his hands sideways and up, and the noble’s head wrenched free of his neck. Edwin stood to his full height and turned to the watching nobles, meeting their horrified expressions. “I don’t accept.”
He stepped off the dead man’s back where the pressure of his boot had bent the armor inwards and approached the lords waiting in silence.
“I think I won,” Edwin said, extending Fedor’s head toward Lord Ambertris. “Don’t take my word for it though, ask him.”
Ambertris rocked back as if slapped, his eyes locked on the severed head. Theodor recovered more quickly. “I…” he coughed to clear his throat, then continued with a firmer voice. “I declare victory. What say you, Lord Ambertris?”
“Yes,” Ambertris rasped, still unable to look away from the severed head Edwin was holding towards him with one hand. “You won, Lord Lidion. I declare defeat.”
“Very well. Instruct your men to lay down their arms if you please.”
“Yes… yes of course…”
The adrenaline high from the fight and the satisfaction from killing Fedor was quickly starting to wear off, and Edwin looked around. The field was dead silent. The Marradi were looking at him in fear, while his allies seemed too shocked to celebrate his victory.
With the ceremonial part clearly over General Asher sprang into action, reclaiming his position as the division’s leader with shouted orders, sending staffers scurrying off and officers breaking up the spear-bristling battle line. The Marradi troops were quickly boxed in, the Harvand troops not taking any chances until the last soldiers had dropped their weapons. While some of them were clearly unhappy with their lot, many seemed just too happy not to have to fight the veteran Harvand forces and finally rest after several days on the run.
With the imminent threat neutralized, 5th division’s commanders met up not far from where Fedor’s body still rested in the grass, untouched except for a piece of cloth one of the servants had draped over it to hide the grisly wound from view.
“The reinforcements can’t be far,” Asher said without preamble. “The last scout report had them half an hour out, and that was before the duel. Assuming they weren’t warned off, they should be arriving within minutes. Our best option is to engage them before they understand the situation and either form up to defend or turn around and run.”
“Requesting permission to lead the attack, General,” Edwin said. The duel had been over so quickly, he hadn’t been able to burn off any energy, leaving him more than a little high-strung. Asher held Edwin’s gaze for several long moments as if to look inside his mind, then he nodded.
The troops formed up and quickly marched off, leaving behind a small force to guard the prisoners and protect the logistics personnel that were swarming over the Marradi supply train like locusts in blue tunics. They didn’t have to go far. The next bend was a few hundred meters away, and as Edwin rounded it he spotted the Marradi reinforcements just up the road, marching towards him.
A dark smile split his face in two as he finally let loose, his gait lengthening as he gathered speed. Cries of alarm rose from the enemies who began to form a battle line to receive the Harvand charge, but they didn’t have nearly enough time to do so. Unbothered at last by the shackles of fear and pretense, Edwin reached and passed the speed of a charging horse seconds from the Marradi front. Red-clothed bodies flew aside as he smashed into their lines like an avalanche, finally coming to a stop so deep behind the front that the confused soldiers around him hadn’t even seen him approach.
Edwin took only a single heartbeat to relish their shocked expressions, then he coaxed his glaive into a horizontal slice. Soon, the wind whistling through its roots played a merry tune that accompanied the screams of the dying. With the mana burning in his veins urging him to go ever faster, Edwin lost himself in the killing.
--- ----- ---
The fire crackled merrily as if to mock Edwin’s foul mood. He blindly ran a hand across the ground next to the tree he was leaning on until he felt the rough texture of a pinecone, then tossed it into the flames. It was the night after the duel, and the advance force was finally getting some much-needed rest at the edge of a small forest.
He didn’t regret his decision to let loose, but now that the danger had passed and the adrenaline worn off, he mourned the life that could’ve been. A thousand things had gone wrong to bring him to this place, each one seeming minor, but if he’d known how things would turn out, he would’ve made very different choices. Now, his beautiful plan was well and truly shattered, and the best he could hope for was to put the sharp pieces to good use before he was forced off the stage.
A branch cracked, announcing the arrival of Bordan.
“You alright?” the former soldier asked, stopping at the edge of the firelight.
“They’re scared of me,” Edwin said, waving towards the darkness. There was a ring of darkness around his small fire where the rest of the adventurers had kept their distance upon setting up their own.
“You were quite scary today,” Bordan answered quietly. “You being broody doesn’t help. Most of them just figured you could use some time alone. Some of them are worried that you’ve snapped.”
“Hah!” Edwin laughed mirthlessly, “I guess I have.”
“See,” Bordan said, lowering himself to the ground next to him and beginning to take his boots off, “it’s because you say these kinds of things that they’re worried. How about you tell me what’s going on?”
“I’ve made a decision,” Edwin said. “It was the right decision, but I’m angry that I was forced to make it.”
Bordan rolled his eyes and kicked Edwin’s leg with his still-booted foot. “You know that you can just talk like a normal person, right? Nobody’s forcing you to be this cryptic.”
Edwin laughed again, though this time it was genuine. “Sorry. That’s really all it is, though. I haven’t gone crazy; I’m not going to wake up and go on a rampage or whatever they’re worried about. I’m fine, just… angry. And sad. This whole damn war… I just wish things had been different.”
“I hear ya,” Bordan said with a sigh, and for a minute, both of them simply stared at the dancing flames.
Edwin finally broke the silence. “Where are the kids?”
“Salissa and Leodin?” Bordan asked. “Fell asleep the moment they sat down, like most of us. I don’t envy the poor sods who have night watch, I’m about to keel over myself. You don’t seem particularly bothered.”
“I’m not. I’ll make rounds later, make sure that they’re not falling asleep.”
Bordan stared at him intently for a few seconds. “The decision you made wouldn’t happen to be to tell me the truth, would it?”
“’fraid not.”
“Too bad.” Bordan stood with a groan, bending down to pick up his boots when another figure approached their fire.
“Good evening,” Lord Theodor said in greeting, lowering himself to the ground across from Edwin and wiping the dirt off his hands.
They returned the greeting and Bordan sat back down, pretending that he’d merely stood up to move his boots to the side.
“I am surprised that you are still awake. It took far longer to find you than I had intended, what with everyone falling asleep where they stand.” The noble studied Edwin for a few seconds, his eyes shifting to the side where the helmet sat on the ground next to him.
“Was there something you needed?” Edwin asked politely.
“No, on the contrary. You have done all of us an exceptional service, and I realized that I had yet to extend my gratitude. If you had not stepped up when you did, today would have ended quite differently.”
Edwin shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Theodor smiled a strange half-smile. “I am afraid I have to disagree, Champion Edwin.”
“He wasn’t all that tough…” The sentence petered out as Edwin’s brain caught up with the pronunciation and inflection of Theodor’s words. “Wait. It sounded like you just said ‘Champion’, not ‘champion’. Like that actually means something.”
Still smiling, Lord Theodor raised his eyebrows. Edwin groaned.
“That cunt Fedor said the same thing. Something about fighting me allowing him to become Champion. I thought he just meant ‘the best’. He didn’t, did he?”
Theodor shook his head, still smiling. “He did not. It is a very exotic set of rules, one that has sat unused since our arrival in the New World, but it is very clear. With your triumph over Lord Fedor, you are now a Ducal Champion of Harvand. The first one the New World has ever seen. Congratulations.”
Edwin could only stare.
“…why?”
“You should ask Amos if you are interested in the historical and societal details, but to put it simply, you have wagered your very life to single-handedly best a small army of enemy soldiers in the name of the duke. This makes you his champion.”
“I thought you were the one who got challenged?” Edwin interjected. “Shouldn’t I be your champion?”
“That would be the case if the division was under the command of House Lidion, but it is not. We are the duke’s soldiers, I merely lead the army, and even that in name only. You might recall that both I and Lord Ambertris stated this at the beginning of the duel.”
Edwin groaned more deeply. “Great. So what does that mean?”
“As his Champion, you are part of the duke’s household, one of his trusted retainers. At least, that is how it was back in the day, I can only speculate what form it might take in our situation… after all, he has never even met you. That will change, of course, His Grace will have to personally appoint you.”
“I’m not actually the champion until then?” Edwin asked.
“You are,” Theodor answered, immediately crushing his hope. “It is merely a formality, albeit an important one. Also, he will want to personally give you your deed of ennoblement.”
“Ennoblement.”
“Indeed. As champion you are of similar station as a knight, though of course your status is comparably much higher.”
“Can I… decline?”
“Of course,” Lord Theodor answered immediately, smiling beatifically. “All it takes is to say no when being asked to fight a duel.”
Finally unable to hold it in, Bordan slapped his thigh and started cackling.
“You’re a bloody noble, Edwin! Oh, this is too good!”
Edwin growled at him, which only redoubled his laughter.
“Sorry your lordship…” he squeezed out between bouts of laughter. “I meant no… disrespect your lordship…”
“I will bury you headfirst until only your feet are visible,” Edwin threatened.
“Yes, your lordship, bury me your lordship!” Bordan rasped, then he fell over holding his stomach.
“Tomfoolery aside,” Theodor said more seriously, “I am afraid there is nothing you can do about it. I apologize if this inconveniences you, truly.”
Edwin studied him suspiciously, but the noble seemed earnest.
“I am in your debt, Edwin. If you like, I can speak to His Grace on your behalf. Maybe the ceremony can be made private, and I am sure that if you do not wish it, you need not perform any additional duties that might usually have come with the role.”
“Thank you,” Edwin said, grimacing. “As you can probably tell, I’m more than a little uncomfortable with all of this.”
“I can. Please believe me when I tell you that none of us meant for you to be troubled by it. The title of champion, alongside everything that comes with it, was meant as a reward for a retainer loyal and brave enough to wager his life in the service of his liege. Nobody ever expected it to be unwelcome, so it does not come with a way to decline.”
“I get it, not your fault,” Edwin said, waving off Theodor’s excuse. “Just one more reason why today sucked. Give me a bit of time to get used to it and I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Very well,” Lord Theodor said, standing. “Then I will take my leave. Will I see you at the command tent tomorrow morning?”
“Sure.”
“Then I wish you a pleasant night.”
The noble disappeared into the darkness and Edwin leaned back against the tree, sighing.
“Look at the bright side,” Bordan offered. “You may hate nobles, but with a title come opportunities you otherwise wouldn’t have. You could do great things.”
“I never wanted to do great things,” Edwin said, then he paused. “Not just that, I wanted to do not great things. I wanted to travel the land, fight monsters, maybe discover a Pioneer ruin or two. Normal. Anonymous. Now look at me.”
Edwin spread his arms as if to include not just himself and the glaive and helmet resting next to him, but the state of the entire world. Bordan looked at him, really looked at him for a few seconds, then crouched down next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.
“I get it. I’m sorry. Or maybe I don’t get it, I don’t even know. But I know that you’ll be fine, and no matter what comes, you’re not alone. Okay?”
Edwin nodded, his eyes drifting back to the dwindling flames of the fire. After a moment, Bordan grabbed his boots and turned to leave. When he was already halfway into the darkness, Edwin’s voice made him stop.
“Bordan.”
“Hm?”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Bordan continued into the camp where he disappeared between the tents and lean-to’s while Edwin stayed behind, staring into the fire as it slowly died, his fingers blindly caressing the haft of the glaive lying next to him.