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Even Tom, for all his bravado, was surprised to see what to be over fifty Royal Knights that were armored to the teeth waiting for them just behind the gates of the Nezaria family estate.

They had expected them to unleash a slew of attacks the moment they revealed themselves, but not a single flicker of energy hurled towards them.

Gasps and whispers ran across the Royal Knights contingent, a sense of unease flickering in their gazes that focused on neither Zirel nor Tom. No, their pensive eyes were locked on to Aleph’s.

To a ghost’s.

“That’s quite the army you’ve got there,” Tom drawled. “So, what are you waiting for?” Tom rhetorically asked, as he stretched his arms outwards in a welcoming embrace, not intimidated in the slightest.

He was unarmed, but the moment he noticed even a slightest flicker of movement, a mimicked blade would appear in his right hand.

“Step outside of the Nezaria Estate, Synrak Veralis of unknown origins, Zirel Covan Nottrakon of the House Nottrakon and… you, Longstradia, whoever you are. Surrender peacefully and no harm shall befall you,” One of the Royal Knights, a seven foot tall man that stood a few steps ahead of the rest of his contingent, bellowed out.

The Knight was clad in a golden armor that had wisps of similar colored energy roiling off it, a gray lance that was easily as tall as his him held in his right hand, pressed against his chest for support. His eyes peeked out from behind two slits in his great helm and Tom didn’t need his augmented eyesight to tell that there was little more than malice within them.

The so-called knight was lying to their faces.

“It’s quite rude to make demands without introducing yourself, don’t you think so?” Zirel asked, managing to sound bored even though there was no way they could fight the force gathered before them.

And even if they did, how far would they get?

They couldn’t fight an entire city.

“You know who I am, Zirel,” The knight replied with a snarl, dropping the honorifics he normally would’ve addressed Zirel with— which made sense, since he wasn’t a prince anymore. “For the rest of the unsavory company of traitors that you keep, I am Daven Bancroft, Head of the Royal Knights. Surrender or perish.”

“Then why don’t you come and do just that,” Tom retorted, his gaze sharpening as he took Daven in.

“I-,” Daven began, before catching himself.

Even though Tom could not see his expression, he was certain that the man was hesitating.

“You cannot take a step into Nezaria territory, can you?” Tom asked, a smile playing upon his lips.

“Lord Ramav would never aid traitors like you,” Daven replied, his tone struggling to maintain composure as Tom cut through the heart of the matter in an instant. “That is why we will respect the sovereignty of the Nezaria Estate. Make no mistake though, worm. You are trapped and have nowhere to run.”

“How about this, Daven,” Tom took a step forward and the weapons of many Royal Knights were adjusted to prepare for any sudden movements. “You know who I am. You know why you’re here. It’s not because some pathetic elite guards are dead and to amass a force like that, well, you don’t even care about Zirel. No, you just want the rewards we got for conquering the final sector. So, I challenge you to duel. You against me, Daven. How about it?”

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Daven Bancroft, Head of the Royal Knights, blinked. Then, he shook his head.

“You have no leverage here, worm. Zirel is still a member of the Nottrakon Family, so he is their responsibility and the Longstradia, her fate will be decided by the Noble Houses. You, however, are a nobody. Commoner rabble and a traitor on top of that. I have no reason to accept a duel from one with no honor,” Daven replied, shaking his head with disappointment.

Tom chucked before bursting out into loud, mocking laughter.

“You have an army of fifty royal knights behind you, against the three of us. Yet you run from a duel, before the eyes of your fellow knights and the ones lurking in the shadows, watching this commotion. Is this the honor of your Royal Knights? Turning down a duel because you are afraid of a child?” Tom asked, the mockery in his words cold and incisive.

The Royal Knights that had been exchanging hushed conversations amongst each other quietened down. The atmosphere itself seemed to chill as Tom’s words rang out in the air, a direct affront against the honor of the Royal Knight’s head.

“Even if I wished to accept your duel, I cannot step into the Nezaria estate without permission,” Daven replied. “Step outside and we can come to an agreement.”

“I don’t think so, Daven. Even if you had a flicker of honor beneath your metal tin can, your masters don’t,” Tom replied.

It appeared that they were at an impasse.

Tom’s voice dropped to a whisper, as he turned to ask Aleph and Zirel, “Should we just use it?”

“Not yet,” Zirel replied in an equally soft tone. “He didn’t say he wouldn’t accept the duel. They know that there’s no way for us to break this encirclement. He’s in no hurry and his honor has been brought into the question.”

Tom nodded and turned his gaze back to the Royal Knights.

And then he waited.

A minute passed by, before the doors to the Nezaria estate swung open. It was not Lord Ramav that stepped out and neither was it Valeria. From the way the man carried himself, he was no stranger to combat.

Leather armor guarded his chest and legs, two short-swords sheathed at his either side. A scroll was reverently cupped in his palms, before he came to a stop at the edge of the awning that greeted guests to the Nottrakon estate.

He unfurled the scroll and then spoke.

“Lord Ramav Nezaria grants permission to Daven Bancroft, allowing him to enter his estate for the purpose and duration of the duel between him and Synrak Veralis,” He decreed and then he turned around and began walking to his estate without another word.

Tom whistled in appreciation.

“Well then,” Tom began. “How are you going to avoid the duel next? Are you going to call me evil or will you claim that my blood bleeds black poison.”

“Silence yourself, boy,” Daven snarled. “What are the terms of duel? Both of us know that there is no way for you to escape, so do not ask for freedom. I cannot grant it to you.”

“You were avoiding it because of that?” Tom asked, genuinely surprised. “No, I don’t want freedom. You’re just a hound for your masters. No, my terms are simple. You and me, single combat. No interference. If you win, all three of us surrender. If I win, hm, let’s see— I guess I’ll settle for everything you have on you.”

Daven Bancroft stood there, in silence.

Then, he asked, incredulousness tinging his voice, “Is that all?”

“Yep.”

“You are overestimating yourself. The difficulty of the final sector scales according to your strength. You must’ve been incredibly weak, to have conquered it. Let me teach you the difference between us. I accept.”

Tom watched as Daven pushed open and then walked inside, letting the gate slam shut behind him.

Tom cracked his knuckles and stepped forward, not a hint of fear visible on his visage.

Aleph and Zirel retreated to the mansion’s awning.

A coin was flicked in the air by Daven, the intention behind his gesture obvious.

Tom’s eyes narrowed as a blade appeared in his right hand.

Daven pointed his ashen lance towards Tom.

The coin clinked.