Godric and company were huddled in a spacious room after the challenge was laid. The meeting chamber was scarce after Caine Dewblossom invoked the Vow of Combat and Victory, and noises were heard outside their quarters, most likely coming from the keep's inhabitants. Flint looked out the window, admiring the view of the bustling, marble city below. Everyone except for him felt anxious as he remained quiet after he had accepted the terms, and Wyatt could no longer help himself but ask their new companion why he would fall into a trap laid out by the cunning noble.
"Why'd you go and accept the duel?" The blacksmith's son asked the mercenary. "Because I hate his guts. No other answer will suffice." Flint responded as he began to unravel the white cloth from his forearm.
"Coraline, tell us more about the vow. What does it mean for us?" Godric turned to the sweet girl who was on their side.
"The Vow of Combat and Victory is among the highborns' most ancient and well-respected traditions. The rules are simple: both parties must agree to a series of terms regarding their duel, and whoever loses must grant the victor whatever they desire, no matter the cost." Coraline explained to the group. "I have yet to witness any sacred vows invoked before, so I am afraid I am in the dark as to what specific consequence awaits us if we fail to meet Lord Caine's demands, should Flint lose."
All of them were silent as they thought of what would happen to them if Caine were to win the duel. Despite his charming looks and demeanor to the public, he was rotten to the core. Thoughts of torture and endless suffering had begun to surface in their minds already, given the man's cruel nature.
"Are you certain you can win this, friend?" Xhiamas asked, who was seated at the far end of the room. "Make no mistake--I do not question your talents and experience, but I warn you that the person you are up against is no ordinary man. I am certain he will find a way to cheat himself to victory, should fair combat not favor him."
"I didn't survive this long by being honorable and nice, Xhiamas. If he does anything suspicious then who's to say I won't return the favor?" Flint responded as he turned to look at them all. Looking at each of their expressions, he let out a sigh.
"Listen, I had to do it. Even though you three were safe before the challenge was laid out, he disrespected Lord Dunwick and would stop at nothing to exact revenge against him after he had helped you three escape. I'll not have some ill-tempered noble do as he pleases. I'll be glad to knock some sense back into him." He continued, hoping to clear any doubts that they had.
"All I need from all of you now is to trust me. Given the circumstances, it is hard to do but we have no other choice. If I win, I'll also be able to get rid of him for you." Flint promised them. The doors then swung open as Lord Dunwick and Sir Byronard entered the room.
"Sir Caine proposed a change in the agreed-upon terms," Byronard said to the group. "The option of submission is still on the table, but instead of drawing first blood to signify a loss, he says that a mortal wound would be a better sign of defeat. Do you agree to these terms? If so then I shall inform him immediately." Flint nodded in response, and Byronard was quick to dispatch a messenger to his opponent's quarters.
"The nerve of that brat. If only Mikhael were here, Divines be willing, I'd be more than happy to beat the ever-living hells out of both of them--starting with the idiot who started this entire thing!" Dunwick was fuming at the state they were in. The walls felt like they were shaking momentarily, which led to Cassian and Wyatt bracing themselves, leaving Godric completely clueless.
"You two okay?" Godric asked. "No--yes, we're fine. We just..uh..it was instinctual. That's all." Wyatt replied.
The warden approached Flint and looked at him dead in the eye. "Dewblossom is a screw loose, lad. I've heard tales about his combat prowess, but I've never witnessed it before so I cannot say for certain how skilled he is, but the only thing I am sure of is that win or lose, he'll get what he wants. One way or another." The tone in his voice was something Wyatt found concerning, as this was the first time he had ever heard the noble show a possible expression of concern.
"You worry about me too much, old man." Flint punched him in the shoulder. "I am being serious, Flint. Listen: the stakes are now raised. This most certainly means that death is inevitable." Dunwick's last words rubbed off on the mercenary in the wrong way, as the wood beneath where Flint stood began to smolder, and the room began to smell like ash. Byronard gazed at the mercenary, and a troubled look befell his face.
"...If you'll excuse me." The royal guard quietly exited the room and disappeared into the vast hallways of the keep. Everyone found his sudden shift in behavior odd, as he always had a commanding presence that towered over most in the room, but all of that disappeared instantly.
"What was that about?" Godric asked. "Sir Byronard is a busy man, being captain of the Royal Guard and the acting ruler of the country is no small task. It would be best to leave him be." Lord Dunwick replied as he turned his gaze back to Flint. "I understand your reasons in wanting to defend my honor, but if you were to ask me my opinion to your reason? Fuck honor." The warden stared at him, concerned.
"...I'll be seeng you soon." Flint replied, leading Lord Dunwick to respond with a quiet nod. "Very well then." The warden responded as he left the room in silence.
It was apparent that the mercenary had already steeled himself for the upcoming duel but Godric could see in his expression that his confidence had faltered for a brief moment.
"You are afraid." Xhiamas pointed out as he saw Flint's hands tremble after Dunwick left the room. "I presume that makes me look like an idiot, eh?" Flint asked.
"Not at all, it shows that you are not arrogant." The arrow said as he took a bite out of an apple he got from a platter. "It also shows that you should not be taken lightly."
"I'll take that as a compliment then." Flint looked out the window and stared over the horizon, where the sun was now beginning to set. He then studied the room they were in, and appeared to be lost in a trance. "We still have time before it starts. May I have some time alone?" Flint asked the group with a quiet tone.
"Sure...we'll be outside," Cassian replied as he left the room. Coraline and Xhiamas followed suit, leaving Wyatt and Godric alone with the mercenary.
"Best get ready... and good luck," Godric said as Flint responded with a quiet nod. "Thank you. Also, this might be the best time for you to talk, considering that the both of you spent months thinking the other was dead." This statement caught the two off-guard as they realized that they had already numbed themselves from the mundane acts of simple conversation, and never bothered to sit down and talk about everything that had happened since that day.
"Y-you're right. Let's go, Godric." Wyatt urged his friend to leave. "Right. Be seeing you on the grounds later." Godric said as he and Wyatt exited the room, closing the doors behind them as they left.
The two spent the rest of the time conversing about what had happened during the time that had passed. They walked the halls of Wolfsbane Keep; their steps echoing against the marbled floors. Minutes later, they found themselves in the keep's garden and found a pair of seats to rest on, away from the daunting aura of the structure.
"Shut up. An elven princess, kissing you of all people?" Wyatt asked, not believing a word coming out of his old friend's mouth. "I asked myself the same thing after it happened. How that came to be--I have no idea. Trust me when I say she's the living embodiment of mystery." Godric replied as the two of them went silent. A thought crossed both of their minds, and Godric had to break the silence.
"So, the old man truly is gone, huh?" He asked. "I'm sorry for your loss, Wyatt."
"Thanks, I needed that. After he disappeared, I felt lost for days until they helped me up on my feet." Wyatt shared his opinion about Xhiamas and the rest. "They're good people who just got entangled with the wrong ones at the worst time."
"I recognize Cassian, and I'm sure we'll be able to find this...Hawk fellow you mentioned. However, who is this Xhiamas person, truly?" Godric asked. "I've never heard of them, so I'm a bit confused about who and what they are."
"Long story short, just think of them as good people who make Primera a better place through questionable means," Wyatt replied in a dull tone. "Their actions are troubling, but their hearts are in the right place. They say our history's shaped by them, you know."
"Really? That's intriguing, to say the least." Godric replied. Wyatt then looked behind Godric and turned to the pair of blades that hovered behind his back, which had caught his attention since they were reunited.
"Mind if I take a look at those blades of yours?" Wyatt asked, to which Godric happily obliged. He stood after grasping the twin swords with both hands and began to use them. "They're surprisingly light, what are these made from?" Wyatt asked as he continued to do slashing attacks against the air.
"I can't say for certain, but what I do know is that Death's Lament is a marked weapon," Godric replied. "Try placing the blades side by side." Wyatt followed his instructions and was surprised to see that the blades had turned into one, united sword. "Outstanding, isn't it? Elmar, the blacksmith who gave me these, had told me that the blades can change shape. It's proven quite useful so far." He continued.
"I see..." Wyatt replied as he separated the blades. Godric looked at him and saw that he was deep in thought. "Something on your mind?" He asked.
"Well, give me a moment to try something." Wyatt moved the twin blades so that the pommels would meet horizontally. He then slammed the hilts together, turning the weapon into a metal staff with blades on both ends.
"What in the..." Godric was stunned. "Wyatt, you're a genius! I never even thought of that!" He exclaimed. "Of course! Between the two of us, you're the bigger idiot." He replied, laughing.
"W-well, at least I defeated a monster!" Godric replied in defense.
"Correction, you assisted in defeating a monster. Not an easy task, that much is true. However, the kill still does not belong to you." Wyatt responded but then remained silent as he reflected on his first kill.
"Also, I'm now finally able to understand what you felt that day when Walter died. It turns out that killing monsters is hard when they look exactly like people, even if you feel like they deserve it. I felt like I would vomit, my hands shook, and everything was cold to the touch."
Godric looked at his friend, who seemed to be going through the same feelings of guilt and doubt that he felt. "I also had recurring thoughts about what happened that day." He said. "However, if there's one thing I've learned over time, is that life is unfair and that not everyone can be saved," Godric looked at his friend. "We only did what we did to survive. From what I know, fear is the origin of doubt, and doubt itself is the cause of failure. Better it is to do something to fight doubt rather than regret doing nothing and be consumed even more by fear."
Godric said the words with conviction with a sense of emotion in his voice. Wyatt looked at his friend and it fully dawned on him that this was no longer the innocent, cheerful farmboy he grew up with, but was now a self-made man who was thrown to the wolves and had survived with the scars to tell the story.
The mood shifted and became gloomy. Godric, sensing the change, immediately stood up and approached his friend.
"Sorry about that. Spending too much time with the elven prince somehow makes you speak as if you're a diplomat, of sorts." Godric jested while Wyatt let out a smile. "Speaking of weapons, I saw your new friends had theirs already equipped. Where's yours?" He asked, curious.
"...It's a complicated story. Follow me." Wyatt replied as he urged Godric to follow him back inside the keep and towards the armory.
The royal armory was a sight to behold. Entering the workplace was as if they were in another world altogether. There, numerous blacksmith apprentices were seen working to perfect their craft, the sound of hammers clashing with metal, precious ores were melted, and almost a dozen of the continent's best workers were there to supervise the entire spectacle.
"Where in the seven hells did they ask me to put it again?" Wyatt muttered to himself as a furnace to his right blew fire and came alive. "This place is too big for my taste, even with my experience working with iron." He continued as they passed by people who carried bundles of charcoal. Minutes later, they spotted a group of workers huddled in a circle. In the middle of the group was a royal guard of great size, who attempted to lift a war hammer off a pedestal.
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"Put your back into it!" A worker shouted out. "What does it look like I'm doing?" The royal guard responded as he continued to struggle with the weapon. A few more attempts and he gave up. "I concede," the guard said. "No wonder he was unstoppable--even his weapon defies logic."
"Nonsense," a man somewhere in his forties spoke out. "The hammer has an enchantment to it, that's all. A marking rune that represents 'binding'. Look here." He explained as he pointed to the rune, barely visible to the naked eye. "It's a marked weapon, all right. I never knew he possessed the talent to create one. The bastard! Even in death, he still finds a way to piss me off."
"Oi! That bastard was my father, old man! Watch it!" Wyatt shouted as soon as he heard the man's words. They all turned to find Wyatt being held back by a worried Godric.
"Wyatt, Wyatt! Now calm down, he didn't mean it!" Godric pleaded and pulled his friend back with all his strength as it seemed as Wyatt was out for blood.
"And who are you supposed to be?" The man asked. "Wyatt Blackwood! Now get out of my way and give me back the hammer!" He shouted. "Blackwood? You're Dale's son?" The man looked disgusted at the idea.
"Of course I am! Who do you think I was?" Wyatt replied. "I thought you were someone else's kid! I've only ever met one person with auburn hair like yours, but I'd rather choose the possibility that you were hers. Imagine what would happen if the Ironclad himself had a kid."
"Stop insulting my father!" Wyatt finally broke free of Godric vice-like grip and managed to get past the workers. Afterward, he held the war hammer's cold handle and easily raised it over his head, shocking and receiving audible gasps from the people who were gathered. Godric called out to his friend but it was too late for Wyatt already swung the hammer down with inhuman speed.
The sound of steel clashing rang throughout the armory, stopping all work. Each person turned to the scene, only to find that the royal guard from earlier had stopped Wyatt's attack using the flat edge of a massive sword, with one palm behind the other end to provide additional support and to ensure that the metal would not bend.
"Woah! You have a mean swing there, young one. You do know that it's not nice to kill someone in the Capital, especially on your first day!" The royal guard jested. Wyatt attempted to raise his hammer again for another swing but was caught off-guard, unable to lift the weapon from the greatsword's touch.
"W-what kind of magic is this?" Wyatt asked, perplexed. "Let him go, Michael. He poses no threat here." The man said as he tapped the guard on the shoulder. "Not until he lets go, Viktor. We need to build a sense of trust first." He then looked at Wyatt. "If you mind, let's all calm down and talk this over, shall we?" Michael said, calmly.
Wyatt hesitated for a moment, but eventually let go of the war hammer, carrying the greatsword along with it which led to a loud thud that caused the stone floor to crack. The royal guard laughed. "What an interesting weapon indeed!" He exclaimed, bewildered. He let go of the greatsword and allowed Wyatt to pick up the war hammer, which easily detached itself from the blade.
"Now that we got that out of the way, how about we introduce ourselves? I'll start. My name is Michael the Protector, first of the Seven. Nice to meet you two." He said as he strapped the greatsword onto his back with ease. Godric compared his voice to that of a long-lost friend. He felt secure around his presence. His armor was different from the rest of the royal guards as his shoulder pads and armguards had a light brown color, while a similar streak of brown also ran through each of his armor's leggings.
"Godric of Rosetown, at your service. You..umm..might already be familiar with my friend, Wyatt Blackwood." He extended his hand which Michael accepted. Godric felt a pulling sensation as his hand approached. His grip was firm, his skin coarse, but the man was gentle. "I've heard tales of your exploits, Godric of Rosetown. Killing the monster that lurked in the caverns of Araphne is no small feat."
"Thanks, but I didn't do it alone. A life was lost that day, and I'll do my best to live on in their memory." Godric replied. "Then whoever's life it was, it was a life well-lived. May they find peace amongst the departed in the gardens of the Mother." Michael replied.
"And you, Wyatt Blackwood." I was still an apprentice of a royal guard when your father earned the title of Ironclad. I was here, defending the city from rebels but tales of your father's selfless deeds reached even our very steps. Rest assured, your father was respected on both sides. Since you are his son, I'd expect no less from you." He said to Wyatt.
"Thank you, sir, and please, call us Godric and Wyatt. Titles don't suit us that well." Wyatt responded, embarrassed.
"I'd beg to differ! Anyway, apologies for what Viktor said earlier. He turned to Viktor, who looked at Wyatt as he tilted his head. "Now that I look at it, you do somewhat look like your father. Yes--the smug look. You are his son, alright." Viktor said, offending Wyatt even more.
"What in the seven hells is your problem?!" Wyatt asked as he pointed at him. "Don't mind him, lad. To put it simply, he and your father were once partners in their youth. Apprentices trained under the same master. I don't know the details myself, but let's just say they had a falling out." Michael attempted to explain.
"Blood was spilled and a few bones were broken along the process, but yes, we could call it a falling out of sorts." Viktor quipped. "Your father and I were seen as prodigies in our youth, but he always craved for more. He grew reckless and I wanted no part of it." He explained.
"Sounds like a different person when compared to the old man that we grew up with," Godric responded as he turned to Wyatt. "Wouldn't you agree? Wonder what happened."
"Me. I happened." Wyatt proclaimed as he pointed to himself. "My father died sacrificing his life so that we could live, and I have no plan on wasting the opportunity he gave us. Insult him one more time and I swear I'll bash your head in, even if I have to go through others before reaching you." He said to Viktor, who laughed out loud.
"Bahahaha!" He laughed out loud. "There it is. The brutal honesty of the Blackwoods," Viktor said as he pointed at Wyatt. "By the Divines, this takes me back." He continued as he then yawned and began to move. "I have to return to my duties. It was nice meeting the two of you. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other more often. Have a lovely day." Viktor then walked slowly outside the armory as the apprentices looked on.
"Well? What are all you idiots staring at?! Get back to work! I don't need to look at your work to tell that it is mediocre at best!" He shouted, prompting the others to return quickly back to training. The armory was again brought back to life as the furnaces were heated up again and smoke filled the room.
"Viktor's a troublesome one. He's a tough one, but deep down he respects those who prove their worth. I've heard tales that your father and he fought almost every time because they disagreed on almost everything, but he respected your father's talent and found his behavior amusing enough to give him the time of the day. A few of their works still exist here in the Capital City." Michael said. Wyatt grew curious after hearing what the royal guard had to say.
"Really? Father's old works still exist? I'd like to see a few, if I may." He asked Michael. "No need to do such a thing. You've already gone and seen some already. This sword was your father's work."
"Your sword, is his work?" Wyatt asked, suddenly amazed by the durability against the hammer's blow. Such a strike earlier would have dented it, and the heavy impact that even cracked the floor would have at least damaged the two weapons, but upon further inspection, he had noticed both were still in fine condition.
"Yes. It belonged to my former teacher, who passed it on to me after retiring. It was created using the combined efforts of Viktor and your father. They had their strengths. Viktor was the creative one and handled the design while your father worked the metal. They say he always had a way of smithing as if blessed by some unnatural being." Michael was about to discuss the topic even further but was cut off as a smaller, royal guard appeared behind him.
"Michael!" The figure shouted, surprising all three of them. "By the--you have to stop doing that, Gabby." He let out a relieved sigh as the lady then playfully jumped around. "Sorry about that, but we have to go. The witnesses are being called to the arena before the duel." She spoke in a fast and energetic tone as she turned to Godric and Wyatt who stared at her, bewildered. "It's quite an exciting affair, really. We haven't had a good fight since that one duel between Raguel and Remiel. Anyway, I'm off. I have to inform the others first. Nice knowing you two!" She smiled at them. Godric and Wyatt swore they did not blink, but she disappeared as if she never existed.
"Yes...so that was Gabriel. Sorry about all of that. She's quite a hassle to look after, but her infectious energy always brightens these halls. She prefers to be called Gabby; saying that 'Gabriel' sounds too serious for her liking. Sir Byronard isn't bothered by it, and the same goes for us." Michael continued. The two friends looked at each other, clueless as to what to say next.
"I think it would be best to proceed to the arena," Wyatt said. "Agreed," Godric responded in return.
"Right. You'll be seeing more...unique personalities around these parts, to be honest," Michael said as he clapped his hands. "Well then! To the arena it is. Follow me please." He continued as they made their way through the massive workshop and continued deeper into the arena, where Wyatt and his company's fates would now be decided between a nobleman and a stranger's dispute.