The Noble Way to Shape Public Perception

[22.03.1624]

Sparks flew, ascending in a cascade from the enlivened edge of a steel blade. Metal hissed as Levi met his viscount's blade with his own. Sweat stung at his eyes. Chest a-heaving, the earl grunted as he pushed back against his foe, reaching to seize the larger man. Fingers curled around a taut leather strap as Levi pulled, dragging Lancelot into his smothering embrace.

The viscount retaliated with savage brutality, striking his liege in the guts with such force that his gleaming gauntlet blurred. Steel fist met cuirass. Levi's breath hitched from the blow, yet he did not relinquish his hold. Another blow struck true. And another.

Anger flared in the transmigrator's gaze. He snarled, withdrawing his sword arm before delivering a blow to Lancelot's face, sword yet in hand. Clumsily, the viscount parried the first strike.

The second found its mark.

Levi pushed his advantage, advancing upon his stumbling mentor with predatory intent. He raised both arms before cleaving at the older man's right shoulder. His blade ricocheted off Lancelot's pauldron, yet the force of the blow transmitted through. The older man staggered another step before steadying himself and catching the follow-up strike with his blade. More sparks flew, and amidst the fleeting clarity of mind, the roar of the onlooking crowd entered Levi's ears.

Lancelot's battle cry was the lone warning Levi received before the stockier man charged at him. Shoulder met gut, and for fleeting moments, the earl was airborne. Upon his return to earth, he found his footing uncertain. Levi stumbled to the left to evade Lancelot's falling sword, yet it was not enough: Blade met helm. There was a flash of pain, and quickly, Levi's vision began to swim.

Pulling on weeks of experience, the earl blinked his eyes clear and caught himself upon the wooden fence that encircled the pit. Another pained grunt escaped him as his viscount muscle-dense mass slammed into him from behind. Steel and wood alike creaked as Lancelot, resolute to emerge victorious once more, pushed, his feet carving furrows in the dark loam.

Again, James snarled as he freed his right arm, raining blows upon his opponent's helmet with the pommel of his sword. A pang of annoyance lanced through him as the viscount thought to do the same. Steel fist met helm. Levi's vision blurred. The earl did not relent, returning blow for blow; swiftly, the match did adopt a rhythmic cadence as the noblemen exchanged strikes.

*bang*

*bang*

*bang*

*bang*

*bang*

The crowd erupted at the spectacle. The two most powerful men in the province pummeling each other like common thugs was a sight few had expected. The jeers swelled, and the calls for violence spread like a foul contagion. Then came a loud creak from the fence bearing the weight of the duelling men: Deadwood screamed as it was shorn along its grain.

The entangled pair stumbled out of the fight pit. Levi's back touched the earth and, in that moment, the battle was over.

The earl had lost.

.

.

.

For a long moment, Levi simply lay there, spent. Lancelot rose first, patting his liege's chest plate to rouse him. The earl groaned as he rose. With a hiss, he unfastened his helm. A refreshed exhale escaped him as the cool air touched his sweaty skin. Bruised and sporting a split lip, the earl turned to face his similarly battered viscount. For a moment, they simply regarded one another, heedless of the jubilant crowd in the background.

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Then, suddenly, the pair erupted into laughter, chuckling as they clasped hands.

"Well fought, My Liege," Lancelot declared as they departed the arena.

"Aye," spake Levi. With a mirthful grin, he turned and waved at the knights, militiamen and commonfolk gathered. The crowd once again roared in excitement, their approval clear as day. The earl's gaze swept over to the distant stands to regard a collection of familiar faces. Ser Carter, Javi, Lady Junita, Miss Jin, Ser Mannon, Madam Eliza, Malina. Even Lord Aden and the royal pair graced the assembly, though disguised in armour and veils, respectively. Levi's eyes met Iris's, and for a brief span, they locked in silent communion.

The earl's grin widened as the princess folded her arms and turned aside, petulant. Chuckling softly, he turned his attention back to his viscount. "Aye," he said again.

"Well fought."

***

[23.03.1624 ]

Verily, it was early today, and Levi stood in the centre of a large, well-lit chamber clad merely in a silk shirt and woollen hose. His feet were bare and his inky mane was tamed by a single length of crimson yarn. The floor beneath him was covered with a vast linen sheet adorned with a finely wrought map of the lands surrounding Faywyn and its terrain. Round wooden blocks with lengthy handles of differing colours were strewn about with deliberate intent.

"Levi," Aden spoke as he removed his shoes and entered the chamber. The duke's gaze traversed the battle array the earl was mulling over, before flickering to settle on his bruised face.

"Good morrow, Father," Levi said with a grunt.

"You are up early today," the duke commented. "Anything the matter?"

"Couldn't sleep. Everything hurts."

Aden chuckled. "You'll get used to it," he said as he came to stand beside Levi. "If the pain is too much, why not send for some poppy milk from the apothecary?"

"Nay," the earl shook his head. "I must keep my wits about me. Eliza's spies have brought ill tidings this morn: The Lion has issued commands for his host to set forth upon the morrow. We must make ready."

"...That is much sooner than we anticipated," the duke spoke with a furrowed brow. "At this rate, the field fortifications shall not be completed before the foe does arrive."

"I am aware," Levi grumbled. "It appears Tristan grew impatient and chose to advance ahead of his baggage train, assured that the rest would join before his men began to starve. A risk, indeed, but a risk worth undertaking."

"...So, what stratagem has my prodigious son devised now to deal with this matter?" the duke inquired, his countenance expectant. Levi turned to face the older man; despite the weariness that lay heavy upon him, a mirthful snort escaped his nostrils. The duke merely raised a single brow in response.

"What is it you find amusing?"

"'Nothing."

Yet smiling still, Levi redirected his gaze to the map beneath his feet. "Still, there is but one road connecting Faywyn to Ricos, fit for an army to traverse with speed," he stated. "All others are but game trails or ill-maintained dirt paths, is it not so?"

"Aye," Aden nodded.

"Well, if this map is correct, for a stretch of miles upon leaving Ricos, and yet more before they reach Faywyn, Tristan's host shall march alongside the Strega. During that portion of their journey, how distant from the riverbank would the Lion's forces be?"

Aden thought for a moment before replying. "...Merely a few score paces. Why do you ask?"

Levi's smile widened. "The Codfather is seaworthy once more," he said. "What do you say we go shoot some fish in a barrel?"

The duke arched a brow in response, visibly confused.