Chapter 4: The Contest
The soiree continued into the night, the gardens alive with the sounds of laughter, music, and clinking glasses. A string quartet played a lively melody from a raised platform, their instruments weaving a tapestry of sound that floated through the air like a gentle breeze. Servants moved gracefully through the crowd, offering trays of delicacies—roasted meats, spiced pastries, and goblets of sparkling wine that shimmered like liquid gold under the lantern light.
Garrett stood near the edge of the clearing, holding a glass of fruit juice he had no intention of drinking. He watched as nobles mingled, their conversations a blend of politics, gossip, and thinly veiled flattery. The Solarion loomed in the background, its golden frame a constant reminder of his inadequacy. He couldn’t shake the feeling that everyone was watching him, waiting for him to stumble.
Cassia, on the other hand, was the picture of poise and grace. She stood near the center of the clearing, her hazelnut-brown hair catching the light as she conversed with a group of nobles. Her amber eyes sparkled with amusement, but her smile never reached them. She was a master of the game, effortlessly navigating the complexities of noble etiquette.
“Lady Cassia,” one of the young lords said, bowing deeply. “Would you honor me with a dance?”
Cassia smiled politely, her tone warm but firm. “Thank you for the offer, but I must decline. Perhaps another time.”
The young lord hesitated, then bowed again and retreated, his disappointment evident but his pride intact. Cassia’s rejections were always graceful, leaving no room for offense or resentment.
As the night wore on, the atmosphere began to shift. The music grew louder, the laughter more raucous, and the wine flowed freely among the adults. The nobles, emboldened by drink and the absence of immediate consequences, grew more daring in their behavior. It was then that Prince Lucien Horus Solarius III decided to make his move.
The prince had been sulking in a corner, his cherubic face twisted into a scowl as he picked at a plate of sweets. He was bored, and when Prince Lucien was bored, trouble was never far behind. He stood abruptly, his golden robes swishing around him, and clapped his hands to get the crowd’s attention.
“Lords and ladies!” he called, his high-pitched voice cutting through the noise. “I propose a contest to liven things up!”
The crowd turned to him, their curiosity piqued. Lord Valerius Magnus, the God-Emperor’s delegate, stepped forward, his expression a mix of concern and exasperation. “Your Highness, perhaps this is not the time—”
“Nonsense!” the prince interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “What better time than now? I propose a hunt! Whoever can bring me the head of a Ramvarg will receive a generous reward from my personal treasury!”
The crowd murmured in surprise. The Ramvarg was a fearsome creature native to Fenris Lupus—a direwolf with the horns of a ram, sharp hooves capable of slashing through flesh, and a wild mane that made it look like a beast straight out of legend. It was a symbol of strength and resilience, revered by the people of Fenris Lupus even after their conversion to Solastrism.
Lord Valerius cleared his throat, his tone carefully measured. “Your Highness, while your enthusiasm is... admirable, the Ramvarg is considered sacred by the people of this world. Hunting one could be seen as disrespectful.”
The prince’s face twisted in disgust. “Sacred? To whom? The only true faith is the worship of my house and my father, the God-Emperor. These... creatures are nothing more than beasts.”
The crowd fell silent, the tension palpable. Garrett clenched his fists, his frustration boiling over. The Ramvarg was more than just a creature—it was a symbol of Fenris Lupus’s heritage, a reminder of the world’s wild and untamed beauty. To see it dismissed so casually was infuriating.
Before anyone else could intervene, a deep, calm voice cut through the silence. “Your Highness, if I may offer an alternative.”
All eyes turned to the speaker. It was Duke Dragan Velmuth Draconis, the head of House Draconis. He was a tall, imposing figure, his presence commanding attention even in a crowd of powerful nobles. His eyes were striking—red sclera with black, cybernetic pupils that seemed to pierce through anyone who met his gaze. His left arm was a marvel of engineering, a sleek, iron prosthetic that gleamed faintly under the lantern light. He wore a cloak draped in House Draconis colors—royal purple and gunmetal black—its edges embroidered with intricate patterns resembling dragon scales.
The crowd parted as Dragan stepped forward, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He was a man who exuded calm and control, but there was an undercurrent of menace beneath his composed exterior. His ambition was no secret—he sought to lead House Draconis to the pinnacle of power, even if it meant stepping over the bodies of his rivals.
“A hunt for the Ramvarg would indeed be... unwise,” Dragan said, his voice smooth and measured. “But a contest of might, using the Ignis Drones, would be both entertaining and a fitting demonstration of skill.”
The crowd murmured in approval, the tension easing slightly. The prince considered the idea, his scowl slowly turning into a smirk. “Very well. A melee it is. But I want it to be... entertaining.”
Lord Valerius looked uneasy, his gaze flicking toward Lord Alden. “My lord, this could be seen as a diplomatic incident. The Ignis Drones are military assets, and their use here—”
“Is perfectly acceptable,” Lord Alden interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. “The drones will be under strict supervision, and the contest will be conducted with the utmost care. Besides, it will be an excellent demonstration of our guests’ skills.”
The crowd fell silent, surprised by Lord Alden’s agreement. House Draconis and House Fenralis had a long and complicated history—sometimes bitter rivals, sometimes reluctant allies. For Lord Alden to agree so readily to Dragan’s proposal was unusual, to say the least.
Dragan’s lips curled into a faint smile, his cybernetic eyes glinting with amusement. “I’m glad we see eye to eye, Lord Alden.”
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Lord Alden’s expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—respect, perhaps, or caution.
The prince grinned, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Now, who among you is brave enough to face them?”
The crowd hesitated, the nobles exchanging uneasy glances. No one wanted to be the first to volunteer, not when the stakes were so high.
Cassia stepped forward, her amber eyes calm but resolute. “I’ll go first.”
Before she could take another step, Lord Alden’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. “No.”
Cassia turned to her father, her expression a mix of surprise and defiance. “Father, I can handle this.”
Lord Alden’s gaze was stern, his voice unwavering. “This is not your fight, Cassia. Stand down.”
For a moment, it seemed like Cassia might argue, but she quickly relented, stepping back with a curt nod. Lord Alden turned to the crowd, his presence commanding silence. “I will face the drones.”
The crowd erupted into applause, their admiration for Lord Alden evident. Garrett felt a surge of pride, but also a pang of worry. The drones were no joke, and even his father could be in danger.
The open field outside Wolfhold was alive with anticipation, the grandstands packed with nobles and onlookers eager to witness the spectacle. The Ignis Drones had arrived from the Solarius Radiance, their black-and-gold frames gleaming ominously under the twilight sky.
The Ignis Drones were not as heavily armored as the Solarions, nor were they as intelligent, but they made up for it with sheer firepower. They were the bane of the empire’s enemies and the keepers of its order, their reputation as fearsome as their appearance. The crowd watched in awe as the drones took their positions, their movements precise and mechanical.
Garrett felt a chill run down his spine. The drones were intimidating, even from a distance. He couldn’t imagine facing one in combat, let alone multiple.
The crowd buzzed with excitement, many expecting to see the legendary Fenrir Lupus Rex, the mech that had become synonymous with House Fenralis’s strength and valor. Its absence, however, was noted almost immediately.
Duke Dragan Velmuth Draconis had already summoned his mech, the Vhaerax Dominus, and it stood at the edge of the field like a living nightmare. The mech was a grotesque masterpiece, its frame constructed from the bones of a dead cosmic dragon. The skeletal structure was massive, its ribs forming the chest cavity, its spine serving as the central support, and its skull—complete with jagged teeth and hollow eye sockets—forming the head of the mech. The bones were held together by necromantic magic, glowing faintly with an eerie, otherworldly light. The dragon’s essence, though long dead, seemed to linger, giving the mech an almost sentient quality. Its mechanical components—engines, hydraulics, and weaponry—were grafted onto the skeletal frame, creating a fusion of organic and mechanical terror. It was a monument to House Draconis’s ambition and its willingness to harness even death itself for power.
Duke Dragan stood in the open cockpit, his cybernetic eyes scanning the field with cold precision. Lord Valerius Magnus, the God-Emperor’s delegate, stood on an elevated platform in the grandstand, his hands clasped behind his back as he observed the preparations.
“A bold move, summoning your mech so soon,” Lord Valerius remarked, his voice carrying a note of caution. “One might think you’re eager to prove something.”
Dragan’s lips curled into a faint smile, though his eyes remained cold. “Eagerness has little to do with it, Lord Valerius. The Vhaerax Dominus is a tool, much like the Fenrir Lupus Rex. Though I must admit, I expected Lord Alden to summon his own mech for this occasion.”
Lord Valerius raised an eyebrow. “As did I. The Fenrir Lupus Rex is a symbol of House Fenralis’s strength. Its absence is... curious.”
Dragan’s gaze shifted to where Lord Alden stood, his daughter Cassia at his side. “The Fenrir Lupus Rex is more than a symbol,” he said, his tone thoughtful. “It is a relic of their house’s history. It crushed the Steelstorm Rebellion, faced cosmic dragons, and even defeated Nyx’thul, the space kraken. For Lord Alden to forgo its use... it speaks volumes.”
Lord Valerius frowned. “You admire him.”
Dragan’s smile widened, though it lacked warmth. “Admiration is too strong a word. Respect, perhaps. Lord Alden is a man of principle, and principles are rare in our world. Then again, principles can also be a weakness.”
Lord Valerius nodded slowly. “And yet, he risks himself in this manner. Flesh against steel. It’s foolhardy.”
“Risk is the price of greatness,” Dragan replied, his voice steady. “And Lord Alden has always been willing to pay that price.”
Cassia stood beside her father, her amber eyes scanning the field. The Ignis Drones were due to arrive at any moment, and the tension in the air was palpable. She turned to Lord Alden, her voice calm but insistent.
“Father, I will have the squires and mechanics prepare to tune your machine. The Fenrir Lupus Rex will be ready within the hour.”
Lord Alden shook his head, his expression resolute. “There will be no need.”
Before Cassia could protest, he raised his hand, and the air around him shimmered with a golden light. The crowd gasped as the Lupus Tyrant materialized, its massive blade glowing with an otherworldly sheen. The greatsword was as tall as Lord Alden himself, its base wide and blunt, tapering to a sharp, triangular tip. Runes etched along its length pulsed with golden light, and the air around it crackled with energy. It was a weapon of legend, a relic of House Fenralis’s storied past.
The crowd murmured in surprise, their excitement giving way to disbelief. Many had been eager to see the Fenrir Lupus Rex, its towering frame and retrofitted armor a testament to House Fenralis’s ingenuity and strength. To see Lord Alden forgo its use and instead summon the Lupus Tyrant was unexpected, to say the least.
Cassia’s eyes widened, but she said nothing. She knew better than to question her father’s decisions.
The Ignis Drones arrived moments later, their black-and-gold frames gleaming ominously under the twilight sky. They took their positions, their luminite cannons humming with energy. The crowd fell silent as the drones turned their attention to Lord Alden, their crimson accents glowing brighter.
The first drone fired, a burst of luminite energy streaking toward him. Lord Alden raised the Lupus Tyrant, and a barrier of golden light erupted from the blade, deflecting the blast with ease. House Fenralis was renowned for its fortification and barrier magic, and Lord Alden’s mastery of it was unparalleled. The energy dissipated harmlessly, and he moved.
His fighting style was a blend of majesty and brutality, like the cosmos itself—beautiful and destructive in equal measure. He swung the Lupus Tyrant in wide, sweeping arcs, the blade cutting through the air with a deafening roar. Each movement was precise, deliberate, and fluid, as though he were dancing with the sword. The drones fired again, but he deflected their attacks with ease, the barrier magic shimmering around him like a second skin.
When he struck, it was with devastating force. The Lupus Tyrant cleaved through the first drone’s arm, sending it crashing to the ground. He spun around, the blade trailing golden light, and brought it down in a crushing blow that split the drone in two. Sparks flew as the machine collapsed, its systems overloading.
The remaining drones attacked in unison, their cannons firing in rapid succession. Lord Alden moved like a tempest, his movements a blur of golden light and steel. He deflected one blast, sidestepped another, and then lunged forward, driving the Lupus Tyrant through the chest of a second drone. The machine exploded in a shower of sparks, its core obliterated.
The final drone unleashed a barrage of energy blasts, forcing Lord Alden to retreat. He raised the Lupus Tyrant in a defensive stance, the barrier magic flaring brightly as it absorbed the onslaught. For a moment, it seemed as though the sword itself was fighting back, its runes glowing with an intense, golden light. With a roar, Lord Alden charged forward, the Lupus Tyrant blazing like a star. He brought the sword down in a final, devastating strike, cleaving the drone in two and ending the contest.
The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers echoing across the field. Lord Alden stood amidst the wreckage, the Lupus Tyrant resting on his shoulder. His breathing was heavy, but his expression was one of quiet triumph.
Prince Lucien, however, was not cheering. A scrap of the Ignis drone’s head had landed near his grandstand, startling him and his attendants. His cherubic face was contorted with fear, his hands trembling as he stared at the smoldering wreckage. The sight of Lord Alden’s raw power had shaken him to his core, and the faint smell of urine wafted from his royal breeches. The lords and ladies around him exchanged uneasy glances, their respect for the prince diminishing with each passing moment.
Garrett watched from the grandstand, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts. As the crowd dispersed, he couldn’t help but reflect on the absurdity of it all. In his past life, he had been an astrophysicist, a cheerful nihilist who quoted Carl Sagan and Michio Kaku with reckless abandon. He had marveled at the vastness of the cosmos, the sheer insignificance of humanity in the grand scheme of things. And now, here he was, in a world where mechs were powered by necromancy and cosmic dragons were harvested for their bones.
“Ah, the universe,” he muttered to himself, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “You’ve got a sick sense of humor. First, you give me a front-row seat to the wonders of the cosmos, and then you drop me into this glorified soap opera with swords and mechs. Bravo. Truly, a masterpiece of existential trolling.”
He glanced at the wreckage of the Ignis Drones, then at his father, who stood tall and unyielding. “And you, Dad,” he thought, “you’re like a walking paradox. Majestic and brutal, like a supernova. Beautiful, but capable of wiping out entire star systems. No pressure, right?”