Princess Eldira's challenge was impulsive and perhaps intended to showcase her prowess. Although Ryan couldn't be sure why she was so eager to duel, he accepted without hesitation.
For one, with the Princess herself issuing the honor duel, there was little reason to decline. And another? Ryan had grown tired of the arrogant attitudes displayed by the high elves in recent days.
So, surrounded by tens of thousands of high elf soldiers and dozens of human officers, Ryan and Princess Eldira stepped into the high elf encampment's thirty-meter-wide arena, a circular clearing in the inner city.
"Both parties may use their own weapons," Princess Eldira stated with a chilly tone, outlining the rules of the honor duel. "A strike on an opponent's arm counts for one point, a strike to the body counts for two points, and a strike to the head counts for three points. The first to accumulate three points or incapacitate the other wins. Understood, King of Knights?"
Ryan raised a hand with a mild smile. "Just one question. If we're using real weapons, how do we avoid injuring each other?"
The high elf soldiers and nobles nearby burst into laughter at his concern.
"Hahaha! Even humans can get scared?"
"Don't worry, I'll hold back," Princess Eldira said dismissively, her sea-green eyes fixed on Ryan with a hint of disdain. "And besides, as a king of knights, don't you know how to control yourself?"
"Good." Ryan grinned. He had been waiting for that assurance.
Both entered the arena, ready for the honor duel. Princess Eldira held her sword aloft, whispering a quiet invocation. "Fortune favors the brave."
"I am the sacred hammer, the light piercing the darkness," Ryan answered, drawing the Vengeful Goddess, its platinum flames and blue light illuminating its edge and casting an ethereal glow around him.
Many of the high elf nobles continued to chuckle, finding the human knight's grandiose declaration pretentious. But among the veterans, those with battlefield experience, the atmosphere changed. Some even began to fall silent, feeling a strange sense of unease about the human's aura.
Beside them, Aetheryon, the Warden of Eryrs, subtly drew his sword and took a half-step forward, prepared to intervene if necessary.
The duel began, and the two took measured steps into the arena. Standing just over average in height for elves, Princess Eldira still had to look up slightly to meet Ryan's gaze. She moved cautiously, taking two lateral steps before lowering her sword and darting forward with a shout.
"For Tiranoc and Ulthuan!"
Eldira's blade gleamed as it arced downwards, her target being Ryan's wrist. A quick, silver blur.
Ryan sidestepped smoothly, his Vengeful Goddess flashing downward to intercept Eldira's sword mid-swing. Eldira gasped as the force of his parry nearly wrenched the hilt from her grip.
But Ryan's assault was only beginning.
He advanced, unleashing a flurry of sweeping strikes with his glowing blade. Eldira staggered backward, her movements growing desperate as she struggled to maintain her guard. Each clash pushed her back, her grip slipping as she tried to counter the overwhelming power behind each blow.
Ryan spun, his sword a blur of white and blue light as he dealt a controlled, sweeping strike that finally disarmed Eldira, sending her sword spinning through the air.
In one fluid motion, Ryan flipped the Vengeful Goddess to his left hand, reaching out with his right to snatch a fan from Eldira's belt and snapping it open.
A split second later, the fan's frame pressed firmly against Eldira's throat.
"Is this all, then?" he asked in a quiet, mocking tone. "I believe that means I've won, Princess. According to Asur custom, I'm permitted to declare victory, am I not?"
Silence fell over the camp. Nobles and soldiers alike gaped in stunned disbelief. Only the human officers broke the silence with cheers, clapping and calling out in praise of Ryan's victory. Even the stoic Julius allowed himself a rare smile, proud of his brother-in-law's performance.
Aetheryon, his sword halfway drawn, slid it quietly back into its sheath, his expression unreadable.
"No… that can't be!" Eldira stammered, her face pale as she stepped back. It had taken him less than ten moves! "Your swordsmanship… it can't possibly rival that of the Warden."
"So this is how Asur react to defeat?" Ryan taunted lightly, letting the fan fall to his side, his gaze laced with contempt. "When they win, they boast. When they lose, they deny? I experienced this once with the forest elves and am now seeing the same in the high elves."
"I didn't deny it!" Eldira insisted, her voice wavering as she finally bowed her head. "I concede. You win, human."
A curt huff escaped Ryan's lips. He recognized her deflection; conceding defeat wasn't the same as acknowledging it. Still, high elves were not quite as notoriously shameless as their woodland cousins, so he decided to let it slide.
"I understand that, traditionally, an honor duel involves a prize," Ryan said thoughtfully, closing the fan with a snap. "This will do for mine."
"But… that fan was a gift from the Warden," Eldira protested, her hand reflexively clutching the sword she'd retrieved from the ground. "Couldn't you choose something else?"
"A loss is a loss," came Tyrion's voice as he strode into the arena, flanked by a group of silver-helmed knights. His gaze on Eldira was sympathetic, though resigned. "Give him the fan, Eldira. I'll gift you another later."
Mocking whispers began to spread among the high elf nobles.
"Just as I thought, humans can only win with tricks."
"It must have been beginner's luck. Someone ought to challenge him again!"
"Win in swords, but lose in archery! That way, at least it's even."
Beside them, Tyrion was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the murmuring of his people. Although impressed by Ryan's skill, he now realized he'd have to reassess the strength of this "King of Knights." Perhaps Lileath hadn't chosen him for nothing.
Ryan and Sulia exchanged proud smiles as he rejoined her.
"You were amazing, my dear! Besting the princess in seconds, then claiming her fan as a prize. Tell me," Sulia asked with a playful glint in her eye, "are you particularly fond of it?"
Ryan chuckled, passing the fan to her. "I claimed it for you, my lady. I can't let this be all for nothing, now, can I?"
Sulia accepted it with a graceful nod, understanding Ryan's gesture as more of a statement than anything else. Nearby, the elven nobles continued murmuring until a haughty voice rang out.
"I am Prince Elarian of Eryrs, and I challenge you, human, to a contest of archery," he declared, stepping forward. "Unless, of course, you concede?"
"Fair enough." Ryan shrugged. "Though I lack formal archery training, my men are skilled enough. Bertrand?"
"Gladly, my lord!" Sir Bertrand, head of the Old Guard, strode forward, bow slung over his shoulder and carrying his enchanted Bow of Taal. With a stern expression, he faced Prince Elarian, who was already sneering.
Their challenge began simply enough, with both men shooting five arrows from fifty paces. Both hit the center target.
"One hundred meters!" Elarian called.
Another five arrows each—all bullseyes.
"Two hundred meters!"
Bertrand pulled his bowstring taut, sending each arrow whistling across the field to find its mark, one after another.
"Bullseyes, every one."
"Two hundred and fifty meters!"
And still, Bertrand hit every bullseye, outshooting Elarian by a wide margin. As the contest reached three hundred and fifty meters, the high elf prince couldn't land a single arrow on the target, while Bertrand was nailing nine out of ten.
Even Tyrion was speechless. This human—this Bertrand—had just humiliated one of their finest archers in front of an entire elven army.
In the ensuing silence, the humans erupted in cheers. Their jubilant cries filled the encampment, as high elves looked on, some with anger, others with something closer to awe.
Ryan clapped Bertrand on the shoulder, grinning as he turned to address Tyrion. "So, Lord Tyrion, do we now have permission to judge the prowess of Asur's warriors?"
The Warden of Ulthuan forced a strained smile, trying to salvage the situation. "Indeed, King Ryan. You certainly have the right."
What had been meant as an exhibition of elven superiority had transformed into a showcase of Bretonnia's strength. Tyrion could do nothing but wave the musicians forward to conclude the event, the brass band playing a hasty rendition of "The Phoenix Banner Will Not Fall."
As the gathering dispersed, Ryan left with a triumphant grin, and in a final act of mischief, left a small, power-infused crystal hidden in an inconspicuous spot in the inner city. He now had a teleportation marker.
---
Most had assumed the gathering would conclude with the army's immediate march. Instead, two weeks passed, and November drew on without a single move. The high elf War Council continued to bicker endlessly over who would lead, how to deploy, and which units would be stationed where, leaving Ryan and Fulgrim growing increasingly impatient.
Meanwhile, at a small palace on the outskirts of Lothern's outer district, the masked shadow communed with a flickering figure within a mirror.
"The Pretender Court," the sorcerer-king sneered, "have they even devised a plan?"
"Not yet, Your Majesty," the shadow answered, its voice laced with sarcasm. "I've checked time and again. The council's gotten nowhere."
"Interesting," Malekith replied, his tone cold. "Just as my mother predicted. Without external pressure, these so-called nobles will never unite."
"Does the Queen Mother have news?" the shadow inquired humbly.
Malekith's sneer deepened. "Morathi's connections run far deeper than even I know. Even you won't pry into them."
"Yes, sire," the shadow whispered, submitting meekly.
Malekith's silent gaze was thoughtful, and finally, he spoke. "Enough waiting. We've no time to waste on these weak-blooded cousins."
"The Fearmonger and his legions will attack Nagarythe and the Shattered Isles from the north. The undead allies will invade from the sea, with Lord Kraken himself joining."
Turning to the shadow, Malekith's final instructions were ominous. "The moment they produce a battle plan, if they ever do, bring it to me."
The shadow's voice was shaking with excitement and fear. "Yes, my king. I will not fail."
Once more, Ulthuan would face the wrath of Malekith, the true king.
_________________________
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