"Hmpf, whatever happened, this does it," the duke of Aset claimed, stomping his feet.
That sent stinking mud flying everywhere, which sure got him the attention he wanted.
Welf wiped a sizeable chunk off his face, too.
"I don't care if the kid cheated or got himself kidnapped," the noble said. "This leaves me as the only candidate to lead our forces."
Now, those words started a lot of murmurs.
"Let's not waste any more time. The nomads are coming."
Of course, not everyone agreed.
"The nomads aren't the only problem," Helena interjected. "These disappearances—"
It was easy to tell how hard she tried to act calm—but still failed. Her lips trembled, and so did her fists. The king was her brother after all, and nobody knew what happened to him.
Welf wanted to help—and well, to defend his friend's honor while at it.
"First of all, Konrad didn't cheat." He put his feet down. "He had no reason when you weren't even close to winning. Second—this is the queen's decision."
The murmurs got much louder.
"The queen?" the man repeated. "I don't remember Kasserlane ever having one. And if we'd accept her as a regent, she'd have to listen to the dukes."
"Accept?"
The blacksmith crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow.
"You're a duke serving the king—not dictating the terms of his rule."
"That I am. So was my father and many generations before him," Lord Schwertburg said. "And you? Some tribesman who can spin a sword."
"He's Lord Halstadt's right-hand man," Helena interrupted, stepping into the crossfire.
It didn't do much.
Sparks were flying between those two, neither of them backing down. Welf and the duke both towered over most witnesses around—and they gathered fast.
Only Kade was taller in the entire swamp, standing firm by his side.
Well, he'd much rather Liliske were standing in his place.
Where the hell did that delusional little ball of destruction disappear again, though?
And how come nobody else noticed that she was missing?
For some reason, he wasn't worried about her as much as he was about Konrad, but still.
Sometimes—only on rare occasions—he'd consider if she might've been the very thing she claimed to be. But that would have been too terrifying.
He had enough on his plate as it is.
At least the crowd seemed to be on his side so far. The duke didn't like that.
"Didn't win, you say?" Lord Scwertburg asked, taking a menacing step forward.
He was a man of might and power in full armor and an army behind him.
Not that Welf didn't have one. He had Konrad's men-at-arms, still eager to prove themselves.
"Try counting your men, My Lord," the blacksmith said. "Before the incident, we took out thirty-six of your soldiers, only losing eight of ours. So if the winner should lead the armies—"
"That winner of yours isn't here," the duke pointed out. "And I counted sixty-four still standing."
Welf's eyes widened. He counted his men earlier, too—reaching the same numbers.
He wasn't Konrad. That guy was scary when it came to math, but the blacksmith didn't connect the dots right away. He didn't take into account that the Rogue Rejects started with seventy-two.
As every team had a hundred, they were at a disadvantage, but could only blame themselves.
By the original rules, when a battle ended in a draw, the team with the most soldiers remaining became the winner. That's why they had to take that risky attack—and it was working.
But it wasn't working well enough.
"We tied, but the fact remains. I'm here, and your duke wannabe isn't," Lord Schwertburg noted.
"Calling it a tie when we took out four times as many as you did," Bor complained, and he wasn't the only one. The disgruntled muttering got louder, but the rules were rules.
"We can decide who'll lead the army when we have one," Helena interrupted again.
She pushed back both sides, creating a small clearing in the middle.
"If any of us can disappear the same way the king—or Konrad did—electing leaders is meaningless. First, we must get to the bottom of this. What if we can still save them?"
"Besides," Vargas entered the fray, "I know Lord Konrad well. I was the one who discovered him."
The duke shot him an ugly glance, but the old schemer wasn't intimidated.
"He has the blood and talent of the Halstadt house," he continued. "People know him as the Prodigy of Haiten and a dragonslayer. He learned magic in record time—"
"What are you getting at, Captain?!" the noble snapped, his hand trembling on his pommel.
Vargas paused for a smirk, looking cold and calculating as always.
Trusting him wasn't Welf's strong suit, but the thought of him as an enemy terrified him.
"My Lord," the captain said. "Let's assume whoever kidnapped Konrad did it because he was to lead us. And they got him despite all the merits I have listed. Do you want to take his place?"
The duke's mouth opened, but no sound came out.
He took a step back, scowling and rubbing his jaw, and even Welf could see the wheels turning.
"Do you think my artifacts couldn't protect me from whatever did this?" the noble asked after a while. His trembling fingers reached inside his breastplate, clutching something.
Wasn't magic and artifacts banned from the tournament, though?!
"I can't, in good conscience, say that they would," Vargas said, his voice low for dramatic effect.
"And the Silver Mage disappeared, too," Welf added, suppressing a smirk.
The big old duke wasn't as brave as he wanted people to think he was.
"Right. This is a reason for concern," he said in the end. "We must investigate before we do anything hasty. The armies can assemble and march without a supreme commander, too."
Welf counted that as a victory, no matter how small.
But now the real question remained. Where the hell was Konrad?
What happened to him? And was he even still alive?
Liliske said he was, but then she disappeared, too. Not the usual collapsing—she was gone.
"Where do we start?" the blacksmith asked, looking around in the crowd.
If there were any traces before, this crowd must have trampled all over them by now.
"Search the area again?" Bor offered, but if it were that simple, they wouldn't be in this situation.
"We must contact the Red Mage," the duke said. "Or the Church, if they are still willing to aid us. None of us has magic. What can we even do against a sorcerer that can pull this off?"
Not that there was a guarantee that those wouldn't all disappear, but that was a start.
At least now, Lord Schwertburg was more concerned about his safety than growing his power.
"I guess searching it is, then," Welf muttered, taking an uncertain step.
And that was as far as he'd gotten when a bright light blinded him and everyone around.
His hand flew to cover his eyes, his sword already in the other.
Sorcerers or not, he wouldn't go down without a fight—even if he only had a practice blade.
But there was nobody to fight here, not yet.
Only a friend standing in the middle of this eternal brightness.
One he was looking for, but didn't expect to find so soon.
Konrad stood in the same spot he'd disappeared from, clutching a gnarled poplar staff.