Chapter 11: The Duke's Summit
The sun rose over Durell Manor like a sovereign claiming its domain, casting long golden rays across the dew-kissed rooftops of the noble estate. Red-tiled spires gleamed in the light, and the stained-glass windows of the western tower shimmered with fragments of blue and emerald. Smoke spiraled lazily from tall chimney stacks, carrying the scent of fresh bread, lavender polish, and forged steel.
Servants had already begun their daily routines. Stableboys groomed obsidian-coated stallions with braided manes, while kitchen hands moved in swift rhythms through the courtyard gardens—harvesting herbs and plucking tomatoes still warm from the sun.
On the estate's southern balcony, Elias von Durell stood motionless, arms crossed over a royal-blue tunic embroidered with golden lions. His gaze wandered past the cypress treeline that marked the border of the Durell lands, then up toward the distant hills, where banners of neighboring Houses fluttered against the sky. A summons had gone out—a formal gathering of the Duchy's noble families.
Behind him, Lady Rhianna—the eldest maidservant and matron of the household—adjusted the set of his collar.
"The tailors have outdone themselves," she muttered approvingly, running her hands across the silver-threaded edges. "You'll look every inch a future Grand Duke."
Elias smirked. "And is that what I am now? Future?"
"That, young master, depends on how you handle what's to come."
He exhaled slowly. "The other Dukes are circling. This 'summit' is a political hunt in disguise."
"Then make them believe you carry a sharper spear."
She left him with that and retreated.
---
The Grand Hall of House Durell had been converted for the summit. A circular table of darkstone oak dominated the center, its surface inlaid with a glowing map of the western provinces. Around it, twelve seats—one for each High Duke or their appointed heir—faced each other in cold scrutiny.
Banners had been hung from every marble column: violet flames for House Selvarin, thunderhawks for House Brelmire, the black-and-red phoenix of House Vaylor, and of course, the golden lion of House Durell.
Elias entered with deliberate poise, flanked by two of his household knights—Sir Alric and Dame Verene. His entrance was silent, but noticed. Several of the noble representatives already seated turned their heads.
From across the table, a smirking young man in emerald robes stood. Lord Callen Vaylor.
"So the Durell cub arrives. Did the mirror teach you how to walk like royalty, or just how to bed them?"
Elias didn't break stride. "One teaches power. The other teaches patience. I suppose you've mastered neither."
There was a scattered chuckle. Lord Vaylor flushed.
Elias took his seat at the head reserved for his House and surveyed the faces around him.
To his left, a stoic woman in gray plate—Lady Meryn Brelmire, commander of the Western Legions. Across from her, Duke Farrelin of the coast, eyes watery from too much wine. The others ranged from cunning youth to bitter elders, each carrying years of rivalry and scandal.
A servant rang a crystal bell.
"By the order of the King's Regent," intoned a herald, "this Ducal Summit is convened. Agenda: trade renegotiations, border defense, and... the ascension of House Durell's heir."
Murmurs.
Elias sat straighter.
Lord Callen spoke first. "With all respect, the title of Grand Duke should not be inherited by a boy still wet from academy blood rituals."
Lady Meryn raised a brow. "And yet he has kept the Durell territories stable during your recent raids, Lord Vaylor."
Tension crackled.
Elias leaned forward. "I propose a challenge, then."
Silence.
He continued, "Rather than vote in secret and fester like cowards, let us hold a duel of minds and steel—an open contest. I will stand as my House's blade. Any other heir may challenge me. If I fall, the Grand Duke's seat becomes a vote. If I win, you acknowledge my claim, publicly."
Murmurs erupted.
Dame Verene whispered behind him, "That's madness."
But Elias smiled.
Because he knew the nobility feared public shame more than death.
---
Later that night, in the moonlit sparring courtyard of the Durell estate, Elias stood barefoot, shirtless, his skin slick with sweat and runic ink. Around him, torches burned in sconces carved like roaring beasts. The other heirs circled slowly, armored in silks and enchanted leathers.
Callen stepped forward, sword gleaming. "You die here, mirrorwalker."
Elias's blade hissed from its sheath.
[System: Combat Enhancement – 'Adrenalic Surge' Active] [Trait Bonus Applied – 'Duelist's Grace'] [Opponent Weakness Identified: Arrogant Footing – Watch for right-kick feints]
The first clash rang like thunder.
Steel struck steel, sparks leaping like fireflies. Elias ducked under Callen's high arc and sliced a shallow cut across his thigh. Callen growled, countering with a whirl of wind magic—sending Elias tumbling backward.
But Elias rolled to his feet, lips bloody, eyes sharp.
From the crowd, Yssa watched, lips parted, her hand pressed to her chest.
The duel extended past ten minutes. Two other heirs entered, thinking to gang up.
They failed.
Elias moved like flowing shadow, turning their styles against them. He shattered one's weapon with an arcane twist. The other he forced to surrender with a disarming feint and blade-tip pressed to throat.
Callen was the last.
Their final clash ended in a silence that echoed through the hills.
Elias stood over him, blade at his neck.
"I accept your surrender."
Callen spat blood, but nodded. "So be it. Grand Duke."
---
By dawn, the summit had ended. All twelve banners remained, but now they bowed to the lion.
Elias stood alone in his chamber, gazing into the cracked mirror Yssa had given him. His reflection met him with a smirk.
[System Notification: Title Acquired – 'Heir Ascendant'] [New Influence Unlocked: House Durell – Total Control (Stage 1)] [Bonus Unlocked – Noble Authority Perk Tree Opened]
He exhaled.
This world was no longer foreign.
It was his.
---
End of Chapter 11