Steel and Mana

Within Markoth's military quarter, where most of the Avalonians were housed and where the first generation of Markothian troops were being trained, two figures were matching actual swords against each other. The blades weren't made out of steel, though, as sharpened monster bones were hitting against each other in a powerful clash. Of course, they weren't alone as a group of Avalonians and Markothians were gathered around the flattened square, watching the fight between the two, one being the father of the Sovereign and the other one of his sons.

Lancelot adjusted his stance as they separated, being pushed back by Kalash's superior strength, sweat dripping down the side of his face. Across from him, barefoot and bare-chested, his grandfather stood tall, his longsword lowered, his lips curling, smiling softly.

"You're dropping your left shoulder again ahead of time. It is a dead giveaway." Kalash said mildly.

"I know..." Lancelot grunted. "I’m compensating for your feints. You keep striking wide!"

"Because you keep biting on the bait."

Without warning, Kalash surged forward, not giving him more time to catch his breath. Lancelot met him head-on without flinching, their blades locking in a loud shriek of friction. Using the force behind his grandfather's raw strength, Lancelot shifted his weight, but Kalash pivoted effortlessly, stepping to the side and tapping Lancelot’s leg with the flat of his sword, making him groan and stop.

"Dead. Again."

"Damn it..." Lancelot exhaled, lowered his sword, and rolled his shoulders. "You used to let me win? Or did I regress this much?"

"I didn't let you win. But I am giving it my best because you are close to learning everything I had." Kalash snorted. "Also, you used to be shorter than my knee. You are an adult now. Enough complaining. Again!"

Without another sigh, they reset positions. Kalash's expression was calm and serene, and Lancelot knew better than to fall for it. His grandfather was watching everything—his weight distribution, grip tension, breath, and the twitch of his muscles. Nothing escaped him.

"This mission," Kalash said as they circled each other, "you’ve made up your mind?"

"I have."

"Good."

That was it. There was no lecture about the dangers, and no concerned warning in his voice. Then, his grandfather moved again, even faster this time, testing Lancelot’s reflexes. The clash echoed once more, and this time, Lancelot kept his shoulder square, answering the blow with a clean parry and then stepping away instead of going in for a counter to be counter-countered. In just a few seconds, they traded strikes, each faster than the last, making Lancelot feel his wrists go numb.

"You’re not worried?" Lancelot asked between blows.

"About what? A land full of proud warriors? Ancient traditions? Razor-sharp politics? Not really. You are my blood; you will do just fine."

Hearing him, Lancelot grinned, then lost his footing as Kalash baited him with a low sweep. Of course, he staggered, caught himself, and backed away.

"Don't get distracted!" Kalash chuckled, capitalizing on Lancelot's mistake, but failed to deal another blow as he was back in a defensive position. "Good recovery..." he whispered.

"You think I’m ready for this?"

"I know you are," Kalash nodded. "However, that doesn’t mean it will be easy. You’ll be tested, for sure. Their Kahn, or whatever he calls himself, will most likely prod you like a blacksmith does metal. As far as I am concerned, they are like that, as warriors... And if you bend, they’ll write you off as soft. And write off Avalon as soft."

"True, but that could be an extra hand we can play." Lancelot nodded, focusing on his footwork as they resumed fighting.

"Maybe. But maybe not. You’re Avalonian," Kalash said after a few more beats. "So if they think we are weak politically, they can do things that don't require armies. More... political, annoying things. The ones I really hate dealing with."

"Maybe we should ask Grandma to come over?"

"Heh!" Kalash’s blade darted, stopping an inch from Lancelot’s throat. "Wrong." Lancelot froze, his own sword's tip pointing at Kalash's chest as they finished in a way that would have resulted in both of them dying if it were on the battlefield.

"Maybe." He smiled as both of them chuckled, stepping back and lowering their arms.

After Lancelot sheathed his sword and walked to the side where a jug of cool water rested, he poured two cups of water and brought one over. His grandfather took it with a nod and sat on the training stump, continuing to talk.

"You reminded me of Leon when he was younger," Kalash said after a sip.

"You always say that."

"Because it’s true. Same talent... But unlike him, you continued on the road of a soldier. He became a politician. Although... I could swear I saw the soldier in him when young, but... Oh well. Everyone is free to decide what they want to do."

"What are you trying to say?" Lancelot looked down, gazing into the water.

"Easy: You do not have to worry about politics." Kalash’s answer was immediate. "On this trip, do what you, as a warrior, feel needs to be done. Maybe it was predetermined by the Gods for you to come here, as you are the only warrior in our family. Arthur and Leyla? They are like Leon and Sasha. Politicians and mages. Morgan? She is neither; she is free and unfettered. Galahad? He is a thinker. An overthinker."

"Not wrong..." Lancelot smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. "So... does that mean I'm stupid?"

"Are warriors stupid?" Kalash asked, seeing the understanding in Lancelot's eyes. "Exactly. This time, even if your brothers and sister were here, I would also say that it is you who should be our emissary to this new... empire."

"So... I should act how I feel."

"Exactly. Don't worry about any political fallout, either! Your father will deal with that!" He laughed, slapping the back of his grandson.

Silence settled between them for a moment as Lancelot took that in, right until Kalash stood, rolling his shoulders.

"Come, let's go at it again."

Lancelot moved without complaint, his blade drawn in a swift motion, facing his grandfather.

"This time," Kalash said, "fight like you're in an actual battle. Like your life depends on your sword and your presence. Your bearing. Give it your all."

...

....

.....

A few days later, the morning sun had barely cleared the horizon when Bakhi and his scouts were suddenly summoned. The crisp air was still cold and biting to breathe in while Bakhi stood quietly near the entrance of their assigned house, arms folded, as he watched Temuj and Naran prepare their packs, checking weapons and supplies with silent efficiency. They were ready to leave and head back home, seemingly without being obstructed...

Until a soldier arrived with the official call to summon him directly, he suddenly felt his stomach drop, thinking that this was it; this was the point at which they would make up a reason not to let them go home. The feeling got even stronger when he began following the messenger.

A squad of Avalonian soldiers stood not that far from the entrance, each in their black armor, skull-faced helmet on, looking like clones of the same person. Except the one at the front, who had his helmet hooked onto his belt, leaving his face exposed, showing that it was, in fact, a man and not a machine.

"Bakhi of the Khulman Empire, my name is Commodore Pion." He started, "The King of Markoth and Lady Sasha of Avalon request your presence. Now."

"..." There was no room for refusal in his voice, so Bakhi gave a short nod, exhaling. "Very well."

"Good." Pion smiled briefly while he gestured to his men. "With me."

To Bakhi's surprise, he was led not to the castle but toward the massive open platform where the Stormbringer was docked. Bakhi’s breath caught again, just briefly, as the sun gleamed off its hull, thinking that they might use it to fly back home. But... that would also be extremely dangerous. How do they defend against it if they decide to attack?

Thinking about the opportunity, he noticed that at the base of the ship stood a small gathering. There, the first Avalonian he ever met, Lancelot, stood ready, dressed in dark travel gear with a cloak hanging off his back. Beside him stood King Edric as well, with Sasha not far from his side, making the Khulman warrior quickly assess what was about to happen.

"Greetings," Bakhi spoke and bowed accordingly. "Your Majesties."

King Edric and Sasha nodded in turn, but it was Lancelot who stepped forward and began speaking.

"Good morning, Bakhi. We’ve made a decision."

"Hm?" The Khulman scout frowned. "Regarding?"

"You're returning home."

"We were about to leave today," Bakhi said carefully. "We are already prepared, but I guess you knew that."

"Yes." Lancelot smiled faintly. "And that’s good. Because we’re going with you."

"What?" Bakhi blinked his eyes, moving them onto the ship and then at the royalty, feeling his stomach drop. "We?"

"We." Lancelot gestured to the soldiers who accompanied Bakhi. "They are my escort. Commodore Pion will command them, and I will be traveling with you to Khulman as Avalon’s envoy."

For a moment, there was only heavy and sudden silence while Bakhi reeled in all of his thoughts. He knew he couldn't say no, not that he wanted to. What he tried to achieve was that they would not use the flying machine.

"I... Understand." Bakhi cleared his throat. "I... appreciate the offer. But such an escort could be seen as an intrusion by our border guards. It may cause tension—"

"We are aware," Lady Sasha interrupted, suddenly stepping forward. Her voice made him feel that the decision was final and that they were not asking him but making an explicit declaration. "Their presence is non-negotiable. Just as you came to us, this time, it is we who will visit you... Or... Only the Khulman Empire is allowed to cross borders so freely?"

".." Bakhi’s eyes narrowed after hearing the question, but he wasn't about to back down. Not to a woman. "You are forcing this upon us."

"We are ensuring mutual understanding," Sasha continued. "Rest assured, this is not an attack on you. Lord Lancelot comes in peace. He comes to talk and connect Avalon and Khulman."

"You think this will go over well? Will our Kahn welcome foreign soldiers walking into his land...? Is that something logical, Your Majesties?"

"Don't care," Lancelot said, stepping forward, his tone firm and commanding. "I think it will unsettle him. And that is his problem."

"We want Avalon’s intentions to be unmistakable," Sasha stated, waving a hand. "You came here to assess us. You’ve done that. Now, we will do the same. Openly. You can say no, but that still doesn't mean we aren't going to Khulman. You can only decide to introduce us or let us introduce ourselves. That is the only choice you have."

"We don’t have the authority to accept such an arrangement," Bakhi muttered a curse under his breath, trying his last-ditch efforts to fight back.

"You don’t need to," Lancelot said calmly. "We’re not asking permission, didn't you hear? Look at us as... traveling diplomatic guests."

With a last-ditch effort, Bakhi looked at Sasha again, seeking any hint of flexibility, a way to pressure her, or anything, but he knew he had nothing—nothing at all.

"You will lead them to your border," Sasha ordered, looking into his eyes. "You will return to your Kahn with our envoy at your side. That is the only option on the table. Refusal is not one."

Bakhi’s jaw became tensed, his teeth grinding together. With a long breath through his nose, he looked at Lancelot, who held his gaze without challenge or mockery.

"You may not like this," Lancelot added with a softer tone, maintaining eye contact. "But we believe it’s necessary. And I’m willing to risk myself to prove we don’t come as conquerors, so your Khulman doesn't need to fear us."

"That’s noble," Bakhi said dryly. "Are we taking the flying beast of yours, I assume?"

"No." Lancelot smiled. "No need to feel threatened by it. It will only come to collect me if your empire turns out to be... inhospitable to guests."

Another silence... Finally, Bakhi gave a sharp nod as he could do nothing else.

"It will be my pleasure to show you the hospitality of my people. I assume you are all ready?" He asked, turning to Pion and his men. "We were planning to ride out within the hour."

"We can leave even now," Pion answered calmly and coldly. "You need not worry about us."

"Yeah." Bakhi nodded, his fists clenching, "I am sure of that."