The Storm King

Imak’s Kingdom wasn’t one known for gladiator fights, but it had plenty of sports arenas. The largest in the entire Kingdom was situated near the western coast, only a few minutes away from Imak’s palace by ark. Horses would race there at least once per week and chariots at least once a month.

Now, however, the stands crowded not to watch horses race but to see a duel that would determine the fate of all of Kesken—at least, officially. Those even tangentially aware of the details of the duel knew that there was effectively no way that Lord Daryun would win against King Leon, though the masses weren’t necessarily as keyed into such details.

Exactly halfway down the long arena sat the Royal box. Those within were Leon’s closest advisors as well as a few choice members of the Keskenian elite that had already surrendered to Leon. Many of Leon’s followers, including rank-and-file warriors, officers, and bureaucrats, filled the seats adjacent to the box. Retinues from noble or wealthy families followed them further from the box, but the bulk of the seats were filled by the hoi polloi of Imak’s capital—eighty thousand of them, packing themselves into the seats as tightly as they could to watch the upcoming duel.

Vendors hocked their wares including food and refreshments, bookies were taking bets while pretending it was a fight that had actual odds, and the people filled the air with speculation about who would win and what would happen after that. Even with all of the Royal box’s privacy enchantments, Leon could hear that quite a few people were favoring Daryun, whether out of national pride or thinking that his experience against the Sylphians would win him the day. A faint smile momentarily illuminated his face as he realized just how disconnected so many of these mortals and first and second-tier mages were from politics and the goings-on of the plane.

The day was hot, but Leon hardly felt it. He kept his eyes down on the sand in the center of the arena, which gleamed like silver in the light of the sun. It was almost midday, which meant that Daryun was soon to be brought out to face him. To Leon’s immense displeasure, Daryun hadn’t retracted his challenge, making this fight unavoidable. As much as Leon wanted the man’s fealty, he knew that the Thunderbird was right—such a direct challenge made against him couldn’t be ignored.

The chatter in the box died down as Marcus took his seat next to Leon and asked, “So, Your Majesty, what are you aiming for in this fight?”

Leon spared him a subtly exasperated look; he’d hardly said a word all day, and it seemed that Marcus wanted to prod him into giving voice to what was on his mind. Unfortunately for him, there were too many listening ears for Leon to be totally honest.

“To win,” Leon simply but seriously replied.

Marcus grinned. “There are quite a few unexpected guests here today, as it so happens.”

Marcus nodded to the north. “There are a few minor nobles and diplomats from Kingdoms and city-states further south sitting out there.” He then nodded to the south, covering the other half of the long racing arena. “A few representatives of powers on other continents are here, too. Most of them, I’d say, represent powers that have yet to bow to you. I’m curious to see what they’ll do when you win…”

“So much faith you have in me,” Leon drily observed, “you don’t think Daryun will experience a miracle?”

Marcus snorted. “Not a chance. That man’s defeat was guaranteed the moment we arrived on this plane. Everything since then has been but a formality.”

“Indeed…” Leon whispered as horns began to sound and the raucous din filling the packed stands noticeably died down. Opposite the Royal box was a large platform from which an announcer and a master of ceremonies would conduct the games in the arena. The local announcer was still there for this fight, but Leon recognized Lucianus next to him acting as the MC.

“People of Ilam!” the announcer roared, the third-tier mage’s voice carried across the arena by magic. He paused a moment and the people roared in response, and even some of Leon’s warriors got a little carried away by the excitement. “We gather here today, beneath the life-giving sun and the watchful eyes of the gods, to witness the making of history! On One side stands the honorable Lord of Alamati, He Whose Home is Kaarahi, Daryun, son of Andragoras!”

The people went wild, cheering madly for their champion. At the same time, gates, through which horses and chariots would normally come, swung open, revealing Daryun dressed for war. Leon had returned his armor and weapons and even allowed him to adorn himself in whatever treasures he had locked away in his soul realm.

Black plate covered Daryun’s vital areas, enchanted for hardness and lightness as far as Leon’s eyes could tell. Beneath that plate was a suit of equally black scales, covering him from head to toe. His helmet was vaguely conical and covered the entirety of his head, featuring an openable visor and a plume of bright red horsehair that extended from the top of the helmet to about mid-back. His lance was long and deadly, more suited for fighting on horseback than on foot, though Daryun also wore a thin sword at his waist, simple and lacking in much adornment, that lightly curved closer to the tip. The enchantments on his weapons were more robust than Daryun’s armor, though not enough to give Leon much pause.

The announcer didn’t immediately speak again even as the roaring crowd began to quiet down. Instead, it was Daryun who spoke next, an arena attendant standing next to him with a polished stone enchanted to amplify his voice to all listening ears in the arena.

“I, Daryun, son of Andragoras, reiterate my challenge for all the world to hear!” Leon sighed, a faint hope he had for the man to drop his challenge finally sputtering out. “I challenge King Leon Raime to a duel! Should I win, he will leave the plane of Kesken and never return!”

The crowd practically exploded with enthusiasm, but it was those who weren’t celebrating so openly that Leon kept an eye on—the nobles and diplomats that Marcus had pointed out just a moment ago, for the most part. They remained fairly controlled, giving nothing away in their body language or their expressions.

“Answering Lord Daryun,” the announcer continued as the flamboyantly-dressed man dramatically extended his hands toward the Royal box, “is King Leon Raime, King by the grace of the gods, successor of the honorable Imak, who abdicated in King Leon’s favor mere days ago!”

Leon’s people roared and stamped their feet, though most of the rest of the arena remained quiet. Still, despite being outnumbered by almost ten to one by the city’s natives, Leon’s people were louder.

“May you walk with the gods, Your Majesty!” one of the local nobles in the box rushed to state, his accent heavy.

Several others quickly followed up with good luck wishes of their own, but Leon smiled them off. Wordlessly, he laid a hand on the stone railing of the Royal box, and casually lifted himself over it. In a casual display of power that had his people going wild and left the natives struck mute, he drifted down to the sand, though he remained hovering over it perfectly still as storm clouds gathered above. In a flash of arcane light, his Adamant armor appeared over his body and Iron Pride manifested at his waist.

Eschewing the need for enchanted items to bolster his voice, Leon thundered, “I accept your challenge. Should I win, I will continue my endeavor to unite this plane under my aegis and deliver its people unto the universe. Your life shall be forfeit and your lands mine to do with as I please.”

Daryun’s face visibly tensed behind his visor, but he raised his lance in an obvious salute and rose into the sky, flying with his power almost as easily as Leon did. The attendant who’d stood with him scampered out of the arena as quickly as his mortal legs allowed.

“The challenge has been accepted!” the announcer boomed. “The fight for the fate of Kesken begins!”

The crowd roared again as horns blared, and wasting no time, Daryun leveled his lance and charged.

To anyone else, he was as a meteor hurtled against Leon. To Leon, however, he was a snail; with contemptuous ease, Leon dodged the lance strike. It would’ve been easy to strike back, but Leon crossed his arms over his chest and merely watched Daryun swinging around again, wind gathering at the head of his lance.

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Daryun kept his momentum from his first charge, gaining some distance from Leon even as he struck out with his lance a second time, this time sending a torrent of hurricane wind tearing towards Leon. But Leon was as a mountain, unmoving and unmarred by this show of power.

The people continued screaming words of encouragement, mostly to Daryun, but Leon was unfazed. His awareness slowly tightened until Daryun was all he saw.

Daryun arrested his momentum and took a more standoffish approach, sending a dozen wind blades careening towards Leon in as many thrusts. Each one of these wind blades Leon either dodged or allowed to splash harmlessly against his armor. He yet did not attempt to strike back at Daryun.

“Fight me!” Daryun shouted as he charged once more, the shining tip of his lance aimed at Leon’s heart. “FIGHT ME!”

Leon slid around the tip of the lance with buttery ease, appearing right in Daryun’s way like a flash of lightning. The man barely had time to recoil before he collided with Leon and almost crashed into the ground. The sound of their collision echoed throughout the arena as many onlookers cringed; Leon hadn’t even budged while Daryun was nearly thrown to the earth.

“Do you not even take me seriously?!” Daryun shouted as he righted himself and charged again, wind gathering at the tip of his weapon again. “Does this mean nothing to you?!”

With an almost casual wave of his hand, Leon brushed the lance tip aside just as it closed in with his breastplate, and Daryun twisted with the movement, bringing the butt of the weapon around to strike Leon where the tip had failed. But again, lifted it up and over his head, making it look easy at least to his lightning-enhanced senses.

“I’m taking this completely seriously,” Leon stated from behind his featureless faceplate. “I just don’t want to kill you.”

Daryun roared and a dozen times tried to run Leon through. He aimed for the neck, between the legs, the elbows, all the usual weak points on standard armor. Leon stopped blocking or dodging and allowed his Adamant armor to show that it had no weaknesses; Daryun’s spear glanced off again and again, neither scratching the armor nor moving Leon so much as an inch.

After this fusillade, Daryun fell back and again called upon his ninth-tier power. The wind in the arena picked up, howling through the stands and panicking some of the mortals watching with bated breath. It spun around Leon, kicking up biting sand, tearing at his armor, searching for even the tiniest crack in his defenses through which it could penetrate and eviscerate his flesh.

Leon withstood it easily, the defenses on his armor not allowing even a single gust to get through. A tornado that would’ve torn down Imak’s palace raged around him, but he was as steady as if he were hovering in the calmest weather.

When Daryun’s attack abated and he remained unfazed, the man shouted in frustration as his lance vanished and he drew his sword. Leon perked up a little bit as Daryun swung his curved blade in a flowing style where every strike glided gracefully into the next. Unable to contain himself, Leon finally drew Iron Pride. The Iron Needle within vibrated with excitement, but Leon didn’t call upon it or even any power inherent to the weapon. Instead, he met Daryun’s blade and such was their power that the shockwave cracked the ground dozens of feet below them and shook the arena to its foundations.

The surprised screams fell upon deaf ears in the arena as Leon and Daryun exchanged a hundred blows in half as many seconds. Leon put little power into his strikes while Daryun poured oceans of his power into his, yet to any onlookers, it might’ve looked like a stalemate. Every clash of their blades boomed like thunder, audible for miles around. For as flashy as their battle was and for how much rested upon it, Leon didn’t care that much about how their fight was perceived; he simply met Daryun’s blade with his own while grinning like a madman behind his helmet. He pressed against his opponent and Daryun skillfully dodged, deflected, or blocked, but after a while, it became clear that Daryun wasn’t Leon’s equal. He was skilled, of that no one was in any doubt, but with a sword, Leon was the better fighter.

Daryun again shouted in frustration as he summoned a powerful tornado around him, hoping to throw Leon off and regain some distance, but Leon ignored the howling wind around him and closed with his opponent. With a single strike, Leon hurled Daryun to the ground. The force of his ‘landing’ dug a huge crater in the center of the arena, and Daryun was nearly drowned in the sand before he freed himself with a burst of wind.

But Leon was upon him a moment later, separating his sword from his fingers with a powerful blow, leaving Daryun momentarily unarmed. Before Daryun could recover, Leon hammered him again, throwing him back into the sand. Leon then exerted his aura, keeping Daryun there, preventing him from moving. Daryun attempted to free himself with his magic again, but Leon struck him with a lightning bolt, dissipating his magic easily.

Daryun screamed in pain as Leon’s lightning penetrated his armor’s defenses and began to cook him within, but he fought through the pain, struggling to rise and fight back. He fought against Leon’s power with such grit and determination that Leon couldn’t help but be impressed. The watching crowd, however, had grown rather silent; the natives were stunned while Leon’s followers watched in fascination.

As Daryun struggled to rise, Leon kicked him back down and lowered Iron Pride to his neck. Daryun’s armor had been wrecked; rents had been torn through the plate, many of his scales beneath that were missing, and the gambeson beneath that was peeking through, torn, frayed, and burned. The horsehair plume on his helmet had been burned away by Leon’s lightning, and the visor had been cut loose, revealing Daryun’s face to any strong enough to see it from a distance.

“Give in,” Leon commanded, his sword at Daryun’s gorget.

Daryun chuckled wetly, his teeth bloody, and asked unseriously, “If you want to give in, I accept…” Even as he spoke, he fought against Leon’s aura, but to no avail. Still, he didn’t give up.

With a swing of Iron Pride, Leon cut through Daryun’s black breastplate, separating the enchanted metal with ease and showing exactly what Iron Pride could do. Still, Daryun didn’t give in. A few more surgical strikes left Daryun without his outermost layer of armor, the chopped plates falling off to the side and leaving him with little but battered scales and torn gambeson to protect him—which to Leon, was no protection at all.

And still, he called upon all of his strength and all of his power but remained tightly in Leon’s grasp.

“You’re… going to… have to… kill me…” Daryun gasped with exertion. “I… will not…!”

“You damn fool,” Leon scolded. “Why are you even doing this?! What do you hope to gain?! Do you not understand what I can bring to this plane? Is bowing to me so distasteful to you that you can’t do it even to save your own people?!”

Daryun chuckled darkly, a self-deprecating tone to it. “I chose… wrongly…” he gasped. “I… do not… bow so easily…” Despite saying this, it seemed he finally ran out of strength as he collapsed into the sand. Even as Leon withdrew his aura, Daryun didn’t get up, and he gasped for air like he’d just been saved from drowning.

Leon had won the duel, of that there was no doubt. It just had to be officially called. Yet, cheers began to arise within the watching crowd—surprisingly, most of them came from the natives. Those cheers spread until the arena thundered its approval, and for a long few seconds, Leon thought the crowd was honoring Daryun’s determination even if he hadn’t managed to win.

And the jeers started. Insults and threats were thrown Daryun’s way as his own people cursed him and denigrated his actions.

Leon listened to this for a while, Daryun motionless but still conscious at his feet. He kept an eye on the man just in case, though.

“How quickly the crowd turns,” he whispered. “This is your thanks, Daryun. This is your people’s appreciation.”

“So… it is…” Daryun responded. “End it, then… Leon Raime… End me…”

Leon glared down imperiously at his fallen opponent, no desire rising within him to kill Daryun despite his obstinance.

“You said you chose wrongly. You’re referring to Imak?”

“I bowed to him to save my people from the Sylphians,” Daryun weakly stated, though his breath had returned. “I swore my fealty to him to bring the fight to those that had assaulted Kaarahi for a century, and ruled us as tyrants for more than a century before that… And in the end, he gave up. He bowed to you. I bowed to him because I thought he was strong and principled. I was wrong. I will not make that mistake again.”

Leon didn’t immediately respond, but when he did, it was to offer a compliment. “You fought well, Daryun. Your command of the sword and lance are to be commended; I have rarely seen such martial prowess.”

Without waiting for Daryun to say anything, Leon turned away to address the crowd. He inhaled deeply, and then with deafening power, he thundered, “SILENCE!!!”

Before his roar finished echoing, the entire arena fell as silent as the grave. All of those cheering and jeering shut their mouths and returned to their seats as even the vendors in the stands froze in place and stopped peddling their wares.

Leon pointed to Daryun and continued, “THIS MAN IS TO BE COMMENDED FOR HIS BRAVERY AND SKILL! NOT MOCKED BY THOSE TOO WEAK TO DO AS HE DID! I WILL HEAR NO MORE INSULTS, ON PAIN OF DEATH!”

Many of Leon’s people in the stands began looking outward at the natives in the stands as the pause in Leon’s address stretched, and many of the natives began to visibly sweat and squirm as they realized just how ready Leon’s people were to enact his decree.

“YOUR CHAMPION HAS FOUGHT WELL, ACQUITTING HIMSELF, AND BY EXTENSION ALL OF KESKEN, WELL. HONOR HIM.”

Leon’s command was followed, though it was those parts of his army that came from the Ten Tribes that responded first. They stomped their feet and roared their approval, filling the air with howls and screams. A few even transformed, and Lions and Tigers and Jaguars bellowed in approval of Daryun’s grit. After a few seconds, the cheering in the stands began again, and Leon couldn’t hear any more insults directed Daryun’s way.

Turning back to the man himself, who was pulling himself back up, Leon walked back over and took him the tattered remnants of the scale suit, lifting him right up to Daryun’s obvious surprise.

“As I have won, your life is now mine,” Leon said. “Therefore, I’m conscripting you into my service.”

Stunned for a moment, Daryun finally sputtered, “Y-You can’t! I won’t!”

“You don’t have a choice,” Leon responded.

With that, the duel finally came to an end in the only way it could have: with Leon’s complete victory.