The Storm King

The other nobles in the training room separated into several cliques as they waited for the combat test to begin. It seemed clear enough to Leon just from watching these nobles that they all knew each other already, and since it seemed like they were happy enough to just ignore him, he figured he’d just stay out of the way until the combat test began.

It soon became clear to him, however, that they weren’t ignoring quite as much as he first thought. Every now and then, he’d look up and catch one of the nobles giving him some kind of look—sometimes it was curious, other times it was derisive, and once or twice it was even outright hostile.

Leon did his best to ignore all of it, but he still noted those who gave him hostile looks. There had been no killing intent in their eyes, but he figured some misplaced caution was better than unexpected injury or death.

Fortunately, he didn’t have to suffer long under the scrutiny of the young nobles, for about ten minutes after they arrived in the test room, another set of doors on the far side of the room opened and disgorged about a dozen Legion knights, their deep green uniforms crisp and covered in the gold trimming and insignias of high-ranking officers.

From what Leon could tell, most of the knights were Tribunes, meaning they were either highly-ranked bureaucrats or commanded battalions of one thousand men and women. To reach the rank of Tribune, Leon knew they had to at least be of the fifth-tier, though they were all at least a tier stronger than him so he couldn’t be sure if that held true. The only knight who wasn’t a Tribune was their leader, a tall and heavily built man who wore the gold braid of a Legate, an officer who commanded a Legion or an entire installation. If Leon had to guess, he’d say this was the man who was in charge of the entire Knight Academy.

Without wasting so much as a second, one of the Tribunes walked into the sandpit in the middle of the room and shouted, “Everyone gather round and we’ll get this show on the road!”

Leon and the nobles complied, assembling around the sandpit as the Legate and the rest of the Tribunes took up positions on the raised training platforms where they could watch everyone take their test with their own eyes. When Leon walked over to take a position behind the nobles, he just so happened to wind up directly behind Golden-Hair, the noble he’d watched before the previous test.

“Wonderful to see all of you here, today,” the Tribune in the sandpit enthusiastically continued. “We’re now going to conduct the combat test. However, since I’m well aware of your lineages, I’m sure this is just going to be a formality more than anything! So, what I’m going to do is give all of you a chance to show off and to get to know each other better at the same time!”

Leon cocked an eyebrow in slight confusion. He wasn’t sure what the Tribune was getting at, but a quick look around the nobles in front of him showed that this wasn’t an unexpected announcement. Some of the nobles had smiles of anticipation plastered on their faces, while others were more subdued, but not one of them seemed surprised or confused by the Tribune’s attitude.

“So, here’s what’s going to happen,” the Tribune continued, “we’re going to have all of you spar with each other here in the sandpit! Sir Aeneas will be watching your performances…” the Tribune respectfully nodded to the Legate, “… as will the rest of my colleagues! We don’t have any rules regarding how often you must fight, only that you must fight at least once! Do be sure to make your families proud and put all of your skills on display!

“Do we have any volunteers to go first?” The Tribune glanced around at the thirty-six assembled third-tier recruits, his wide and easy-going smile inviting each and every one of them to be the first to step forward.

One young man was so eager to volunteer he almost jumped forward. He was about six and a half feet tall, with curly light brown hair, and so heavily muscled as to put marble statues to shame. He wore a sleeveless green shirt, long dark green pants, and had strapped a truly immense double-bladed battle-ax to his back.

“I’ll go first,” he said with a confident smile.

The examiner chuckled at the young man’s eagerness, then said, “Well, this is a good time to mention that personal weapons are not allowed during this test.”

The man nodded and took off his ax, placing it on the edge of the sandpit behind him.

“Good, do we have any other volunteers?” asked the examiner.

“To the hells with volunteers! Marcus, get up here!” shouted the enormous noble.

Marcus, a much more slender boy with dark brown hair, sharp blue eyes, and handsome, yet rather unassuming features smiled jovially, not bothered at all at being called out. “Alcander, my friend, you shouldn’t be so rude.”

“Haha! Save the politeness for strangers! Just get over here and fight me!” responded the big guy with an enormous smile and booming laugh.

Marcus complied, stopping only to nod at the Legate, who Leon noticed looked remarkably similar to Marcus. He didn’t have to wonder at their relation for long as the Legate loudly said, “Conduct yourself well, Nephew.”

A shallow frown slowly spread across Leon’s face after that exchange. It seemed a little off and unfair to him that this ‘Marcus’ was being tested by his own uncle, but he supposed if what the Tribune said was accurate, then this was hardly a test at all. It was mostly just a chance for the young nobles to socialize and network with each other while also giving them a chance to show off.

When he walked over to only half a dozen steps away from Alcander, Marcus asked the Tribune, “How will we be fighting? Surely not with just our hands?”

“Of course not. We have been permitted to allow you to use our new practice weapons.” The examiner smilingly gestured to the weapons that lined the wall.

Marcus wasted no time leaving the sandpit and walking over to the wall to grab an arming sword from the wall racks. He began to lightly swing it around to get a feel for its weight and balance, and Leon could immediately see that he was no stranger to handling blades. Alcander did likewise, though he chose a larger ax, and again, Leon saw in his brief practicing movements that this was a weapon Alcander was quite familiar with.

“These weapons contain enchantments that, when activated by channeling your magic into the blade, will coat the weapon with a blade of light,” the examiner explained. “This will allow you to use the sword as if it were real, without permanently harming your opponent.”

The two immediately tried this, and the edges of their blades began glowing with a bright white light.

“Hit someone with these, and they won’t cut or break bones, but they’ll hurt like they had, and possibly paralyze a limb for a few hours. Oh, by the way, they have undergone enough testing to be judged as ‘safe’, but no strikes to the head or neck, got it?”

The two young men nodded, as did everyone else when the Tribune swept his eyes around the room.

With their weapons selected, the two took up positions opposite each other and began channeling their magic. When their weapons lit up with white light, they glanced at the examiner, who nodded back at them. Their duel had begun.

Alcander moved first, his third-tier speed and strength made evident as he crossed the distance between the two in a blink of an eye and striking at Marcus with a horizontal slash aimed at his shoulder. Marcus dodged with apparent ease, allowing Alcander’s strike to taste nothing but air. Alcander used his momentum to quickly spin into another attack, which Marcus dodged perfectly again.

They repeated this pattern a dozen more times, with neither looking even slightly winded. Things changed when Marcus, having watched Alcander’s extremely wide attacks this whole time, suddenly lunged forward directly into range of Alcander’s swing. He brought his sword up, deflecting the ax mere inches away from his face and throwing the much larger man off balance, then following up with a slash into Alcander’s exposed ribs.

The blade slammed into Alcander but didn’t even leave a mark on his clothes. There was no blood or sound of bones breaking, either, but Alcander still dropped to a knee in with a grunt of obvious pain.

Marcus took a few steps back and assumed a defensive posture, but he still looked at Alcander with some concern. Leon could see that they were friends, and the big guy was doubled over in pain, not to mention they had never used these training weapons before, so it made sense to him why Marcus would be worried.

The nobleman’s worries were assuaged when Alcander rose to his feet with a grimace, then smiled at him. “Nicely played,” he said.

“Well done, you two,” the Tribune exclaimed as he re-entered the sandpit. “I can tell already that you’ll bring much honor to the Legions during your time with them.”

Perhaps the Tribune was being genuine, but to Leon’s ears, his statement still sounded a little disingenuous, as if the man were trying to curry a little favor by flattering the nobles. On the other hand, there was nothing about the man’s attitude that would otherwise suggest such a motive, but Leon couldn’t help but be a little bit cynical.

As Marcus and Alcander moved out of the sandpit, Golden-Hair seemed to finally notice that Leon was standing behind him.

“Ah, I didn’t see you there,” he said, his voice smooth and pleasant. He then turned more fully in Leon’s direction as two more noblemen took to the sand after selecting their training weapons. “I don’t think I’ve ever met you before…?”

Leon tightly controlled his expression and did his best not to groan. He’d rather watch the nobles fight so he could get a better idea of those he’d be training with, but it didn’t seem like Golden-Hair was going to leave him alone anytime soon.

“No,” Leon tersely replied, hoping that Golden-Hair would just turn back around to watch the fight, “we haven’t met before.”

Dashing Leon’s hopes, Golden-Hair proceeded, “In that case, allow me to introduce myself. I am Gaius Caecilius Tullius, son of Domitius Aquillius Tullius, the Duke of Lentia!”

Leon found it a rather pompous introduction, and Golden-Hair, or rather, Gaius, certainly looked quite pleased with himself. Still, Leon didn’t detect any malice or ulterior motive in his demeanor, it seemed to him that Gaius was being genuinely friendly with his introduction.

“Leon. Leon Ursus,” Leon replied, his heart madly beating in his chest as he realized that this interaction probably wasn’t going to be as brief as he hoped it would be.

“You’re a Valeman?” Gaius replied, his voice loud enough to distract some of the other nobles who were watching the sparring pair and attracting their attention.

Leon’s face began to burn in embarrassment as so many more eyes were turned in his direction.

“Yes,” he replied.

Gaius’ attitude seemed to shift with Leon’s confirmation. His good-natured smile tightened as he glanced around at the half-dozen other young noblemen now staring at the two of them instead of watching the fight.

“Well I’m quite certain I’ve never met one of your kind before,” he said as he took a step away from Leon. “However did you manage to find your way down here?”

Leon wrinkled his nose a bit in distaste, feeling mildly offended at Gaius’ dismissive and arrogant tone.

“I walked,” Leon replied.

“I see…” Gaius replied. “I suppose I should’ve guessed, you certainly look like you wandered in off the street…”

Finally, Leon turned his attention fully toward Gaius, fixing the nobleman squarely in his golden gaze. He didn’t verbally respond, but his anger was plain enough for everyone watching and for Gaius himself to pick up on it.

However, instead of apologizing or backtracking, Gaius simply shrugged his shoulders and said, “Listen, I only speak the truth. If you must blame anyone for your lack of breeding or bearing, then lay your blame at the feet of your barbarian parents. It was their choice to bring you into this world in those northern mud pits, not mine. You should be congratulated, actually, for coming south and trying to civilize yourself. Such initiative should be encouraged and rewarded, otherwise all of your race would be eternally trapped in the misery of their barbaric existence.”

Leon was, in a word, stunned. He had no words to respond with, his brain had simply locked up in confusion and anger as being so insulted. But after a second or two of staring at Gaius with his jaw hanging open, Leon’s blood began to boil. He wanted nothing more than to reach down into Gaius’ throat and rip out his arrogant tongue.

Before Leon managed to find the words he desperately wanted, he heard Xaphan speak up from his soul realm, and the demon perfectly summarized what they were both thinking in three words: [What an ass.]

That simplest of statements managed to get Leon’s brain moving again, snapping him out of his mild stupor enough for him to at least respond to his demonic partner. [He is indeed an irritating person, but maybe he has the strength to back it up. He’s the son of a powerful nobleman and reached the third-tier at his age…]

[… If you don’t drag him out into that sand and break him over your knee like a flimsy board, you and I are going to have some serious problems.] Xaphan haughtily responded. [I don’t care a whit for how noble or how young this kid is, he’s directly disrespected you and thus has indirectly disrespected me. I want you to kick his teeth and make him choke on his own blue blood.]

[Yeah, because I was planning to just let him walk all over me,] Leon replied with great sarcasm. He could sense Xaphan’s rising anger and indignation almost as if they were his own. He could hear his blood already roaring in his ears, his own body demanding he punish Gaius for the words he’d said.

Coincidentally, he noticed that the previous two nobles were finished with their bout, so he decided to respond to Gaius with actions instead of words. He glared at the bewildered nobleman and walked over to the weapon racks. He grabbed a longsword about the same size as his family’s blade and then entered the sandpit.

He said nothing, but his glare back at Gaius made his challenge clear.

“Ah, we have another volunteer!” the Tribune exclaimed, utterly oblivious to what had just happened. “What might your name be?”

“Leon Ursus,” Leon replied. Stating his name in front of about fifty people like that was nerve-wracking, but Leon’s anger and humiliation were overpowering his embarrassment. He barely noticed the audible gasp from one of the nobles or the weight of all their stares. He had eyes only for Gaius.

“Is there anyone else here who wishes to—”

Before the Tribune could finish, Gaius had already selected his weapon, a sword to match Leon’s, and entered the sandpit, a smile of pity on his face.

“Oh, all right, Young Lord Gaius!” the Tribune exclaimed. “Wonderful! You two may begin!”

Gaius smiled in a resigned way that a fully grown man might when a child insists on trying to fight them, and the stance he assumed was lazy and half-hearted.

Leon, in contrast, slid into the aggressive stance of his family’s style, showing everyone else that he was no stranger to the ways of swordplay. His feet slid into position, his sword was raised, and his mind began to clear. His vision seemed to narrow as his focus turned to Gaius and excluded everyone else. The weight of everyone’s eyes seemed to lift and all of Leon’s anxiety about being the center of attention fell away. To him, he and Gaius and the weapons they carried were all that existed.

As he assumed his stance, he saw that Gaius’s expression froze and his stance began to shape up, but Leon wasn’t about to let that happen. His aura erupted with killing intent, far more than Gaius had probably ever faced. It swept over the nobleman and paralyzed him with the fear of prey before a predator.

Wasting not a second, Leon lunged forward, his magically enhanced muscles pushing across the few feet between them in an instant. Artorias had taught Leon to never hold back, and he stayed true to those teachings now. The tip of his blade, glowing with white light, slipped past Gaius’ raised weapon and slammed into his solar plexus.

That pain seemed enough to lift Gaius’ fear-induced paralysis, and he shrieked and doubled over as Leon retreated a few steps. Leon assumed that that would be enough for him to win the fight, but only a moment later Gaius straightened himself out again, his breath ragged and pained and his sword back up and at the ready. His stance was defensive and tight, he wasn’t treating this as a game anymore, and from the way his aura began to spike in intensity, Leon knew that his killing intent likely wouldn’t have the same paralyzing effect it had just had anymore.

Gaius lunged forward, his face a model of seriousness. He quickly raised his blade and brought it down on Leon. It moved quickly and packed quite a bit of power, but Leon nimbly side-stepped and let the blade taste nothing but air.

It appeared that Gaius was expecting Leon to block, for he stumbled a bit as he tried to stop his weapon from hitting the sand, and the lack of follow-up showed just how unused to real fights the nobleman was. Never one to let an opening like this pass him by, Leon slashed at Gaius across the back of his knee, and the young nobleman dropped like a bag of rocks, his leg paralyzed by the magic of Leon’s training sword.

Despite this, Gaius tried to rise again, leaning on his blade for support, but Leon had moved behind him and Gaius’ exposed back triggered Leon’s hunter instincts. In one smooth motion, Leon slashed across Gaius’ spine, the white light that coated his weapon flaring as it made contact with the nobleman.

Gaius shrieked in pain as he fell face-first into the sand, and he didn’t move again.

“Young Lord Gaius?” the Tribune asked in concern. When Gaius didn’t respond, the Tribune shouted at Leon, “Step back, you’ve already won!”

Leon complied, his breathing starting to slow and relax with the fight over. The Tribune, however, wasn’t so relaxed, and he rushed forward to check on Gaius. As the Tribune rolled Gaius onto his side and checked his breathing, it seemed to Leon that the nobleman was fine, just unconscious from the stunning effect of the sword coming into contact with his spine.

Pride in winning began to swell in Leon’s chest, but as he turned his attention back to the rest of the room, and in that instant, all the anxiety came rushing back. He froze under the weight of dozens of pairs of eyes staring at him, especially those of the more powerful Tribunes and Legate watching from the training platforms. Making matters worse, everyone was silent, letting Leon think they were all harshly judging him. He felt nothing but disapproval radiating from every one of them.

Turning his gaze to the floor to try and avoid this unpleasantness, Leon stepped out of the sandpit and returned his training sword to the racks. He had no intention of fighting again even if he were to be called out, but as two more Tribunes stepped into the sandpit to carry Gaius out of it, he didn’t think would happen.

Or at least, he hoped it wouldn’t.

He received a momentary distraction, however, when Xaphan muttered from his soul realm, [I’d have preferred crippling one of his arms, or maybe disfigured that smug shit-eating face of his, but I suppose I can live with this much.]

[So glad to have your approval,] Leon muttered as he tried to ignore the muttering among the nobles and all the staring that seemed to press in on him from all sides.

After Gaius was carried away into an adjacent room to recover, the Tribune facilitating the test mercifully returned to his duties a moment later, taking some of the attention off Leon. Fortunately, it seemed that nothing he did was against the rules, for all the Tribune did was give Leon a mildly dirty look before calling for another pair to step forward.

However, Leon barely paid any attention at all to the subsequent matches, so consumed was he with embarrassment and trying to fade back into the background. He couldn’t have been happier once the test was finally over and it was time to move on to the final written portion of the enrollment tests.