Wielding wood is too much of a disadvantage. Marcus throws away the jousting lance and unsheathes the cold steel Pit gifted him. He strikes the side of his mount with his heel. The thunderbird bellows and charges like a train.
The opponents meet in the center of the list, swords clashing and throwing sparks. Catching its rider's urgency, the thunderbird kicks fiercely forward and down twice. The first blow shatters the barrier dividing the list; the second impacts the undead horse's ribs, exposing bone and knocking it down.
The Shadow doesn't fall with his mount; he throws himself at Marcus, and together they end up on the ground, rolling in the sand and packed straw. Both lose their swords. They grapple. The Shadow pulls a dagger from his belt and buries it deep, piercing the wood, penetrating Marcus's side, and then twisting the blade. The young soldier grits his teeth, holding back a grunt of pain, and responds with a couple of punches that knock The Shadow off him.
The mysterious hooded figure, spinning and moving a couple of meters away, recovers the curved sword from the ground. Marcus plants a hand and tries to get up with some clumsiness, but his arm muscles tense and give out when a curved thrust pierces his elbow.
The audience's gasp silences Marcus's groan.
The Shadow pulls the sword from the flesh and delivers a second slash that strikes Marcus's shoulder. Splinters fly, but the Ironbreak wood holds. Marcus pushes hard with his other hand and manages to stand up, stumbling a couple of steps back. But The Shadow gives no respite; he dances around the soldier, striking with his sword multiple times.
Wood, leaves, and blood fall from the druidic breastplate. Marcus swings his shield trying to hit him, but only strikes the wind. A sudden pain in his leg makes him let out a cry that morphs into a hoarse growl. The curved tip buried itself in the back of his thigh, and upon exiting, the injured leg loses all its strength, dropping Marcus to his knees.
«¡Damn it! He's going to kill him!» Jimbo wants to look away, but he can't.
The Shadow positions himself to Marcus's left and raises the curved sword with both hands, ready to decapitate him, until a strong murderous intent makes him quickly leap backward. A maelstrom of black feathers chases the hooded figure.
Marcus feels like he's running out of breath; he takes off his helmet and throws it. He moves forward dragging one leg, it's a torment to bend down and pick up his sword from the ground. In the background, he hears the bellows and stomps of the thunderbird.
The hooded figure is cornered against the edge of the arena. Instead of trying to flee to the right or left, he points his sword at the thunderbird. The dinosaur, feathers bristling and scratching the dirt, tilts its head, keeping a single eye focused on the mysterious warrior. The inevitable happens, and the monster charges.
All eyes follow the dinosaur. The gigantic animal crashes against the edge of the arena, shattering wood and kicking up a cloud of dust. A blow like that would kill anyone. But when the dust settles, only the thunderbird collapses with its eyes closed.
«It's still alive, just unconscious.» Jimbo breathes a sigh of relief at not having to spend more Ether.
There is no trace of The Shadow. Everyone in the stands tries to understand what happened.
Marcus drives his sword into the ground and manages to straighten up. Jimbo is the first to notice the silhouette rising like a ghost behind the soldier. The Shadow's curved sword has a direct line to the back of Marcus's neck.
«I have to…!» Jimbo acts without thinking.
-Skill: Call of the Dungeon Core.
Requirement: None.
Cost: 20 Ether.
Description: Sends waves of magical energy to attract affined beings. It can also attract dangerous or non-affined beings possessing high magical sensitivity.
The invisible wave of Ether is born from the core in the castle's basement, expanding until it overcomes the inner walls. Gazes lift from the squares toward the castle. For some, it felt like a sudden breeze or brush; for others, more sensitive, like a whistle; and for a few, like a heartbeat that pulled with immense and incomprehensible force.
The Shadow and Marcus look at the same time, and that instant is the opportunity the soldier needs to notice the proximity of his adversary.
"[Double Sacred Slash]!" Marcus exclaims. The audience looks back.
-Technique: Double Sacred Slash.
Requirement: Level 15.
Cost: 35 Ki.
Description: Imbues a slashing weapon with vital energy to increase damage and perform a double attack.
The glowing blade slashes upward. The hands, gloved in black leather, fall severed, still gripping the sword. The Shadow screams and collapses as Marcus slashes again, this time cleanly severing him at the knees.
The sword stops glowing. Marcus spins it in his hands and points it at where The Shadow lies. He lowers his hands, the tip burying deep into the hooded man's heart, silencing the mysterious warrior's moans and leaving Jimbo and the crowd speechless.
Seconds later, the silence gives way to a standing ovation. The master of the joust declares Marcus the winner of the bout.
Marcus pulls the sword from the hooded figure's body and shakes it, cleaning some of the blood soaking the tip. It's customary for a victor to unmask his defeated rival, but Marcus doesn't even think about it. He has other concerns.
The young soldier ignores the ovations and looks toward where the castle rises, but his thoughts penetrate the earth. He feels a bitter taste, understanding that this victory was not entirely his own. But he is also overwhelmed by a profound gratitude.
…
The Shadow, barely resurrected, escaped the care of the priests, heading into the city's alleys. In a narrow street, he met another hooded figure, and both left for the hideout they occupied in the most precarious area inside the third wall.
Once in the privacy offered by the dark and deteriorated house, both take off their hoods, but Harris doesn't lift his face. The young man sports a pair of dark bruises, one on his chin and another on his forehead.
"I don't know what happened to me at the jousts. I felt like a demon was taking over me; I went blind with bloodlust... Or maybe blind with envy?" says the blonde boy, clutching his chest with a hand that Shadowkiss soon takes between hers and caresses.
"You behaved strong and lethal, like any man a dark elf would desire," the girl says with a sweet voice.
"But Marcus is my friend, and the first friendly face I met when I joined the army..."
"Marcus is your rival to overcome. If friendship were a true force in the world, wouldn't he have noticed your identity at first glance? But friendship is an illusion. Both on the surface and in the Underdark, the only thing that makes a difference is power and ambition. I saw you from the stands, my prince. You fought bravely."
Shadowkiss plants her lips on Harris's cheek. But the young man remains downcast.
"But I lost. Even after you helped me train so much, and I fought with all my strength, I got distracted by a noise and failed."
Shadowkiss frames Harris's face between her palms and forces him to look at her.
"You were so close to winning, my beloved. You just need to harden your heart and accept my guidance. I told you about the dark arts of my people, about how betrayal fuels our power."
Harris's eyes shy away from Shadowkiss's; he trembles because he understands what the dark elf is getting at.
"I can't stoop that low, I'd be worse than a criminal."
"The forbidden union of our races already condemns us. So what if we have to sink a little deeper? You like Marcus, but you envy him fiercely. Perhaps you aren't ready for him, but there is still one man you can face. He will be the ladder you use to surpass Marcus."
Harris opens his mouth to refuse, but Shadowkiss silences him with a kiss. The elf's expert hands make the young man shudder and lead him to the bed of piled blankets.
Soon, words are replaced by moans, and thoughts by ravishing sensations.
…
His colleagues from the barracks invited him to celebrate, but Marcus wanted to meet with someone. The soldiers joke about a possible girlfriend or lover. Marcus smiles nervously and assures them that isn't the case, but many choose not to believe him.
"Last chance, Marcus. Let's go with Red and her friends; with how popular you're getting, they'll surely give us a discount," says Baldo. "We have a lot to celebrate, including that idiot Wolfen getting defeated. True, you weren't the one who beat him, but hey, a win is a win."
The barracks door opens and a soldier in a golden tunic enters at a hurried pace, bearing a message for Marcus:
"His Majesty wishes to see you in the throne room."
The barracks falls silent, and the soldiers look at their comrade with concern. Baldo laughs loudly to lighten the mood and claps Marcus on the back, assuring him that the king surely wanted to congratulate him for beating The Shadow. Pit agreed with the theory, but that didn't stop Marcus from feeling nervous.
Marcus hurried to reach the throne room. He greeted the guards at the door before entering. The king awaited him standing at the foot of the throne, his broad shoulders hunched under the weight of his brocade.
King Marc's attention remains on the throne; he strokes his gray beard while observing its lines and ornaments, as if it were the first time he's encountering it, as if seeking wisdom or new meanings in the piece of furniture.
The young soldier, halfway to the ruler, plants his knee, lowers his head, and introduces himself.
"Your Highness, h-here is your faithful servant, Marcus the soldier, for whatever you may need," he tries to sound solemn, but he can't stop his voice from trembling. Being alone with the king is as tense as fighting The Shadow or the knight of melodies.
The king's brown gaze falls upon the young man.
"You fought well in the jousts. Congratulations. I was informed that your adversary escaped without offering you the due reward. I already have a group of soldiers and oracles investigating to find him."
"The reward..." Marcus had completely forgotten about it. He shakes his head, still lowered. "It's unnecessary, Your Majesty. I am satisfied with my triumph. I cannot compare to Captain Axiel, but I gave my all..."
"Don't misunderstand me, young soldier. I don't do it just for you, but for the kingdom. Mysterious or masked champions are the people's favorites, but if I allow any of them to ignore the rules, it would set a terrible example."
"I... understand. Your Majesty is very wise. I apologize for being so shortsighted."
"Stand up."
Marcus obeys. Marc looks him up and down.
"That druidic armor... Did it serve you well?"
"Huh? My armor...?" Marcus makes a foolish face and looks at his chest as if he weren't aware of what he's wearing. He quickly straightens his back and regains his composure. "Yes, it did! It was a gift from my father. Without it, I wouldn't have even been able to participate."
Marc nods slowly.
"In my hometown, we know how reliable Ironbreak wood can be," the ruler affirms.
Such words give way to silence. King Marc looks thoughtful; Marcus shifts restlessly. It's the ruler who breaks the stillness.
"This kingdom will need strong men and women to defend itself. Soon there will be a vacancy among the four captains, and I hope it will be a promising young man like you who fills it."
Marcus is left speechless.
"Your Majesty... I... I'm not ready to be a captain. I could hardly dream of matching Captain Lynel or Captain Hilda."
In contrast to Marcus, who loses his nerve, the king responds with all the calm in the world:
"That is true. You are very far from the strength of Lynel or Hilda, and it's an even greater abyss if you are compared to Axiel or Claus..."
A brief tone of bitterness slips out when pronouncing the first captain's name. Marc continues speaking:
"But neither Lynel nor anyone else was born knowing. For that reason, I offer you the option to go to the Royal Knight Academy, where you can train."
The king gives Marcus time to think about it; the boy doesn't ask for it, but it's evident he needs it. Marcus leaves the throne room with many ideas clashing in his head. Being accepted into the royal academy is a golden opportunity; upon completing his studies, he would be knighted, could work for a rich fiefdom, perhaps obtain lands for his family, and even be named captain in Stoicus.
Marcus had heard that Axiel owns several wine cellars, that Hilda sends substantial donations to the inquisitor order, and that Lynel obtained a small mansion in the expensive part of the city for his services. Being a captain, along with the honor it entails, would be a destiny he had only visualized in his fantasies.
"I never saw myself as a lucky person, but these past few days have shown me otherwise."
He is satisfied, proud, but his smile is replaced by a serious and determined expression. If such an opportunity had presented itself months ago, he would have run to his family to share the good news. But instead of heading home, Marcus makes his way down the stairs toward the depths of the castle.
He finds Dowmy studying a book in the laboratory and tells her his intention. The imp's eyes widen. Marcus kneels and lowers his head, demonstrating the same servitude and respect he showed toward the king. The young soldier speaks without his words faltering:
"I wish to dedicate my life in the name of the dungeon. That is the calling I must serve."
He desires to touch the crystal and become the most loyal of its guardians.
…
In the highest room of a tower near the first wall, a flame burns in the dark. The wooden door creaks and another oil lamp joins in. The young maid, breathing heavily and with her pretty face flushed crimson with shyness, enters carefully and places the lamp next to the second one on the table.
In the window frame, with his golden hair stirred by the breeze and his profile framed by the starry sky, stands Ser Axiel. The captain looks at the young woman and smiles at her; such a gesture, like an invitation, is enough for the maid to gather her courage and step closer.
"I delivered the gift as you asked, my ser. I expected greater joy from Dame Hilda, but I understand that a gift from a secret admirer isn't the same as receiving one clearly from you."
"I appreciate your help and your discretion. But you sent me a letter assuring me that a deep unease had come over you. I would like to know what it is about, and if possible, help. Do you need more money?"
The young maid shakes her head repeatedly and presses her hand against her chest.
"Not at all, my ser!" She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I would have done it free of charge had you allowed me. I don't need coins to keep my lips sealed for you... I to you..."
She hesitates for a second, but finally opens her eyes and says it.
"I love you!"
She runs toward Axiel and takes his hands. The captain diminishes his smile, but tries to remain gentle.
"You have always been the kindest and most faithful of the maids; however—"
"Hilda doesn't deserve you, she is a woman of stone, I doubt she can feel, and rumors say she's cursed and infertile!"
"Please, my dear. There is no need for you to disrespect my comrade-in-arms. Come now, it's late, you need to go to sleep—"
"The queen isn't for you either!"
Such words erase any gentleness from Axiel's face. But the young damsel doesn't even notice the change, and she continues bearing her heart.
"She is cruel and vain, and flirts with the darkness! The oracle brings her potions. Pink tea—even though the metal hides it, the aroma is unmistakable."
"You... saw us?"
The young woman nods and buries her face in Axiel's breastplate. The metal is cold, and its hardness hurts her skin, but to her it feels like the finest of beds, allowing her tears and yearnings to bathe the crimson armor. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the stars in the sky.
"Because I have loved you since I arrived at the castle, I followed you, and then I saw you, several times, in the garden. No one else knows. I know that if others find out, you would be exiled, or executed. A knight like you doesn't deserve ruin because of a noble."
"I understand. It was very considerate of you to keep the secret. You have my gratitude."
The damsel feels Axiel's strong arm wrapping around her waist. The captain takes her by the chin, and with their eyes meeting, he gives her his best smile. The maid feels like it's a dream come true, and when Axiel's arm leaves her to the care of the wind, it takes her a moment to snap out of the spell.
Her surprise is such that she doesn't even utter the slightest scream, and barely recognizes the side of the tower rushing up on her left at a staggering speed. She doesn't feel the impact arrive. A loud, instantaneous crunch, then darkness.
Axiel leans out the window, not a shred of emotion in his eyes. From such a height the body can't be seen, but it's easy to assume the girl fell into the bushes. Axiel raises his gaze to the stars.
"Tomorrow will be the king's last night." He turns his back on the void, his cape fluttering. He walks to the table and takes the handle of one of the lamps, blowing out the other. "Long live the king."
He closes the door on his way out.