Leonidas slammed down onto the bench within the Duskguard locker room with a thud, and leaned his head back against the metal of the lockers themselves with a low sigh of contentment. His first match had been wrapped up, and other than some blood and viscera—things he was largely desensitized to, for better or worse, at that point—coating his armor; he had emerged largely unscathed.

  In fact, he hadn’t even lost a point of Health, which was strangely hilarious.

  His eyes roamed the interior of the space and, just as before, the familiarity it raised in relation to his memories of the Royal Palace at Veleros brought a smile to his lips. Elatra may or may not have been real, he still wasn’t quite certain; but he did know the experience was real to him—and that meant the nostalgia was as well.

  He distantly noticed the door to the room opening, but did not pay it any heed.

  “{You seem at ease,}” Tarnys said a moment later after entering once more, having opened the room for Leonidas earlier before leaving to check on something. “{If I didn’t know better, Achilles, I’d say you looked peaceful.}” the Lance-Master jested good-naturedly. He had warmed considerably since their first meeting, what seemed like an age ago—despite the alarmingly small amount of actual time that had passed.

  “{I feel a certain measure of contentment here, Tarnys, for reasons I would struggle to grant insight into,}” Leonidas answered with an armored shrug while focusing on the Haelfar. “{To be candid, I am simply pondering the benefits and negatives of dousing my armor in one of the showers to divest it of these putrid entrails.}”

  Tarnys raised his eyebrows at Leonidas’ words and frowned.

  “{Why not simply dismiss and resummon your warplate?}”

  A moment passed in silence between them, and then Leonidas cursed.

  “{I completely forgot I could do that! That means I could shower, too.}”

  Tarnys laughed in response.

  “{You have thirty minutes left in your one hour intermission. Best be on with it.}"

  Leonidas did not need telling twice, and with a focused exertion of will, he dismissed his [Archon’s Warplate] to wherever it lurked during the times he did not wear it—some sort of pocket reality, so he understood it, that it would remain within until summoned.

  The fact it was essentially self-cleaning in that way was outstanding.

  “{Let me know if anything happens,}” Leonidas said to Tarnys while standing and already working to pull off the shirt he had worn under his warplate, while striding toward one of the showers in the ready-room.

  “{I shall. Would you like me to give you a ten minute warning?}” the Haelfar asked casually.

  “{That would be great, Tarnys, thank you,}” Leonidas agreed with a nod while his mind shifted automatically toward beginning to cycle his mana for active meditation. “{See you in twenty minutes.}”

  “{Enjoy the reprieve, Achilles.}” Tarnys said casually, and turned to step outside once more as Leonidas made his way toward the shower, and within it, a much needed moment of refreshment.

  * * * * *

  “{Personally, I thought it was rather barbaric,}” commented Lady Vasht, a tanned blonde noblewoman of low status but considerable wealth, thanks to her shrewd mind for trade and eye for textiles.

  She stood in a corner of the Arena’s elite entertaining hall, a mix between a rectangular ballroom and a miniature throne room—though the throne was, for evident reasons, draped in neutral white and unoccupied at the present moment.

  “{Of course it was. He is Terran,}” responded Baron Malerias with a shake of his black-haired head and a look of disdain upon his effeminate features, “{and a vagrant to boot. I heard from the Dawnguard, in fact, that the Dusk-Lord took him in after one of her soldiers found him wandering the wilds of all places. It is abhorrent!}”

  “{Mind that the Moonlight Duchess does not hear that, my lord,}” cautioned Ser Dareon of House Tremblaine, a svelte brunette that was actually part of the Dawnguard. “{Her Grace is rather protective of her charge, from all reports. It would be a mistake to let her hear you denigrating him so openly.}”

  “{Oh pish posh, Ser Tremblaine,}” laughed Lady Vasht’s partner-in-scandal, the raven-haired and snow-skinned Dowager Baroness Theia of House Ithariel. “{The Duchess hardly cares for the whispers of we civilians,}” she emphasized with a sneer, “{and openly derides us as parasites on a regular basis, if reports are to be believed. Nevermind that she has yet to produce any sort of suitable Heir for House Latherian, or what remains of it.}”

  “{I heard she sterilized herself when she became an Archon,}” Lady Vasht said conspiratorially, and drew more than one extra pair of ears toward their discourse.

  “{I heard she actually had a son, without even the most casual of breeding contracts, and he died on Altera—that’s why the Heroine-Queen sent her to Terra,}” Baroness Ithariel said with a wiggle of her dark eyebrows. “{It was to get the moody shrew out of the palace in Eldormer.}”

  “{Truly?}” a new voice cut in amid the group’s gossip curiously. “{And here I thought she was sent because the Heroine-Queen recognized that only someone of her caliber could be trusted to shepherd the settlement and keep it safe.}”

  “{Now that is precious,}” Baron Malerias said while turning toward the source of the voice, “{and I would love to know who told y—?}”

  The words died in a strangled squeak very much in line with his feminine appearance.

  Lady Vasht and Baroness Ithariel turned as well, only to blanch in equal fright upon spotting their newest conversation partner.

  “{Y-Your Highness!}” Baroness Ithariel stuttered, while dropping into a curtsy. “{We did not notice you had—}”

  “{The advantage of this hall,}” Aylar replied in a voice that was equal parts casual and cutting, “{is that I can move among a crowd unfettered by concern over bowing and scraping, owing to the traditional expectation of informality within an Arena chamber’s confines.}”

  “{A-ah. Yes, I suppose that would make sense,}” Lady Vasht answered while licking her lips. “{I hope you will not take our silly chattering too seriously, Princess? Just idle talk, is all it was. Nothing worth repeating to—}”

  “{Duchess Latherian?}” Aylar guessed with an imperious arch of her right eyebrow. “{Yes, I imagine that would have horrible consequences. Even with the Dusk-Lord departed until the end of the intermission to confer with the Dawn-Lord, she would no doubt be quite incensed to hear such crude and ignorant supposition about her private life.}”

  All three nobles blanched again at Aylar’s words, and Ser Tremblaine simply observed neutrally. He had not, after all, technically done anything wrong—he had simply permitted the badmouthing, he had not joined in himself.

  To Aylar, it was barely better, and she would have expected far better of one of Duke Aventus’ Knights—but she also acknowledged that, like many of the Dawnguard, Ser Tremblaine was very likely a staunch Blue; and thereby ideologically and politically opposed to both Aylar and Ceruviel.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  How they rationalized their loyalty to Uriel Aventus, despite his unspoken but clear support for Aylar over Braedon, was a quagmire she had no interest in wading into. That was a mess best left to the Dawn-Lord to sort out.

  “{Of course, your highness,}” Baroness Ithariel said quickly, “{we understand entirely what you are saying. We will be, ah, much more mindful of ourselves in future. Gossip truly is a terrible thing, after all.}”

  Both Lady Vasht and Baron Malerias uttered their profound agreement and concurrence with the Baroness’ statement, and Aylar fought back the disparaging sneer that wanted to curl her lips. The three of them were not worth staining her decorum over.

  “{I am glad to hear it,}” she said instead with a cool, but magnanimous nod. “{I must continue my rounds, but it was lovely to see you three again,}” she continued while looking toward Ser Tremblaine, “{and I am sure the Dawn-Lord will be pleased to hear his Dawnguard are being so diligent in their observations, Ser Tremblaine. Why, were it not for your luminous badge, I may not have noticed you at all given your remarkable lack of presence.}”

  The Knight stiffened visibly at Aylar’s words, and all three nobles side-eyed him with glee they failed to hide at the obvious castigation—though all the Haelfar did in response was incline his head to Aylar woodenly. She had phrased it, after all, as a compliment; and his station was too far below her own to challenge her words.

  The Princess offered the quartet one final perfunctory smile, and then departed.

  Slack-brained sycophantic gossiping parasites. Aylar fumed mentally while her [Princess Royal] effects kept her expression regal and cordial as she moved through the space. After everything the Dusk-Lord does for Dawnhaven, they have the nerve to speak so poorly of her somewhere others can overhear? Outrageous!

  The nobles themselves weren’t the source of it, though, Aylar knew.

  They were certainly part of the problem, and they had their own measure of responsibility for the breakdown in decorum impacting each level of Dawnhaven’s social fabric—but the behavior, foul and repulsive as it was, was just a symptom of a larger infection within her new homeland.

  The Princess nodded to Leona when the Guardswoman discretely nodded toward the passage leading back to the Royal Box, and shifted her movement to beeline for it. It was always better to leave early, in order to avoid the necessary social engagements that were spawned by encountering nobles in the passageway.

  Braedon is at the heart of this. Aylar ruminated darkly while veering toward the exit back out to the Royal Box. The moment he escaped father’s grip, he let his worst instincts come to the fore, even after our parents warned him about the necessities of cohabitation and integration.

  Her brother was not an evil person. Aylar knew that fundamentally, because she knew Braedon. She had known him since infancy, and for all that her brother might be intolerant and aggressively proud, he also loved—truly, fully, and completely—the legacy and traditions of their people. His bigotry was based in pride and a lifelong aggrandizement, not pure malice. It did not excuse his behavior, but for Aylar, it certainly made things frustratingly more complicated.

  She did not have the luxury of simply hating her baby brother and wanting him dead.

  System forfend I ever stoop to that, though I cannot deny it would be easier.

  She wondered if her other siblings were missing her as much as she missed them at that moment, and then banished the thought before it could take root. There was nothing positive to be gained from that line of consideration—it would only result in an emotional down spiral she could ill afford.

  The Princess nodded to her guards when they formed up at her appearance in the passageway, and took a steadying breath while behind the wall of golden warplate.

  For now, she needed to focus on observing Achilles, and determining how best to bring the Dusk-Lord’s clearly favored student to her side. Ceruviel seemed certain that her Rite of Ascension would succeed—which meant that her immediate concerns following it would be stability and order within Dawnhaven. To ensure that, she needed contingencies, not just for anything rash that Braedon might attempt, but for random elements as well.

  Random elements like the Ninth Tier potentiate being nurtured by her closest ally.

  Aylar sighed through her nose while walking back toward the Royal Box.

  Sometimes, it really was a pain in the ass being the future Queen.

  * * * * *

  Leonidas stood before the portcullis into the arena showered, watered, and overall refreshed—his warplate clean and in place, and his psiblade thrumming in his hand. His cycling had taken care of his fatigue, his resources had fully regenerated, and he had taken the time to fully acclimate to the new abilities in his possession.

  Once again standing near the portcullis itself while leaning against the wall, Tarnys glanced at him.

  “{Did Her Grace shed any light on what you can expect?}”

  “{No, she seemed to be intentionally vague,}” Leonidas said while maintaining the steady cycle of his cataclysm mana and psi, while balancing the output of his [Cataclysm Core]. “{Were I to guess, I would wager she wished me to face the challenge and overcome on mine own merit.}”

  “{That would be consistent with her preferred method of operation,}” Tarnys agreed while turning back toward the portcullis. “{Even the Announcer seems quiet. I wonder why?}”

  “{Tension,}” Leonidas answered with a shrug, “{and likely by command. I doubt either of us would be surprised to learn that Ceruviel bade her to not give me any hints about what is coming.}”

  “{True…}” Tarnys murmured with a faint furrow of his brows.

  Leonidas suppressed a faint smile at how obvious the Haelfar was, and a few moments later, Tarnys spoke once more.

  “{You do not think she will blame me if you were grievously hurt in the Arena, do you?}”

  “{No, Tarnys,}” Leonidas said wryly and with a barely-suppressed laugh to follow, “{I very much doubt she would hold you accountable for that.}”

  The elf nodded slowly at Leonidas’ words, and then blinked at the illumination of the magitech veins across the portcullis’ surface.

  “{It appears our time is once again at an end,}” the Haelfar said while stepping away from the wall, and knocking his fingers against Leonidas’ breastplate. “{Best of luck, Achilles. We will be cheering for you.}”

  Leonidas nodded to the other man once, and when the portcullis rose, stepped out of the yawning maw of the shadowed tunnel and into the light of the arena once more.

  Thunderous roars greeted him when he showed himself, and Leonidas raised his sword in greeting alongside his left hand; waving the latter and holding the fomer straight and proud in salute to the crowd. The chanting chorus of “ACHILLES! ACHILLES! ACHILLES!” filled the air, and he let himself openly laugh in delight at the chanting.

  Even on Elatra, he had never experienced anything quite like this.

  He felt like a Gladiator out of an old movie, or an underdog Knight in a romance.

  “AND ACHILLES RETURNS TO A LOVING CROWD. WHAT A SIGHT TO BEHOLD!” the announcer boomed into her microphone, while the chanting continued apace across the arena.

  “UNLIKE OUR FIRST MATCH, WE ALREADY KNOW THE CAPABILITIES OF OUR CONTENDER—BUT FOR THOSE THAT MAY ONLY JUST BE JOINING US, ALLOW ME TO OFFER YOU INSIGHT INTO THE DEEDS OF THE BLACK KNIGHT OF THE ADVENTURERS’ GUILD!”

  Leonidas shook his head and smirked at the woman’s words, and prepared himself to settle in for a truncated but still-lengthy retelling, insofar as the Arena was concerned—right up until a savage BOOM shook the ground.

  His eyes snapped across the arena toward the furthest portcullis from his own, and his eyebrows shot up as another BOOM rocked the earth. The Announcer’s voice came through clearly, especially now that the crowd had fallen from cheers into loud murmurs of confusion.

  “IT APPEARS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THAT THE INTRODUCTION WILL HAVE TO—”

  Another BOOM drowned out even the announcer, and Leonidas had the good instincts to summon his helmet in a flash of scarlet energy—just before an explosion of steel and wood erupted from the other tunnel.

  That isn’t a magitech portcullis. Leonidas realized at the same moment as a massive, shadowy shape stormed free of the tunnel.

  When the unknown creature emerged into the light, he very nearly swore.

  The sound of hissing drowned out everything, and the crowd let out gasps and screams of shock at the sight that greeted them. Dark, wine-purple scales glinted in the mid-morning sun, attached to a body large enough to rival an elephant. Seven massive serpentine heads grew from a quadrupedal center mass, with a long tail girded by razor fins forming a spearhead at its zenith.

  Seven pairs of eyes locked onto Achilles as another chorus of furious hisses filled the air.

  The Announcer, even, seemed stunned when she spoke.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF DAWNHAVEN, IT APPEARS WE HAVE A… A SPECIAL SURPRISE FOR THE SECOND TITLE MATCH! ACHILLES, SQUIRE OF THE DUSK-LORD, AND BLACK KNIGHT OF THE ADVENTURERS’ GUILD WILL FACE OFF AGAINST A HYDRA!”

  Leonidas darted a glance toward the Royal Box, and saw Ceruviel watching him with unblinking and cold focus.

  She said nothing, but she did not need to.

  Leonidas locked his jaw, and turned back toward the Hydra.

  “Alright then,” he declared while [Psionic Swordforce] ignited across his psiblade, and his Core revved to life in his chest, “game on, you son of a bitch.”

  The Hydra charged with an enraged hiss, and the crowd went mad.