371: Indispensable confrontations (part 1)

Indispensable confrontations (part 1)

2The first sight of the Lanark morning sun was a gathering of Lanark's nobility in the arena of the Archduchess's estate, an event exclusive to the royal family and their knights. They had congregated to witness a surprising and unexpected spectacle that had stirred both admiration and skepticism among the ranks.1

Half of those assembled admired the former Commander's courageous heart and unparalleled loyalty that had driven him to challenge the Crown Prince for the coveted title of Platoon Leader. The other half, however, questioned Arkin von Conradie's sanity, speculating that his years as a mercenary may have taken a toll on his logic.

After all, who in their right mind would willingly accept the possibility of being defeated by a six-year-old boy, even if that boy happened to be the unique Crown Prince of Emoria?

At the center of the arena, a raised platform had been prepared for the impending duel. It was decorated with banners displaying the sigil of House de Lanark and flags of Emoria, all of which fluttered in the cold morning breeze.

Seated on the northern side of the arena, the King and Queen observed the proceedings from their comfortable, luxurious chairs which the Majordomo and the Baroness had specially brought out for the occasion. Meanwhile, on the southern side and at a lower vantage point, the future Emperor of Kolhis, Claude de Lanark, sat between his betrothed, Lady Larissa de Lanark, and the Archduchess herself.

Dressed in his grey knightly armor, Arkin von Conradie stood at one end of the arena, his expression one of concern. He had faced countless battles and incredible foes during his years as a mercenary, but today's challenge was unlike any other. Today, he would engage in a duel with none other than his own nephew, the Crown Prince of Emoria, a boy he had felt compelled to protect and serve from the moment he first laid eyes on him.

"Focus..." Arkin murmured to himself, attempting to push aside the horrific tales his sisters had shared with him yesterday just before Claude's arrival. He had vowed to employ just enough strength to earn the coveted title without causing harm to a single hair on Noctavian's head.

But was that even possible?

At the opposite end of the arena stood the young Crown Prince, attired in a scaled-down suit of armor and wielding a smaller-sized sword that appeared surprisingly menacing in his sturdy grip. He shook his head, as if reading his uncle's internal thoughts. 

At the tender age of seven, Noctavian cut a striking figure that embodied the essence of Emorian nobility. His hair, nearly white blond, contrasted dramatically with his predatory brown eyes, an inheritance from his father, the very man Noctavian was trying his best to fully ignore now.

Egon stood at the forefront of the Crown Prince's guards and radiated an infectious excitement, unnecessarily adjusting the band of his bows and arrows which he alone carried while surrounded by knights with sheathed swords. His peculiar smile sent shivers down the spines of those nearby, resulting in an unusually wide berth between him and his comrades.

Kaiser de Lanark rose to his feet, and the entire arena followed suit. "Let the duel begin!" The King's thunderous voice boomed throughout the open space.

The crowd erupted in cheers as the signal to commence the duel was given. Noctavian wasted no time. With a swift and predatory grace that defied human limitations, he launched himself at Arkin with astonishing speed. His boyish form moved like a blur as he executed a flurry of strikes, pushing a stunned Arkin to the very edge of the arena.

The entire crowd held its collective breath as the Crown Prince's sword pressed against Arkin's neck.

"You're dead!" Noctavian declared loudly before taking a step back, turning away from Arkin, who placed a hand to his neck, his eyes widening as he saw the blood there.

Claude leaned closer to Adela's side, his voice filled with amazement. "He's just... I mean...wow."

Adela couldn't conceal her self-satisfied smile. "Indeed, he is."

"Is it over?" Claude asked, his tone hushed with amusement. "I mean, it's terrible for Arkin if that's the case. I'm glad it's not me in there with Noctavian." He winked at her with warm, light green eyes.

Adela shook her head as she watched her son circling around, putting on a show for the crowd that adored him. Her eyes, however, wandered toward Egon as if drawn by an invisible force.

Her stomach clenched, the calm beat of her heart moments before transformed into a frenzied thumping seeing how her oblivious husband was gazing at her with big, moistening eyes. Adela quickly averted her gaze, fearful of allowing tears well up at this moment.

Yes, that is our son, and he is absolutely amazing.

"Now that you know what you're up against, Sir Arkin, I suggest you fight with every ounce of your strength to earn the title I've already bestowed upon you. Carrying that title without deserving it would not befit you," Noctavian declared, his fine voice echoing around the arena.

The knights and nobles exchanged confused glances, pondering whether the Crown Prince's words were meant as praise or an insult.

"Just disarm me, Sir Arkin, that's all I ask," The Prince concluded, locking eyes with his grandfather who gazed at him with proud blue eyes.

"Again!" The Emorian King shouted, and the arena erupted into cheers once more.

Arkin's initial concern about hurting his nephew had completely evaporated, his years of experience as a mercenary now taking center stage as he blocked, dodged, and countered with moves that were far from the noble techniques of a knight. His one concern was not to let Noctavian down and stand with his head held high next to him.

The clash of steel against steel filled the arena as Arkin and Noctavian engaged in a fierce battle. Arkin's greater sword experience allowed him to parry Noctavian's strikes, but the boy's speed and agility made it difficult for the former Commander to land a decisive blow.

The crowd watched in awe, amazed by the progress their six-year-old Crown Prince had made since the last hunt. Emorians were well aware that Noctavian was a prodigious talent that wouldn't come along twice, but witnessing his fighting spirit burn so brightly filled their hearts with content.

All the tension that had been building in the arena was shattered in an instant when Larissa, seated next to her betrothed, suddenly doubled over in her seat, her hands clamped over her ears in agony, her cry of pain louder than the groans of Arkin and Noctavian. All eyes turned to her in alarm.

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