The Beginning of the Path to Power

P.S. I've discovered that if I really push myself, I might manage two updates a day (but that's not happening).

Bang!

The duel immediately drew everyone's attention on the Knights' training ground.

Why was Disma, a knight-in-training, fighting a newcomer?

This fight broke every rule of a proper match. Neither side had arranged it beforehand or issued a challenge. A little friction was all it had taken for them to fight on the training ground?

There were twenty or thirty fully armed Purple Dragon Knights there, and nearly a hundred people in all once the guards, apprentices, logistics staff, and clerks were counted. Almost as one, they looked toward Grand Inspector Ian Hutson.

Ian wore his usual sour expression. He pursed his lips, folded his arms, and looked thoroughly unconcerned.

What was wrong with it? Let the kid learn a harsh lesson!

This was the Knights, not some noble salon! The rules of aristocratic society didn't apply here, kid!

The sight of Aaron acting so arrogant made Ian want to go over and slap him hard.

You little shit. Who did you think you were? You had no idea how far you were from being truly strong!

Go adventuring with that attitude, and you'd get yourself killed!

Since the Grand Inspector raised no objection, everyone settled in to watch.

Their blades clashed, and both men instinctively stepped back.

Aaron held his sword in one hand, with his other hand braced beneath his sword wrist. Disma held a saber in his left and a sword in his right. Tiny nicks, no bigger than grains of rice, were visible along both blades.

They were old weapons that had seen years of use.

And Aaron knew what that meant: Disma was undoubtedly a battle fanatic.

"Come on!" Disma roared. The muscles in his bare arms tightened, and veins twisted beneath his skin like earthworms. His skin flushed with the heat of battle, and fighting spirit blazed from him. The knight-in-training laughed wildly. "Show me everything you've got! Last Salian, one wrong move and you could die!"

"Did you brush your teeth this morning? Your breath stinks," Aaron said calmly.

Disma did not answer, but the sharp look in his eyes told Aaron he had angered him again. The knight-in-training bounded forward, bringing his longsword down first in a chop aimed straight at Aaron's skull!

Aaron slid sideways to evade it. First-circle Chaos Bolt light was already gathering in the Viscount's free hand.

He was just about to raise his hand and cast.

Disma attacked faster than he could cast the spell!

The sword withdrew, and the saber came in. Its edge drove straight toward Aaron, bringing a gust that stung his smooth, fair face.

No time to cast Chaos Bolt!

Aaron hurriedly brought up his sword to block. Savage force slammed into his wrist, knocking his blade aside. Thrown off balance, the Viscount staggered back two steps before finally releasing the Chaos Bolt in his hand.

Three darts shimmering with rainbow light approached from different directions. Their eerie glow made Disma wary. He abandoned the pursuit and pulled a small round shield from behind his back. It blocked two Chaos Bolts, but the third struck his arm.

Thud!

Disma felt his body jolt as searing pain shot up his arm and into his head.

I'm hurt?

Stranger still, the wound kept sending out knife-like stabs of pain. Even Disma, a veteran of countless battles, could barely endure it.

What was that? What kind of magic did this guy use?

How about that? Never seen it before, had you?

Seeing that his spell had worked, Aaron moved to press his advantage. Suddenly, thorn-covered vines rose from the ground and wrapped around his legs, pinning him in place. Their spikes pierced his flesh, spraying flecks of blood.

Damn. I'd misjudged him!

The knight-in-training before him was a spellcaster too!

It was a first-circle spell: Ensnaring Strike.

Disma was not just a warrior. He was also a Ranger!

Yes, contrary to what most people imagined, Rangers were spellcasters too. They drew on the natural world's source of magic, offering their minds to the laws of the world and the rules of nature in exchange for magical power. That was why perception was the key attribute behind their spellcasting.

Rangers were not dedicated spellcasters, and most knew only a few minor spells. Even so, those spells introduced countless uncertainties into the fight.

I'd miscalculated. I thought I could show off by picking on some nobody warrior, but he was a warrior with Ranger training!

Pink flames rose from the ground. Daemonettes formed from the fire and threw themselves greedily over the thorns. Ignoring the spikes piercing their bodies, they gulped down the magic within the vines.

Jing Ji soon withered as the pink Daemonettes drained it. Aaron broke free, and the two faced off again.

Each had been startled by the other's magic.

Disma in particular stared at Aaron, surprise slowly replacing the reckless look in his eyes.

What was that thing? What kind of spell was it?

I'd never seen it before!

Every knight-in-training had attended classes on countering magic. Disma knew exactly how to deal with famous low-circle spells like Hypnotism, Color Spray, Grease, Shield, Web, Invisibility, and Mirror Image. An Apprentice Sorcerer had hardly seemed worth worrying about.

But today he had run into something uncanny. The magic this guy used was strange. His Magic Missile was strange enough, and Disma had never seen anything like those pink flames!

"When faced with powerful magic absent from the books, your best choice is to retreat."

—Adventuring wisdom from the Realms

Both men reassessed their opponent.

Aaron's face was grim. With his current Sorcerer abilities and the bonus from his Extraordinary Charisma, he could cast only three first-circle spells before resting. He had already used two.

Disma gave a scornful snort. If I couldn't even beat this newcomer, I'd never live it down.

He was a warrior who had just entered the Elite tier and also trained as a Ranger!

Not bad, kid. No wonder you dared provoke me. Watch me knock you flat, sit on your waist, and make you beg for mercy!

Sure enough, the knight-in-training could not hold back. He attacked first, meeting Aaron's longsword with his right-hand sword and knocking its edge aside. At the instant their blades met, Disma dropped low and drove his saber straight toward Aaron's chest!

Aaron could no longer dodge. Straining against the immense force on his sword, the Viscount cast his final spell at Disma.

Lash of Slaanesh!

Three barbed purple whips shot from his palm and wrapped around Disma. They knocked the saber from his left hand and carved foot-long gashes across his chest and back.

With the spell cast, Aaron rolled sideways, avoiding the sword blade coming at his face. Disma broke free of the Lash of Slaanesh as well. At the same moment, they each gripped a longsword with both hands, and their blades collided in midair.

"You've lost!"

"It's over!"

Aaron released his right hand and clenched it into an iron-hard fist. The muscles in his right arm tightened, and purple-gray veins stood out on the back of his hand!

Disma kept pressing down on their locked blades with his left hand. He raised a fist the size of a sandbag, muscles rippling as he gathered his strength!

Boom!

Aaron's fist smashed into Disma's arrogant left cheek, sending his skin rippling like a wave.

Smack!

Disma's fist struck Aaron's smooth, delicate, alluring left cheek, whipping up a twisting burst of wind.

Both cried out and stumbled back. Aaron retreated several steps before falling flat on his back. Half his face swelled immediately. Dizzy and disoriented, he barely managed to prop himself up with one hand.

Disma also staggered back several steps before regaining his footing. A large lump had risen on his left cheek, and a line of bright red blood ran from his nose. He touched it with a finger, gave a cold laugh, and put the finger in his mouth to suck it clean.

"Hey, kid, want more? You still up for it?" the knight-in-training mocked.

"Why does everything you say stink? Brother, get those hemorrhoids in your mouth cut out already," Aaron shot back.

The first taunt clearly hurt less than the second. Disma's face twitched uncontrollably at Aaron's words.

"Enough! Stop!" A great door in the castle swung open nearby, and a squad of Purple Dragon Knights rode out. The crowd parted for them.

"Separate them! Neither of those two knows how to stay out of trouble," the lead Purple Dragon Knight ordered.

"Yes, Banneret. Right away."

Banneret?! Aaron, still trying to look tough, hurriedly looked toward the knight in command. The man wore adamantium splint armor marked with protective Runes. He was powerfully built, far sturdier than either Disma or Aaron. His expression was grave, and beneath brows as thick as bushes, his gray eyes held a panther's gaze. It struck like a polished steel blade, steady and precise, straight at the heart.

But his most striking feature was his thick hair. Long brown locks gave him the commanding presence of a lion, and his brown beard was denser than a down quilt, hanging almost the length of his head.

He looked like a hero from the old stories, a man who could intimidate any opponent as readily as the weapon in his hand.

Aaron recognized him.

He was Lucian Bachmann, an old friend and comrade of Aaron's father, one of the Purple Dragons' Bannerets, and a Master Purple Dragon Knight.

"Who is this, and what are they doing? Ian, I need an explanation. I heard nothing about a match today, let alone one in full equipment!" the Banneret said in his distinctive deep, stern, resonant voice.

"What's so bad about it? Now that they've fought, we can skip the military entrance test, can't we?" Ian said in the same snide tone as ever. "All it proves is that these two amateurs are no good. Neither one even knocked out a tooth. Pathetic, absolutely pathetic."

"Ian! You're always like this. Is watching two young men beat each other bloody really that appealing to you?" the Banneret retorted. "How does this benefit the Knights?"

"Oh, come on, my dear Lucian. Don't you like to say, 'Let the recruits find their own way'? That's all I was helping them do!" Ian spread his hands with a smile, wearing an expression that said, I outrank you. What are you going to do about it?

The Banneret waved the argument away in disgust and signaled for the Paladin medics to come treat Aaron and Disma.

"Disma! What are you doing? I told you to practice. Is this how you practice?" the Banneret demanded.

"Old fart, he provoked me first!" Disma protested, pointing at Aaron's nose. "If he hadn't kept wandering around and getting in my way, why would I have fought him in full gear?"

Lucian punched Disma squarely on the head. "You aimed a Hand Crossbow at his head. Was he supposed to treat you like a friend instead of an enemy?"

"You brat, you're always so quick to use force. Keep this up, and you'll never earn my approval!"

Disma clutched his head, still unconvinced. "He was so flashy and full of himself! How was I supposed to not aim a Hand Crossbow at his head?"

Another iron fist struck Disma's head. The knight-in-training screamed and crouched down, holding it. "Aah!"

Aaron swallowed.

That punch looked painful!

"Banneret Lucian, it was just a misunderstanding." Aaron knew when to stop. The Viscount understood that he had handled this badly. Disma had been wrong to fire at him, but his own Chaos nature was partly to blame too.

He had wanted to start trouble so he could show what he was capable of. Even if Aaron had not expected Disma to actually fire, seeing him take two punches to the head had eased most of Aaron's anger.

Besides, Lucian seemed very close to Disma. Aaron thought he should show some consideration for his father's old friend.

Aristocratic circles and military circles were different. The former were full of intrigue, but at least they followed a fairly complete set of rules. The military, on the other hand, was a place where the strong naturally prevailed. Strength mattered, and winners ruled.

Once he entered this fortress, titles would not count for much. The strongest fist carried the day. That was why Aaron had picked a fight: it was the best way to show his strength, make himself known, and win everyone's acceptance.

It had been part of his plan, even if a few things had gone wrong. Damn, Tzeentch's wisdom wasn't always reliable. I'd have to be more careful from now on.

"Not bad, Mr. Disma. You can fight," Aaron said with a smile, rubbing his swollen cheek.

"..." Disma did not answer. He folded his arms, lifted his head—half his face and the top of his head still swollen—and put on a disdainful look.

Thump!

Another fist landed on Disma's forehead. "He's talking to you! Are you fucking deaf?!"

After three punches to the head, Disma was dazed. He held his head, tears welling in his eyes. "Uh. Yeah. Yeah, not bad."

"When will this boy ever learn a knight's manners?" Lucian sighed. His stern gaze swept over Aaron. "Come in, Aaron. Welcome to the Purple Dragons."

"Greetings, Lord Lucian..." Aaron bowed to him.

"Within the Knights, address me by my rank!" Lucian said sternly.

"Yes, Banneret Lucian!" Aaron repeated.

"You go on in. I have something to take care of. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Lucian nodded, shot Disma one more fierce look, then mounted his horse and rode away.

"Hmph. Old fart!" the knight-in-training muttered as Lucian left. Then he turned to Aaron. "Come on, kid. You're not bad. I'll take you inside. You win this match."

"Oh? Really?" Aaron touched his left cheek, which was still a little swollen. Lay on Hands had healed the wounds from their fight, but the searing pain had left a lasting impression. "Why are you conceding?"

"Hmph. What's there to brag about? I've just reached Elite, and you're only an Apprentice. I had the advantage from the start. What's the fun in picking on you? If it ended like this, I lost." Disma folded his arms and raised his chin. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts. I'll get stronger soon—stronger than that old fart."

"So you're Banneret Lucian's knight-in-training?" Aaron could not help smiling. "And didn't the Banneret say to use ranks within the Knights?"

"Old fart is his rank!" Disma gave Aaron a sidelong glance. "That's what I'm calling him."

"Fine. I'm not the one he'll punch." Aaron could not be bothered to correct him.

"I know who you are. The last Salian, Manuel's son, and the old fart's good friend. He's been talking about you these past couple of days." Disma thought of Lucian's heavy punches; his head still hurt. "So, what now? Are you formally joining the Purple Dragon Knights, using your knight's supplementary qualification to start recruit training?"

"Yes." Aaron nodded.

"Got your transfer orders?"

"Right here." Aaron took out a parchment scroll bearing the Royal Signet.

"All right. I'll carry your things. The recruit registration office is just ahead. Take your orders there and register." Disma pointed to a corner of the courtyard.

This guy... I punched him, and now he's friendlier to me.

Some people really were asking for a beating, Aaron thought.

At the entrance to the recruit registration office, Aaron let out a slow breath.

Six months! He had only six months!

Then let's begin!

My path to power!

A general reply here: a lot of readers seem to think that nobility outranks everything and that nobles are emperors within their own domains. That doesn't hold up in Western fantasy, and even in real history, it was true only for a brief period in the early to middle Middle Ages. Even under Charlemagne, nobles served a term and were then replaced.

As for the protagonist's standing, I think the first thirty chapters made it very clear. Yes, he has a title, but it only gets him so far. In a fantasy world, strength is what counts in the end.

(End of chapter)