The Road to Strength Begins

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 clash between the two immediately drew everyone's attention on the Purple Dragons' training ground.

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

This fight broke every rule for a match. Neither side had arranged it beforehand or issued a challenge. Were they really going to fight on the training ground over a little friction?

There were twenty or thirty fully armed Purple Dragon Knights on the training ground. With the guards, apprentices, logistics staff, and clerks, the crowd numbered nearly a hundred. Almost as one, they turned to Grand Inspector Ian Hartson.

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

What was wrong with that? Let the kid get a harsh taste of reality!

This was the Purple Dragons, not a noble salon! The rules of high society didn't apply here, kid!

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

You little punk. 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 killed!

Since the Grand Inspector had no objections, everyone settled in to watch.

Their blades met, and both men instinctively stepped back.

Aaron held his sword in one hand, his other hand braced beneath that wrist. Disma held a curved blade in his left hand and a sword in his right. Tiny, grain-sized nicks were visible along both blades.

They were old weapons, used for a long time.

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

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

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

Disma didn't answer, but his sharp glare told Aaron he had been provoked again. The knight-in-training sprang forward, bringing his sword down toward Aaron's skull!

Aaron slid aside. Light from the first-circle spell Chaos Bolt had already appeared in the viscount's empty hand.

He was about to raise it and cast.

Disma attacked faster than Aaron could cast!

The sword withdrew, and the curved blade came in. Its edge rushed toward Aaron on a gust of wind so fierce it stung his smooth, fair face.

There was no time for Chaos Bolt!

Aaron hurriedly raised his sword to block. A savage force slammed through his wrist, knocking his blade aside. Off balance, the viscount stumbled back two steps before finally releasing Chaos Bolt.

Three darts shining with prismatic light closed in from different directions. Their eerie glow made Disma hesitate. He abandoned his pursuit and pulled a small round shield from behind his back. It stopped two bolts; the third struck his arm.

Thud!

Disma staggered as searing pain shot up his arm and into his head.

I'm hurt?

Stranger still, the wound kept sending out a knife-like pain. Even battle-hardened Disma could barely bear it.

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

Never seen that before, have you?

Seeing his spell take effect, Aaron moved to follow up. Suddenly, thorn-covered vines burst from the ground, wrapped around his legs, and pinned him in place. Their spikes pierced his flesh, drawing thin sprays of blood.

Damn. I'd misjudged him!

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

It was the first-circle spell Ensnaring Strike.

Disma wasn't just a warrior. He was also a Ranger!

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

Rangers weren't dedicated spellcasters, and most knew only a few minor spells. Even so, that introduced countless new variables into this fight.

I'd thought I could show off against some scrub with a sword. Instead, I'd picked a fight with a warrior who was also a Ranger!

Pink flames rose from the ground and took the form of a Daemonette. It threw itself greedily over the thorny vines, heedless of the spikes piercing its body, and gulped down their magic.

The thorns quickly withered under the pink Daemonette's assault. Aaron broke free, and the two faced off again.

Each was surprised by the other's spells.

Disma, in particular, stared at Aaron as surprise slowly replaced the swagger in his eyes.

What was that thing? What spell was that?

I've never seen it before!

Every knight-in-training took classes on countering magic. Disma knew how to handle famous low-circle spells like Hypnotism, Color Spray, Grease, Shield, Web, Invisibility, and Mirror Image. He had honestly thought nothing of a mere apprentice-level Sorcerer.

But today he'd run into something uncanny. This guy's magic was bizarre. His Magic Missile was strange enough, and Disma had never seen anything like those pink flames!

"When faced with powerful magic that no book has recorded, your best choice is to retreat."

—Adventuring Wisdom of the Realms

Both men reassessed their opponent.

Aaron's expression was grim. At his current level as a Sorcerer, even with 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 can't take down this newcomer, I'll never live it down.

He was a warrior who had just entered the elite tier, with Ranger abilities besides!

You've got guts, kid. Let's see how brave you are after I knock you flat and sit on your waist until you beg for mercy!

Sure enough, the knight-in-training couldn't hold back. He attacked first, meeting Aaron's longsword with the sword in his right hand and knocking its point aside. The instant their blades crossed, Disma ducked low and drove his curved blade straight toward Aaron's chest!

Aaron couldn't dodge. The viscount barely managed to push back against the force bearing down on his sword, then cast his final spell at Disma.

Lash of Slaanesh!

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

With his spell cast, Aaron rolled aside to avoid the sword coming at his face. Disma broke free of the Lash of Slaanesh at the same time. Both gripped their swords with two hands, and the blades collided in midair.

"You lose!"

"It's over!"

Aaron released his right hand from the hilt and clenched it into a fist. The muscles in his arm tightened, and purplish-gray veins bulged across the back of his hand!

Disma kept his left hand on his sword, bearing down on the locked blades. He raised his other fist, huge as a sandbag. His muscles trembled as strength gathered behind it!

Boom!

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

Smack!

Disma's fist struck Aaron's smooth, delicate left cheek, distorting his alluring face with the blow.

Both cried out and staggered back. Aaron stumbled several steps before falling onto his back. Half his face swelled at once, and his head spun. He could only prop himself up with one hand to keep from lying flat.

Disma also retreated several steps before steadying himself. A large lump swelled on his left cheek, and bright red blood ran from his nose. He touched it with a finger, sneered, then put the finger in his mouth and sucked it clean.

"Hey, kid. Want another round? Or can't you keep up?" the knight-in-training mocked.

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

The first taunt did nowhere near as much damage as the second. Disma's face twitched uncontrollably at Aaron's words.

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

"Separate them! Those two are nothing but trouble," ordered the Purple Dragon Knight at their head.

"Yes, Banneret. Right away."

A Banneret? Aaron, still trying to look tough, hurriedly looked at the knight in command. He wore adamantium splint armor inscribed with protective runes and had a powerful build, far sturdier than either Disma or Aaron. His gaze was stern and penetrating. Beneath bushy brows, gray eyes fixed on them with a panther's intensity, as precise as a gleaming steel blade finding its mark.

His most striking feature, though, was his thick hair. Long brown locks gave him the imposing air of a lion, while his brown beard was thicker than a down quilt and hung almost the length of his head.

He looked like a hero from an ancient tale, a man who could intimidate any opponent as surely 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, much less one in full gear!" the Banneret said in his distinctive deep, stern voice.

"What's the harm? They've fought, so we can skip the military assessment for admission, can't we?" Ian replied in his usual snide tone. "All it proves is that these two amateurs aren't much good. Neither even knocked out a tooth. Pathetic, just pathetic."

"Ian! You're always like this. Do you find two young men beating each other bloody that entertaining?" the Banneret demanded. "What good does it do the Purple Dragons?"

"Oh, come on, my dear Lucian. Aren't you always saying we should 'let the recruits find their own way'? That's exactly what I'm helping them do!" Ian spread his hands with a grin, his expression all but saying that he outranked Lucian and there was nothing Lucian could do about it.

The Banneret waved the argument away in disgust and signaled for the Paladins serving as medics to treat Aaron and Disma.

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

"That old bastard—this guy provoked me first!" Disma protested. The knight-in-training pointed at Aaron's nose. "If he hadn't been wandering around in my way, why would I have fought him in full gear?"

Lucian punched Disma on the head. "You aimed a Hand Crossbow at his head. Was he supposed to think you were his 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 defiant. "He stood out so much and looked so damned flashy. It was hard not to aim a Hand Crossbow at his head!"

Another iron fist struck Disma's skull. With a yelp, the knight-in-training crouched down and covered his head. "Aah!"

Aaron swallowed.

That looked painful!

"Banneret Lucian, it was just a misunderstanding." Aaron knew when to stop. The viscount was well aware he hadn't handled this properly. Disma had been wrong to shoot at him, but Aaron's own Chaos nature had played a part.

He had wanted to stir up trouble so he could show what he could do. Aaron hadn't expected Disma to actually fire, but seeing the man take two punches that nearly caved in his skull had eased most of his anger.

Besides, Lucian seemed close to Disma. Aaron felt he ought to show his father's old friend some respect.

The world of nobles was different from the world of soldiers. Noble society was full of schemes, but it still observed a fairly complete set of rules. The military, by contrast, was a place where the strong prevailed. Ability mattered, and the victor commanded respect.

Inside this fortress, noble titles carried little weight. Strength was what counted. That was why Aaron had picked a fight: it was the best way to show his abilities, make himself known, and earn everyone's recognition.

It was part of his plan, though something had gone wrong. Hah. 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 didn't answer. Arms crossed, he held his head high in disdain, though half his face and the top of his head were swollen.

Thud!

Another iron fist landed on Disma's forehead. "He's talking to you! Did you not fucking hear him?!"

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

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

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

"Within the Purple Dragons, address me by my rank!" Lucian stressed.

"Yes, Banneret Lucian!" Aaron repeated.

"You two go on in. I have something to take care of. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Lucian nodded and gave Disma one last fierce look before mounting his horse and riding away.

"Hmph. Stinking old man!" Disma muttered as he watched Lucian leave. Then he turned to Aaron. "Come on, kid. You're pretty good. I'll take you inside. I'll count that match as your win."

"Oh? Really?" Aaron touched his still-swollen left cheek. The Paladin's Lay on Hands had healed the wounds from their fight, but the searing pain had left a deep impression. "Why are you conceding?"

"Hmph. There's nothing to brag about. I've just entered the elite tier, and you're only an apprentice. I had the advantage from the start. What fun would there be in bullying you? Given how that went, I lost." Disma crossed his arms and lifted his chin. "Enjoy your victory while it lasts. I'll be stronger soon—even stronger than that stinking old man."

"So you're Banneret Lucian's knight-in-training?" Aaron couldn't help laughing. "And didn't the Banneret say we should address people by their rank within the Purple Dragons?"

"That stinking old man's rank is Stinking Old Man!" Disma shot Aaron a sidelong look. "That's what I'm calling him."

"Fine. I'm not the one he'll punch for it." Aaron couldn't be bothered to argue.

"I know who you are. The last of the Salians, Manuel's son, and the stinking old man's good friend's boy. He's been talking about you these past couple of days." Disma thought of Lucian's heavy fists and felt his head throb again. "So? Are you formally joining the Purple Dragon Knights? Using your supplementary qualification to start recruit training?"

"Yes." Aaron nodded.

"Where are your transfer orders?"

"Here." Aaron took out a parchment scroll stamped with the Royal Signet.

"Right. I'll carry your things. Recruit registration is just ahead. Take your orders there and sign in." Disma pointed toward a corner of the courtyard.

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

Some people really do need a beating, Aaron thought.

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

Six months! He had only six months!

Then let's begin!

My road to strength!

Let me address this once: many readers think nobles outrank everyone and are emperors within their own territories. That doesn't hold true in Western fantasy, and even in reality it was only true for a brief period in the early to middle Middle Ages. Under Charlemagne, nobles could even be replaced after a term in office.

As for the protagonist's standing, I think the first thirty chapters made it clear. He does have a title, but that's about it. In a fantasy world, strength is what matters in the end.