Cataclysm War | Chapter 54: Challenge (First Draft)

Tuesday, August 2, 4 S.E.

The days leading up to the Challenge were largely peaceful for Leonidas.

He spent them either training his swordplay and working to resist the comparative power of an Elite with Kairi, or in discussions with Aylar, Synthra, Bardulf, Parnym, and Kairi as well—outlining ideas and problems for their proposal to the Royal Council and the edict of reformation it would entail. The most amusing development out of this, for Leonidas, was the fact that Synthra and Kairi seemed to become some form of frenemies—neither entirely amicable, nor wholly oppositional.

Both women appeared to respect each other, but there was tension between them, born of their mutual firebrand nature, that led them to clash and eventually resulted in a physical confrontation in which Synthra was forced to admit defeat to the far smaller Terran. Despite this, the relationship between them only seemed healthier after the fact, and he’d occasionally spotted his sister and Synthra chatting amicably over meals, or determinedly competing in various odd pastimes from darts to solitaire, to dominoes, and even a game of Monopoly.

Aylar, meanwhile, had been a source of immense distraction.

In the very best possible way, of course, in his opinion.

His time with the Queen had been a mix of stolen kisses, exploratory intimacy behind closed doors, and a veritable plethora of colloquial ‘RomCom’ moments that had eventually cascaded into Kairi barging in on him and Aylar half-dressed on his bed, promptly shrieking about him being a lecher and chasing him down the hallway while the Swordmaiden hid under the covers in mortification.

The Royal Guard had been profusely apologetic after the fact, though given Kairi was both an Elite and Leonidas’ sibling, there hadn’t been much they could do to stop her without one of the Guards ending up crippled.

After that, his time with Aylar had been more restrained, though they’d still managed to have a perfectly romantic evening the night before the Challenge, while he read a copy of Pride and Prejudice to her until she fell asleep in his arms.

It had put into perspective what he was fighting for, however, and that alone had value all on its own. The subsequent settling of his desire to utterly decimate Braedon and ensure his future bride made it to their wedding day was as ironclad as it had ever been as a result.

Which was why, when he entered the pathway to the Portcullis leading toward the Arena’s entrance on the day of the Challenge, Leonidas felt nothing but grim determination. His sparring with Kairi and, to a lesser extent, with Ceruviel had highlighted his strengths and weaknesses against an Elite rank opponent, and knowing Braedon’s Warrior Archetype had helped prepare him immensely. He’d been given all the information they could provide him: the Prince’s [Sunflare Core], his Light and Fire hybrid Solarflame Affinity, his Warrior Archetype, his Marshal Ambition, and even his Bannerlord Aspect.

Uriel had refused to elucidate upon Braedon’s weapons training in order to remain impartial, as his conscience demanded, but he had given information on the Solarfire affinity, a rare one which the Dawn-Lord shared to an extent, albeit his was more potent than Braedon’s own. The information about the Prince’s self-healing and destructive capabilities had been invaluable, and Leonidas had not taken the advice the Duke had given lightly when it was offered.

Leonidas took stock of his equipment while he waited at the portcullis in isolation, a ritual part of the Challenge that demanded the contenders be wholly removed from any outside aid the moment they reached the site of the Challenge. His armor was entirely hale, with some minor increases in Synergy for both it and his weapon after his sparring, and his attributes had even shown minor increases thanks to the violence of his training.

His strength had crested at 41, his Endurance had risen to 38, and his Vitality had jumped to 30 after a particularly devastating set of bouts against Kairi.

The total effect brought his Health to 330 and his Stamina to 158, while his Mana remained at 337 and his Psi at a respectable 150.

With his various bonuses and enhancements, combined with his [Epic Slayer] 5% Lifesteal and his [Cataclysm Overdrive] ability, Leonidas was feeling steadily confident. He knew the fight wouldn’t be easy, by any margin, but he’d already done the maths with his companions and worked out that the boost from his [Cataclysm Overdrive] would put him in range to match Braedon with his 25% boost from his Initiate Tempering, even if he had reached Elite rank and gained the passive Attribute 100% boost it gave.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!” a voice cut in, momentarily interrupting his mental recount with the resultant sound of roaring cheers. “WELCOME TO ANOTHER GLORIOUS DAY AT DAWNHAVEN ARENA!”

Leonidas recognized the voice: it was the same Haelfar woman who had announced his Hydra and Hobgoblin matches, though the fact that she was speaking in English was quite telling for the theoretical crowd demographics.

“WE HAVE AN EXCEPTIONAL EVENT FOR YOU ALL TODAY: A CLASH OF DESTINIES, BETWEEN PRINCE-ROYAL BRAEDON ELDORMER AND THE QUEEN-POTENTIATE, AYLAR ELDORMER!”

A mix of boos, cheers, and irately excited screaming met the pronouncement, and Leonidas shook his head, quietly focusing on his Mana and Psi cycling as he rolled his shoulders and reaffirmed his grip on his [Archon’s Psiblade] in his right hand, and his winged black helmet gripped under his left arm.

His strategy for dealing with Braedon was risky, but it couldn’t be anything less: opening with his main trump card out of the gate would only invite potential disaster if he couldn’t capture the win in the time frame, and that meant he needed to bait the superior-ranked Haelfar into making a mistake.

It was going to hurt, but it was necessary.

“AS WRITTEN BY THE LAWS OF THE ELDORMER AND THE SYSTEM, THE QUEEN-POTENTIATE HAS CHOSEN TO ELECT A CHAMPION TO FIGHT IN HER STEAD! YOU ALL KNOW THIS ONE, MY GOOD PEOPLE; THE MAN WHO MADE HIS LEGEND ON THE VERY MANASTONE OF THIS ARENA!”

Another chorus of cheers and roars followed, and Leonidas glanced up as the reinforced ceiling of the tunnel actually shook faintly under the thunderous stamping of thousands of feet and the cacophanous declaration of over ten thousand voices. It was utter madness, but he couldn’t deny that it helped to set his mind to the task at hand.

“FIRST, ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE THE CHALLENGER! THE YOUNGEST SON OF THE ELDORMER ROYAL LINE, A BANNERLORD OF RARE TALENT, AND A WARRIOR ALMOST WITHOUT PEER: I GIVE YOU BRAEDON ELDORMER, PRINCE-ROYAL OF DAWNHAVEN!”

Leonidas glanced at the gates that obstructed his view as Braedon entered the arena, his armor glinting in the sunlight as he strode along the manastone floor, his greatsword raised, receiving the small cheers and the overwhelming chorus of boos that filled the stadium. If the negative attention affected the Prince-Royal, he did not show it, coming to a halt at the center and planting his blade down before him with his hands steady upon its crossguard.

Okay. My turn, he thought with surprising calm.

His Battle Meditation slipped into place easily when the announcement came.

“NOW, ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE THE DEFENDER! THE FIRST ARCHON OF TERRAN BLOOD, UNTEMPERED SLAYER OF THE NINE-HEADED HYDRA, DEFIER OF THE HEAVENS, SPIRITUAL HEIR TO ALURIEN STARSWORD, FUTURE KING OF OUR CITY, AND THE BANE OF BANALITY: I GIVE YOU LEONIDAS ACHILLES, THE BLACK KNIGHT!”

Leonidas tried not to laugh at the extremely biased introduction and set into motion the moment the portcullis was raised, lifting his blade to the deafening roar of approval from the crowd, and doing a cursory sweep. For every two Nyrfenn faces he saw, there were eight Terrans, and Leonidas felt the subtle weight of his species’ safety and future settle on his shoulders at the realization.

This bout was for Aylar, but the victory was bigger than either of them.

It was about securing safety for a species whose future had been stolen.

The chant of “ACHILLES! ACHILLES! ACHILLES!” roared to life within the stands, and Leonidas took his time to drink it in, languidly making his way over to Braedon while enjoying the adulation of the crowd. The Prince watched him approach with a flat expression, his blue eyes—so like Aylar’s own—filled with a mix of derision and venom as he met Leonidas’ gaze.

Only once the Archon drew close enough did Braedon speak.

“{Your existence perplexes me,}” the Prince said without preamble, his voice low enough that it would not carry into the Arena’s acoustics.

Leonidas raised his eyebrow at the statement, smiling faintly as amusement broke through the surface-calm of his Battle Meditation.

“{In what way does it perplex you, Your Highness?}”

Braedon grimaced at the question and faintly leaned on his greatsword, eyeing Leonidas unblinkingly.

“{You should not be as you are. Uriel respects you, Ceruviel dotes on you, my sister—Divines erase her shame—is clearly infatuated with you, and this City loves you, Terran. For all that I am repulsed by your species, I nonetheless comprehend the gravity of your accomplishments, and they perplex me. You perplex me. How is it you have done all of this? What manner of secret do you hold?}”

Leonidas blinked once at Braedon’s words and found himself momentarily intrigued, placing his own smaller bastard sword down before him and resting his armored right hand on the pommel, his left still holding his helmet.

“{Hm. I will admit, Your Highness, I did not expect that level of insight from you,}” Leonidas said honestly, his tone calm within the security of his Battle Meditation. “{By all reports, you are a boorish, impetuous hot-head—I have seen some element of that, myself; yet here, you demonstrate a remarkable talent for perceptive deduction.}”

Braedon’s lip faintly curled at that, and his blue eyes danced with radiance.

“{They see what they want to see, Terran. All of you do. When I am King, perhaps that disconnection from my true capability will lift, and the veil shall reveal me as what I was born to be: this world’s Conqueror.}”

Leonidas frowned faintly and shook his head, calmly gesturing at Braedon with his helmet as he spoke again.

“{You see, that is the great issue, Your Highness. You never look beyond the most basic of your desires. You speak of conquest as if it is a given.}”

“{Of course it is,}” Braedon said with a frown, “{I am an Eldormer, the might of Altera—}”

“{Is irrelevant, here,}” Leonidas cut in, drawing a scowl from the Prince-Royal, but continuing without apology. “{You are so enamored by the ancient glories of your forebears that you have forgotten the key truth of your situation: this is not Altera, Your Highness. This is not your world. This is mine—mine, and my people’s. Many of us would welcome you and yours, as many of us already have, but to earn that, you must muster the courage to cooperate.}”

Braedon’s eyebrows rose, and he sneered, hands tightening on his pommel.

“{Cooperate? With you savages? You cannot be serious. That’s absurd!}”

“{Is it?}” Leonidas challenged calmly, his head turning toward the Royal Box. “{By your own admission, I have the respect of the Duke of Morning and Duchess of Twilight, the only two Venerates within the Colony—potentially the two strongest people on this continent. By your own admission, I have achieved things you never would have countenanced as possible, and I stand before you now, your sister’s champion, prepared to end your life.}”

Leonidas turned back to Braedon and continued, cutting the Prince-Royal off before he could do more than begin a retort.

“{You are going to die here, Braedon,}” Leonidas said more directly, his gaze unwavering, and forcing the Prince-Royal to blink once in genuine surprise at his candor. “{I am going to kill you, right here, in this Arena that your wealth and your inheritance built. Not because I hate you, not because I desire what you have, and certainly not because I feel like it. I am going to kill you, Braedon, because your pride, your ego, and your unfettered over-ambition have created a scenario where I must kill you to protect what is important to me.}”

Braedon hesitated and then finally smirked, shaking his patrician head.

“{You are trying to unsettle me, False Archon. It will not work.}”

Leonidas arched his eyebrow at that and very specifically willed his Class for Braedon’s viewing.

The Prince-Royal’s lips curled in amusement, but he seemingly accepted the offer, and a moment later, his expression slowly died on his face.

“{...that isn’t possible,}” he muttered. “{How?! You’re just a Terran; there hasn’t been a suitable candidate for Archon since Ceruviel’s peers died!}”

Leonidas smiled mirthlessly at the Haelfar and shook his head again.

“{Braedon, did you ever stop to consider why your people refused to wipe mine out? Did you ever pause and think about the power you could wield if you could convince an entire nascent species to not only fight for you but also love you, as their leader and their beacon? Did you ever stop to consider, even for a second, that Terrans could be the next great Nyrfenn aide to Haelfenn supremacy?}”

The Prince-Royal hesitated and, almost against his will, his eyes moved to take in the crowd—the overwhelmingly Terran crowd.

“{Imagine, Braedon, if all of them were Adepts, Contenders, even Elites. Imagine if I were your Knight, instead of your enemy. Imagine if you had your sister’s support and aid, Ceruviel’s ruthless power, Uriel’s stoic wisdom. Imagine all the heroes and legends that could be forged, all under your banner, if you had just stopped for a single moment and thought better of the species whose homeworld you invaded.}”

Braedon’s eyes narrowed at his words, and Leonidas could see the man thinking about it, see the subtle echoes in his mind-glow as emotions rapidly cycled around his skull.

“{It is too late now, of course,}” Leonidas said, drawing the Prince-Royal’s attention back. “{You chose the outcome of this Challenge, Braedon, not me. I never liked you, but I never hated you, either. I would have been content to exile you, or ensure you never could have threatened my future bride again. Instead, you demanded this—you demanded this. You could have been a loving brother, celebrated your sister’s success, and been the hero that led her armies to victory on a thousand battlefields.}”

Leonidas raised his helmet as he spoke and placed it on his head, feeling it sync with the rest of his [Archon’s Warplate].

“{Instead, you’re going to die here, Braedon,}” he said calmly. “{You’re going to die here, and you will be forgotten by everyone but the one person you should have loved above all others. The only person on this entire planet that will truly mourn you is your sister, the very woman you want to kill.}”

Braedon’s eyes narrowed, and he bared his teeth in response.

“{That result remains to be seen, Archon,}” he said viciously. “{I am already an Elite! You have no hope of defeating me. Rank matters in the System, no matter the planet!}”

“{It does,}” Leonidas conceded, while picking up his sword and calmly backing away. “{But I already defied the System once. I weathered its fury and emerged hale. So listen to the crowd, Braedon. Listen to the crowd, and remember: this, all of this, could have been yours… if you had only been a more deserving man.}”

Braedon narrowed his eyes as Leonidas backed away and did the same, snatching his sword and advancing back to the customary ten meters from the centerpoint, creating a twenty-meter divide between them.

Overhead, the Announcer roared once more.

“IT LOOKS LIKE THE CHALLENGER AND DEFENDER ARE PREPARED, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! THEN IT FALLS TO ME TO HERALD THIS MOST HISTORIC MATCH!”

Leonidas glanced up at the Royal Box and caught sight of Aylar, standing in a Queen-befitting gown, with a crown bejewelled in rubies nestled on her head. Her eyes met his, despite the helmet, at the same time, and he pressed his right fist to his heart, and then pointed his sword toward her.

The Queen-Potentiate, the woman he would marry, smiled warmly at him.

“COMBATANTS!”

Leonidas turned back to Braedon and allowed his Mana and Psi to properly bleed out of him, creating the tempest of power and spatial sundering that accompanied his cycling in truth, unleashing it with a pulse of aether that momentarily had Braedon freeze before he recovered. Just a moment, but telling all on its own.

“LET THE RIGHT OF CHALLENGE…”

Leonidas affirmed his grip on his sword.

“...FOR THE THRONE OF DAWNHAVEN…”

Braedon lifted his greatsword and bent his knees.

“...BEGIN!”

Leonidas smiled under his helmet, thought of the scent of jasmine, and exploded into motion with a trigger-cast of [Chivalric Charge], meeting Braedon’s own momentum with a clash of blades as thunder roared overhead.