Chapter 56: DD3 Chapter 002 – The Upset

“She’ll need a Second,” Lord Drusus explained.

“I can be a ‘Second’… whatever that is,” Typh hastily responded.

“I’m afraid that you can’t,” he said, raising up a pale hand to stifle her protests. “Legally speaking, you have about the same rights as a draft-animal. Whereas a sanctioned duel is a thing between nobles. I don’t say this to be rude, but until the King rules on your petition—which could be months away—there’s nothing you can do to interfere.”

“You know about my petition?” she asked, more than a little surprised by the nobleman’s admission.

“Yes. I even read the original one. It was quite sensational stuff before it got…”

“Gutted. Watered-down. Pissed on. Stripped of any actual substance, and pared down to the barest of what I asked for?” the dragon said, feeling her anger rise even more as she recalled her recent disappointments with Terythian nobility.

“Ahem. Yes, I’d say that’s a fair way of putting it. Still, the King will consider formally recognising the sapience of your species and those that serve you. You should be proud of what you’ve achieved. Greater changes like outlawing focusing wards will require patience, allies, and years of carefully planned diplomacy,” Lord Drusus explained sagely.

“We don’t have years.”

“For all our sakes, I hope that we do. That, or both you and the Inquisition are wrong.”

“If only we were…” the dragon muttered. She slowly inhaled through her nose and tried to let her anger go on the exhale, but Typh found that while she had managed to calm her racing heart, her fury remained simmering just below the surface. “I need to go deal with this dueling nonsense before it spirals.”

Clenching her hands into tight fists, she made her way through the preening crowd that had gathered around Cassius and Arilla. Fortunately, she did not need to elbow her way through and risk making even more enemies—there would certainly be enough of those later. The whole point of subjecting themselves to this series of humiliations was to avoid as much unnecessary violence as possible, not starting pointless blood feuds over women neither of them wanted. 

Typh felt like she was performing a part in a play that she didn’t understand as the nobles parted in anticipation of her. From the moment she had started walking, the crowd had opened up, giving her a clear line of sight—not that she needed it—to the growing confrontation. 

She felt her eyes narrow when she saw how tightly Sennia was clutching onto her warrior’s long jacket while Cassius glared jealous daggers at Arilla.

Why wasn’t anyone stopping him? Was it a trap?

[Warrior level 89], [Noble level 34].

Something was going on that she didn’t understand, and that made her very nervous. Simply too much was at stake, for her to accept any kind of unknowns. She refused to believe that anyone—besides Arilla—was stupid enough to try and fight against someone their superior in both level and tier. Nobles were supposed to be well-educated, and the idea that Cassius could ever think that he could win the duel was farcical to her.

Someone was playing someone, and she desperately hoped that it wasn’t her being manipulated.

Surprisingly, her concerns about the one-sidedness of the duel didn’t appear to be shared by the crowd who muttered and gasped almost theatrically. It was like they honestly believed that the situation was tense rather than patently ridiculous.

Do they not know what a Warrior can do?

With [Sovereign’s Perception] enabling her to watch without turning her head, she surveyed the crowd as best she could. Typh studied their levels and tried to guess at the nobles’ true ages hidden beneath all the make-up, illusions, and skewed attribute scores. 

She wondered how many of them had actually killed for their levels? Had every drop of experience they’d received been passive? She wanted to say no, but her spies had already given her an approximation of the intensity of the mana focusing wards in Helion's outer and inner walls, and what they had told her made her sick with dread. The city was just one good massacre away from spawning another Monster, and while she was even stronger than before, she had no desire to face another one so soon.

Studded throughout the crowd of young faces with low levels, was the occasional older noble with an increased level to match their greater life experience. Much like Lord Drusus who stood behind her, the older generation all watched the proceedings with the same look of schooled impassivity that was a stark contrast from the almost gossiping nature of their younger peers. 

They seemed far less surprised by this turn of events, which made Typh ask herself: was this just a test?

“I demand we settle this at once! I believe our hosts have suitable duelling grounds we can use,” Lord Cassius declared.

“We won’t need that. I can’t imagine this will take long. You’re mid-pewter, I’m high-bronze. The crowd doesn’t need protective wards to watch me beat you,” Arilla stated.

“Know your place, Foundling! You’re talking to Lord Cassius of House Tronasal. You may have a rank on me, but I know that you came to your class late. This time last year you were nothing more than an unclassed street-rat,” the young man gloated.

“Which is why you shouldn’t do this. I’ve killed a lot of people this past year,” Arilla warned with the beginnings of a predatory smile on her lips.

“You don’t scare me. Power-levelling grants weak classes and weaker skills. I don’t care how many monsters your dragon held down for you to finish-off. You’re weak. You haven’t had the time to earn your levels, much less to learn how to actually use a sword. You may think you look impressive with your warrior tag, but we all know it for the empty boast that it is.”

The crowd slowly murmured their general agreement, the youthful members of which seeming to unanimously side with Cassius over Arilla. Not that it really mattered. If the nobles wanted to believe that the warrior was projecting hollow power then it didn’t particularly hurt to let them.

“I can provide a barrier if you’re worried about the audience's safety. So long as we move this along quickly I don’t particularly mind. I was hoping to get the next dance with Lord Traylan,” Typh offered.

“Like we would be foolish enough to trust a tamed dragon with our safety. It may talk and look passably pretty, but I am not dumb enough to agree to remove its limiting-collar,” the young Lord Tronasal scoffed.. 

“There’s no need to be so rude, Cassius. It’s a good offer,” Arilla said, taking a step away from Sennia to stand between Typh and the offended nobleman.

The young Lord looked like he was about to say something terminally stupid—the dragon’s anger could only be suppressed so much—when an objectively handsome man in his middle years emerged from the thick of the crowd. 

He had dark hair, a full beard, and was one of the few nobles in the room to have crossed into high-bronze.

“There appears to have been a challenge!” the older man declared, his painfully obvious words prompting a bout of muted applause that left Typh feeling even more confused.

“There has, father,” Sennia replied, taking a polite half-step forwards towards Lord Nauron before falling into a deep curtsy.

“Very well,” the nobleman began. “And I take it that neither combatant wishes to stand down.”

“No,” Cassius quickly answered, only for Arilla to repeat the refusal a heartbeat or two later.

“Well then, let’s make this quick. There’s a party you’re interrupting,” their host chastised. “Choose your Seconds.”

Cassius was quickly inundated with enthusiastic offers for the vaunted position. Noble sons and daughters from every major house in the country hastily proffered their allegiance to the youth, whereas Arilla had exactly no one to call upon.

“What exactly does a ‘Second’ do?” Typh asked Lord Drusus.

“If everything goes right, nothing. But in the case that one of the combatants refuses to fight, or is otherwise unable to participate then the Second takes the place of the duelist they sponsor. Such a thing rarely happens as the dishonour involved in trying to escape an official duel is usually far worse than suffering any kind of loss—so long as it isn’t a duel to the death of course—but the practice remains. It is now primarily used as a way of publicly stating your loyalty towards one of the duelists.” the older noble explained.

“What would it cost me for you to do it?”

The nobleman smiled wide.

“That’s very blunt of you, I could be moved to do such a thing, but—”

“I’ll be your second, Lord Traylan!” Sennia announced, causing a sharp inhalation of breath from the watchful crowd.

“Lady Sennia, you can’t!” Cassius decried, the man visibly paling at the thought.

“I can, and I will. Our engagement is over Lord Tronosal, and I do not appreciate your transparent attempt to win me back. I can dance with whomever I please, be they scions of old-nobility, or low-born-usurpers.” 

“Well said, daughter. Although given my child’s participation, I will not condone anything more severe than a duel to fourth-fifths health,” Lord Nauron announced, while Cassius continued to deflate.

“I can accept those terms,” Arilla stated without qualification, and after much pontificating, so too did Cassius.

The crowd swiftly moved back to give them space, while a small team of unclassed scribes working under the direction of a single classed mage hurried forwards and began to paint an insipidly weak barrier around the edge of the dancefloor. Rather than being given her zweihander, a pair of elegant swords were produced and handed out to each combatant. A narrow-bladed longsword that was far lighter than anything Arilla was used to seemed to be the weapon only available, but Typh wasn’t worried. 

In the months it had taken her army to make the march from Rhelea to Helion, they had detoured to every settlement along the Old Road and offered classes to any and all comers. Thanks to Arilla’s title, the move was not technically illegal, but it was certainly unpopular with the petty barons and minor nobles they had met along the way.

Suffice to say, the Noble Slayer had fought a lot of duels over the past six months, although none were nearly so choreographed or formalised as this one was shaping up to be.

Lady Sennia and a broad-chested noble due to inherit the city of Colis stood at opposite sides of the dancefloor while Arilla and Cassius met within the warded boundary.

“This is your last chance to back out Cassius,” the warrior warned.

“You sound desperate, Foundling. You should be grateful our host saw fit to limit the health loss to a fifth. You aren’t welcome here, and I will take great pleasure in showing you exactly how much contempt true nobility has for upstart usurpers like yourself!”

“Begin!” Lord Nauron announced, cutting their conversation short.

Cassius immediately fell into an elegant duelling stance. With his body side on to Arilla’s, he formed a narrow-profile with his sword point held forwards in one slightly bent arm.

Ignoring the noble, Arilla stood stock-still while she examined her loaned blade with a prominent frown on her face. The weapon bowed dramatically as she casually tested the weapon’s strength, and it was not a surprise to Typh when the ailing steel faltered. With a loud snap the sword abruptly broke in half, leaving the Noble Slayer with a length of blade about two feet long in one hand, and just over a foot of jagged steel extending out from the crossguard in the other.

Before anyone, least of all Cassius could react, the warrior threw the broken length of blade.

Two feet of fast moving steel zipped through the air, noisily ripping a large hole through her opponent's throat, before it travelled through to embed itself in the barrier opposite her which splintered and cracked from the force of the impact.

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The murmuring stopped all at once, while Lord Tronosal fell to the floor and clutched at his throat with both hands while his lifeblood spurted through the gaps between his fingers.

All at once several voices called out for a healer, and once Cassius had bled enough, the duel was conclusively called in Arilla’s favour, although Typh strongly doubted this was the end of local nobilitys’ animosity towards them. 

“Well that was anticlimactic,” Lord Drusus commented.

“It usually is,” the dragon shrugged.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink?”

“I’m certain,” Arilla stated firmly.

“And you?” Lord Nauron asked.

“I’m partial to whisky, but I understand that Aberian products are becoming increasingly hard to get a hold of,” Typh said, offering the man an easy out.

“They are… but filling one glass still remains a trifling matter. My estate has deep reserves, even here in the capital. Whatever is causing a delay in goods from the east will doubtlessly be cleared up long before it becomes an issue. Sennia, could you be a dear and fetch a servant to attend to us while we talk?”

“Of course, father,” the young woman acquiesced, with only a hint of frustration in her voice to show her distaste for being so casually dismissed.

Following the duel, the partygoers had filed out to other rooms in the large manor while Cassius was tended to by Lord Nauron’s personal classed healer. Before the blood pooling on the dance floor had even cooled, Typh and Arilla had been whisked away by their host to a large private study to have an important ‘talk’, while Lady Nauron made her appearances to the rest of the ball’s attendees.

The room they found themselves in was suitably grand, with mana-rich wood panelling, and fine paintings tastefully scattered throughout. In terms of majesty it fell far short of the ballroom, being lit up by mere sconces bearing bright magelights, rather than another floating chandelier. Still, Typh found it more comfortable than the hall despite the greatly reduced amount of wealth on display, although how much of that was due to the comfortable armchair she found herself luxuriating in while the fireplace crackled nearby she didn’t know.

“So… dragons are sapient. You realise the commotion you’ve caused just by wearing a dress tonight?” Lord Nauron.

“No I don’t. Why, did they really expect me to show up naked?” Typh asked.

“Yes.”

“That's… unsettling,” she commented.

“I’m sure many attendees are very disappointed by your choice of attire, even if their wives are suitably relieved,” the nobleman commented. “Which neatly brings me to my first question: what do you think of her, Lord Traylan?”

“Who?” Arilla asked.

“My daughter of course. Sennia is only a handful of years your senior—not that it really matters. She is trained in all the things you are not, is low-pewter, and has a sizable dowry I know that you will need to rebuild Rhelea, not least to deal with the debts your father accrued before his abdication.”

“I’m sure she’s fine, but I’m not looking for a wife,” the warrior responded.

“I don’t care, you need one,” he stated.

“No, she doesn’t,” Typh snapped.

Lord Nauron gave them both a serious look and some of his good cheer seemed to fade with it. Typh felt something austere press up against the bounds of her aura, but she easily pushed it aside, earning herself a look of quiet irritation from the noble seated opposite.

“I’m not trying to come between whatever kind of relationship you two have. My daughter is very open minded, and I have sons if you prefer the sword to the sheathe. But I need to make this clear—there are no neutral parties in Terythia. You are either an ally to my house, or an enemy, and lacking any backers, you can’t afford to be my enemy.”

“I’m doing fine, I have Typh. I don’t need your help and I don’t want to marry into your dynasty, or anyone else’s for that matter,” Arilla said calmly.

“You’re being petulant. You have no legitimacy, no backing—a horde of peasants and talking monsters hardly counts—I could have you killed and the King would probably reward me for it. The only reason I’m extending this offer to you is because you have made peace with the beasts that plague our borders, and you have the potential to personally reach iron, if not steel. I can use a woman like you to great effect, but only if you know your place and tie your line to mine. If you insist on this obstinate course of independent action, I will simply have to withdraw my support, and add my voice to those calling for both of you to be immediately executed,” he threatened.

Typh could feel the aggression wafting off from the human, and she wondered if he’d rehearsed his speech. It would doubtlessly have been frightening to most people in their position, but after seeing the things they had both seen it was hard to take the well-groomed man’s threats seriously.

Especially considering the circumstances.

“That’s nice,” the dragon offered. “But if that’s your price, we’ll have to decline. It’s like Arilla said, we want your help, but we don’t really need it.”

“I am the governor of Terythia’s wealthiest western province, I rule over six cities, including your own—”

“You’re just a man. One who sleeps, breathes, eats, and shits. If you want to carry on doing those fine things, as and when you please, I strongly advise you to reconsider your ultimatum,” Typh interrupted.

“You’re—you’re threatening me?! Get out of my manor! I’m calling for my guards,” the noble declared, before proceeding to do just that.

“They’re not coming,” Arilla said some time later, when no-one arrived to force them from the room.

“What did you do?” Lord Nauron asked, for the first time seeming to realise exactly who he was alone in his study with.

“What we had to. It took us the best part of six months to get here, and then another just to get invited in through the gates. Do you really think we’d wait for you to come around to our way of looking at things? Do we look stupid?” the dragon asked.

“We sent letters, we invited you all to Rhelea to see for yourselves. The Inquisition even warned you, and what did you do? You played politics,” she spat. “You stalled and delayed. Watered down the petitions that actually made it to court, and now, when you finally see us, you try to force us into a corner so you can play even more politics. What was that duel outside? What was it supposed to prove?”

“I.. what?” the noble spluttered.

“Yeah… that’s what I thought,” Typh sighed. “Nightshade, how are we doing?”

The rogue blinked into existence, perched cross-legged on the edge of Lord Nauron’s large desk with an apple in one hand which she promptly bit into. Clear fruit juices spilled from the corners of her mouth while the iron-rank woman in a very black coat chewed noisily.

“Whatever she’s paying you I’ll double it,” Lord Nauron offered without missing a beat, although Typh smelt the burst of fear that accompanied the iron-ranker's sudden arrival.

“Naw, it’s a nice offer though, but the dragon pays well, and no offence, but she is saving the country while your lot will see us all eaten by Monsters long before you give up power,” Nightshade said around the pulped apple in her mouth. She swallowed loudly, while the noble shrank behind his desk. “We’re about done, Boss. We got them all, just a few servants left to round up.”

Typh coughed.

“Lord Sovereign,” Nightshade amended, before taking another large bite from her apple and then flickering out of sight.

“What is it with rogues and dramatically eating fruit?” Typh mused out loud.

“I don’t know, but we’d best get started. We have a long night ahead of us,” Arilla said, rising from her seat.

“You won’t get away with this!” the nobleman protested, finding his voice again once the assassin had presumably left the room.

“I pretty much already have,” Typh explained.

“I have guards—knights! They’ll stop you!” 

“You do, but they won't help. Not if they don’t want to watch me eat you,” she threatened.

“Typh…” Arilla said with a disapproving tone.

“What? I’m hungry.”

“This is treason. You know that right? You know what they’ll do to you when they stop you?” Lord Nauron warned.

“No, you stupid little man. This isn’t treason, it's a coup,” the dragon smiled, and she finally let her anger go.

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