Klarion immediately recognized the woman in the front — she had been among those who had been at the Dungeon with Hector. Briefly looking around the tavern, her eyes found Redrek. More than the insult she had hurled on entering, the cold stare edged with a sinister glee she directed at the hobgoblin made it clear she had been searching for his friend for a specific reason. Behind her walked the same burly bodyguard he had seen before, a human man who loomed over the rest of the group, a large axe strapped across his back. As the scion made her way over to their table, the rest of her group followed, each radiating arrogance and contempt for the rest of the tavern.


    As they moved past the tables filled with dwarven patrons, their steps were heavy, deliberate, and aimed to attract attention. Practically challenging. Each table of dwarves they passed shifted in their seats, at once upset at still more scions bursting into The Hearth & Ember, but also reluctant to protest. To do so in front of some many scions, especially of their kind, would only lead to more problems. Better to let them get on with their purpose. Perhaps they would leave sooner.


    Klarion rose to his feet, his meal forgotten, Hatsune moving with him, her ears as she instinctively let her hand rest on the hilt of the longsword at her side. Redrek and Valdre stood a moment later, their bodyguards following suit. Garran mimicked the Leporine, hand dropping to his weapon, but he stepped in front of his half-frost elf charge. Kael, too, reached for his weapons, his posture a silent warning to any who might try something foolish.


    The oncoming group of scions and their bodyguards didn’t even slow their pace. If anything, the woman in the front looked even more eager at the possibility of a confrontation.


    Klarion’s fingers brushed against his side, thoughts going to the greatsword whose familiar weight he wished was still against his back. He looked once at the weapon he had found down in the Dungeon, that Hatsune had left leaning against her side of the table. No, the odds of a full-on brawl breaking out with so many other witnesses was low. Better to see what all this was about first. He returned to looking at the group heading their way. The wiry human woman was still staring at Redrek, the sinister glee on her face becoming more apparent the closer she came.


    A silence settled across the tavern that stretched to engulf where they stood, heavy and thick. The only sounds were the muted clinks of mugs and the soft crackle of the fire in the hearth. A dwarf on the other side of the room grumbled something, but his neighbors hissed for him to be quiet. None of them wanted to attract the attention of the scions.


    The group reached Klarion’s table, and he didn’t miss the way the woman’s eyes shifted to him. Narrowed, her eyes seemed to be sizing him up.


    “Quite the crowd you’ve gathered, Blacksword,” she said, her voice sharp, laced with derision. Her eyes roved over everyone standing with him, glaring at all but Garran. “Not surprised you’ve chosen those like them to associate with, your House being what it is.”


    The way she looked back at him, it was clear she was looking for a reaction, for him to lash out. But he stood his ground. “If you’ve got something to say, say it. Then leave. We were having a pleasant dinner before you arrived. I’d like to return to it.”


    “Yes, I’d imagine that you would enjoy this kind of slop. Being a Blacksword, you would, of course, not have a very refined palate.” The woman’s smile was cold as she continued, “But lucky for you, The Ivory Banner does not bother with humans, even ones as wretched as you are. No, tonight we are here for someone else.” She looked at Redrek, then back to Klarion. “I don’t suppose you would move if we asked?”


    Klarion did not move. There was no way that he would let her get to his hobgoblin friend to do… whatever her group had planned. Taking his lead, Hatsune’s fingers tightened around the hilt of her weapon, and Garran’s body shifted slightly, his plate armor clanking as he prepared himself to fight. Kael, silent as he was, had quietly palmed a knife.


    “Fine, I guess I’ll just have to move you,” the wiry woman snapped, her patience clearly wearing thin. “Ort, if you would?”


    She made to step closer, her bodyguard pressing in at her back, but Valdre, who had been by Klarion’s side from the start, intercepted her. The half-frost elf was calm but Klarion could hear the hint of a bite in his words. “I’d suggest you leave instead, before you make this situation worse. You’re clearly not welcome here.”


    The woman glared at Valdre but didn’t respond immediately. Again she looked at the other members of Klarion’s group, taking them in and noticing how none moved aside.


    “You think you can stop us from doing what brought us here?” she asked. “You really think you can stand against The Ivory Banner? Against the power of our organization?”


    “And what, exactly, has brought you here?” Klarion demanded, pulling her attention back to him.


    Before she could respond, the sharp sound of clanging metal came from the direction of the kitchen. Ordran came striding out, a large meat cleaver, still bloody from recent use, held ominously in his hand.


    “What in the name of the Seven Princes is going on here?” Ordran demanded, but rather than wait for a response, he was already moving in their direction.


    Turning from Klarion, the woman, unfazed by Ordran’s imposing presence, stepped forward to intercept him. She wasn’t tall, but her posture was commanding, as if she knew exactly how to make herself heard. “I am Lorissa, scion of House Silverwood,” she said disdainfully at the veteran dwarf. “And I’ve come to settle an old score.”


    Ordran looked over the rest of the group, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. His hand tightened around the cleaver’s handle, but he made no move to strike against the contemptuous scion who stood before him. “Settle a score, eh?” he muttered. “Ye’ve got some nerve bring tha’ kind o’ business into me tavern.”


    Lorissa ignored Ordran’s warning tone, instead turning back to look at Redrek. “The other day, I recognized this one.” She pointed a thin finger at Redrek. “This red-skinned monster belongs to the same clan that attacked my family’s territory during the Rhalgyr Incursion. Many of our people died that year, and I will not let it go unpunished when I have one of the attackers here before me.”


    Redrek immediately stiffened at the mention of the Rhalgyr Incursion, his posture faltering for only a moment. He looked to Klarion briefly before he straightened again, his expression going blank, but not before Klarion saw a wince. The hobgoblin did not protest the accusation, nor did he offer any defense. In fact, Klarion got the sense that his friend was more than a little uncomfortable, for all that he did not speak. In a way, the silence told enough by itself — this was something Redrek didn’t want to talk about, but also something that couldn’t be denied. Despite that, Klarion’s trust in the hobgoblin did not waver. There would be time to find out the story from his friend later.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    Klarion’s attention returned to Lorissa, the other scions of her group looking almost gleeful at the confrontation unfolding in front of them.


    “You think you can just hide behind your new alliances, hobgoblin? That your past doesn’t follow you? You’re no better than the monsters you came from.” Lorissa reached down to her side, and Klarion’s group tensed, ready for her to pull out a weapon. But, rather than a weapon, she pulled out something unexpected given her accusations — a scroll, its edges curled and held closed by a heavy wax seal that showed what Klarion took to be the Academy crest.


    “This,” she said triumphantly, holding the scroll high, “is a formal challenge for a Duel to Submission, granted by the Academy itself. I am within my rights to demand this fight, and the vile creature known as Redrek has no choice but to accept it.”


    Klarion stared at the scroll she held. He’d heard mention of duels before, but this was the first chance he got to witness an actual challenge being issued. He could feel his heart start to race as he realized that, no matter what he had hoped, a fight was going to happen after all.


    Behind Lorissa, the looks of satisfaction on her group of scions turned into full grins. They had clearly been waiting for this moment. But what Klarion noticed most of all was Lorissa’s bodyguard. The burly man had an unsettling look on his face, as if he was already hip-deep in bloodshed and violence.


    Redrek still stood motionless, his expression unreadable but his posture nervous. When they locked eyes, Klarion got the sense that the hobgoblin was half-expecting him to step aside and let Lorissa have him. He nodded at Redrek, and the hobgoblin’s shoulders slumped, his worst fears apparently revealed to be true.


    Klarion quite enjoyed the look of shock on his face when he stepped forward to come between the hobgoblin and Lorissa.


    “Redrek wants no part in this,” Klarion said firmly. “We’re not here for your games. And our dinner is getting cold. If you’ve got a problem with him, find another way to settle it.”


    Lorissa didn’t flinch. “It’s too late for that,” she spat. “My challenge has been issued. That creature has no choice but to accept.”


    Klarion turned back to Redrek, who still wasn’t speaking. The hobgoblin might not have wanted to fight, but Lorissa still wasn’t going to let him off the hook. So why wasn’t he saying anything?


    “Clearly it has frozen up in fright at the prospect of justice being served,” she barked, then gestured to her bodyguard. “Very well, bind him. We will take our duel elsewhere.”


    Before any of them could react, the large man with the axe stepped forward, moving with surprising speed for someone his size. He reached out to grab Redrek by the arm, but the hobgoblin didn’t resist, only stiffening as the massive hand closed around his wrist.


    Without thinking, Klarion’s hands clenched into fists and he raised his arms. Hatsune had moved as well, her sword already halfway out of its scabbard, while Garran was only a moment behind her, though his eyes had latched onto Valdre, seeking directions.


    Kael was already lunging towards the other bodyguard’s side, dagger clearly exposed for all to see.


    “Enough!” bellowed a voice, loud and commanding, and everyone froze, even the shadow elf though he was mid-thrust.


    Ordran stepped forward then, “Enough!” he said again, cleaver raised in the air. The force of his shout filled the room, and all eyes focused on the dwarven veteran.


    “Ye want a duel?” Ordran said, looking at Lorissa. “Then ye will have it here, where it can be witnessed by more than just yer group.”


    “Fine,” she spat, unrolling the scroll. Redrek clearly blinked as a System message appeared before him as the other scion began to read.


    “The Duel of Submission is to be fought with fists until one party indicates they no longer wish to continue. No weapons. No magic. He can have a champion if he is so cowardly, and if he wins, he may walk away one hundred gold richer, but if he loses, he’ll return to the dirt in the ground he calls home, leaving the Academy behind.”


    Pieces shifted and came together in his mind as Klarion began putting things together. There was more to this than just a grudge, and based on how several of the scions with Lorissa were looking at him, he wasn’t the only one who knew that. It was a power play, not only to humiliate and send Redrek packing, but also to cut off some of the support Klarion had begun gathering to himself here on campus. Even if The Ivory Banner would want Redrek sent away anyway, it was all still tied to Klarion and his shadow war with Chadwick. No, this wasn’t just a duel. They wanted to send a message.


    But Klarion couldn’t afford to lose focus. He pushed thoughts of Chadwick away and turned all his attention to the immediate issue of Lorissa’s challenge. His thoughts were interrupted when she handed the scroll over to Ordran to confirm the terms.


    “It’s authentic,” Ordran said, unamused. The dwarves sitting at the nearby tables, who had been watching the confrontation in silence, began to murmur among themselves. Some exchanged uncertain glances, while others whispered back and forth about the legitimacy of the duel.


    Ordran handed the scroll back to Lorissa, but the wiry woman wasn’t done yet. She fixed Klarion and his friends with a smirk, her voice rising in volume. “Now, as we’re all gathered here, and the owner of this establishment has expressed his preferences, the duel will take place immediately,” she declared, her smirk showing her to believe she had already won. “Fortunate for us all, I’ve already arranged for a third-party referee to be present. A neutral party, of course,” she added, eyes gleaming with mock sincerity.


    A thin, greasy-looking human man emerged from where he had been standing out of sight, in the middle of their group. He was dressed in a well-tailored but plainly unremarkable outfit, and he seemed almost bored as he came to stand next to Lorissa. His pale face was slick with a bit too much oil.


    “This is the neutral referee?” Ordran growled, stepping forward with a frown etched deeply across his face. He crossed his arms, fingers still tight around the cleaver he held. “Ye’ve got to be jokin’. I know tha’ man, and he’s anythin’ but neutral.”


    The supposedly neutral referee glanced over at Ordran with a knowing glint in his eyes, but he didn’t say anything, choosing to stay silent.


    “Do you have a problem with my choice of referee, dwarf?” Lorissa asked, unbothered. Likely she thought that, as the only duel referee available, it did not matter what anyone else thought.


    Klarion saw that Ordran was livid, but the dwarf kept his composure, though his accent thickened. “Aye, I’ve got a problem with ye bringin’ him into me tavern,” Ordran said, gesturing at the referee. “This man’s ken fer makin’… questionable choices when the blood’s runnin’ hot, aye. If it’s a fair fight yer after, ye’d be wise tae seek another. In fact,” Ordran turned to point behind him, at the old dwarf that had harassed Klarion earlier. “Old Vuldrin is also fit tae be a referee — an’ he’s a dwarf wi’ more honor in his pinky than this slimy wretch’ll ever see in a lifetime.”


    Lorissa’s gaze faltered for a moment, but then her smirk returned. “Vuldrin?” she asked, not expecting a response. “Why would he be needed, I’m sure the hobgoblin doesn’t care which referee oversees his defeat in the duel. Better to just be done with it.”


    “Vuldrin is who ye will use,” Ordran declared firmly over the half-hearted protests from the old, white-haired dwarf who was still sitting across the room. “If ye are duelin’ ‘ere in me tavern, it’ll be wi’ him as the referee, or there’s no duel at all.”


    Lorissa considered Ordran’s response for a moment, clearly weighing the situation. Then, with a sharp nod, she turned toward the greasy referee. “Fine. But only because we’re here and there’s no time to waste. Get on with it then.”


    At Ordran’s insistence, and Lorissa’s agreement, the greasy referee slinked back into the group of other scions.


    Redrek, finally showing some reaction beyond his expression to what was going on, stepped forward, almost resignedly.


    “Very well,” Redrek said, coming to a stop in front of Lorissa, who glared at him with hate. “So long as Vuldrin agrees, I am ready.”


    “Fine, I’ll referee,” Vuldrin grumbled, after having walked over to the two groups confronting one another. He came to stand next to Ordran, and glared at the younger dwarf. “But don’t think for a moment that I’m happy to be involved. I expect my drinks to be on the house for the next while.”