The atmosphere of The Hearth & Ember had been thick with tension ever since the other scions and their bodyguards had arrived, but now it was almost suffocating. Lorissa stepped aside as she motioned to her bodyguard. “Ort, here, will be my champion.”
The massive man, his bulk towering over most of the others in the room, even Klarion, reached up to seize the axe strapped across his back. The axe itself was a formidable weapon, and it gleamed ominously in the light of the tavern. Rather than brandish it, however, Ort simply handed it over to another of the bodyguards, a younger man who fumbled it, barely managing to keep his hold. The younger bodyguard’s nervousness only seemed to amuse the giant, who let out a low chuckle as his counterpart struggled with the weight of the weapon. Ort then stepped forward to come even with Redrek, and the human’s grin became twisted with a mix of arrogance and malice.
“This should be entertaining,” Ort said in a deep rumble. He sized Redrek up with an almost mocking look. “I wonder how long it’ll take me to break that red skin of yours, hobgoblin. You non-humans always talk a big game when The Ivory Banner comes calling, but I doubt you’ve got the guts to back it up.”
The insult hung in the air, and more than a few of the tavern’s dwarven patrons shifted angrily in their seats. Likely none of them felt nothing but distaste for the hobgoblin in their midst, but the tone Ort used made it clear his words could just as easily have been directed against them as well. Klarion, however, felt his blood begin to boil at the casually cruel words the man had used. If this was what The Ivory Banner was all about, he wanted nothing to do with them.
Redrek, for all that he had remained mostly quiet since the confrontation had begun, visibly stiffened at Ort’s words, his stoic demeanor faltering. The hobgoblin opened his mouth as though to say something, but it was clear that he didn’t want to give the brute the satisfaction of a response. However, Kael, ever observant, narrowed his eyes and muttered a curse under his breath. Garran, for all that he was Valdre’s bodyguard first and foremost, still cracked his knuckles, clearly itching to get involved.
Ort seemed to take notice of the brewing anger in Klarion’s group, his grin widening as he continued. His eyes shifted over to Kael, the shadow elf’s posture stiff from how angry he was on his scion’s behalf. The human bodyguard then looked beyond Kael to see Hatsune standing next to Klarion.
“Well, look at this,” Ort said staring at Hatsune who shivered at the look he was giving her. “A pretty little bunnykin, yet so full of rage. How cute. Looks like you have something to say, but maybe I’ve got something else for that mouth of yours to handle after I send the red-skinned bastard packing.” He let the implication hang in the air, his words dripping with a venomous, almost predatory undertone.
As he continued to look at Hatsune, unblinking, the Leporine shrank and stepped closer to Klarion’s side. At her visible distress, a wave of fury shot through Klarion. He could feel the heat rise in his face, his blood boiling at the sinister implications of the man’s words. He had already witnessed the nature of Ort’s scion at the Dungeon, but this… this went beyond anything he was willing to tolerate.
Without thinking, Klarion slammed his hand down onto the wooden table, making their half-emptied plates jump and sending a loud smack reverberating through the room. The force of it silenced the tavern instantly, the laughter and banter from Lorissa’s group cutting off like a knife had come slashing through it. The sound of wood shaking under the impact seemed to hang in the air for a moment, and those nearest him could almost feel the burning heat of Klarion’s fury.
“Enough.” Klarion commanded in a growl, his eyes blazing as he stared daggers through Ort, who flinched at his outburst. “You want to challenge Redrek? Then you’ll have to go through me,” he declared. “I’ll serve as his champion.”
There was an audible murmur of surprise that swept through the room, mostly from the dwarves who had been previously watching in stunned silence at the events unfolding in their midst. By their reactions, it was rare, apparently, for one scion to offer themselves as a champion for another in a duel, especially when it meant knowing they would be fighting someone of Ort’s size and obvious strength. But Klarion was resolute in his commitment. The bodyguard’s words had gone too far, and he wasn’t going to let Ort get away with it.
A System prompt flickered to life in Klarion’s vision, but he barely registered the glowing text as it flashed. He took but a moment to note that it was a formal declaration, confirming his acceptance of the duel on Redrek’s behalf as his champion. In small letters were the same rules Lorissa had stated previously — the fight would be to submission, no weapons, no magic. Only fists. Klarion wasn’t sure why the System had even needed to prompt him — it was already a done deal in his mind. Klarion nodded, and the System confirmed his choice.
With a deep breath, trying to get his fury under tighter control, he turned to face his friends, knowing that they were all watching him with wide eyes, some of them with fear, but all of them with concern. But it was Valdre’s gaze that caught his attention. The half-frost elf’s face was tight with nerves, his body coiled like a spring, clearly thinking something was about to go wrong.
“What are you thinking, Klarion?” Valdre hissed in a low voice, breathing fast.
“I’m thinking that I have the best chance against him out of all of us,” he replied, his voice firm despite the small speck of uncertainty within him. “I won’t let Redrek face Ort by himself.”
Valdre gave a tight nod, though if anything the concern in his eyes became deeper. “This won’t be a fair fight, not by any means.” Before Klarion could respond, the half-frost elf leaned in close, his voice barely above a whisper, the words covered by the loud congratulations from the other group of scions to Ort for goading the Blacksword into a duel. “This kind of duel has loopholes. If Ort is willing to fight dirty, he can exploit those gaps to avoid allowing you to give your submission. It’s a legal loophole, but one that can lead to far worse than simple defeat.”
Klarion didn’t have time to answer, the congratulations dying off in the other group of scions. Ort turned back to him, grinning, clearly expecting the fight to be his easy win. “You’ve got a lot of guts, Blacksword,” the burly man sneered. ”But you’ll need more than that to survive me.“
The others behind Klarion all exchanged uneasy glances, their silent worry speaking volumes. It was clear they were all concerned for him — no one had expected this, and they likely were not sure how the fight would go. Even though Hatsune had seen him fight down in the Dungeon, and knew his advantage in stats, she still seemed a bit nervous as well.
With the champions selected, Vuldrin began barking out commands to dwarves still sitting around the room to push the tables and chairs to the side, clearing a space for the duel that was about to take place. The clatter of furniture being moved was followed by hushed murmurs from a handful of dwarves who had begun to congregate near the edge of where the duel would take place. To Klarion, it sounded like there was some betting going on. He was grimly amused at the long odds against him.
Near where they stood was Vuldrin. His wrinkled brow furrowed as he watched both groups of scions preparing for the duel, his old eyes examining both Klarion and Ort in turn. Perhaps Klarion was imagining it, but it looked like the dwarven referee was torn on who he wanted to win. A step in the right direction, given how he had reacted to Klarion and Hatsune coming into The Hearth & Ember earlier.
Putting the old dwarf from his mind, Klarion stepped to the center of the cleared space to square off with Ort. The burly man continued to grin smugly, as if he already won, while Klarion remained calm, his body poised and ready. The tension fairly crackled in the air, the room so quiet now you could almost hear the sound of breath being held.
“You both know the terms,” Vuldrin said gruffly. He eyed both combatants with professional detachment. “Let the duel begin.”
Ort charged first, his massive fists swinging with the kind of power that could knock a door off its hinges. Klarion, though slightly smaller in size, was fast — faster than Ort had anticipated based on how wide his swings went. Klarion dodged to the side with a quick step, narrowly avoiding the brunt of Ort’s attack but feeling the rush of air as the man’s fists cut through it. Klrion’s earlier fury had gone cold, and he moved fluidly, continuing to dodge and weave, trying to get a sense of Ort’s style.
After several seconds, Klarion could honestly say he was not impressed. The man was all brute force. Rolfun would have beaten him in seconds and then subjected him to a far more brutal hour of lectures on what he had done wrong.
Given the gap in skill, Klarion held back at first. A slight misstep on a creaking board in the floor through him off for a split second, and Ort darted in close to hit Klarion hard in the stomach. Though he heard an audible gasp from the watching crowd at the blow, all he felt was a whisper of pain before his regeneration kicked it, quickly dulling it. Lashing out instinctively, his fist caught Ort a glancing blow across his cheek, staggering him, and this time the gasp from the watchers was one of surprise.
When Ort was unable to land more than a single glancing blow over the next minute, he pulled up short, opening the space between them.
“You’re quick, I’ll give you that,” he jeered, wiping a smear of blood from his lip from where Klarion’s fist landed earlier. “But you’re soft. I can tell. You’re not used to fighting like this. Not like me. Not like the real men who’ve fought in wars with the Legions.” His tone turned mocking, “Likely the most you’ve ever done is sparred with your daddy’s maids.”
The words stung slightly, not that they had an ounce of truth to them. Ort grinned at his own words, but when Klarion didn’t react, the bodyguard glanced over to where Hatsune stood, and his smile turned into something darker.
“What’s the matter, pretty bunnykin?” Ort called out, his lips holding that dark, malicious grin. “Didn’t think you’d end up watching a scrap like this tonight, huh? Don’t worry, once I’m done with the ol’ pretty boy with red-gold eyes here, I’ll make sure you get a turn as well.” His eyes flashed. “Though that will be a different kind of struggle, I think.”
Klarion looked over at Hatsune, who had stiffened at the words Ort had directed her way. Her ears were twitching nervously, but there was only a look of anger on her face. Anger that Klarion felt inside as well. But Ort didn’t stop there.
“Oh, don’t worry, Blacksword,” he added, mockingly casual. “Once this little show’s over, we’ll make sure she joins her scion in the grave. After a number of us have had our fun, of course,” he said, malicious grin growing wider at the catcalls now coming from the group he had come with. “Chadwick mentioned some things he would like to do, you see.”
The temperature in the tavern plummeted as Klarion felt something shift in him. A deathly silence fell, thick and suffocating, far more constricting than what those gathered had felt earlier. Even the dwarves, who had gathered, excited to see a scion and a bodyguard go at it, had gone still. Every other scion and bodyguard stared at Klarion, their expressions ranging from stunned disbelief to growing horror.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
But the burly man remained oblivious, grinning as if he’d told some clever joke.
Klarion’s mind was fire and iron.
This wasn’t simple bravado anymore, or an attempt to get under Klarion’s skin — this was a line drawn in blood. The fool had pointed it out, then crossed it with glee, and now Klarion was done playing by their rules. He wasn’t fighting to help a friend anymore. He was fighting for her.
Without a word, Klarion moved.
The tavern blurred into the background as he surged forward, using every single one of his stats as he hadn’t since the Dungeon Boss. Ort’s grin faltered too late. The burly man’s eyes only just started widening in disbelief when Klarion’s knuckles smashed into his temple with a sickening thud, the force reverberating through the room. The bodyguard’s feet lifted from the floor, only for him to collapse like a felled tree several feet further back, hitting the ground hard enough to rattle the floor.
Silence.
The entire tavern stood frozen, as if the room itself was holding a breath. Even the dwarves who had been taking bets moments ago, papers and pencils still in hand, stared wide-eyed. Mugs were paused halfway to bearded lips, and Ordran himself had frozen, a strange look on his face. The veteran owner of The Hearth & Ember turned without a word and rushed back to his kitchen, his expression not changing.
From behind him, Klarion heard Hatsune’s breath hitch. Turning, he saw Valdre, Redrek, Garran, and Kael all as still as statues, shock etched into their faces.
Turning back to his opponent, Ort remained lying unmoving on the ground, his limp form a testament to the precision and power behind Klarion’s blow.
Slowly, Klarion straightened, his breath steady despite the surge of adrenaline thrumming through his veins. He stood over his fallen opponent, muscles still taut with fury.
Klarion’s gaze swept over to Vuldrin. The white-beared, old dwarf that had agreed to referee so reluctantly stood where he had been since the fight started, but as still as he was, he couldn’t mask the flicker of unease on his face as he stared back at Klarion.
Klarion’s jaw tensed, his words cutting through the thick, charged air. “As the referee,” he said, cold and deliberate, “did you hear my opponent say he submitted?”
The question hung heavy in the room for long moments. Dwarves, scions, and bodyguards alike waiting, knowing that Vuldrin’s answer would decide if the duel was truly over — or still going.
Vuldrin shifted his stance, his boots scuffing against the floor as he met Klarion’s challenging stare. The tremor in his fingers betrayed him, though his gruff voice remained steady. “Nay,” he admitted slowly, resigned to what was about to happen. “I didn’t hear him submit.”
The weight of the referee’s admission settled over the room. While both groups of scions and their bodyguards remained silent, the dwarves at once all began muttering, sensing what was coming.
Klarion’s red-gold eyes darkened as they returned to the crumpled bodyguard sprawled at his feet. Blood trickled from the man’s busted temple, but his chest still rose and fell with shallow breaths. He was unconscious, but still very much alive — a fact that grated against the edge of Klarion’s resolve.
Boots creaked against the floorboards as Klarion stepped forward, each measured step deliberate and ominous. The tension in the tavern coiled tighter, breath caught in throats as eyes followed him like the grim shadow of fate.
He crouched beside the burly man, his fingers brushing against the man’s thick neck, searching. Life lingered there, faint but present.
Klarion’s lips set into a grim line. Not enough.
With a smooth motion, he gripped the unconscious man by the throat and hauled him upright. The burly bodyguard dangled in Klarion’s grasp like a rag doll, his weight meaningless against his strength and the lingering fury he felt.
A gasp from the dwarven side rippled through the tavern. Vuldrin’s knuckles whitened as he clenched his hands, but the old dwarf said nothing. He knew that once a scion’s mind was set, interference was folly.
Klarion stood, arm outthrust, his arm steady despite the weight of the man he held aloft. Muscles coiled beneath his uniform, strength born from his stats and his rage.
Then, without another word, Klarion shook him — once, twice — each motion fierce and final.
A sickening crack echoed through the tavern.
The body in his hand went limp, the neck twisted at an unnatural angle. Gasps and sharp intakes of breath rippled through the spectators, but no one moved.
Klarion’s expression was cold as iron in the depths of winter. With a dispassionate toss, he sent the corpse bouncing and sliding across the floor, coming to a rest at the feet of Lorissa.
Klarion turned slowly, blood smeared across his knuckles, his chest rising and falling from the intensity of the fight. His red-gold eyes blazed, locking onto Lorissa, whose face had gone a deathly shade of pale.
Klarion’s voice was ice, sharp and cutting. “Do you see him?” he asked, deceptively calm as he gestured to Ort’s crumpled form. “That’s what happens when someone threatens my friends. When someone states their filthy intentions to those I care about.”
He took a step forward, his booted steps echoing like war drums against the floor. Lorissa flinched but tried to stand firm against his advance. Her entourage of fellow scions shrank behind her, doing all they could to avoid attracting Klarion’s attention. Even their bodyguards, a mixed group of humans of different backgrounds, hesitated to do more than press closer to their charges.
“I’m done playing around,” Klarion declared, his voice growing louder, more dangerous with every word. “You come for Redrek? Valdre? Hatsune?” He looked at all the faces quailing before him, as he gestured back towards his friends and allies. “You come for any of us again, and you’ll get what Ort got.”
Not a word was said back to him in response to his declaration, but the weight of his promise bore down on them like a weight.
Klarion pointed directly at Lorissa, the strength of his glare causing the red of his eyes to flicker, briefly overtaking the gold. “That goes for you, your Ivory Banner lapdogs, and Chadwick — especially Chadwick.” His lip curled into a snarl. “Tell him I’m waiting. Tell him that if he even breathes in our direction, I’ll break him too.”
Lorissa opened her mouth to speak, probably in some desperate attempt at a way to save face, but he cut her off with a harsh, biting laugh. “You think you’re untouchable because of your family name? Your status as a scion?” He shook his head in mock sadness, before returning his glare to the spiteful woman. “It doesn’t matter if you have dozens of fancy titles. Titles mean nothing when your bones lie shattered on the ground at my feet.”
Klarion took one final step toward her, his voice dropping to a low growl that sent a shiver through even the bravest dwarf in the room. “This is your only warning. You want war with me and mine? I’ll bring it to your doorstep. You’ll wish you never crossed me.”
Lorissa stumbled back, her confidence unraveling at the promise Klarion just swore before her. With a final glare that was more terror than anger, she spun on her heel, the rest of her group scrambling to keep up as they fled the tavern, their earlier swagger and laughing jokes completely gone. Two of their bodyguards lingered for a moment to take Ort’s corpse with them. The door slammed shut.
Klarion stood, watching the closed door of the tavern as the tension gradually eased from his shoulders. He wasn’t sure how long he stared at it, but the rest of the tavern remained quiet as he did so.
Redrek broke the silence. “Well, Klarion… I think you made your point. Not sure we’ll see that lot again. At least, not with a fair few more bodyguards in tow.”
Klarion exhaled slowly one more time, the fire in his veins finally cooling. “Good,” he said quietly, eyes filled not with triumph but resolve, still fixed on the door where their enemies had fled. Somehow, he didn’t think it would be that easy.
He glanced back to Vuldrin, who had been watching him. The old dwarf’s face was still pale, his eyes wide. Part of Klarion wanted to laugh, despite the seriousness of what had just happened. If he had to guess, next time Vuldrin saw him come to The Hearth & Ember for a meal, he wouldn’t be protesting quite as loudly, or perhaps at all. Still, Klarion offered him a faint nod, acknowledging his role as referee and thanking him for it. When he received a slight, slow nod in return, Klarion made to return to their table, the dwarves who had watched the duel doing the same, though some continued eyeing Klarion and his group.
As Garran and Kael set the last of the chairs next to their table, which had also returned to where it had been, Klarion made his way back over to his friends amidst the sounds of the rest of the tavern being put back the way it was before the duel. The legs of tables and chairs thumped softly as they were moved. Above the sound of talking, he heard the sloshing of a bucket that a young dwarf, who had barely more than a wisp of a beard, brought a mop out to clean up the floor where the duel had been fought.
Klarion took his seat, glancing down at the now-cold plate of food he had only half-finished. His knuckles were sore and bloodied, though whether it was from Ort or the force of slamming his hand down on the table, he wasn’t sure. Grim amusement filled him at the thought of Ordran’s table hurting his hand more than the man he had just killed.
Hatsune again sat at his right, her ears still half-lowered, though the concern she was showing softened as he gestured that he was alright. And he was. Really. He had done what needed to be done. Ort had threatened Hatsune, Redrek, and all of them — mocking them as less than meaningless obstacles to be swept away by their so-called betters.
He clenched his fist, remembering the feeling of Ort’s neck breaking. It hadn’t even been difficult with his stats. Just two violent shakes, and the man was dead. Klarion wasn’t sure how he felt about that — or if he felt anything at all. There had been a time, not that long ago even, when the thought of killing someone would have churned his stomach, weighed down his heart. But here? At the Imperial Academy, surrounded on all sides by potential enemies, enemies who had already attempted to kill him and Hatsune, to be bound by naive scruples was a weakness.
The others might not have said it aloud, but they knew. They had accepted that truth some time ago. Which is why, rather than through accusations or abuse in his face for his choice, they simply took their own seats at the table.
He glanced across the table at Redrek, who had started becoming more of his old self now that the duel was over. Valdre, ever composed, was now quieter than usual, his gaze still lingering at the door to the tavern, perhaps as though expecting Lorrisa and the Ivory Banner to return. Their bodyguards were more straightforward. Garran leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, but an approving look on his face as he met Klarion’s gaze. And Kael? His expression was once again unreadable, but the subtle nod he sent Klarion spoke volumes.
Their enemies had been sent running. That was what mattered.
He looked once more around the table, his friends in unspoken agreement as they all again moved to pick up food and drink. All except Hatsune, who seemed to be done eating. At the glance he shot her way, she gave him a small, reassuring smile and made the universal motion for being full. It was at that moment that he had a thought that had slowly been rising to the surface of his mind for days now.
As long as she’s safe, the rest doesn’t matter.
If he had to dirty his hands to protect her and the others, so bet it.
Klarion leaned back over his food, forcing himself to relax as he speared a cold piece of meat. Slowly the atmosphere shifted as the normal noises of the tavern returned.
Redrek snorted as he grabbed his mug, raising it high. “To Klarion Blacksword,” the hobgoblin declared loudly, his grin mischievous once more. “My human champion who brings his fists down on bones and dinner tables with equal style!”
And just like that the remaining tension shattered as laughter broke through the group. Even Kael cracked a faint smile.
“Careful, Redrek,” Klarion said dryly, spearing another piece of meat. “Keep talking, and you’ll be next.”
Redrek laughed again, undeterred. “I’ll take my chances.”
The mood lightened, but Klarion’s thoughts remained sharp beneath the surface. This wasn’t over, he knew. The Ivory Banner wouldn’t back down — neither would Chadwick or anyone aligned with him. And when they came again, as they surely would, they’d come harder, more prepared.
But that was fine. Klarion had made his stance clear. He was not going to be some timid scion fresh from Earth anymore. He would be a warrior, as well as a killer if need be, and he would fight for his friends without hesitation.
He chewed slowly, savoring the taste of roasted meat despite everything. His appetite had returned, driven not just by hunger but by resolve.
“You alright?” Hatsune’s soft voice broke through his thoughts.
“Yeah,” Klarion said. “I’m alright.”
Hatsune tilted her head slightly, ears flicking again. “You don’t have to carry everything yourself, you know.”
“I know,” he said. But even as he said those words, he knew that some burdens would be his alone to bear. And if that meant standing between his friends, between Hatsune and the dangers that lurked in the shadows of the Academy, then so be it.
As the conversation at the table turned toward lighter topics — mostly regaling them with tales of hobgoblin mischief from when he had been younger — Klarion let himself ease into the moment. Enjoying the good food, and the good company he had found. And would keep. No matter who came against him.
The Ivory Banner, Chadwick, and anyone else foolish enough to come for him would come to understand one simple truth:
Mess with Klarion Blacksword or those he cared about, and there would be no mercy.