Old Purple's castle sat in the middle of Puertomarino, overlooking the western coast of Roble. Made out of solid stone, it stood as a symbol of strength and history. Surrounding it were larger, posh buildings, each adorned with intricate details and colorful banners, reflecting the wealth and sophistication of the area.
Sitting in his chair, Octavio, titled Old Purple, looked through the window from the top story of the castle tower. His old age had blurred his vision, but he could still make out the cityscape of Puertomarino. This was the city he had spent his entire life building, transforming it from a simple fishing village into one of Roble's most important maritime cities.
"It's beautiful," he muttered to himself, gazing at the city bordered by pristine beaches that stretched out to meet the azure waters of the sea. The golden sands shimmered in the early light, and the gentle waves created a soothing melody as they kissed the shore. The sight filled him with a profound sense of pride and nostalgia, recalling the countless efforts and sacrifices made to see this vision come to life.
"Sir Old Purple, Lord Antonio Cohen has arrived to meet you. I've already seated him in the dining hall," a voice announced from behind him. It was his personal aide. Old Purple turned slightly, raising his arm as a signal for the aide to escort him. The aide, ever attentive, stepped forward to assist Old Purple, offering a steadying hand as they made their way through the grand corridors of the castle towards the dining hall.
The aide held Old Purple's hand, supporting the old man as he walked, albeit slowly. They left his office, traversing the main hallway, and were saluted by knights and guards as they passed. The grand corridors echoed with their footsteps until they reached the dining hall. There, seated at a long table, was an elderly man wearing a coat adorned with a blue and red emblem, signifying his leadership of House Cohen.
"What brings you here, Antonio?" Old Purple questioned, before seating himself across from the nobleman.
Antonio, already eating from the plate a servant had given him, looked up and mused, "I'm here to discuss your support of the Queen." He chewed on his Lanca steak, savoring the flavor before quickly swallowing.
Old Purple signaled for the aide to leave the duo, then retorted, "As I told you ten years ago, I will not forfeit my favorable stance on Queen Calca."
"I know the Queen hasn't made any mistakes in her rulership," Cohen began, his voice measured and authoritative. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression contemplative as he spoke. "But eventually she will. Her reforms might be popular, but it's like placing a board on a hole of a sinking ship. Won't change the outcome."
Old purple's demeanor remained composed as he delivered his rebuttal. "Her rule is not a sinking ship," he stated firmly, his voice carrying a tone of conviction. With a slight lean forward, he continued, "She has made some very important reforms. Her opening up the summer palace in Rimrun to the masses has boosted Roble's position within the human countries. Even demi-humans from faraway lands come there to show their gratitude. I doubt such a reform would've passed through the old king."
Cohen sighed, "What about our military might though? Calca doesn't seem to care much about what happens beyond the wall. It doesn't help the fact that we are behind in magic technology compared to both Bahruth and Re-Eztize. My son's travels there made that much apparent."
Cohen crossed his arms before continuing, "while importing magical technology is a viable strategy, it's still pitiful that we need to buy it rather than develop our own. That's just one example of Calca wasting Roble's time on things that aren't necessary. I'd honestly prefer a ruler such as Jircniv. While his rule was bloody, his empire is one of the more developed human nations."
Old Purple felt a surge of annoyance at the high noble's response, but he remained composed as he calmly retorted, "You forget the fact that Jircniv would most likely execute you for being too 'inefficient' for his rule." He straightened up in his seat, his tone firm. "Calca is capable. However, what makes her truly wonderful is her ability to not stoop low, refusing to act corruptly. Her showing mercy to people who doubt her or sneer at her, even though they pose a threat to her rule, is something Emperor Jircniv could never do. That's why I consider Calca to be more impressive than the emperor, and that's why she has had my support from the very beginning."
Cohen wrapped his handkerchief around his neck, a gesture of disdain. "Heh, and that's why they call you old purple—wise but also too old to make sense," he quipped with a hint of sarcasm. "Yes, I'll commend Calca for her morality. However, ruthlessness is required to rule, and I believe her brother, Prince Caspond, would've made a better ruler."
He quickly grabbed a chicken leg before dipping it in sauce. "Doesn't help the fact that Calca doesn't have an heir," he remarked between bites, "so even if she does pass such reforms, they could easily be reversed if the next heir ends up lacking her compassion."
Old Purple defiantly responded, "That is for Queen Calca to decide. In any case, did her uncle set you up for this?"
"Duke Denis doesn't need to bother himself with such affairs," he began, his tone measured. Rising from his seat, he faced Old Purple directly. "I'm simply discussing this with you on a personal basis." He paused, locking eyes with Octavio before continuing, "If this is about your title, you should know that you are already respected. Even if Calca removed your title, you'd still be heavily respected, both in the south and north of Roble."
"This has little to do with my title," Old Purple stated calmly from his seat across from Count Cohen. "Even if she did remove my title for a good reason, I would accept it for the benefit of Roble."
Octavio narrowed his eyes at the lord. "You're after something else. We've had this discussion before. What is it you want from me, Cohen?"
His brows furrowed before he responded to Old Purple. "My eldest son Edrurdo needs a wife. I was hoping you would lend one of your granddaughter's hand for him."
"If it were one of your other sons, I might have considered it. However, Edrurdo's reputation precedes him. He frequently visits brothels in Deboni, lacking both morals and character. He isn't worthy of marrying one of my grandchildren."
Cohen rose abruptly from his seat, his voice raised in anger. "My son Edrurdo is more than worthy of being your in-law! He possesses the potential to one day surpass even Remedios the White herself! It would be wise of you to consider my offer seriously."
"I'll have to decline, Cohen. However, I don't wish to leave you empty-handed. How about I permit the trade of seafood in exchange for iron ore? I'll sweeten the deal as compensation for rejecting your marriage proposal."
Cohen smiled. "Yes, that'll do. I'll have my proxy handle the details." With a nod, he neatly arranged the plates as they were before and made his way out of the dining hall.
"In any case Octavio, I bid farewell. Perhaps you'll consider my offer," Cohen stated as he made his way out of the dining hall.
"Indeed," Octavio mused, watching Cohen depart. "I know Calca is different from the norm, however perhaps that's what Roble needs, change."
Count Antonio looked back at the famed Old Purple. "Perhaps, or those changes will lead to its fall," he remarked cryptically before exiting the dining hall, leaving the elderly man alone with his thoughts.
Old Purple then ordered his aide from the next room. Entering the room, the aide saluted Old Purple.
"Your orders?"
He looked at the young man. "Just prepare me a steak, and some wine too."
…
As night fell over Old Purple Castle, shadows danced across its ancient stone walls, casting eerie shapes in the moonlight. The air was cool and still, with only the distant sound of crickets breaking the silence. Sol and Caulot stood before the looming structure, its towering spires reaching up towards the star-studded sky. Caulot's nerves were palpable, his hands clammy, and his body trembling slightly beneath his armor. Beside him, Sol exuded a calm confidence, his posture steady and unwavering despite the tension in the air. Though their faces were obscured by their helmets, the contrast in their demeanors was starkly evident as they prepared for the duel ahead.
"Sol, I'm not sure about this," Caulot admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. "I've never used a spear."
The black knight faced the young boy, who now stood clad in gleaming plate armor that shimmered under the moonlight. The armor, polished and intricately engraved, offered both protection and agility, while his helmet remained unchanged.
"You'll be fine," Sol reassured, his voice steady. "I gave you a spear for its increased range, and it's relatively easy to use. Ancient lords used to arm their peasants with them; they're quite effective. And you have your secret weapon too; you should be fine."
Caulot looked up at the black knight. "Well, if you insist," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He checked his side blade, ensuring it was securely fastened. Sol had instructed him to always have it with him, in case someone got too close and he needed to switch blades.
Caulot's voice quivered slightly as he posed the question, "What about you, Sol? You didn't take anything from the armory?"
"I have my own plans. For now, let's wait for Sir Wasfed and Rodrigo to arrive."
As Sol said that, both Rodrigo and Wasfed arrived, exchanging a quick glance before addressing the younger duo with commands
"Your time is up. I hope you're ready," Wasfed commanded. Rodrigo nodded, signaling both Caulot and Sol to follow them.
As they made their way to the battle arena, the night air was filled with anticipation. People hurried towards the arena benches, eager to witness the upcoming duel. Knights patrolled the area, their armor gleaming in the moonlight as they ensured order and security. Pages and squires bustled about, setting up the arena for the event, their movements quick and purposeful. The atmosphere crackled with excitement, the energy palpable as they approached the grand entrance of the arena.
The four of them walked towards the indoor battle arena inside the lord's castle. It was constructed of polished wood and marble pillars, with seating arrangements for spectators.
"Both of you will be in the waiting area," Wasfed directed, gesturing towards the door leading to the designated space. "The first match will soon begin. In the meantime, both me and Rodrigo will be beside our lord." With that, he and Rodrigo took another door leading up to the stairs, while Caulot and Sol entered the waiting area.
Descending down the stairs, Sol and Caulot were greeted by two other knights and what appeared to be a receptionist.
Is that a receptionist? Do those even exist in this world?
"Ah, so the other duelists have arrived. Very well, then I will explain how this duel will work."
Both Caulot and Sol listened in, hoping to score any advantages in their upcoming duel.
"Before we continue, I'm a page of Sir Wasfed. I'll be acting as your coordinator, and I will decide who duels whom."
I see, of course it wouldn't be like a receptionist, this page doesn't even have a computer.
The brown-haired page continued, "Our matchmaking is rather simple. Since there are only four contenders, we will have two matches. I will decide who fights whom and in which order. The winner of each duel will become a knight of Old Purple."
I see, so the rules are simple enough.
Sol quickly glanced at the other knights. One wore full plate armor and wielded a large mace, while the other carried a longsword and wore chainmail, surprisingly without a helmet.
Usually, the fully plated knight would be the more dangerous one; however, the other one concerns me.
Sol had an instinct that the helmetless knight was more dangerous; something about him rang alarm bells in Sol's mind.
"Now for the matchmaking for the first round, I will have Caulot, referred by Sir Gareth, and Maximulis, referred by Sir Terrey," the page announced, pointing to both Caulot and the helmetless knight.
"And the last match will be Sol, referred by Sir Rodrigo, versus O'Lerrey, referred by Sir Phenoe," the page continued, pointing to Sol and the fully plated knight.
This is really bad. I was hoping to deal with Maximulis, Sol thought, eyeing his opponent.
He threw a worried glance at Caulot but found him somewhat relieved by the matchmaking.
"Caulot, why are you so relaxed?" Sol questioned the boy beside him.
"Because I wasn't matched against you, and I got the less scary opponent."
Sol frowned under his helmet, but before he could say anything, the page cut him off.
"Caulot and Maximulis, you two head to your respective battle zones. Once the gate opens, it's a battle. Remember, Old Purple is spectating this match. Leave a good impression."
Both duelists exchanged glances, silently sizing each other up before heading towards their designated gates. As Caulot neared the gate, a nauseating sensation washed over him, his stomach churning with nerves.
It's now or never!
As the gates swung open, Caulot and Maximulis emerged, their figures illuminated by the torchlight, presenting themselves to the audience of knights and servants of Old Purple. From his elevated perch atop the highest tower of the arena, Old Purple watched, seated in a grand chair flanked by three knights donning identical armor. Below them, the arena sprawled out, its construction a mix of sturdy wood and elegant marble towers rising at intervals, lending an air of grandeur to the battleground below.
"Rodrigo, the one wearing that peculiar helmet. Was he the one who gave Gareth trouble?" Octavio inquired, his tone tinged with curiosity.
Rodrigo, positioned beside Octavio, bowed respectfully before responding, "Yes, my lord. That was Caulot."
"The one who doesn't use martial arts? Yeah, he will definitely lose against Maximulis," Sir Terrey remarked confidently.
With red hair, piercing blue eyes, and a rugged appearance, his muscular build was evident even through his armor. Octavio and Rodrigo turned their attention towards him as he spoke.
Old Purple's curiosity was piqued as he asked Terrey, "Why do you say that? If he gave Gareth trouble, he certainly might be able to pull it off."
Terrey responded confidently, "Because I personally fought against him and nearly lost. The only reason I won was because of my superior armor. His skill in martial arts is not to be scoffed at."
"Perhaps, but I'm more interested in this black knight Rodrigo fought," the knight to the left of Rodrigo interjected. It was Sir Phenoe, with his blonde hair, green eyes, and noble appearance that drew attention from Rodrigo.
Octavio interjected into the conversation, "Regardless of the outcome, whoever comes out on top will become part of my personal retinue."
The match began, with both duelists meeting each other and assuming their stances. Caulot noticed his opponent wearing a cloak, concealing his body but leaving his face exposed.
Why is he wearing a cloak? Where'd he even have the time to put one on?
Caulot thrust his spear forward, but Maximulis swiftly evaded with a graceful dodge.
[Greater Evasion]
Maximulis effortlessly sidestepped the attack and countered by swinging his longsword at Caulot's spear, aiming to break its wooden shaft. Anticipating this move, Caulot swiftly deployed the short sword attached to a chain that he had concealed. Maximulis cartwheeled backward to evade the unexpected strike, eliciting cheers from the crowd.
Maximulis pressed forward, seeking to close the distance between them, but Caulot remained vigilant. As Maximulis advanced, Caulot seized the opportunity and swiftly stabbed at him with his spear. A clang resounded through the arena as the two weapons clashed, surprising Caulot with the force of the impact.
Did I hit him?!
However, Caulot's keen eyes noticed a hole in Maximulis's cloak, revealing a steel plate beneath. "You sure have quite a few tricks up your sleeve, but so do I!" Maximulis retorted, his voice piercing at Caulot's morale.
As Caulot attempted to strike again, he felt a surge of panic grip him.
Didn't Maximulis just wear chainmail? Did he switch to plate armor while he was on the gate?
These thoughts raced through his mind as Maximulis grabbed hold of his spear. With that, a tug of war ensued between the two, each vying for control.
[Greater Ability Boost]
Maximulis's superior strength easily overpowered Caulot, snatching the spear from his grip and swiftly slashing at him. The force behind the blow broke Caulot's shoulder plate, eliciting a painful groan from him beneath his helmet. Maximulis then threw the spear to the ground and readied his blade, a confident declaration escaping his lips.
"You really are impressive, you held out longer than most fighters I've fought. And they all used martial arts."
Caulot, undeterred, clenched a fistful of sandy ground and hurled it at Maximulis's face. The knight deftly dodged the sandy projectile, swiftly turning to face Caulot who was now charging at him with his blade raised high.
"So forgive me for defeating you!"
[Cutting Edge]
The air gathered around Maximulis's blade as he slashed it at Caulot, aiming for a decisive blow. However, hidden behind his helmet, a grin spread across Caulot's face. With a swift motion, he threw his own blade high into the air, drawing the attention of both the crowd and Maximulis.
Now's my chance! Go for the spear!
Summoning all his strength, Caulot dodged Maximulis's initial slash and rushed towards the spear lying on the ground, blood seeping from his wounded shoulder. As Maximulis turned his attention to the thumping footsteps, Caulot seized the opportunity and slashed at Maximulis's neck with the spear. However a smile spread across Maximulis's face before he swiftly launched into his martial arts technique.
[Fatal Edge]
A strong slash, seared across Caulot's body diagonally, blood poured through the sandy environment, gasping for breath he made out several robed figures heading towards him before passing out.
With a roar echoing through the crowd, Maximulis raised his blade triumphantly. Panting heavily, he glanced up at Old Purple, catching the figure nodding in approval. A smile crept across Maximulis's face as he made his way back to the gate, casting a last glance at the fallen warrior now being tended to by priests. Heading back, he prepared to receive the congratulations of the young page.
Sol, observing the match from his gate and witnessing Caulot's defeat, felt a pang of sadness for his friend's loss.
Damnit, I should've fought against him, not Caulot.
Sol observed O'Lerrey from across the arena, noting that unlike Maximulis, he seemed prepared and unlikely to change his armor or gear.
I'm going to win this match, not only for me but for Caulot too. I won't let his suffering go to waste.
As the gates swung open, both fighters entered the arena. O'Lerrey's massive armor made him seem even larger in the arena than he had appeared in the waiting hall. In contrast, Sol's black armor blended with the night, its golden lining shimmering like the torches that illuminated the background.
O'Lerrey strategized on how to take down the black knight standing before him.
I'll use my defensive martial arts, I doubt he'd be able to penetrate it. From what I know he doesn't use martial arts so he should only be slightly more dangerous than that armored boy.
[Fortress]
A defensive martial arts was deployed over O'Lerrey's armor as the black knight struck. Despite the force behind the blow, his blade only managed to scratch the surface of O'Lerrey's sturdy armor.
Fast! How is he that quick? I didn't see him deploy any ability boost arts.
[Smash]
He quickly swung his mace at the swift-moving knight, but Sol deftly dodged the attack, drawing cheers from the crowd. Spectating the match from the perch. Rodrigo wss taken aback by Sol's agility, watched on in surprise. "Unbelievable… he's even faster than the last time I fought him."
"Not only that, those moves? What martial arts is that? Even the way his stance was weird. What form is that?" Sir Phenoe questioned, his curiosity piqued as he analyzed the black knight. The momentary silence was broken when Old Purple spoke up..
"There's a good chance that O'Lerrey the tower will be defeated by an invisible spear."
The fighting continued below, O'Lerrey sensing something was off by the way the black knight was fighting and the damage he took even after using fortress used his senseful martial arts.
[Possibility Sense]
Impossible?! 0% chance? I can't defeat this knight?!
He noticed that the black knight had been striking in one specific location, doing hit and runs while stabbing at one location. He noticed a small crack in his armor.
I see what he's doing, he's slowly chipping away at my armor, while I may not be able to defeat him. I might be able to stall this fight till he's exhausted. In which case!
[Invulnerable Fortress]
The impenetrable defense left the knight's attacks useless, stunning the audience into awe, including Old Purples personal retinue who watched alongside their lord.
"Unbelievable, never knew he had such a trump card. Looks like you were wrong, Sir Purple," Sir Phenoe commented, only to notice the old man cracking a small smile.
The black knight charged at O'Lerrey, responding to his assault, and skillfully blocked the cracked armor with his weapon, aiming to neutralize the advantage it provided.
Now there should be no way for him to defeat me!
He was certain that even if he managed to hit the black knight in any other place, his invulnerable Fortress would protect him and his armor from any damage.
The knight leaped, readying his blade for a slash. O'Lerrey could only scoff at it, but his confidence turned to horror as the knight's strike shattered his chest plate, the armor with the highest defense, sending pieces flying and blood spurting forth.
A heavy thud reverberated through the arena as O'Lerrey fell, defeated. The black knight stood atop his fallen opponent, raising his blade in triumph. But there were no cheers, only stunned silence from the audience of knights and laborers, as well as the retinue of Old Purple. However, one figure broke the silence, Old Purple began applauding Sol's victory.