“MONSIEUR RENARD,” Thomas Gilbert greeted with an icy smile. “I’m glad you responded to my invitation.”
“Monsieur Gilbert,” I smiled back. “I’m happy to be here.”
We shook hands. He was smiling, but I could see that he was angry with . Betty had most likely told him all about our final conversation, in which I ntioned another prospective betrothal and the insufficiently-lofty origins of the Gilberts. I was certain that his daughter must have described our chat with plenty of illustrative color and drama. And of course, she wouldn’t have ntioned her part in Vivienne Leroy and Vincent de Lamar’s conspiracy against .
Thomas Gilbert was greeting his reception’s guests on the platform at the entrance to his stately ho, which was located in one of the elite districts of the capital. The biggest wine importer in the kingdom could have afforded a house even in the neighborhoods of the highest aristocracy, but alas — commoners of any status were unwelco there.
Without looking back, I gestured to the side, and my footman approached Gilbert with a bow. He was holding a small, elongated case in his hands, whose sides were engraved with ornate carvings and set with precious stones.
“I beg you to accept this gift as a token of my regret at not having been able to respond to your previous invitation,” I said as I opened the case. “I’m certain that only an expert such as yourself would be capable of appreciating the quality of this particular item.”
“I thank you, chevalier, but there really is no need — “ Thomas Gilbert began, but suddenly fell silent.
The truth is that only in mid-sentence did he finally look down and actually see what was inside the case. His eyes almost popped out of his head. Only pure willpower kept him from reacting like a giddy schoolboy.
It was a bottle of wine. One of the ones I’d found in de Clairmont’s secret cellar. It had a two-color energy structure, obviously crafted by a master of the art. Whoever it was, they had gracefully blended scarlet and amber energy into one. And done it so that neither one overwheld the other.
Later on, I went out and found so information on this wine. It turned out that in addition to the multitude of other ancient magical wines in my cellar, I had a dozen bottles of what was known as “Dragon’s Blood.”
This type was created by the best mages on the personal orders of the Emperor, before the Shadow ever appeared, and was a powerful, near-universal antidote.
“This is...”
“Dragon’s Blood,” I confird, nodding at the magical seal on the cork that bore the sigil of the long-vanished Imperial house.
For a mont, Gilbert was absent from reality. He examined the bottle carefully. I thought he might actually start licking it. A dreamy smile danced on his face as he stared at it.
Finally, he carefully accepted the case from my footman and handed it to one of his people, for all the world as one might pass a newborn baby to another person. Then he watched ruefully as his servant walked off with his treasure. It seed like if he had his way, he would have run off to follow his servant right away.
“Where did you get such a treasure?” He finally asked .
“You wouldn’t believe it,” I smiled. “I bought it by chance in the Crafting District of Vintervald. I don’t think the seller fully realized what exactly he was selling . I’ll confess, though — I didn’t either, at the ti. But I was attracted by the Imperial seal.”
“You only managed to buy one bottle?” Gilbert hurriedly inquired. “I’d be willing to buy them from you... Money is no object...”
“Alas, but no,” I shook my head. “Wine like this isn’t for sale. It’s sothing one gives to friends and loved ones.”
“Yes, of course,” said Gilbert, his smile already a little bit warr. “You’re absolutely right.”
* * *
“My friends!” Thomas Gilbert announced, attracting the attention of the guests mingling in the ballroom of his capital-city mansion. “Please allow to present the Hero of the Northland! The victor of the Great Trial! Chevalier Maximilian Renard! It’s thanks to his self-sacrificing heroism that a pact of eternal friendship will soon be signed between Vestonia and Vintervald, which will of course be sealed by the marriage of His Highness Prince Louis and Princess Astrid!”
The people in the hall — of whom there were 200, at the very least — greeted Tomas Gilbert’s speech with notably restrained applause. The orchestra on the balcony launched into a song that, while heavily edited to suit Vestonian tastes, was nonetheless familiar to . The song about the bastard sword, first played to mock as I appeared at the arena, had made its way to the capital. And now it was being sung in every corner of the city. True, its text was a few verses longer, which lauded the deeds of the “fate-defying bastard sword.”
I slowly looked around the hall and gave a deferential bow. After Thomas Gilbert’s loud announcent, he led off into the depths of the hall, where he proceeded to present to his fellow rchants as though I were so kind of captive beast. In an hour, I made the personal acquaintance of a dozen mbers of the golden hundred, several Astlandic bankers and nobles who had fled Atalia with their wealth, and several representatives of rcantile firms from the East.
Actually, this was the reason I chose to attend the reception and bring such an expensive gift. I was hoping to do business with a lot of these people in the future. By the way — I soon noticed that the Legrands were nowhere to be seen.
I caught sight of Betty Gilbert’s haughty face a couple tis. The daughter of the master of the house was periodically casting hateful glances at . It seed that Betty’s “love” for had only increased since our last eting.
I was imdiately struck by how much more attractive she was. Her deep golden hair, which she used to braid together with thin golden ribbons, was held up into a towering hairstyle that was the latest fashion in the capital. Her big blue eyes were elegantly frad by mascara, her freckles concealed by powder.
True, the impression was sowhat ruined by an excessive flashiness. Actually, the sa could be said of everyone in the hall at the ti. Common folk who made it to the top — precisely the people who felt the need to show off their wealth with a bunch of shiny rocks in golden fras.
Watching the wives and daughters of the rchants flit through the hall, I couldn’t help comparing them to Princess Sophia. Even if she showed up at this reception in a simple dress, wearing no jewelry whatsoever, it would still look like an elegant white egret had wandered into a chicken coop.
The wealthiest people in Mainland were looking at less like an equal than like so sort of fighting dog who had sohow managed to win a couple fights in a row. And even then, they didn’t quite seem to believe it. Irony and a little bit of disappointnt were palpable in the expressions of everyone in the hall. Apparently, they were expecting so kind of massive champion with long, flowing black hair. I think Sigurd would have fit their expectations better.
After a while, the master of the house asked for silence again. He called Betty over to him and presented a tall, broad-shouldered blond man to the esteed public as one Baronet Kurt von Lau, his daughter’s future husband.
The hall erupted into a thunderous ovation, and the pair of fiancees signaled their intentions with a symbolic kiss. Betty Gilbert shone with happiness. She found in the crowd as she looked around and shot a look of disdain.
I just snickered in response, nodding as I clapped along with everybody else. As if to say, “I predicted this would happen the last ti we spoke.”
I could see that my reaction infuriated Betty. What, I wondered, was she expecting? Did she think I’d throw myself at her feet in tears and beg her to break off her engagent? I won’t lie — the news ca as a surprise to , and I let out a big sigh of relief. I had several plans that involved long-term cooperation with her father. And I wouldn’t have wanted to leave with him as my enemy.
The fact that Thomas Gilbert had found a more suitable match for his daughter was therefore nothing but good news to . And Betty could see the happiness on my face.
The betrothed couple set off, arm in arm, on a walk through the hall to accept congratulations from the guests. Finally, surrounded by a whole pack of other golden youths like themselves, they ca to where I was standing.
After listening impatiently to my congratulations, Betty turned to with a hint of mockery in her voice.
“Monsieur Renard! I simply must introduce the Hero of the Northland to my future husband and his friends!”
With that, Thomas Gilbert’s daughter began naming the golden boys around her, one after the other. There were several noblen among them. Although most of them were foreigners. Each ti she pronounced the na of one of her friends, she threw a haughty, disdainful glance at , as if to say “Well? Didn’t I tell you?”
Apparently, my words at our previous eting — about how Betty, as the daughter of a rchant, was no match for , the scion of an ancient noble lineage — must have stung her in a very sensitive spot. As such, she was trying as hard as she could to show just how much she despised . As she did so, she was exchanging glances with the Baronet Kurt von Lau. It wasn’t hard to see that the two of them had concocted so sort of plan.
The gigantic young man, by the way, was obviously completely besotted with his fiancee. While Betty was still trying to conceal her feelings for the young man, the Baronet’s whole appearance radiated adoration as he stared at his fiancee.
He looked at , by contrast, with unconcealed hatred, as did the rest of his Astlandic friends. And that wasn’t surprising — Betty had almost certainly filled their heads with stories about . By the way, the Baronet had a little bit of a shadow gift himself, which would put him around the level of a mid-range expert.
Basically, what happened from there was apparently just what Betty was counting on. Before moving into an attack, Baronet von Lau decided to find an excuse.
“I hear that Pierce Butler and Minna the Fla also took part in that tournant?” The Baronet said, pursing his lips as he looked down at from above.
“Indeed,” I replied. “They fought bravely, and died as heroes.”
“But how is that possible?” Kurt von Lau asked with surprise as he looked around at his hangers-on, seemingly in search of support. “Such renowned strykers died, but you not only survived — you even killed the shadow beast. They called it the Black Terror of the Svartvald!”
The young people around him began nodding vigorously in agreent. Other guests began to listen in to our conversation. Betty’s eyes shone with happiness and anticipation. All her friends fixed their mocking stares on . The atmosphere suggested that they expected to see an upstart charlatan exposed for what he truly was. The heroic aura around him would be shattered forever, leaving him with the brand of a liar and a crook.
“The gods were on my side,” I shrugged.
“So how did you manage to kill a beast so fearso that the northerners usually hunt it only in large, well-ard units?” The Baronet’s eyes narrowed contemptuously. “Show us the weapon that pierced its heart!”
I already knew that there were plenty of skeptics in the capital in addition to my many admirers; plenty of people who didn’t believe I could actually have killed a shadow bear. Besides that, there was sobody actively spreading rumors to the effect that Bjorn Sharptooth had deliberately released a magical beast into the arena to ensure that all of his daughter’s powerful suitors were slaughtered.
Then, when only I remained alive, the konung’s strykers simply finished off the beast in order to observe the necessary formalities that would permit the conclusion of an alliance with Vestonia.
Long story short, there were a lot of rumors. And that wasn’t surprising — after all, with everything that happened that day, with so many people dying, it would have been easy to get the truth mixed up with all kinds of falsehoods.
“Alas, I can’t do that,” I replied calmly. “I was unard at the ti of the battle with the monster.”
The people listening around us started to look around at each other in shock; whispering rippled through the crowd.
“You an to say that you killed the Black Terror of the Svartvald with your bare hands?” The Baronet asked with a skeptical smile as he looked around at his companions.
“Why would that be so surprising?” I answered his question with one of my own. “A well-prepared warrior, even if unard, can hold out against several ard opponents if need be.”
“Are you sure?” Kurt von Lau’s eyes narrowed.
“Absolutely,” I shrugged.
“Would you be prepared to demonstrate it?” The Baronet thought he was driving into a trap, but actually, he was wandering unsuspectingly into my own net.
Betty, by the way, was over the moon. She also seed to think I had just thrown myself to the wolves.
“With pleasure,” I replied. “When and where?”
Betty and Kurt exchanged a mirthful glance.
“Well, chevalier,” he said, gently releasing Betty’s hand from his own. “You certainly don’t seem hesitant. I’m sure the master of the house wouldn’t be opposed to us getting a little exercise in his yard.”
“Lead the way, Baronet,” I smiled, glancing out of the corner of my eye at the tense expression on Betty’s face. She suspected sothing. I, on the other hand, was as calm as could be.
Within a few minutes, the crowd of guests trickled out into the large lawn behind the house and assembled around a wide square that was paved with smooth white pebbles.
“When you spoke of “several ard opponents,” how many exactly did you have in mind?” Kurt asked as he took a training sword from the hands of one of his servants.
“Feel free to decide that for yourself, Monsieur,” I replied as I took the sword, dagger, and scabbard off my belt and removed the wide collar from my neck.
“I think three should suffice,” said Kurt with a wry smile as he nodded to two of his Astlandic friends.
“Doesn’t seem like enough,” I shook my head, eliciting a laugh from the crowd. “After all, we need to keep these guests entertained.”
“Two more, then,” the Baronet snickered as he exchanged a mocking glance with his buddies. Then he turned to the guests: “Is anyone interested in teaching the Hero of the Northland a lesson?”
Two more Astlanders elbowed their way to the front of the crowd.
“Rules?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
“Do we really need them?” The Baronet asked, sending a murmur coursing through the crowd. “You were so convinced a minute ago. Or does the Hero of the Northland need rules after all?”
Apparently, nobody was expecting that a little bit of immaturity could snowball into a tragedy. Movent broke out among the guests.
“Gentlen, stop!” Thomas Gilbert tried to make his way forward.
“Fair enough,” I replied to the Baronet, ignoring the master of the house.
“Then let’s get started!” He snickered, and with that all five of my opponents (already surrounding in a wide semicircle) began moving forward.
A quick scan revealed that Kurt was the only gifted person among them. The others were just normal people.
Per my habit, I sent a little mass of energy coursing through my system and let out a big breath.
Then I made a quick lunge to the left and closed the distance between and the man on the edge of the semicircle. He didn’t even have ti to react properly. Two short jabs in the dark spots on his chest and collarbone, and he hit the ground as if his legs had just been cut out from under him. He was still conscious, but he couldn’t move at all. He was lying on the ground, curled into a fetal position and twitching. There was a grimace of fear and pain on his face.
His compatriots were already moving in line toward . Without giving them ti to adjust, I began to move. Lightning-quick blows, pinpoint-accurate strikes into dark spots, groans, falls — it all mixed together into one wild dance of war, the Dance of the Gliding Dragon.
Mamoru Yamada would certainly have been happy with my flawless performance. Although he wouldn’t have failed to reproach for using his art against such weaklings.
My opponents were slow — far too slow. This was especially noticeable after my training with Sigurd. Even the Baronet, who was gifted, didn’t really have anything to show for it.
The battle ended before it had a chance to properly begin.
The Astlanders were lying on the ground, curled up and unmoving; they looked for all the world like wooden figures carved from the roots of trees. Only Kurt von Lau was still conscious. His eyes were darting around crazily as he tried to say sothing. But all that ca out was a weak groan. His mouth was twisted into an absurd-looking grimace. Thick, viscous saliva began to drip from the corners of his lips.
“Baronet,” I said as I stood above him. “Don’t move. It’ll only hurt worse if you do. Try to relax. You’ll regain control of your body soon.”
I could have relaxed the energy chains that I was keeping activated across his body, but I wasn’t about to do that. This was a good chance for him to lie there and think for a mont.
I bent down slightly and, in an icy tone, I said:
“Don’t ever try to get in my way again, you pathetic amateur. Because you won’t get off so lightly next ti.”
Kurt’s wildly-bulging eyes told that he was appropriately terrified.
I raised my head to look around at the audience, and then concluded with a comical bow. At that, they erupted into an ovation. This ti, the applause was much louder than before.
Betty was already rushing over to her beloved Baronet’s side. As she passed , she stopped for just a mont and looked at with a hate-filled glare. Although to be honest, I noticed a healthy dose of fear in her eyes as well.
“Mademoiselle, your future spouse fought like a lion.”
“I hate you...” She hissed, and turned to keep moving.
“Betty!” I called to her quietly; she flinched slightly, and turned back around.
I looked right into her eyes, like a predator about to strike. She actually winced as I did so. Nobody else could see my face. Just her.
“I wish you and your husband a long and happy life. How long it will be is entirely up to you. I hope we understand each other.”
Without waiting for her answer, I turned and headed off to pick up my things. That, I decided, was more than enough of courtly life for one day.
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