Aegon nods before he continues to speak.
"Ignas, you were invited here because you are my blood. But you being here in an anomaly. So tonight we set the record straight, tell me Ignas Drachmere, what are your intentions going forward,. Do you seek a quiet life, away from the blood bath that lies in the walls of Drachmere, or, do you wish to compete with your siblings for the position of Scaled Regent ?"
Ignas looked his father in the eye, and took a deep breath.
"My intention here tonight....is to familiarize myself with my future rivals for the Scaled Regent!!"
The room fell silent. The statement as not merely arrogant, it was an act of open political defiance. Ignas was treating the seven heirs and their houses as equals, and this was not something welcomed by them as their faces gave them away. On the second floor, James Van Hellverine looked on with a glass of whiskey in his hand.
(That kid, his still on that?. Although, something does look different about him today.)
The room instantly fill with malice and resentment from the guest present, most noticeably from Lady Valeria, whose bloodlust was up the roof. However, Aegon, with one side look towards her was enough to send a deep chill of fear down her spine.
Aegon:
"Ignas, how do you tend to take responsibility for those words you just said? You know that as a Drachmere, your word is your pride, correct?"
Ignas
"Yes, I do. As for taking responsibility, allow me to demonstrate what I have learned from Sers Jarak and Kylen."
Aegon:
"Jerek and Kylen? The two guards of your estate? Are those the two men who have filled your head with such dreams?"
Ignas
"No, they simply saw I was lacking in my training and decided to help point out some mistakes on my part."
Aegon:
"Fine....I trust their Judgement. Therefore, I'll ask them directly."
A few moments later, Jarak and Kylen were escorted to the hall by one of the Monarchy most trusted people.
"We greet the Monarch."
They both said as they fell down to one knee.
"Jarak, Kylen. I hear my youngest here has been receiving some few guidance from you two, is that correct?"
"Yes."
Both of them answered without hesitation.
"Ohh, so it is true... what level would you rate his potential of growth ?"
Aegon asked with a smile of satisfaction shaped across his face. Both Jarak and Kylen looked at each other first, then at Ignas who nodded, as if giving them permission to speak of all that took place for the past few weeks. Jarak, understanding the action took a deep sigh before continuing to talk.
"Your Majesty, I mean no disrespect to the other seven heirs here when I say that in terms of talent....none of them are on the My lords level."
Those words alone was a match thrown onto gunpowder. All seven heirs and their mothers looked at the two with unconcealed rage.
The statement was like a match thrown onto gunpowder. All heirs and their mothers looked at Jarak and Kylen with unconcealed rage. Tiberius in his rage slammed his fist onto the table, Lady Valeria's bloodlust returned, thick and palpable. Aegon, however, ignored the chaos. He turned slowly, facing the assembled nobles and seven Competing houses. His eyes gleaming with wicked amusement.
'The claim has been made, the testimony has been heard. The two men before me claim that my youngest, who has been learning the way of the sword for less then 2 months shows more potential than any of my seven ho have been learning for all their lives."
He then looked directly at the front table, addressing the furious mothers and heirs.
"I will not stand here and allow anyone to spread such slander against the blood of Drachmere without cause. Therefore, I will offer this correction of the record. If anyone here has a problem with what Sers Jarak and Kylen just said, they are more than welcome to challenge Ignas to find out if its true or not!"
The challenge was laid and it was absolute. The Patriarch had not merely sanctioned the boast, he had made it an official, sanctioned challenge to any noble, guard , or any heir the room. The challenge was tempting, but the price of failure was high. No one wanted to risk the Patriarch's fury by losing to the upstart.
"Honestly, you people people have no backbone. You dare call yourself warriors and yet fail to accept a challenge laid before you, or is it because he is the Son of Drachmere that you fear his talent."
Everyone turned to the doors to see who had said that, to their surprise it wasn't a noble nor commoner. To them it as something far lowly in their eyes. She was Fenne Ulfblóð of the 'White Claw' tribe, to them they were baberians.
"How dare something of low origin as you lecture us? "
One of the nobles said in rage, but he was quickly shut up by a sword pointed to the throat by Aric Ulfblóð.
"Don't make a single move, or you die."
He said with his voice low. But the nobleman can see it in his eyes that he as serious. Aegon looked at them as they made their way across the room and with a sigh he recaptured the attention of everyone in the room.
"Fenne, am I a joke to your tribe that you dare pull your sword in front of me, In my own home, and right in the eyes of my family and subjects ? Maybe leaving a small number of you people alive was a mistake, now speak while I'm still in the mood to listen. Oh, and make it quick if you value that guys life."
Within a second Aegon had made his way to Aric and held him by the neck, his feet swinging in the air.
"Now Fenne, proud child of the 'White Claw' tribe, kneel and state your business. And goes for the rest of you as well."
Fenne kneels, but it is obvious that she doesn't want to. The rest of the Wolves who were hiding in her shadow also appear and all kneel.
"Good pups. Now talk."
Aegon says looking at them with a killing look.
Fenne nervously swallowed, the cold steel of her own fear momentarily overriding her tribe's defiance.
"Your.... Your grace. I am hereto accept the challenge. The boast made by those guards is an insult to me and every warrior who lives by the blade. As such, I offer to settle this matter."
She shifted her gaze to Ignas, her eyes fierce.
"Let the young master prove his five weeks of training against my entire life of survival. if he truly is a prodigy, let him prove it by defeating me. But if he is a fraud, the entire Monarchy deserves to know."
Aegon, who could sense that those weren't her true intentions, decided to play this little game of hers. He let out a smile.
"Fine. But a normal duel is boring, don't you think? So, how about a little wager to keep things interesting? If you win, Fenne Ulfblóð, I swear on my name as the 14th head that I will grant you one wish, no matter what it is. That goes for you too, Ignas."
Fenne's composure broke. Her eyes , fixed on the Patriarch, widened in disbelief.
"Your grace, do you... do you truly mean that?"
She stammered, her voice edged with hope.
"The fact that your clan is alive today, after I promised your father while he fell to my blade that I would spare you is proof, is it not? A Drachmere's vow is absolute."
Aegon's said with his unyielding expression.
Fenne's mind raced. Ten years of hatred, ten years of suffering, ten years of plotting in the cold. This as not just a duel, this was the one, insane chance to buy her tribe's freedom.
She took a shaky breath before speaking.
"Your grace... if I win is it possible for the White Claw to be granted full and absolute independence from the Drachmere Monarch ?"
The nobles instantly erupted in fury.
"She's ungreatful!!"
"An outrage! Independence for barbarians ?"
"The Mere fact that they are alive is because of Drachmere's mercy! Don't grant this, your grace."
(So, that's what you were after in the first place?)
Aegon thought to himself as he let the roars wash over him for a moment, then he unleashed a terrifying, bass- heavy ROAR that silenced the entire hall instantly, rattling the chandeliers.
"Silence."
He commanded, as he looked down at Fenne, his gaze piercing her soul.
"Yes, Fenne Ulfblóð. Should you win, your tribe will be granted absolute, sovereign independene. You will govern your mountains without taxation or Drachmere interference."
Fenne closed her eyes, relief and triumph washing over her. She instantly straightened, the defiance returning to her spine.
" Then I accept the terms, your Grace."
Aegon released his grasp on Aric and turned his attention to Ignas.
"And you, Ignas? What prize do you seek should you prevail over this defiant pup?"
Ignas looked calmly at the seven vying houses, then at his father.
"I know i can't break tradition and automatically ask to be crowned the Scaled Regent, as such, I will ask for my prize after I claim victory, and secured my place in the Dragons Den."
Agoen's smile widened. The boy was already thinking strategically.
"Excellent. I accept the terms. The dinner is postponed. We will return once the duel is over. You two will fight in ten minutes on the main training grounds, now go and prepare. And Ignas, do not let Drachmere down, am I clear?."
Aegon said with a deep glare towards his son as he passed him.
"Yes, father."
Ignas responded.
Moments later*
The whole party was put on hold due to the sudden duel challenge laid out, to many the outcome was already decided, they knew that there's no way a person who started training for only five weeks could match the raw power of a warrior who trained for years. Amongst these were James Van Hellverine, who walked to the changing room to confront Ignas. He knocked softy on the door and waited on Ignas to tell him to enter.
"I great the eighth heir of Drachmere."
He said with a slight bow, showing his respect to Ignas.
"Ser James, to what do I owe the visit?"
"I'll keep it simple. Withdraw from the battle, you're walking into your own grave here. The Lady might approve of you going to the Dragons Den, but I still strongly disagree with that. "
Ignas took a moment before responding, he let out a smile and walked towards James, giving him a reassuring smile.
"I appreciate the concern, but I have faith in my skill. So, don't worry too much about me. No if you excuse me, I got a match to win."
He said, walking past James.
"Fine then, I guess I'll just have to stop you myself if you wont listen to reason."
Said James, who lunged, aiming his left hand to grab Ignas's arm. It was a powerful grp meant to physically restrain the young heir and lock him in the room until the challenge time expired. The attack was swift, but just as James's fingers were about to clamp down on Ignas's bicep, he vanished. He didn't step back or lean away. He executed a nano-second perfect shift of weight, spinning precisely on the heel of his boot, his body passing under James's extended arm. Ignas reappeared two feet to James's side, his eyes calm, his breathing steady, as if he had merely adjusted his tie.
James stood momentarily confused. His arm was extended into empty air. The move was impossible , it required reaction time and body control that defied human ability, even without a heavy frame. The speed wasn't aggressive, it was merely absent. Sers Jerek and Kylen watched the exchange, both of them keeping their expressions neutral, as if they expected this much. Ignas picked up his sword, a light, curved blade and tucked it under his arm.
"It seems, Ser James, that my five weeks of training may be slightly more effective than you believe."
Ignas didn't wait for a response, he simply walked toward the door, leaving the stunned, conflicted veteran in his wake.
The duel was about to begin. The main training grounds of the Drachmere capital Estate were packed, torches casting harsh light over the arena. Aegon Drachmere was stead, radiating absolute authority. Ignas stood in the center, holding his katana tightly
Fenne entered th arena, carrying a pair of heavy, traditional serrated war axes. Her skin was snow-white, her eyes burning with the fire of the promise of independence. Aegon gave the final pronouncement, his voice booming.
"This is a friendly duel no blood allowed. Now, begin."
Aegon's hand dropped
Fenne launched herself forward, letting out a fierce, guttural cry. She was pure, concentrated momentum. Her strategy was simple, ignore the long, thin katana and crash into Ignas's space, overwhelming him with the brute, hacking force of the twin axes. She led with a sweeping low attack, intending to take out Ignas's legs, instantly followed by a high strike aimed for his head.
Ignas didn't step back. Instead, he took a quick, minute step forward and to the right, a move that placed him inside the dangerous V-gap between the two incoming axes. It was a suicidal maneuver using conventional defense, but the nanites had calculated the infinitesimal gap precisely.
As Fenne's arms flew past him, Ignas drew the katana from its sheath in a flash of polished steel, the ultimate laijutsu draw technique. He did not aim for her body. He struck the axe handle with devastating speed. The blade as so perfectly sharp, and the force so precisely applied, that the impact caused the wooden handle to simply shatter at the point of greatest stress, sending a shockwave into Fenne's hand and making the metal head fly harmlessly away. Fenne, stunned by the instant loss of her left weapon, instinctively dropped her right axe and lunged for a primal grapple, aiming to use her superior mountain strength in close quarters.
Ignas was already moving. He pivoted, using the smooth surface of the katana's scabbard still held in his left hand to deliver a sharp, flat strike to Fenne's solar plexus. The blow as minimal in power but perfectly placed to disrupt her breathing and kinetic coordination.
(What the hell is that footwork? Is it something of his own creation?)
Aegon thought to himself looking on.
Fenne stumbled back, gasping, her lungs locked by the precise impact. Ignas moved the katana instantly to a defensive pose, the tip lowered, having won the duel without drawing blood. The confrontation had lasted barely three seconds. Ignas, using a single, perfect strike and a minimal counter-move, had disarmed and neutralized a lifelong warrior.