The massive iron gates of the Armed Nation of Dwargon rumbled open with a deep, resonant groan that echoed across the sheer mountain cliffs. As the luxurious, dark-wood convoy of the Kingdom of Coleus crossed the threshold into the subterranean mountain empire, they were met with an immediate, overwhelming display of royal protocol.
The path was lined with hundreds of elite Dwarven heavy guards, their specialized full-plate armor polished to a mirror shine, holding ceremonial halberds perfectly erect. This wasn't merely a standard diplomatic greeting; it was the absolute highest tier of royal treatment the legendary neutrality of Dwargon could possibly afford a visiting sovereign.
Standing at the head of the welcoming committee was Henri, a key member of King Gazel's inner council of trusted companions and the nation's premier shadow spymaster. Henri stood tall, his posture rigidly formal, though a subtle bead of cold sweat was already tracing a path down his temple. Even before the lead carriage door opened, the sheer volume of condensed, high-tier magicules radiating from the convoy was enough to make his skin prickle with primitive survival instincts.
As Loki stepped down from the carriage, followed closely by his immaculate retinue, Henri took a deep breath, stepped forward, and bowed seamlessly from the waist.
"Welcome to the Armed Nation of Dwargon, Demon Lord Loki," Henri announced, his voice steady despite the internal alarm bells ringing in his mind. "I am Henri, a member of His Majesty's inner council. It is our profound honor to receive you and your distinguished guests. His Majesty King Gazel is eagerly awaiting your arrival within the inner palace grounds. If you would please follow me, we have prepared a direct escort."
Loki offered a loose, entirely casual wave of his hand, his eyes scanning the breathtaking subterranean architecture. The massive limestone pillars, the glowing crystal veins embedded in the stone, and the distant, roaring industrial furnaces. "Appreciate the warm welcome, Henri. Lead the way. I've been looking forward to seeing how the famous Hero-King runs his operation."
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Instead of being led to a sterile, heavily guarded grand audience chamber, Henri guided the Coleus delegation through a series of reinforced stone corridors that opened up into a massive, open-air training ring located deep within the royal palace complex. The arena was a vast, circular expanse of reinforced granite, bordered by ancient weapon racks and shaded by massive stone arches that allowed the crisp mountain air to circulate freely.
Standing directly in the center of the granite ring, entirely stripped of his formal royal robes, was King Gazel Dwyer. The Hero-King wore only his practical, lightweight leather training armor, his massive, muscular frame radiating the immovable presence of a literal mountain. His hand rested casually on the pommel of a beautifully crafted dwarven greatsword planted firmly into the stone.
As Loki's group entered the arena, Gazel's sharp, analytical eyes locked onto the young-looking Demon Lord. He stepped forward, his heavy boots echoing against the granite, and offered a firm, respectful nod.
"It is an honor to finally meet you in person, Demon Lord Loki," Gazel rumbled, his deep, commanding voice carrying the natural weight of a seasoned warrior-king. "Your sudden rise to power and the stabilization of Coleus have been the talk of the entire continent. However, before we retire to the standard, exhausting diplomatic halls to exchange pleasantries and political promises... I would like to offer you a friendly duel."
Loki blinked, completely caught off guard, before letting out a soft, amused chuckle. "A duel, huh?"
Gazel's expression remained entirely stern, a fierce, competitive spark igniting within his eyes. "Indeed. I have lived by a strict philosophy for my entire life. I do not truly understand a person through the lies they spin across a mahogany negotiation table. I find out exactly what kind of character a person possesses through the weight, precision, and intent of their sword skills. Let our blades do the talking first."
Loki raised his hand to scratch the back of his neck, letting out a dry laugh. "Man, it really seems like every single ruler in this world wants to fight me the second I walk through their door. Is this just standard royal hazing?"
Despite his sigh, Loki's smirk widened. He walked over to a nearby weapon rack, casually scanning the options before gripping a standard, unadorned dwarven steel training sword. He stepped onto the granite ring, spinning the blade lightly in his hand to test its balance. "Alright, King Gazel. If a sword fight is what it takes to get a drink around here, I accept. Don't hold back on my account."
The atmosphere inside the training ring instantly shifted, turning so taut it felt as though a single spark would detonate the arena.
Gazel shifted his weight, dropping into a flawless, low-profile martial stance. In a fraction of a second, an explosive burst of dense fighting spirit aura violently erupted from his body, cracking the reinforced granite beneath his boots. With a sound like a localized thunderclap, Gazel vanished from his starting position.
He materialized directly above Loki, his massive greatsword brought down in a devastating, two-handed vertical slash designed to split an anvil in two. The sheer air pressure of the descent created a visible, distorted shockwave that rushed ahead of the blade.
Loki didn't look up until the last possible microsecond. Moving with a level of massive suppression that completely hid his true, world-ending power, he subtly shifted his right foot back by a mere two inches. He tilted his training blade at a precise, forty-five-degree angle, catching Gazel's monstrous greatsword right at the optimal point of leverage.
Clang!
The metallic screech of the impact rang out like a church bell, sending a violent shockwave across the arena that caused Henri and the surrounding royal guards to instinctively raise their arms to shield their faces. Sparks showered the granite floor as Loki effortlessly deflected the overwhelming kinetic force out into the surrounding stone, causing a massive fissure to rip through the arena floor behind him. To the untrained eye, it looked like a desperate, back-and-forth struggle of equal martial prowess.
Gazel's eyes widened slightly at the effortless parry, but he didn't waste a single heartbeat. Utilizing the rebound force, he spun on his heel, transitioning into a ferocious, blinding sequence of horizontal slashes, his greatsword blurring into a web of lethal steel.
Loki entered a state of perfect, fluid motion. He began to dance backward across the granite ring, his movements completely ethereal, weightless, and impossibly graceful. He parried every single one of Gazel's heavy, earth-shattering strikes with the absolute bare minimum of movement required, his blade clicking rhythmically against the greatsword like a master conductor guiding an orchestra.
The two swordsmen blurred across the arena, leaving trails of afterimages and brilliant showers of sparks in their wake.
However, as the duel passed the three-minute mark, Gazel's internal tactical mind began to experience a profound sense of eerie familiarity. He noticed that Loki wasn't just defending; his footwork, the specific, delicate flick of his wrist during a parry, and the sweeping, elegant arcs of his counter-slashes were completely specific. It wasn't the brutal, practical style of a monster, nor was it the standard knightly arts of the Western Nations.
'This swordsmanship...' Gazel thought, his heart hammering against his ribs as he swung his blade in a wide arc. 'I know this exact rhythm. I have felt this terrifying, uncatchable grace before. This is...!'
With a final, explosive clash that pushed both warriors back by several paces, the two separated, their boots sliding across the scarred granite before coming to a halt.
Gazel lowered his greatsword, his chest heaving slightly as he exhaled a long breath of pure admiration. He looked across the ring at Loki, who wasn't even breathing heavily, his casual smirk perfectly intact.
"That was truly some of the most beautiful, terrifying swordsmanship I have ever had the privilege of facing," Gazel praised, his voice filled with sincere respect. He narrowed his eyes, studying Loki's posture. "But I must ask... where in the world did you learn that specific style? The flowing, wind-like grace of those parries... it vividly reminded me of Sylvia El Ru, a legendary figure I have had the rare honor of sparring with in the past. Your movements are almost identical to hers."
Loki casually tossed his training sword from his right hand to his left, catching it by the hilt with a loose shrug. "Oh, her? Yeah, that makes sense. That's exactly who I got this fighting style from. I had a little spat with her about two days ago over in Sarion, and I pretty much just learned it on the fly by watching her movements during our fight."
The entire training arena fell into a deathly, pin-drop silence.
King Gazel froze entirely, his greatsword slipping an inch from his grip as his brain completely rejected the timeline. Henri's jaw practically dropped into the granite, and the surrounding elite dwarven guards exchanged looks of pure, unadulterated disbelief.
"You... what?" Gazel stammered, his regal composure cracking completely. "You watched her fight once... two days ago... and you perfectly replicated the sacred, multi-centuries-old martial arts of the High Elves?"
Standing at the edge of the ring, Testarossa let out a long, highly aristocratic sigh, raising a slender hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. Beside her, Velzard, the White Ice Dragon, merely giggled softly, shaking her head in amusement.
"Honestly, my Lord," Testarossa murmured, her melodic voice dripping with a mix of affection and deep administrative exhaustion. "You really must stop sharing such profound details as though they are common, casual occurrences that anyone can accomplish. It is quite detrimental to the psychological stability of foreign monarchs."
What Gazel and his council didn't understand was that this exact, terrifying ability was the primary reason Loki had been feared and revered as an absolute prodigy during his past life in the ancient Heian Era, back when he walked the earth during his Haru of the Minamoto days. Back then, legendary samurai, and master swordsmen would aggressively avoid engaging him in single combat. To draw a blade against him meant exposing your entire family lineage's secret techniques to a man who possessed a "Mirror Soul". An innate, terrifying genius that could perfectly analyze, copy, and master any sword style after witnessing it a single time.
Loki offered Gazel a brilliant, complimentary grin. "Don't sweat it, King Gazel. Your personal military style is pretty incredible too. The way you compress your fighting spirit into the edge of the blade to shatter the opponent's balance is genius. I'll be sure to put it to good use in my future fights."
Gazel let out a thoroughly awkward, strained chuckle, slowly sheathing his greatsword with a look of profound resignation. "Yeah... it seems we will definitely have to stop our little duel right here. I have officially determined that you are a thoroughly good, trustworthy guy. Besides... if we keep swinging these blades for another five minutes, I am entirely convinced you will completely harvest every single scrap of secret martial knowledge my nation possesses."
Loki laughed heartily, tossing his training sword back onto the weapon rack. "Hey, no complaints from me. A deal's a deal."
Loki stepped off the ring, gesturing loosely toward the three figures standing behind him to initiate the formal introductions. "Alright, let me introduce the heavy hitters I brought along for this trip. Over here we have Agera, the Supreme Commander of our Armed Forces. Next to him is Liora, who handles the massive headache of being the assistant to our Prime Minister. And speaking of the boss, this is Testarossa, the Prime Minister of the Kingdom of Coleus."
The reaction to Testarossa's name was instantaneous and visceral.
Henri and the surrounding guards immediately stiffened, their hands instinctively flying to the pommels of their weapons as a wave of cold dread washed over the room. While Dwargon's intelligence network had already deduced that a legendary Primordial Demon had somehow sworn allegiance to the new Demon Lord, actually standing within the immediate physical presence of the White Primordial. Blanc was a completely different story. Testarossa offered a flawless, utterly beautiful, and deeply terrifying smile, bowing her head with an elegance that carried the subtle scent of absolute death.
"It is a profound pleasure to formally meet the leadership of Dwargon," Testarossa said smoothly, her eyes flashing with a playful light that made Henri's soul shiver.
Gazel swallowed hard, maintaining his iron composure through sheer royal willpower. He offered her a respectful nod, acknowledging her status before turning his gaze to the final member of the retinue.
Loki cleared his throat, wrapping an arm around the shoulders of the beautiful, pale-skinned woman standing next to him. "And lastly, this lovely lady right here is Velzard the Ice Dragon. She's currently working as my personal receptionist back at the main palace."
The moment the name Velzard the Ice Dragon left Loki's lips, the ambient temperature inside the massive stone training grounds didn't just drop. It plummeted into a freezing, winter abyss. Frost instantly began to form along the edges of the ancient weapon racks, and the breath of every single dwarf in the room turned into a thick white mist.
Gazel's eyes dilated into tiny pinpricks. His skin turned completely pale as his gaze locked onto the serene, smiling woman. "Loki... what... what exactly did you just say her name was?"
Velzard offered a warm, incredibly bright, and motherly wave to the frozen crowd, her eyes twinkling with mischievous delight. "Hello, everyone! It's a pleasure to meet you all. Don't mind the chill, I promise I'm a very friendly front-desk worker."
King Gazel felt a massive wave of sweat break out across his entire body. Bowing his head in a deep, profoundly respectful greeting that was reserved only for gods and natural calamities, he spoke with a shaky voice. "Lady Velzard... please accept the absolute humblest respects of the Armed Nation of Dwargon. We are deeply honored by your... presence."
Loki casually waved his hand, tapping Gazel heavily on his muscular shoulder. "Oh, come on, King Gazel, there's really no need to do all that dramatic bowing. You can totally relax. She's literally just here to keep an eye on me. She won't bite."
Inwardly, King Gazel Dwyer completely and utterly lost his mind. His royal thoughts were screaming in absolute, unadulterated pandemonium.
'A receptionist?!' Gazel shrieked within the safe, silent confines of his own consciousness. 'He definitely just called Lady Velzard. The ancient, world-ending White Ice Dragon his receptionist! What in the absolute name of the heavens does that even mean?! A True Dragon acting as a subordinate to a newly crowned Demon Lord?! This defies every single law of magical logic and global hierarchy! How is this guy so incredibly casual about this?!'
Realizing that his mind was on the absolute verge of an existential collapse if he stayed in this arena for another minute, Gazel quickly turned his head toward his sweating, terrified spymaster.
"Henri!" Gazel barked, his voice carrying a slight edge of panic. "Please... immediately guide Demon Lord Loki and his highly... highly distinguished retinue to the absolute finest royal guest quarters we have prepared. It has been a tremendously long, exhausting journey for them, and they require proper rest before our formal talks tomorrow."
Henri looked up at King Gazel, his wide eyes practically screaming a message of pure, unadulterated betrayal. 'You traitor! You absolute royal coward! You're seriously going to leave me alone to walk down a dark hallway with a Primordial Demon and a True Dragon?!'
Loki merely offered a broad, appreciative grin, completely oblivious to, or thoroughly enjoying their psychological torture. "Sounds like a plan to me. Thanks, Gazel. We'll catch up and have a proper chat over some of your famous dwarven ale later tonight."
"Yes... later tonight," Gazel replied hollowly, watching as the walking global disaster casually walked out of the arena, flanked by an elegant primordial and a smiling dragon.
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