His body wrapped in the academy’s robes, Jon stood alone at the tunnel while waiting for his last duel of the tourney. As soon as breakfast was over, he walked straight to the arena. It didn’t matter that his duel would only start around noon. The anticipation was too strong to control.

He had barely slept, anxiously waiting for this duel. And yet, he felt light, both physically and mentally. This duel was something that he had been wishing for a long time now. It was time for payback.

The sound of metal slapping against stone echoed through the tunnel, distant at first, but louder with each subsequent slap. Footsteps, and they were approaching. The bastard had arrived.

Garrel strode through the tunnel with his head up and an air of arrogance that got on Jon’s nerves. He was fully covered in armor, but Jon knew it was him. Plates clanking as he moved, he came to a stop in front of Jon. His light blue plate reflected the dim lightstones. Rippled steel this time. They were both mages, so there was no need for triotium. 

Garrel removed his helmet, fashioned after a snarling gargoyle, to reveal something much more hideous. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the half-breed. Tell me, does your back still hurt?” He asked with a wide grin. Jon wanted nothing more than to shove a blade inside and watch it come out from behind his head.

“I’ll make it hurt much worse, believe me.”

“How very witty. I have no idea of what led lords Jorvan and Lanard to keep a beast such as yourself among us civilized people. But today I shall make it clear where your place is.”

Jon moved his body as little as possible. He didn’t want to ruin the surprise he had planned. “You already tried that once. Even with two friends, I still won. What makes you think that things will be different this time?”

“That was nothing but a barbaric brawl, no wonder you felt so at home. But this…” Garrel made a show of gripping the sword on his hip. “This is a completely different domain. A domain where I am a king.”

The gates at the end of the tunnel parted open, and the herald announced Garrel and Jon as the next contestants.

“Come now, half-breed. Let’s not keep the people waiting.” Garrel lowered the helmet back on his head and walked down the tunnel.

Jon waited until he could no longer hear the armor clanking before moving. He walked towards the arena, barely making a sound without even trying to be silent. He took note of the change from hard stone blocks to cold sand beneath his feet. The hem of his oversized robe trailed behind him, helping to cover up the footprints as he strode to the edge of the circle.

“Do you plan to fight in uniform?” Garrel taunted from the opposite side.

Jon smirked and said nothing. He opened the robe, letting it slide off his shoulders. The ensuing moment of silence before a wave of commotion was comparable to when he revealed his face during the Squire’s Tourney. But there was an important difference this time. This time, he wanted everyone to see him.

His upper body was bare, the flogging’s aftermath completely visible. The scars spread through his back, turning into a unified mass at the center. It resembled a rapidly spreading tumor. His sand-colored breeches, the same ones he wore back then, were dirty with dried blood and his feet were bare. In his hands, he had his mother’s shortswords.

Garrel screamed and his voice cracked. “How dare you disrespect the dignity of this duel?”

Jon ignored it. There was only one person whose opinion mattered at this point, and he was sitting at the place of honor.

******

“This is your fault,” Jorvan Olsandre muttered by his uncle’s ears. “Yesterday he pummeled another student. Today he shows up to a duel practically naked.”

“I do agree that the boy has been standing out in a bad way. I’ll have a talk with him the next time we meet.”

“That’s all well and good, but what about today?”

Lanard shrugged. “Proceed as usual. He chose to come like that, so let’s give him a chance to prove himself.”

“He has already proven himself a fool for wanting to duel without any protection. But fine, I’ll humor you.”

******

The duke raised his hand, much to Jon’s excitement. Under the gargoyle helmet, Garrel was likely furious. All the better. Jon grinned wide. He twirled the swords in his hands and locked eyes with Garrel, intent on provoking the nobleman as much as possible. When the duke’s hand finally came down, Garrel broke into a run, sword tip pointing forward and ready to stab. Jon walked calmly as if on a leisurely stroll rather than a violent duel. At the last instant before he reached striking range, Garrel pulled his arm back and slashed at Jon’s neck.

It had been years since the last time Jon used his mother’s fighting style. It didn’t matter. Through his mother’s arduous training, the knowledge had been permanently drilled into his mind and body. And that knowledge immediately took over.

He dived under the attack, rolled, and stood back up behind Garrel. His blades tapped the nobleman’s helmet, hard enough to be noticed and nothing more. Garrel pivoted and swung wide, but his target was already out of reach.

“The king is rather slow, it seems.”

Garrel didn’t respond to the provocation. He assumed a defensive stance, holding the longsword in front of his body, and waited.

Jon smirked. His gaze trailed from Garrel’s helmet and locked on the gorget beneath it. The piece of armor protecting his neck was held in place by two leather straps on each shoulder. That was what he needed to get out of the way first.

He dashed, quickly closing the distance. The first blade whistled through the air and clashed against Garrel’s weapon. The second one moved immediately after, stabbing at the eyes. Garrel tilted his head down, and the blade glanced off the helmet. The nobleman pulled his arm back and lunged with all of his strength. Jon used it to his advantage. He blocked with the first sword and pivoted on the ball of his feet, adding the force of Garrel’s strike to his own momentum. He completed a full turn and then struck a savage blow to Garrel’s shoulder, cutting through one leather strap.

The helmet muffled the nobleman’s cry of pain. He reacted as fast as he could, swiping broadly through the air only.

Jon twirled his swords again, already far away. “Too. Slow.”

Garrel bristled. He rushed Jon, swinging down at his head. Jon did a half-turn and the longsword found only the ground. The nobleman attacked again, and Jon deflected it to the side. Try as he might, none of his attacks ever managed to land.

Jon’s sword touched Garrel’s helmet, so lightly that it could be considered a poke. While it would never get through the metal, it worked wonders to stoke the fire of Garrel’s anger. He ducked under a slash and then stabbed again.

The more Jon stoked, the quicker Garrel burned out. His attacks lost focus, and his longsword pointed down more often than not. Given enough time, the nobleman would collapse from sheer exhaustion.

But that’s not what Jon wanted. Not at all. He kept his weapons low and stepped forward so as to bait an attack. When it came in the form of an awkward thrust, he dodged to the right. One sword slipped under the second leather strap and sliced it just below the buckle. With nothing to hold it together on one side, the gorget dangled from the other shoulder, leaving Garrel’s neck exposed.

“You damn…” He huffed. “...cur! This is a duel. Stop dancing and face me like a man.”

Jon grinned wide. Given Garrel’s pride, this was the same as admitting defeat. “I’d rather keep going as I am, thank you very much. But if your Royal Majesty wishes to yield, then simply say so.” He paused. “If you know what is good for you.” Garrel responded, but not with words. He discarded the now useless gorget and pushed through the fatigue to assume a proper stance.

“So you’d rather continue than give up? Good.” Jon dug one of his swords halfway into the ground and advanced.

Garrel’s chest rose and fell in quick bursts. His sword trembled and his knees were weak. Jon stabbed at his neck, and the nobleman scrambled to protect himself, awkwardly deflecting the sword to the side. A sharp kick to the inner side of the kneed brought him down. Jon circled around Garrel, avoiding a broad swipe in the process, and delivered a sharp blow to the back of his helmet.

Garrel fell on his hands and knees. Jon’s hand found its way inside the gargoyle’s open mouth. His fingers hooked around the front teeth, offering enough purchase to yank the helmet off.

Panting, Garrel took one hand off the ground and found his sword’s hilt. He swiped it back. Too slow.

Jon planted one foot on Garrel’s back and jumped off of it, knocking the nobleman prone. He landed, hurled the helmet out from the ring, and calmly walked back to retrieve his other sword.

Garrel groaned and spit out a mouthful of sand. Save for his chest bobbing up and down as he breathed, he barely moved.

At first, Jon feared that the duel might’ve reached an end already. But then, with great difficulty, Garrel pushed up and returned to his feet, albeit wobbling. Jon had to hand it to the nobleman. The bastard was stubborn. Stupidly so. Still, he was clearly on his last legs. It was time to end the show.

He lunged forward and stabbed weakly at Garrel’s exposed face, baiting him into defending high. As soon as the blades clashed, Jon swiped low with all of his strength.

The plate covering Garrel’s leg didn’t budge, but the muscles inside had no more strength and gave out from the impact. He fell to one knee with his head down and gasping for air. Jon pressed a blade to his neck, hard enough to draw blood, and forced him to tilt his head up. “The king is dead. Long live the king.”

Garrel scowled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jon wasn’t in the mood to hear it. He thrust the other sword into the nobleman’s open mouth and only stopped when the crossguard touched his cheek. Garrel’s eyes opened up wide at the sudden intrusion. He choked, both on the sword stabbing through the back of his throat and the blood that flooded his mouth.

“How is that for witty?” The second sword left the nobleman’s neck and stopped just inches from his eye. That was as far as Jon managed to go. The sands suddenly surged upward, enveloping his arms before condensing into a solid mass as hard as stone.

“Contestant Garrel Vypren has been defeated,” spoke a voice to his left.

Unable to move his arms, Jon could only watch as Garrel was carried underground, one sword still stuck in his throat.

“Your weapon shall be returned as soon as the healers have it removed.”

It took Jon a moment to contain his frustration. “Thank you,” he said dryly to the geomancer. He should’ve guessed the officials would interfere eventually. Still, he did manage to hurt and humiliate Garrel. That was certainly a victory. Jon kept that in mind as he walked towards the gates while tens of thousands of spectators applauded the savagery just witnessed.