Chapter 7: A Confrontation

It had been a long, hard grind, but Conrad finally felt like he was ready.

Though for the most part, he looked much the same – he wasn’t taller or more muscular. There was no distinct change to his physique.

However, his gaze was different. More confident, more sure of himself, and his movements now carried a kind of easy, limber grace that hadn’t been there before.

His four mentors were immensely proud of him.

In reality, Conrad’s untapped potential had shot up so quickly that even they were shocked. Whether the blonde had simply been working that hard, or whether he just possessed some sort of innate talent that had gone unrealized up until this point, he had devoured everything they were willing to teach him at an unprecedented speed.

“We were raising a lion cub this whole time?” Liam joked as the four of them stood a little ways outside the training yard and watched Conrad attack a straw-stuffed dummy with only his fists. “He’s a force to be reckoned with, now. I don’t think I could take him on, myself.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Astra replied, her eyes on her protégé. “I know you’ve been secretly practicing the techniques Ilia and I taught him when you think we’re not looking.”

Realizing that he had been caught, the redhead grinned ruefully as he held up both hands, palms out, in surrender. “Nothing gets by you, does it, little lady? Still, at this rate he’ll surpass me before he turns twenty.”

“It’s a good thing,” Rain pointed out. “You have room for growth yourself. Having a rival can be healthy.”

Having noticed them all gathered and watching him, Conrad stopped his work and approached them with a puppy-like smile on his face. “What’s everyone talking about?” he asked as he stopped in front of them, bouncing restlessly on his toes.

Astra smiled to see him so cheerful. “Well, I’m chiefly wondering if it’s finally time for you to make your stand.”

That made the smile on Conrad’s face quirk grimly to one side. A few months ago, he never would have made such an expression, but now he simply asked, “Is that possible?”

“Revenge is not the reason why I agreed to teach you. But seeing as you’ve made this much progress, I have no intention of just leaving things as they are,” Astra replied. “Leaving yourself open to future attacks is just stupid. It’s far more efficient to demonstrate your strength once and prevent further incidents.”

“You’ve got something in mind?” Ilia inquired, curious despite herself.

Astra smiled. It was a very devilish smile. “I might have an idea or two.”

Patiently, she explained her plan to them. When she was through, Ilia was laughing, and even Liam looked impressed.

“Remind me never to incur your wrath, little lady,” was all he had to say. “I had no idea you were such a schemer.”

“What do you think?” Astra asked Conrad, who was at the center of all of this.

For the first time today, the young boy looked hesitant, a bit of his timid personality peeking through his newfound confidence. “I’m willing to try, but… do you really think I can do it?”

“You can,” Astra told him firmly. “And even if you can’t, the point here isn’t necessarily for you to win. The goal is to convince them that you’re not to be trifled with.”

“Well, if this doesn’t do it, then I don’t know what will.” Ilia slapped Conrad encouragingly on the back. “Why not just give it a try? We’ll all be there watching, so don’t worry so much and go all out.”

“Then…” having all four of them backing him made Conrad feel much better. “I’ll give it a shot.”

The young maid had been cornered yet again by those two pitiful excuses for knights – Sir Brin and Sir Castor, for the third time this week. Clutching a basketful of laundry to her chest like it was a shield, she backed away from the advancing men with a disgruntled expression.

 “There’s no need to be scared,” Brin coaxed with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’re not asking for much. Just a couple hours in your company. Is that so hard to do?”

“We’ll pay,” Castor added, jingling the pouch on his belt for emphasis. The sounds of clinking metal rang out from the small bag, but the maid wasn’t convinced in the slightest.

“No thank you, sirs,” she kept her voice firm, hiding her disgust at their attentions. She’d seen what happened to her colleagues who were drawn in by the two men’s honeyed words. The poor maids who were taken advantage of gained not a single copper coin for their suffering, and had more often than not ended up quitting and fleeing the palace, unable to cope with the humiliation. They might be handsome, but these two knights were tyrants, and she knew that it was probably better to be kicked out for refusing their advances than to give in here.

Of course, being kicked out was only if she was very lucky and they didn’t decide to beat her for her impudence first. She tightened her hold on her basket. If it came down to it, she decided, she would throw the laundry at them for all she was worth and run away. These buffoons deserved the embarrassment of being overpowered by a simple maid.

Besides, she already had her sights set on a particular man. She had no reason to entertain these louts.

“There’s no need to play hard to get,” Brin wheedled, taking a step closer, but the maid immediately backed away again and his expression changed. “I’m telling you to come here!” His jovial tone was replaced by a snarl as he reached out to grab her arm.

The maid tensed, and was preparing to chuck the basket in her arms at him when someone else caught Brin’s thick wrist.

“I guess you still haven’t given up picking on the weak,” came a youthful voice, turned deeper by anger. “Astra was right, brutes like you truly do have one-track minds.”

Brin’s eyes darkened with anger as he pulled his arm free and backed up a step to see who dared to challenge him. His eyebrows climbed to his hairline as he said in genuine disbelief, “You?”

The newly arrived soldier put himself between the maid and the two knights, glaring at Brin without any fear. His blonde hair had gotten a little longer in the time they hadn’t seen him, but that youthful face and bright blue eyes were unmistakable.

Castor burst into laughter at the interruption. “If it isn’t little Conrad!” Their favourite victim, who had more or less escaped their clutches, had taken the initiative to get right up in their faces again. He felt contempt, mixed with genuine delight at this poor, stupid child who didn’t know to stay away. “I can’t believe you came crawling back to us on your own. Did you finally get tired of hiding behind that ginger weasel of a roommate?”

Conrad’s brows twitched hearing Liam being referred to so, but kept a beatific smile on his face as he said, meaning every word, “Yes. You’re exactly right. I was getting really tired of hiding behind other people.”

But that would end today. Turning, Conrad noticed that the maid’s laundry basket was beginning to slip from her fingers, a few socks ending up on the floor. A slight frown marred his boyish face, and he bent to retrieve the articles of clothing, stacking them neatly back in their proper place before he asked, “Miss, are you hurt?”

The maid shook her head. “Not at all, sir.”

“Come now, we weren’t going to hurt her,” Brin cut in with an oily smile.

“No, you were just going to steal everything precious to her and leave her to rot,” Conrad replied in that same calm, conversational tone he’d been using on the maid. “And then you’d move on to your next victim until you’d lined your pockets with the hard-earned savings of every single servant in this castle.”

Castor’s face had reddened, becoming even ruddier with every word Conrad said. It was extra abrasive because the blond was correct, that was indeed what they had been doing. “You little… you couldn’t even keep quiet for two months, is that it? I didn't realize you were so eager for a beating.” Rising up to his full height so that he towered over the smaller man, he stared down at him.

However, unlike their previous encounters, Conrad stood firm, meeting his gaze squarely as he said, “If you’re so skilled and powerful, why don’t you try picking on actual fighters instead of innocent bystanders? Or are you too afraid that everyone will find out that you’re in fact cowards with no ability to speak of, mere clowns parading around in armour that’s too good for you?”

The words cut deep, as it accurately targeted their pride as knights and their shame and resentment at being demoted from the King’s Guard. They had once stood at the pinnacle of authority, but the King’s Guard was full of monsters with near inhuman abilities and strength. Brin and Castor were confident in their skills, but Orphys and the king himself were both ruthless. If you could keep up, you were given gold armour and all kinds of riches and privileges. But failing to meet the standard meant immediate demotion, harassment, and ridicule from the other golden-clad knights.

But Conrad was saying that even demoted, the armour of the Raven Knights that they wore was still too prestigious for them. It was a well-aimed barb, and it did its work well.

“You think you can lecture us?” Brin roared, his hands fisting as he strode forwards. “A little pipsqueak like you?”

Conrad, for the first time since his bullying had begun, saw the blow coming and instinctively ducked. The fist whooshed by his face, but Brin and Castor weren’t knights for nothing. Brin had immediately followed up with another blow from his other hand, but Conrad dodged that, too.

Was it his imagination? Brin’s fists seemed to have gotten slower.

A second later, he realized the truth. They had not gotten slower, his reactions had gotten faster. His training was truly paying off. 

His confidence grew. I can do this. I can stand up to them!

“What on earth is going on here? Conrad, what’s amiss?”

A new voice cut through the sudden tension. Jeorge had come out of seemingly nowhere, and froze at the sight of the confrontation, hurrying forwards when he saw Brin’s still-raised fists.

“Sir Brin, Sir Castor, please stop this at once,” he requested as he planted himself in front of Conrad and the still-frozen maid. “His royal highness does not allow infighting amongst his soldiers.”

“Who’re you? Get out of my way!” Brin snapped back, trying to muscle his way past the smaller man.

To his surprise, Jeorge stood firm despite his smaller physique, refusing to budge even an inch. A dangerous light entered his eyes as he said softly, “Jeorge Nova, vice-captain of the Castle Guard. I will ask you once again. Sir Brin, please step away from my cadet.”

As vice-captain, the struggle of power in the hallway suddenly became ambiguous. Aleron, as Captain of the Castle Guard, boasted a higher status than the average Raven Knight; however, he was lower ranked than Azela.

Jeorge, as vice-captain, could be said to be roughly on equal footing with a Raven Knight. However, his status put him in a position to report directly to the higher ups. Anything he said could easily reach Azela or the prince’s ears, which meant that the two knights couldn’t afford to be careless. They were well aware that their behaviour was grossly inappropriate for men of their status, and that if any word of this reached the prince’s ears, it was likely they would be demoted further.

They knew this in their heads, but Brin’s anger couldn’t be so easily quelled.

Instead, he sneered at Conrad, still standing straight from behind Jeorge. “Letting all your older friends fight your battles for you, you little rat? How like you. If your Captain could see you now, I wonder what he’d think of you?”

That particular jab made Conrad grit his teeth and Jeorge’s expression turn cold. Seeing it, Brin realized he’d touched on a nerve, and continued to push his advantage.

“Weak, useless, can’t hold your own in a fight… do you even deserve to be one of his men? Always hiding behind someone else. You’re a spineless, sorry excuse for a soldier.”

“And you’re a brainless, classless oaf.”

Yet another new voice, lazy in its sharpness, sliced through the hallway, making everyone turn. Conrad’s eyes betrayed relief, while Jeorge’s expression softened slightly.

Astra, dressed in a simple green gown, strolled around the corner. It was her first time in a long while wearing a dress, and this particular piece was borrowed from Ilia. The older woman had put her hair up in a basic coiffure, making Astra's appearance ambiguous - she did not look like a servant, but neither did she look like a noble. 

Using that vague appearance to her advantage, she walked right up to the much taller Brin, raising her brows as she looked him over. A second later, her disbelieving voice was heard again, as she directed a question to Jeorge: “This is a Raven Knight?”

Her tone made it clear that she thought such a thing utterly ridiculous. Faced with this unexpected ridicule, Brin’s anger rose again.

“And who are you?” he demanded, shoving his chest forwards in a fight for dominance. Astra did indeed step back, but only to fold her arms and regard him with unimpressed eyes.

From behind Jeorge, Conrad let out a low laugh. “It’s understandable that you can’t believe it, Astra. Even the King’s Guard used to wonder how on earth these two made it into their ranks.”

Both knight’s expressions twisted into something ugly as their sore spots were once again prodded. “Watch your mouth!” Castor snapped, advancing to stand shoulder to shoulder with Brin.

“Why should I? I’m only speaking the truth,” Conrad baited further, even going so far as to step out from behind Jeorge’s protection, a grin on his face. “I’m sorry, did I hurt your manly pride?”

“Now, now, Conrad, you should apologize,” Astra chided. Anyone looking at her face would not be able to tell that she was being sarcastic without context. “Even if you thought these men had already committed to throwing away any dignity they had left, there's no need to point it out so straightforwardly.”

Brin saw red. “Listen here, you!” he roared, turning on Astra and raising his fist.

In the same moment, something slapped him across the face, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him stop in surprise. Looking down, he saw a leather glove lying on the floor by his feet.

“Don’t touch her,” Conrad spat, his lazily calm demeanour completely gone. Both hands were now bare, and his eyes burned with fierce anger as he delivered his warning. “Fight me one-on-one if you dare, you mindless pigs.”

A glance at Castor told Brin that Conrad’s second glove had been unceremoniously chucked into his face, as well, and a slow smile spread across both their faces.

Were they dreaming? This pipsqueak was actually challenging them both to single combat?