Chapter 10: To the Victor Goes the Spoils

Castor was through playing now that things had come this far.

Conrad defeating Brin had been so far out of his initial expectations that he knew: if he let his guard down during this fight, he would lose.

So far, the blond had displayed impressive speed and flexibility, but Castor was relatively certain that he still had the upper hand. Conrad had lost the element of surprise after the first fight, and Castor was quicker and much shrewder than his burly colleague.

The audience settled back into their seats, and once again the weapons were inspected. Conrad’s shortsword had a chip in it from deflecting Brin’s heavy blows, but the blond had foreseen that possibility and brought a spare, which passed inspection as well. Castor picked up his longsword – a plain, utilitarian weapon – and proceeded to stand on his side of the ring, eyeing the youth as he did so.

“You may have bested Brin,” he warned, “but you won’t find me such easy prey.”

“I know,” the boy replied, apparently having lost the sarcastic, smart-mouthed attitude from before. He was already holding his blade upright, apparently not planning to use the same run-around tactic that he employed against Brin.

“Begin!” the call from Azela came without warning, and immediately Castor charged.

He wanted to test the limits of the boy’s speed, which proved impressive indeed. Conrad could not play tag with an opponent like Castor, and so finally the duel took on a more traditional procedure. Blades clashed, then darted back, and they circled around each other, searching for an opening.

The audience was no longer silent. They were cheering loudly, though Castor noted somewhat sourly that the majority of the shouts were encouraging the young boy rather than him. After besting someone twice his size while hardly landing any hits of his own, Conrad’s popularity seemed to have grown in the eyes of the watching public.

Those who were not cheering were likely the ones with money involved – those who had bet on Castor’s victory and now had cause for concern. However, the Raven Knight had every intention to prove he was worth betting on. Conrad was fast, but not so fast that he couldn’t follow, and the older man had the edge in experience and skill.

“Spent all this time working on just speed and movement, eh?” he asked as he moved in, crowding the boy with the longer reach of his weapon. “It’s a good idea, but there’s only so much you could have done in just a few weeks.”

He could guess why the boy had suddenly switched from the standard-issue longsword to a shortsword. Shorter blades were lighter, faster, and required less strength to wield. In an attempt to capitalize on his speed, the boy had traded for a weapon that complimented it. It was a good effort, but too simple a tactic in the face of real technique.

If the boy’s strategy relied on tricks, then Castor would just attack fast enough to prevent him from trying any.

Conrad did not respond to his taunts, a frown marring his face for the first time today. His mouth moved indistinctly, forming out words he had memorized in preparation for today. 

Castor has a good foundation, but he relies too much on status and arrogance rather than dedication to training. There are weaknesses in his basic movements, and they've become habit. If you observe him closely enough, you'll see patterns in his footwork.

“What do you think?” Aleron, who was watching the fight alongside Azela, muttered the question out of the corner of his mouth. “He’s not bad, is he?”

He was immensely proud of the blonde’s advancement after viewing his first fight. While it pained him, his duty as Captain of the Castle Guard meant that it was almost impossible for Aleron to monitor the progress of all the soldiers under his command. He made every effort to get to know them, but something like personal tutoring was often beyond him.

However, thanks to Astra and the friends she’d enlisted to help, Conrad's previously shaky foundation had become rock solid. His base stances and sense for battle were much improved, and Aleron’s practiced eyes could see that with a few more years of hard training, the boy might even surpass him in swordsmanship one day.

It was a credit to the chestnut knight’s personality that, far from feeling apprehensive, he felt only anticipation at the thought. He was eager to see his men grow, and would be prouder than anyone else if they really did surpass him one day.

Azela’s stern expression did not soften for even a moment, but he dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement of Aleron’s words. He, too, was more than a little surprised at how far the youth had come in only a few weeks. He was not sure what level Conrad had been at before, but the boy was already displaying a natural sense for combat that far surpassed the expectation of his age.

He recalled in that moment the bet that his prince had made with the young lady from another world.

If the lad won this fight, the prince would guarantee him a future position in the Raven Knights. Azela found that he was looking forward to it.

For several minutes, the clashing of blades echoed amidst the cheers from the crowd. It was a standard display of skill, but the longer time wore on, the more obvious Castor’s natural advantage became. Conrad’s swordsmanship was not bad, but he was relying entirely on his newly honed reflexes and speed to keep from being cut down any moment. Unable to launch an effective attack, he could only defend, dancing around his opponent and keeping him circling around the arena.

“Are we really going to do this all day?” Castor asked, his expression weary. “Give up. A country boy like you can’t hold a candle to a real knight.”

“That’s mean. I was raised in the capital, you know,” was the boy’s complaint, skipping out of the way of a thrust that would have taken him in the ribs. “But if you’re impatient, I won’t keep you waiting.”

Having said so, he suddenly reached forwards and grabbed ahold of Castor’s wrist, taking advantage of the slight overextension when the knight performed his attack.

Castor was startled. The grabbing of his wrist reminded him of how Brin had been caught, making him nervous and causing him to overreact. He tried to yank his arm free, using his superior strength, but Conrad, rather than opposing the force, stepped forwards into it. He used the momentum of Castor’s pull to slip under the older man’s arm and twist his body in a full circle, still holding his wrist.

A jolt of sharp, numbing pain shot up his arm all the way to the elbow as it was bent in a direction it was not meant to go, and Castor was astounded to find his fingers opening reflexively. His sword fell from his grip, clattering onto the dirt floor. “You –!” Furious, he tried to reach out with his other hand to grab the boy, but suddenly felt something tangle between his legs, and then his world tipped upside down.

After discarding his own weapon, Conrad had stuck own leg firmly between the Raven Knight’s as Castor went to step back, causing the older man to lose his balance. Then, just as Astra had taught him, he turned, using both hands to firmly grip Castor’s forearm, bent at the waist, and heaved the heavy knight over his back.

If Castor had been wearing his armour, such a feat wouldn’t have been possible. But because the Crown Prince had insisted that the fighters wear only standard leather, the difference in weight was enough for this move to prove effective. Castor’s body drew a beautiful arc in the air, and he landed on his back, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. The knight's training kicked in, and he immediately tried to scramble to his feet, but a brief rasping of metal made him freeze. 

There was a blade an inch from his eyes.

The moment Castor was airborne, without even waiting for the knight to properly hit the ground, Conrad had released him to grab his discarded weapon, and was now holding it to his face. Just like the fight with Brin, the boy had ended the match with a single showy move. This time, the audience could clearly see his actions, and were cheering with more enthusiasm than ever. They were very satisfied – they’d finally gotten the display they wanted, and it had ended with another surprise. Those who had bet on the young boy were celebrating, and those who had bet against him were slumped, faces buried in their hands.

“I’m rich,” Ilia sang delightedly as she leaned back in her seat. “That was almost too easy.”

“You bet on him?” Liam looked up, sulking a little when he saw the grin on her face. “I should have thought of that. Anyone who invested today will have earned some handsome winnings.”

“Conrad’s easy win is just proof of what a difference preparation can make. And don’t worry, Liam, I’ll share my winnings with you,” Astra reassured him. Seeing him give her a startled look, she laughed aloud, reaching over to smack him on the shoulder. “What’s that face supposed to mean? Do I not look like the gambling type?”

Liam hesitated. She didn’t, but he didn’t want to say so, sensing that it might provoke her ire.

Astra snorted, reading the doubts in his face, and turned away with a mock humph. “Well, if you’re going to be like that, then I can always keep your share.”

Immediately, the man apologized, and, in an effort to repair the damage, began effusively praising the noirette’s insight, her clear dark eyes, her hair like night… the list of sappy compliments went on until Astra, exasperated, pushed him hard enough for him to nearly fall out of his chair. “Alright, I’ll give you some, so stop with that embarrassing display!” she snapped, ignoring his laughter.

Castor dimly heard the sound of Liam’s mirth over the applause, but his narrowed eyes were focused on Conrad.  He made no attempt to get up. “You still had a trick up your sleeve, I see.” HIs nasty smile held no joy.

Conrad just waited patiently until Azela called the match over and officially declared the blond’s victory before he offered the knight his hand.

“Are you looking down on me?” Disgusted, Castor slapped the hand away and got to his feet on his own. “And give me that.” He snatched his sword out of Conrad’s grip, and the boy let go without complaint. “I guess this all went according to your little plan. No wonder you had the audacity to challenge us.”

Though his words were not all that venomous, his heart felt extremely bitter. The loss to this blond rat was bad enough, but he was chiefly concerned about the bet that they had made. Because of their overconfidence, he and Brin would be expelled from the palace.

It was clear from the way each fight had been conducted that the blond had all this planned out. The boy’s prepared lines had successfully enraged Brin beyond reason, even though he'd never shown any signs of biting back before. He’d changed his weapon to a shortsword, but in the end, it wasn’t even key to his victory – it was merely a decoy, a tool to throw off his opponents’ predictions. Even his show of being slowly overwhelmed by Castor's superior swordsmanship had all been an act; he only needed a moment to overpower him. There was never any real fight, and Castor could see, in hindsight, that this had merely been a very clever setup from the start.

Subconsciously, his lip curled in a sneer. “I didn’t expect you to be such a schemer.”

“I’m not.” Surprisingly, the boy did not gloat. Confused, Castor looked up to see the air of ridicule drop away from the youth, though the newfound confidence remained. “But I’m lucky to have friends by my side.”

“Keep your eyes open at night,” Castor replied, reaching out to shake hands. Though his expression was placid, his words were vicious. “I will definitely pay you back for this incident.”

Conrad just shook his head. Without Astra’s coaching, he was not so practiced at making up comebacks on the fly, and picking fights was never a part of his nature. “Farewell, Sir Castor,” was all he said, turning away. “I hope we never meet again.”

He was immediately swarmed by his fellow guardsmen, who were slapping him on the back and cheering until he staggered, then proceeded to pick up the youth and fling him bodily into the air.

The Crown Prince stood from his private seat, smiling a little, when a flash of dark hair from below caught his eye. Astra was standing slightly outside the ring of jubilant soldiers, looking directly at him. When he met her eyes, she raised one eyebrow and looked at the flustered victor, still being tossed into the air by his colleagues, then back to the prince.

Her meaning was clear. The Crown Prince had proposed their private bet half-hoping she would lose (he did enjoy taking tea with her, more than expected), but he benefitted regardless of who came out on top.

In answer, he gave her an elegant smile and inclined his head, recognizing her victory.

Satisfied, she nodded back. A moment later, she was unwillingly swept into the circle of celebration by a redheaded soldier who hooked his arm around her shoulders, ignoring her disgruntled expression at the contact. Shaking his head at the chaotic display of joy, the Crown Prince exited his private box, where he was joined by Azela and Aleron, and he gave the order for Brin and Castor’s sentences to be carried out.

“I will see them out of the gates myself.” Miss Astraea had requested that he ensure the conditions of the duel were kept. Although she probably hadn’t meant for him to oversee the actual execution of the sentences himself, he always liked to be thorough.

“Do you truly intend to expel them from the palace, your highness?” Aleron seemed somewhat hesitant to carry out the verdict, but the prince remained firm.

“Yes. They have already caused enough trouble to be expelled even without today’s showing.” Even before this whole duel began, the two knights were constantly harassing servants, swaggering about the palace, abusing their status and shirking their work. “Your man’s done me a favour today, Captain. Now I’ve an excuse to remove them.”

“What about Brin?” Azela asked, already having no problem with dropping the ‘Sir’ from the knight’s address. The Crown Prince suppressed his smile – Azela could be quite ruthless from time to time, he thought privately.

“Is he still unconscious?” the two knights nodded, and the prince sighed. “We will deal with him after he awakens, then. For now, please inform Sir… please inform Castor that he is to collect his things and report to my office this evening, where he will then be escorted to the gates.”

He did feel a bit sorry for the two knights – expulsion from the palace was a harsh punishment, but this was the condition of a bet they had set themselves. When he thought about how their goal had been to push a young talent like Conrad away from a bright future, he felt the small kernel of pity flicker and die.