Rigged Fight...? Duel (2)
Kriel was quietly confident deep down. Mazar Gabi's funds were more than enough to hire any ordinary brawler. But Kriel was no ordinary fighter—he was a knight beyond that level. And hiring a knight required more than just money; it demanded prestige. After all, it meant pledging one's sword to a lord, even if only temporarily. A true knight wouldn't serve an unworthy master. Mazar Gabi himself might be different, but the merchant's reputation fell short of commanding a knight's loyalty.
[Hey, no. Not all knights in this world are as obsessed with knightly honor as you. Throw enough money at it, and one'll pop up.]
"Nonsense! A knight who doesn't uphold chivalry isn't a true knight."
Orishin was about to fire back immediately. What if they brought in a warrior or mage instead of a knight? But his turn never came.
[Well said indeed. You brainless nag who knows no shame. Haven't you grasped the world's truth that a knight without honor is no knight at all?]
Having foolishly opened his mouth only to get pincered from both sides, Orishin decided to shut up. Fair enough—from what he'd observed so far, Kriel was an overwhelmingly strong Dark Knight. Unless the opponent was some knight commander, victory was a foregone conclusion.
The Argentlam Ducal House was an ancient lineage, its deep history etched into most of the buildings in the duchy. Remarkably, the courthouse even had a dedicated duel chamber for trial by combat—a holdover from the era when such duels were actually held in court.
The duel chamber resembled a miniature circular arena fused with a courtroom dais. Kriel and Armed had arrived first and were waiting for Mazar Gabi. The religious inquisitor, looking more lively than last time in anticipation of the fight, stood at the judge's bench—which would normally be the seat for a presiding judge.
Since this was a secret trial, there were no spectators, but the Daukrius priest, present as a witness, sat in the gallery. He wore a broad grin he wasn't bothering to hide, munching on jerky.
The inquisitor checked the time.
"Ten minutes until the duel begins. If Mazar Gabi or his champion fails to arrive within ten minutes past the start time, the defendant wins by default."
Groooan—the heavy doors swung open as Mazar Gabi appeared.
"No need for that."
Kriel noted Gabi's attire. No armor, no weapons. He wasn't planning to fight himself, then. Was he forfeiting the duel to minimize hiring costs?
"Plaintiff Mazar Gabi. Will you fight the duel yourself?"
"I've hired a champion. Come in!"
Clack.
The sound of footsteps echoed down the courthouse corridor. Kriel was surprised by how light the echoes were. No weight behind them at all. If armored, it would suggest a lightening spell, at least. A warrior using such gear warranted caution, and even if lightly dressed, he couldn't afford complacency.
A mage?
The figure from Gabi's side emerged from behind the door. Simple black priestly robes. Not shabby, but pure and unadorned. Despite the loose fit, the crisp steps and streamlined silhouette hinted at a body honed through rigorous training. Most striking was the black veil over the head. The dark veil atop the black robes gave the impression of mourning attire.
The moment Kriel laid eyes on the champion, an inexplicable chill gripped him.
"Hey, Gabi! This is cowardly!"
"What do you mean, Miss Armed?"
"You couldn't find a proper opponent, so you're attacking my honor as a knight! How's a frail priest like that supposed to fight?!"
Kriel cautiously held Armed back with an outstretched arm. Frail didn't fit—the priest's aura was anything but ordinary.
"I don't resort to such base tactics."
The inquisitor made one final ask of Gabi's champion: Did they wish to withdraw now? The priest silently shook their head.
The Daukrius priest let out a low "oho" of admiration.
"I thought the saintess let it slide too easily, but what a brilliant move! So that's why—you came to deal with the heretic personally."
Daukrius sensed the fight would be more entertaining than expected.
Wait, hold on. I told Sir Kriel to win for our order's sake.
Daukrius fell into deep thought. Whether the champion felled the saintess or vice versa, wasn't it a loss for Eve Kaha? But he soon realized that a loss for Eve Kaha in either case was a win for her regardless, so he stopped pondering.
"The epitome of a trial by duel! Whichever of Eve Kaha's favored prevails!"
Daukrius regretted not bringing beer.
"Both parties, first line forward."
Each end of the sturdy stone-floored arena had engraved lines on the floor—markers to set the initial distance between combatants. This adjusted for weapons with differing ranges, like bows versus swords, to ensure fairness. But neither side requested adjustments here, so the duel began at the standard lines.
"Artifacts permitted. Victory is decided when one admits defeat or becomes combat-ineffective. Note this isn't like a standard duel where the first to wound wins."
The inquisitor eyed both from the bench. Tension crackled around them.
"Prepare."
Three, two, one.
"Duel commence!"
The pressure from his opponent was immense. Kriel calmly raised his greatsword to his temple, aiming it at the foe—a guard stance for intercepting incoming strikes.
He saw the priest raise their right hand to their mouth, then swing it down to the lower right. A vivid blood droplet appeared. The veil obscured the details, but Kriel would bet his fortune the priest had bitten their palm to draw blood.
Amid the scattering droplets, red divine power coalesced into form. A red flail.
"Damn it!"
Kriel hurriedly channeled fighting spirit into his champion's insignia. Fighting barehanded against that would be suicide. Too late. Leaving a red afterimage, the priest closed in before his eyes in an instant.
The flail smashed down. Kriel's angled greatsword deflected it. As the weapons clashed for the first time, he began donning his armor.
He had no idea why this one was going all out here and now.
"What the hel—"
Before he could finish, the veiled priest followed up. Now the left hand—blood drawn there too, gripping another flail. But different from the right: the right was a straight mace, while the left was a chain flail, its head linked by chain to the handle.
The onslaught continued. Two red lines traced from the priest's hands. The right drew straight lines—power unyielding even against Kriel's massive swings, strong clashing against strong. The left curved. Not softly, but viciously—the spiked ball exploited every gap while the greatsword parried the right.
Straight and curve intertwined endlessly, becoming a red storm. By the fifth block of vital-target strikes, Kriel's armor was fully equipped.
"Hm..."
The inquisitor pondered reporting this ferocious display as an abyss violation but held his tongue when the Daukrius priest waved it off reassuringly.
The veiled priest tilted their head side to side with a crackle of joints. Behind them, divine power rippled like a halo, taking shape. Crows. The very crows that had relentlessly tormented Orishin in the holy capital Temris.
Orishin couldn't ignore it anymore.
[Uh, shit?]
The divine crows dove at Kriel—from behind, above, below. His greatsword's wind scattered some, but not all. A crow pecking his armor exploded on contact. The armor absorbed the shock superbly, but the misty remnants obscured vision enough. Ordinary smoke wouldn't faze Kriel, but this was divine power—antithetical to a Dark Knight—spreading to blind him effectively.
Kriel heard the approaching footsteps. Morgina's. The whoosh of flails slicing air. He positioned by sound alone. The greatsword's flat struck the mace true; his gauntlet, briefly released from the hilt, deflected the chain head.
"Hold on, Morgina!"
Kriel called out the veiled priest's name. Morgina replied, veil still in place.
"Hey. I was planning to go easy and throw the fight if I could."
Mazar Gabi's face twisted oddly—bafflement mixed with absurdity.
"Human decency—you're not seriously gonna protect that girl in that armor, right?"
The armor I made for you. The words Morgina swallowed unspoken.
"Since you charged in like you wanna die—"
No talk of "love" had come up first. Morgina sighed in relief. Given Kriel's rigid personality, if he'd truly stepped up to protect a beloved fiancée, he wouldn't say he'd armored up because she insisted on fighting fair—he'd spout something about "winning for happiness with my love."
That'd make this fake-engagement farce even more likely, as I suspected—
Then she glanced at Armed behind Kriel. Armed's gaze on him was all too familiar—the same one Morgina saw in her mirror every day.
"Hah, fine. Knights in chivalry novels always lacked loyalty at the hip anyway. Romance my ass—they were all scandal-mongers. No, wait—is the floozy on your side?"
Kriel might be oblivious, but she was dead serious. No letting her relax easily, then.
"What?"
A clear, chilling laugh echoed. "Heh heh."
"Your lady's come to rein in your chastity, you rascal!"