Steel and Mana-Chapter 406 – Warriors’ Debate

After the formal report had been given to Commander Vekhon, after they were all excused from the main hall, Bakhi found Ardu where he knew he’d be. He was seated on the outer wall, boots on the parapet, bandaged shoulder lazily supported by the curve of his knee as he was blowing smoke from his nose, a stuffed pipe in his uninjured arm.

He joined him quietly, sitting down while watching the setting sun, speaking no words for a long moment. They only listened to the wind and the sounds of the fort below, their trained ears picking up the changes happening around them.

"So," Ardu finally spoke up, raising the end of his pipe to his lips. "What are your honest thoughts, old friend?"

"Hard to say," Bakhi answered, sighing a little. "But we can't be antagonistic against them."

"Why?"

"We encountered a beast while we were returning, and the six guards you saw took it down."

"You are joking..." Ardu glanced sideways, eyes sharpening.

"I wish I were, but I am not." freewebnoveℓ.com

"Two of ours were sacrificed so the rest of my group could return." Ardu muttered, the smoke flying out of his mouth while doing so, "And you're telling me six men killed something like that?"

"I wouldn't have believed it myself if it wasn't exactly what I saw."

"What, are they all shamans?" Ardu asked with a snort. He watched his friend furrow his brows when he remembered their fight; the thought also occurred to him then.

"Maybe they are." Bakhi leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, "As I said, I saw it with my own eyes. Their weapons were magic-infused, I am sure of it. But they are also made of monster bones. You also know that the beasts are carriers of such a gift."

"Yeah, we also fashioned weapons from their bones, but none started spewing flames like they do! Plus... working the bone is much more temperamental than forging steel; it just isn't worth it..."

"Maybe there is a secret to it," Bakhi whispered as the two fell silent once again.

"Six, you say?" Ardu asked after a minute of silence.

"Aye, six. One of them didn’t even lift a blade. The one they call Pion, their commander. Commodore is his rank, not that I have ever heard such a title."

"Hmph." Ardu frowned. "You sure you’re not clamoring this because they’re your charges now? Are you... afraid?"

"Ardu," Bakhi snorted, looking into his eyes. "You know me. I don’t exaggerate, I don’t flatter, and I don’t get scared easily. I lived a long enough life not to fear death. We are all part of Khulman, and our nation is bred for war; we are God Toobu's chosen people! But when I say they are not like us, I mean it. Our God may be the incarnation of war, but that does not mean he is stupid. We must choose our fights and our allies... And currently, our enemies are monsters, not people."

Hearing him speak, Ardu exhaled, looking toward the courtyard for a moment. He could see that the Avalonians were there, gathering around and exploring a little while the fort's commander's people were tailing them.

"You do realize that Commander Vekhon is going to do something," Ardu muttered. "He’s too proud. He has the merit; he has been facing monsters for years now and has been successful in skirmishes... He is too proud to let that previous insult pass."

"Yeah," Bakhi nodded slowly. "I know. That’s what I’m afraid of. But, as far as I see, the Avalonians will know how to separate one man's actions from ours. Until our Kahn makes a decision, I will try to keep our relationship... neutral."

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Inside their designated barracks chamber, Pion stood near the window slit, arms crossed, helmet off, but it would be days before he would step out of his armor. Same as the rest of his comrades.

"I want to officially object to the continued disrespect shown by the Khulman officers." He said, turning away from the outside world and mentally noting down where the watchers stood, the same ones who had been following them since their arrival.

"I understand," Lancelot sprawled across the edge of his cot, hands behind his head, smiling. "But I don’t mind."

"As the son of our Sovereign," Pion turned to him, trying to be both official and direct, "You should. They are treating you and us with no respect. We are envoys, are we not?"

"But that’s what makes it fun," Lancelot grinned. "Come on, Pion. You’re telling me you’re not a little curious about what they’ll do next?"

"..." To that, he said nothing, but the flex of his fingers spoke volumes. Of course, he did. All of the others did. They... even if they wouldn't acknowledge it, they all wanted the Khulmans to try something stupid.

"I think I get it now," Lancelot continued. "Why does my mother always smile when someone threatens her... She used to be worse than any of these people, did she not? She told me once that she never feared being hated. She liked it. Because it gave her an excuse to continue to be like just that."

Pion stared at him for a long moment, a bit unsure if he should say what he was thinking, but in the end, he did open his mouth.

"You are not your mother."

"I know. But sometimes... I wonder." Lancelot mused, sitting up, "I feel it, that rush she told me about. The moment someone squares their shoulders and says with their look: ‘prove yourself’... And I want to. Badly. Grandpa saw it in me; that is why he has been training me since I could grab a sword. But partially, you are right," he added, smiling, "I am not thinking about killing them all, but I do want to show them why we are not arrogant but simply right."

"I understand," Pion gave a single nod while speaking. "It would only be pride if we couldn't back it up. But because we can, it is just... facts."

"Yep!" Lancelot said and then grinned. "But I hope they throw something my way. I do want to stretch a little. You had your fun with that monster, and I am feeling pent up since watching it."

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It was late into the following morning when the summons came from a soldier’s quiet knock and simple invitation into the keep's inner part. Of course, Lancelot followed without hesitation while Pion and two of the others moved to shadow him. The soldier who came to invite Lancelot protested at first, but it fell on deaf ears, and he could do nothing but watch as they followed Lancelot like a shadow.

Seeing that there was nothing he could do, he just hoped the commander wouldn't be too angry with him for bringing not only the boy but also his attaché. To Lancelot's surprise, the place they were brought to was not a garden nor a meeting room but an open yard, clearly built for training and sparring. There, the commander from yesterday was already present, doing exercises while others stood around as if watching some kind of warrior's ceremony.

"I see where this is going..." Lancelot whispered, glancing at Pion once, "Just to be sure... be ready."

"Don't worry." He nodded, putting his helmet on, "We always are."

Of course, the people present did not miss the exchange between the two, but they said nothing, only watching as Lancelot stepped into the open sparring yard within, walking confidently. Commander Vekhon stopped his exercises and stood there stripped to the waist, wearing only hardened leather, his long hair tied up in a knot.

"So," Vekhon spoke, voice surprisingly booming. "By your stance yesterday, it was clear to us that you claim to be a warrior, Envoy of Avalon."

"Lancelot is my name, but sure." He nodded, making Vekhon tilt his head a little."

"Names are irrelevant for a warrior. So... I thought, if you are indeed one, we should get to know each other better. Let’s speak warrior to warrior."

"I guessed so." Lancelot hummed as he unbuckled his swordbelt and handed it to Pion before he pulled off his jacket, revealing his almost perfectly crafted physique. "Swords?"

"Whatever you prefer," Vekhon answered, reaching for a saber that was clearly not for training, as it was made of metal. "You can use your own blade. I don't want you to say you were disadvantaged."

"Nah," Lancelot replied sharply, "If I did, you would call foul from the start. I don't want to humiliate you that much... And I don't want you to think that you lost because of the difference in equipment. A simple sword will do."

As he was speaking, he noticed that Bakhi was also present, trying to look impartial, but there was a visible relief in his expression. He knew of the power of the Avalonians' weapons... and he was afraid they would kill the commander. Not intentionally, but... As their eyes met, Lancelot gave him a small smile, ignoring the grimaces of the other soldiers and the now much more grave look the commander was giving him, and took a longsword offered to him by another Khulman warrior.

After testing its weight and facing the keep's ruler, Vekhon lunged first.

His style was alien at first glance, rough, and heavy. But it didn't bother Lancelot much as he quickly adjusted to it. He noted that Vekhon's broad strikes were meant to break rhythm and test his enemies' balance. To avoid them, Lancelot simply danced out of range, letting the attacks sail past with narrow margins without the need to meet blade to blade.

Of course, the onlookers weren't impressed, feeling he was cowardly... and he couldn't help but smile at the thought as he kept moving.

The next moment, he flowed in and around Vekhon’s guard with speed that startled even the veteran warrior. Still, he was not all talk, but with actual death and life experience under his belt. His answer was a flicked strike to the ribs and another to the knee. All missed... worse, Lancelot, as if mocking him, was returning the same attack pattern.

"Cocky!" He thought, and then, when Vekhon countered with a charging sweep, Lancelot immediately pivoted by planting his foot in the commander’s chest and sending him backward a full step.

The warriors standing around the sparring circle audibly gasped while Vekhon laughed after finding his footing.

"Heh!" He swiped the blood on his lip, feeling his ribs still reverberate inside his chest, but his eyes were gleaming. The boy was not just talking big, after all. "Not bad. You do dance like a woman, but you strike like a man."

"My Mom's influence," Lancelot saluted with his sword. "Be careful. Avalonian women are not just housewives, you know. They can be dangerous..."

"You do look and speak like one..." Vekhon mocked him again, trying his best to get him riled up, making him commit to a mistake more easily as he began his second assault.

It seemed to work when they clashed again, but this time, Lancelot didn't step away, accepting his incoming attack head-on. Soon, the space was filled with the clang of blade meeting blade as both of their muscles tensed, trying to overpower the other side. Vekhon bore down on him with full force. His strikes were heavy and exact, fueled by his evident pride. Yet, no matter what he did, Lancelot didn’t bend, and his arms showed that he could take his brute strength.

Then, standing at an impasse, Vekhon had to realize that the boy was... beginning to copy his style. He matched the rhythm first, then disrupted it. His footwork became faster, and every blow he parried was redirected, more and more in a way that he found it hard to recover.

Then, finally, one time, his arms were pushed away too far to pull back. It was at that moment when Lancelot struck out.

It was sudden, and it was brutal, and Vekhon saw actual bloodlust glow in the young man's eyes, even if for just a brief moment. He almost went in for a kill... deciding against it at the very last moment.

Vekhon tried to raise his blade to guard, but in that split second, Lancelot’s stance had already shifted. He stepped inside the commander’s guard, twisted low, and knocked the saber upward with his left forearm, slamming his elbow into Vekhon’s exposed ribs. If not for that split decision... it would have been steel entering his chest, not the boy's elbow. While thinking about it, Vekhon wheezed in pain and could do nothing but watch on in slow motion.

A pivot, a turn, and the flat of Lancelot’s blade slammed into the back of Vekhon’s knees, dropping him down. Once again... if he used his blade... he would not die but would still be crippled. The only thing that made him stop thinking about the what-ifs was that the tip of the sword kept moving, now pressed against the commander’s throat, before the man could even plant his hands on the ground.

It was followed by silence. Thick, complete, and shocked.

Lancelot stood there for two seconds more, then pulled the blade away and stepped back, respectfully lowering it in a warrior’s salute. His breathing was steady. Taking control of his feelings, Vekhon remained on one knee for a heartbeat longer... And then he chuckled and stood up, shaking off the dirt with a grunt.

"You can back up your words, Lancelot from Avalon."

"I do." Lancelot nodded, watching the commander's eyes. "So does Avalon."

"Aye." Vekhon exhaled, reaching up and massaging his chest, "I believe it now."