The Storm King-Chapter 1194: One Minor Warlord

As Daryun’s challenge echoed through the dead silent throne room, the air hung heavy with expectation—this was surely a joke many thought, and the punchline was sure to come. Leon himself stared in disbelief at Daryun, who stood defiantly where his King had kneeled.

And then someone began laughing, and others joined in. Throughout the throne room, laughter battered Daryun like a thousand hammers, but through it all, he stood unmoving, his eyes locked on Leon. Without taking his eyes from Daryun, Leon could see that it was mostly the Kesken vassals laughing; it seemed that Daryun’s fellows who’d surrendered to Leon already were having some fun at his expense. Leon and many of the bureaucrats and commanders who’d come with him from the Nexus were stone silent, however. Daryun was serious; he could see it, as could they.

Leon tapped the armrest of his throne and used his power to amplify the sound. It cut through the laughter like Iron Pride might through bread, and in a moment, silence once again reigned in his throne room—at least, until he began to speak.

“You… want to challenge me?” he asked. “To a duel?”

“Yes,” Daryun immediately responded. “Though a great canyon may separate us as far as power is concerned, no one escapes the Unnamed God. There exists the possibility of victory, slim as it may be, and for my home, I will take that chance. If I fail, all it will cost me is my life.”

“All it will cost you is for me to decide,” Leon replied. “I could have you tortured to death for your impertinence. I might take my anger out on your people in Alamati. Do these possibilities not concern you, Lord Daryun?”

Daryun’s face morphed into a deep scowl for a moment before resolving again with defiance. “It does not.”

‘A lie,’ Leon thought. ‘He’s just too damn stubborn…’

He let silence linger for a time as he contemplated what to do. A duel such as this could not be ignored lest he look weak, but to stain his blade with such bold blood was hardly better. Finally, he sighed and repeated to himself, ‘The results will be for me to determine. So I might as well force them into my favor.’

“What are the terms of your challenge?” Leon asked.

“If I win, you leave Kesken, never to return,” Daryun answered. “If I lose, I’ll leave my fate in your hands.”

“Your fate is already in my hands,” Leon stated. “Do you have anything else to bargain with other than something that is already mine?”

“Honor, then,” Daryun loudly stated, his arms crossing across his chest as he took a more daring air. “Show Kesken that you are a man of honor, that you won’t run away when challenged. Or fight because it’s fun, it doesn’t matter to me, so long as you leave this plane if I win.”

Leon’s face remained stony and deadly serious. He rose from his throne and directed all of his attention upon Daryun. His aura settled around the man’s shoulders—not quite enough to force him down, but enough to emphasize Leon’s statement, to make Daryun feel the gravity of Leon’s words.

“Lord Daryun, I accept your challenge.”

The throne room broke out into startled whispering as Daryun’s eyes widened and a crack appeared in his grim features. With a look, however, Leon once more silenced the room.

“We will fight in three days. I’ll arrange fine quarters for you, though you’ll still be forbidden to leave confinement. Rest well, Daryun. These may be the last three days of your life. So think hard about whether or not you want to follow through with this.”

“My decision will remain unchanged,” Daryun insisted.

“You say that now,” Leon replied. “Give yourself some time. Clear your head. Weigh the benefits and costs. If you decide to rescind your challenge, no one will blame you.”

“A challenge made is a challenge to be kept.”

Leon stifled a sigh of exasperation as his eyes momentarily flickered to the still-kneeling Imak. The former King couldn’t even meet his gaze, however, and appeared more interested in the floor than in what was going on around him.

“So be it,” Leon growled, a shallow frown crossing his lips. “Take him down to the local palace. Ensure he’s well fed and taken care of. I will have no one say that this duel has been sabotaged.”

“Your generosity, at least, can’t be questioned,” Daryun snarked even as several Tempest Knights surged forward to haul him off before his mouth could anger Leon.

Instead of answering, Leon simply smiled as Daryun was all but dragged out of the throne room. A possibility had occurred to him, and he found himself anticipating the duel quite a bit. He did have something he wanted from Daryun, and he was going to wring it out of the man no matter how much he had to squeeze…

---

The origin spark above his Mind Palace burned passionately. It was much larger than it had been when he first condensed it, almost resembling a true sun at this point. It remained fixed above his soul realm, though Leon wondered just what it might take to make it orbit his pseudo plane—after all, his soul realm was just hanging within the Mists of Chaos, so it could be orbited.

He didn’t put this idle thought into practice, however, choosing instead to hover about halfway between it and his Mind Palace, soaking in its light and the origin power emanating from it. That power was no mere trickle, building up within his soul realm as a great reserve, and channeling through the connection to his physical body to soak into his body. This was how he had ascended to the twelfth-tier; his origin power had sunk deep into his physical body as magic power once had when he was much weaker. His body fully adapting to this new power was what made him a twelfth-tier mage, though this had necessarily come with the growth of his origin spark.

Now, he was almost completely invincible—even if he were to be decapitated, his head would simply grow back. So long as the connection between his physical body and his soul realm remained intact, his physical body would recover from any injury or maiming, no matter how severe—or so the common sense went; he knew that there were exceptions even to this, as he’d demonstrated on Terris. Still, he was now so durable that calling him ‘invincible’ wasn’t for nothing. This was what it meant to be at the twelfth-tier.

To reach the thirteenth, his spark would have to grow even further, though that was hardly the only condition. Much of Leon’s training consisted of feeding his origin spark mist from beyond his soul realm, which not only helped the spark to grow by giving it more ‘fuel’ but also increased his skill in manipulating the mist.

Everything in his soul realm, all the physical objects and the ‘earth’ itself was made of condensed Mists of Chaos. Were he to try and take anything he’d made out of his soul realm, it would dissolve back into mist like it had never been there, rejoining the rest of the endless cloud that surrounded Leon’s gargantuan soul realm.

But at the thirteenth-tier, Leon would be able to condense the mist into actual, proper physical matter, so long as he had the origin power to do so, too. So, if he wanted to reach the thirteenth-tier, it was not just a matter of power but also of control—control over the Mists of Chaos.

“That looks almost natural,” the Thunderbird said as she floated up next to him, transforming into her human body along the way. “You’re getting better.”

“How long do you think until I ascend?” Leon asked, his eyes not straying far from his sun-like origin spark.

The Thunderbird lightly knocked her knuckles against his head. “Foolish boy. Two centuries old yet with all the patience of a child. Don’t rush this; do it right so that it doesn’t hamper your future growth. Put ‘when’ out of your mind and focus on the ‘how’.”

Leon groaned petulantly, playing up his faux irritation. “Is there something you wanted to talk about?” he asked. “Or were you just looking for an excuse to chastise me?”

“You have reasons enough for chastisement that excuses aren’t needed,” the Thunderbird shot back, a teasing smirk playing at her lips. “But no. I was wondering about your little duel.”

“Such a thing has warranted your attention?” Leon asked as he finally straightened up and turned his full attention upon his Ancestor. “Should I accidentally kill Daryun, I ought to write that upon his tombstone. ‘Earned the attention of the Thunderbird herself’.”

“No need for sarcasm, boy.”

“It wasn’t sarcasm, though; you’re powerful and prideful. When was the last time you acknowledged anyone you weren’t related to?”

The Thunderbird clicked her tongue and averted her gaze for a moment. Without answering his question, she asked, “What are you planning to do with him?”

“Why are you interested?”

“This is your first extraplanar conquest. And on this most memorable of occasions, this has been your greatest challenge. I want to know how you’re planning on surmounting it.”

“I’ll be fighting Daryun, that much is without doubt,” Leon said, but once the words had left his mouth, his brow furrowed slightly and he cast his gaze off into the distance, looking at nothing in particular as he mulled over what he wanted to say next.

After a silent moment, the Thunderbird said, “That’s good. No such challenge can go unanswered without a loss of faith. Or rather, it shouldn’t go unanswered without a good reason.”

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Leon hummed in thought. “What if a first-tier mage were to challenge me? Or a mortal? The sheer number of people I would rule over as the Storm King would mean I couldn’t possibly respond to all those who wished to challenge me…”

“Save it for those who can visit you in person. Delegate the rest.”

Leon snorted in amusement.

“Back to the topic at hand…” the Thunderbird said leadingly.

“Mm. Aside from fighting him, I suppose what happens after that will depend on him, to an extent.”

“Didn’t you claim that it was up to you in the moments after the challenge?”

Leon’s lips turned downward slightly. “The man always has a choice no matter what I do. Death… resistance… I think he might go with either one of those.”

His Ancestor must’ve heard something in his voice because she observed, “You like him.”

Leon’s frown became more pronounced as he turned her statement over in his head a few times. “Yes, I suppose I do. He’s bold. Rash, perhaps, but he has that kind of energy and honor that I want in a retainer…”

“He has resisted you quite vehemently and quitepublicly. If you want to try and recruit him, best not to do it in public.”

Leon cocked an eyebrow and regarded his Ancestor curiously. “You don’t want him to refuse me publicly, you mean?”

“The wise King never gives an order he knows will not be obeyed. It makes him look weak. Give him the option to serve you, but if you meet in the sand, give him no more chances.”

A deep breath filled Leon’s lungs as he thought the problem over. “You… have a point. The duel is in two days. I wanted to try and recruit him, anyway.”

“Then do so. But do not give him undue consideration. One minor warlord among the planes is not worth such effort, especially since it may engender resentment among those who have not warranted your attention…”

For a few moments longer, Leon let the issue play around in his head, but he didn’t voice his thoughts again. He’d accomplish his goal no matter what. Daryun had the potential to be a great retainer; Leon just had to find the right motivation to get him to surrender…

---

Daryun had to admit that he had made a few wrong assumptions about Leon Raime—he’d thought that after so blatantly challenging him, he’d either be cut down on the spot, forced to fight a brutal champion, or thrown back into the dungeons. Instead, he was given well-appointed and well-guarded apartments within which he could recover and prepare for the duel ahead of him.

Adrenaline spiked through his system every time he thought about it—he was about to fight a post-Apotheosis mage. He still wasn’t entirely sure just how strong Leon Raime was, but he knew that the man’s aura alone was enough to immobilize him. That meant if he had any chance at victory, he’d have to get unconventional.

A proper strategy was difficult to come up with, however, and in this hopelessness, Daryun found himself staring out of the windows at the countryside in the distance. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he was staring out at Alamati from his apartments in Kaarahi Castle, but his imagination wasn’t strong enough to give him much respite. These were the last few days of his life, after which he’d be joining his men who must have already seen the Unnamed God’s judgment by now…

‘Jontos, Nimrak… Father, Mother…’ A hundred more names ran through his head. Cyrus, one of his childhood friends, had promised to stand with him to the very end, to defeat the Sylphians with him no matter how long it took. He’d been killed in the very first assault on Kaarahi by the Sylphians. He hadn’t even seen his eighteenth year. Iskandar, another one of his close friends from childhood, fought beside him for twenty years before a stray arrow found its way through his visor and killed him instantly. He and Daryun had been talking one moment on the battlements, and the next, some Sylphian scout with more balls than brains landed a lucky hit on one of Daryun’s best friends. Daryun never did manage to catch that scout, though he’d beaten the Sylphians back quite viciously that year. If the gods were just, then that scout died either in the battle or the ensuing rout.

So many more awaited him on the other side. Leon Raime would send him there soon. His struggle was about to come to an end.

‘At least… at least I beat the Sylphians,’ he thought with a deep, aching melancholy. ‘But I couldn’t defend my people from this. Not from this…’ One of Leon’s Raime’s larger arks passed close by, casting the mansion in shadow.

A knock came at his door, but he ignored it. Leon Raime, in another unexpected show of generosity, had seen fit to furnish him with two meals per day—two good meals, certainly not the kind of slop that others might feed a prisoner. Still, at the ninth-tier, Daryun didn’t need the food, though he was grateful for it.

After several seconds passed and he didn’t answer, the door opened and the aroma of some kind of seasoned poultry hit his nose.

‘Smells like… northern river duck with spice-of-red… And some roasted potatoes from the indigo plains?’ Daryun didn’t even turn his head or project his magic senses; he identified it all based on smell. ‘Certainly a meal fit for the last—’

“Not even greeting those who bring you food is rude,” a smooth, familiar voice said behind him, and Daryun froze. The mountainous aura was gone, as was the stern, Kingly tone. That voice sounded too… normal for Leon Raime…

But when he schooled his expression and turned around, he found it to be true: Leon Raime was the one who brought the food this day—and indeed, had brought enough for two, along with what looked like some divine wine in a crystal decanter, deep amber in color and glowing softly in the dim light of Daryun’s lavish ‘cell’.

As he processed what he was seeing, the slamming shut of the door brought him back to his senses, and he realized that he was alone with the King… who was unarmed, unarmored, and wasn’t channeling his magic if his steady and sedate aura was any indication…

“Don’t get ideas,” Leon stated. “Violence won’t get you far, I assure you.” He spoke with his back to Daryun, to Daryun’s quiet shame. It wasn’t a thought he’d treated seriously, but he guessed he’d accidentally leaked enough killing intent to give himself away, anyway.

“What are you doing?” he asked, not seeing any need to see to propriety.

“I’d like to ask you that same question,” Leon said as his hands practically whirred over a table, plates, silverware, and crystal vessels finding their proper places in moments. “But I’ll answer it, first. We’re having dinner, Daryun, as two enemies who respect each other ought to before a fight to the death.”

“That is… counter-productive,” Daryun said, though the enticing aroma of what Leon had brought saw him on his feet and approaching the table anyway. Leon maintained a fairly informal attitude, making a bit of room for him as if they were two normal people, not a King and his noble prisoner. “I aim to kill you. Why do this?”

“You won’t succeed,” Leon stated as if it were divinely ordained fact, and Daryun had to suppress a shiver of resentment. “Whether in the arena or out of it, I will not fall to you. So let’s keep our disagreements out of it, yeah? No one has to die that way.”

“Everyone dies sometime,” Daryun dully replied. “Few are so privileged as to pick the time and place.”

“You have picked neither,” Leon responded. “You made the challenge, but I chose the time and place.”

“Few are so privileged…”

He enjoyed the look of mild irritation on Leon’s face for a moment before the King said, “Sit. Eat. I’ve found that the chefs in this place are quite skilled, and it would be a shame to let all of this go to waste, especially since it’s being paired with a delicacy I’ve brought with me from my home…” As he spoke, Leon uncorked the decanter, and Daryun suddenly found himself struggling to pay attention as a delectable aura floated free from the spout—whatever was in that decanter was divine.

“Ambrosia,” Leon said with a smile. “Some of the highest quality that my brewmasters can produce. This stuff is the ultimate training aid, and so much more.” He poured two cups of this ‘ambrosia’ before taking a seat.

With flagging reluctance, Daryun sat down opposite his captor, his anxiety fading in favor of desire for the cup of amber liquid. He reached out for it, brought the cub to his lips, and found that it was empty.

He blinked in surprise, wondering what had just happened, until he realized the warmth spreading through his body.

He’d already drunk the ambrosia. So divine was it that he practically blacked out for a moment, draining the cup in the meantime.

As he came back to, he found Leon chuckling at his expense, but with the power now filling him, Daryun couldn’t honestly get angry—even though it seemed he’d been out of it for a longer moment given Leon was already putting in work on his meal.

Seeing Daryun coming back to his senses, Leon said, “There’s more of that where I come from. Swear yourself to me, and you’ll receive a bottle every year.”

Daryun subtly slumped in his chair. He didn’t want to die. He wanted to live in peace, to see Alamati prosper in peace, to return to Kaarahi victorious, to honor his family and his gods, and even to seek out the secrets of magic that he’d never had time to truly pursue given his preoccupation with the Sylphians.

And yet… he’d already made his challenge. Leon was his enemy, a foreign invader, and Daryun couldn’t just swear his fealty to him. He couldn’t.

“Tell me, Daryun,” Leon began, his tone as if he were speaking with an old friend rather than someone he was going to kill in less than two days, “why are you resisting me so fervently?”

That was a question much easier to answer, but when Daryun opened his mouth, the words didn’t take shape. He wanted to say that he would resist any invasion at all, no matter the source, and that his people deserved to live in peace. But how much of that would matter to a conqueror? What could he know of peace? How could he value it?

Leon sighed. “I bring peace to Kesken, though it doesn’t seem like that now. I bring the universe to Kesken, too. This planar cluster is in a fairly isolated part of the universe despite being so close to the Nexus. It will be a vital stopping point on the way to the heart of my Kingdom within the Nexus, a place where millions will stop on their journey to my capital. Your people will live happier and safer lives under my reign—a reign that has been sanctioned by your former King, as you saw yourself aboard Storm Herald.”

“Imak was weak, in the end,” Daryun stated lifelessly, unable to bring himself to touch any more food after that one divine taste of ambrosia—though this wasn’t the sole reason for his despair. “He couldn’t stick to his principles. He gave up. I chose him to be my King because I thought he wasn’t just strong, I had thought he was just and ambitious. To sacrifice his Kingdom to spare his own life…”

“Do you blame him for that?”

Daryun needed a moment to answer, and Leon waited patiently. “… No,” he said, almost surprising himself. “Everyone wants to live.”

“True,” Leon said as he stared pointedly at him. “Your horse is doing well, by the way.”

Daryun felt like he’d been struck by a war hammer. “Scarlet Star…” he whispered. With the destruction of his White Horn Riders, Scarlet Star was the only friend he had left.

“Your people are in no danger from me, Daryun,” Leon stated, and in that moment, Daryun almost believed him. “Rescind your challenge. Swear your fealty to me, and I swear in turn that you will not regret it. I will take you into my retinue, to fight alongside me and bring your sense of honor and duty to my Kingdom.”

Daryun laughed with more confidence than he felt, though there was a noticeable tremor to his voice. “You’re not scared, are you, oh mighty King? Pleading for your life from your lowly prisoner?”

“I’m asking you not to kill yourself upon my blade,” Leon bluntly replied, deflating Daryun’s fake bravado instantly. “I’d find it a terrible waste of good talent.”

Daryun wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. Eventually, Leon sighed and rose from his seat, his meal already finished. He pulled the decanter back into his soul realm, leaving Daryun with no more than the single cup he’d already tossed back.

“I urge you to change your mind,” Leon said. “If you don’t, you will die.”

“Maybe…” Daryun whispered. “Or maybe you will, and all of this will have been for nothing.”

Though a provocative statement, Leon didn’t seem upset. Instead, he glanced out the window for a second before stating, “Everyone can die. There is no such thing as complete immortality, even for someone like me.”

With that, he turned to leave, though as he reached the door, he left Daryun with one final statement.

“Live, Daryun. You owe your people that much.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Daryun with much to think about, his commitment to the course of action he’d placed himself on at its lowest point since before he could remember. He rose from his seat, his food untouched, and kneeled on the floor in front of the window. He’d spend the remainder of his time in prayer. Even if the gods wouldn’t respond, it would at least help him ready himself for his last few hours in the land of the living.