As a king of eighty years of age, you tend to witness any number of things: wars, struggles of any kind, and discrimination of the most meaningless things, to name a few. King Thordan had lived through many hardships; his family of the past were not nobles; hence, they only held the title of royal family for seven generations. He faced many perils and opposition in his position as king. But through it all, he remained steadfast.
But there was a moment ten years ago when the three large nations were still at each other's throats, when entire kingdoms waged war just to have the single spawn of Octavia for themselves.
The ruined town lay in shambles, its skeletal structures towering like gravestones against a bruised sky, swirling with dark clouds that echoed thunderous roars. The air was thick with the scent of charred wood and acrid smoke, punctuated by kinetic flashes of energy and the resonant clang of metal. The Vel'ryr soldiers, encased in their sleek, black high-tech armor that shimmered a deep crimson under the intermittent lightning, maneuvered fluidly between the remnants of once-proud buildings. Their plasma rifles, emitting eerie red glows, fired off searing bolts that collided with the Galadriel soldiers, whose armor gleamed under the bubbling, chaotic magic surrounding them.
Each Vel'ryr soldier moved with almost robotic precision, covering flanks and rolling between wreckage pieces, only to rise and engage again. A squad leader barked commands through their armor's internal communications, sharp and crisp, as they executed a synchronized advance. One soldier slid behind a crumbling wall, timing his move with the movement of his comrades, then sprang from cover to unleash a volley of plasma fire at a charging knight clad in glistening silver and aqua armor, the distinctive insignia of a roaring lion emblazoned across the breastplate.
The Galadriel soldiers surged forth—their shining armor was intricately designed, etched with runes that glowed under their movements. A knight, tall and proud, with a flowing cape blustering against the wind, raised a gleaming, jeweled sword high. With a single mighty swing, he sent a shockwave of energy that shattered a nearby pillar, sending shards careening towards a group of Vel'ryr who dove for cover. Amidst this chaos, sorcerers clad in deep blue robes with silver trim channeled mana, their hands swirling with golden light and incantations that erupted into blasts of fire and ice, forcing Vel'ryr to evade the oncoming barrage.
As King Thordan, draped in resplendent armor that seemed to hum with power, stepped into the fray, the battlefield shifted. His helm bore a crest, and his gauntlets crackled with mana as he shouted rallying cries that pierced through the sound of war. Brandishing a massive sword inscribed with ruins, he charged into the Vel'ryr ranks, each swing of his weapon cleaving through armor as if it were parchment and sending soldiers sprawling. His presence ignited the morale of Galadriel's ranks, and they pushed forward, feeling invincible under his command.
In a series of clashes, Thordan parried a soldier's plasma shots with a deflection spell, redirecting their energy to a nearby building, which disintegrated under the energy's force. As Vel'ryr regrouped, a team inserted advanced cover fire, suppressing the knights with rapid bursts, yet each knight countered with agile maneuvers, closing the distance. One young Vel'ryr soldier caught the glance of a knight, sensing the imminent duel just as the knight leapt forward, his sword raised in a glinting arc. The soldier rolled to the side, feeling the rush of air as the blade missed, then countered with a volley of shots, forcing the knight back momentarily.
Simultaneously, the sorcerers raised their hands, weaving an array of flame and frost and launching an amalgamation of javelins made of pure mana towards the Vel'ryr, who dove behind ruined barricades as vibrant explosions sent debris flying. In this dance, soldiers and sorcerers performed harmonious, complex maneuvers; Vel'ryr would divert attention towards one sorcerer, only to be interrupted by the relentless advance of the Galadriel knights, who surely cherished each moment spent battling these invaders.
Amidst the onslaught, Thordan pushed ahead, his arcing sword cleaving through the air as he targeted the Vel'ryr commanders who guided their troops. Every movement was deliberate and punishable; a single misstep invited retribution. One Vel'ryr surged forward, his plasma rifle raised ominously, but Thordan was swifter. With a fierce block and a martial spin, he countered, catching the soldier off guard, his blade slicing through armor and flesh, leaving nothing but a wounded figure grasping for breath.
As the dust settled briefly from the previous clashes, a sudden shift in the air crackled with a foreign energy, like the stillness before a storm. Without warning, an impossibly fast figure darted into view, a blur against the chaos of battle. The young man, scarcely more than a boy, moved with precision that belied his speed, his heavy black armor glimmering ominously with red accents. A long, gleaming blade reminiscent of a katana danced in his grip—a crimson edge that seemed to thirst for more red.
In a heartbeat, Selwyn Von Auerswald was upon the Galadriel soldiers. His movements were a blur of precision and lethality; soldiers barely registered his presence before they felt the cold slice of his blade across their armor. To one side, a knight readied a swing, only for Selwyn to close the distance, ducking low and delivering a brutal upward slash that sent the knight sprawling backward, his scream drowned out by the din of battle. With seamless flow, Selwyn turned, catching a sorcerer mid-incantation, his red blade tracing an elegant arc through the air to cleave through the man's magical shielding and then his life, ending it with a flick of his wrist as if simply swatting away an annoying fly.
Selwyn continued his assault, darting in and out of the ranks of Galadriel soldiers. A triple strike sent a trio of knights crashing to the ground; their armor ruptured, and the weight of their fallen hopes was evident on their faces. With each cut, he seemed to teleport between opponents, a blur of inhumane speed against the backdrop of the sprawling battlefield, his sharp features set in an expression of disinterest, almost boredom, as he manipulated the chaos to his advantage. His eyes, gleaming red and filled with detached confidence, betrayed a youth that thrived in the war, yet behind them lay the ferocity of one who had a world to conquer.
Suddenly, rigid tension snapped through the air when Selwyn locked his gaze on King Thordan. The old monarch stood at the heart of the fray, rallying his troops with commands and morale-boosting shouts, yet Selwyn's presence shifted the battlefield's energy. With a predatory smile, Selwyn lunged, cutting through the remaining Galadriel soldiers with brutal efficiency until he stood before the king.
As the ebony-haired youth attacked, King Thordan barely managed to grasp the situation, raising his ornate sword just in time to block the incoming strike. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through his frame, jolting him backward, his feet skidding across the ground as if he were a statue being toppled over. Thordan's eyes widened in shock, not at the strength of the strike but at the stunning swiftness of this young man—this lethal prince of Vel'ryr.
"You are Selwyn Von Auerswald, are you not?" Thordan demanded, his voice steady and laced with authority despite the tremors of shock still coursing through him. He studied the youth before him, noting the distinct armor, the frivolous coattails that caught the wind, and the audacious crimson blade that whispered of ill fortune. "Why do you, the crown prince, partake in the slaughter of the innocent?"
Selwyn regarded him with an air of disinterest, flicking a droplet of blood from his gleaming blade as he responded. "Bore me not with the moralities of your kind, old man. I came here for sport." His tone dripped with ennui, and his expression was one of arrogance and derision as he sized up Thordan, almost as if he were a mere obstacle to be discarded.
Before Thordan could respond, Selwyn surged forward, his blade all but a blur. The king, seasoned though he was, struggled to react to the velocity of the attack. In one fluid motion, Selwyn spun, the blade cutting through the air like a comet, leaving a streak of crimson light in its wake.
A heartbeat passed before anyone could comprehend the violence—King Thordan gasped as the razor edge of Selwyn's weapon cleaved through his armor, delivering a devastating strike that left a deep gash across his chest. He staggered, the momentum carrying him back as the roar of battle dulled around him, a surge of horror and disbelief echoed by his soldiers, who froze at the sight of their king wounded.
Despite the terrible wound, Thordan's spirit remained unbroken. He could feel the pain coursing through him, but the cry of his men and the overwhelming sense of danger brought clarity. "You think this is over?" he barked defiantly. But even as he spoke, he knew Selwyn's swift attack had left him questioning his own resolve. The young prince stepped back, a flash of disappointment flaring in his red eyes as he regarded the fallen king with a frown.
"It seems to take more than a single stroke to end an old dog," Selwyn mused, his disinterest returning as he acknowledged the king's tenacity. The agonized screams of the Galadriel soldiers echoed in the background, mingling with the concerned murmurs of Thordan's men as they rushed to their king's side, panic and despair settling into their ranks like fog.
As Selwyn prepared to strike again, the battlefield thrummed with an impending confrontation, the war resuming mere inches from where the fates of kingdoms and empires. The once-invincible reputation of King Thordan wavered, now facing the cold, wickedness of a young prince fueled by ambition and relentless prowess, and the outcome of this brutal game was an overwhelming victory for Vel'ryr.
-------------------
He stared at the masked boy; confusion gave way to slight anger, and his brow furrowed as he shook off the remnants of the memory.
"Do you mock me, Aleister?" Thordan questioned, leaning forward from his throne. Aleister resisted the urge to roll his eyes as King Thordan continued. "You expect me to believe this child faced and matched that monster." He scoffed. "Even Inheritors would lose against him; the only one to ever stand against that man was an equally monstrous opponent, that of the Inheritor of the God of Strength."
Aleister shrugged. "Like I said, get someone to use a charm to see if Mikoto is lying; better yet, have them just go through his memories." King Thordan pursed his lips, high claims his words may have been, but in this day and age, there was no use in telling such a tall lie. Magic came into play once again, like Aleister said there were charms to detect lies or simple mind-reading spells.
"You truly fought the prince?" Astrid asked curiously as she gazed at Mikoto.
"There's no reason to lie." Mikoto drawled. "I can demonstrate if you want."
"There's no need." Thordan breathed out; memories of Selwyn's power resurfaced, but he banished those thoughts as he gazed at Mikoto. "Children, leave us for a moment. I wish to address Aleister alone."
Mikoto obliged without question, and Astrid gave her father a questioning gaze before following along. After Mikoto, the two exited the large throne room and stepped on to the expansive and elegant hallways. The large doors seemed to shut themselves as Mikoto leaned against a wall near a window.
("It must be hard for that geezer to believe.") Mikoto reasoned, folding his arms. ("Selwyn seems to have quite the reputation; that's understandable. Being all but immune to magic and having an entirely foreign power would do that. Still, it felt like he had a trump card; he is fixated on me, so I'll fight him at the festival either way. So I have to make sure to study Arcane Ascendance as much as possible, though if all else fails, I'll kill him with harbinger.") But there were still other things to consider. ("I would rather not get up and personal with the guy, but I wonder if I should invest time in swordsmanship. I tried to keep my distance most of the time the last time we fought, but if I got close, he'd have the advantage. Hmm, though I can't use a harbinger for some sword fight, what to do, what to do?")
"I must say I've never seen fathers this disturbed or shaken, seems the most appropriate." He heard Astrid murmur.
"Is it really that shocking?"
Astrid shook her head. "More than that, it's unthinkable." She stated. "Selwyn Von Auerswald, he's a fierce man reminiscent of a destroyer. It is said he remains undefeated, and not to mention he's conquered entire countries on his lonesome; it would not be accurate to say he was merely a powerful man. A monster among monsters."
"Didn't seem that scary; with time, I'll be able to beat him. I am pretty strong after all."
She chuckled. "Somehow I cannot help but believe your words, Mikoto, right?"
"Yeah, a pleasure."
"Likewise, but you were part of that new Luminare Academy curriculum, right?" He nodded, and a bright smile enveloped her face. "Then did you happen to meet a girl named Mirabella?" She asked almost excitedly.
"Yeah, we're friends, best buddies in fact." If possible, her smile grew all the brighter.
"Really? Fantastic!" She exclaimed, sounding a little too happy. "Haha, sorry for the outburst; it's just that she's my little sister, you see. Mirabella was always quite reclose; at least my youngest sister had her best friend Gwendolyn, but Mirabella is often seen as brash and violent by others'. She gave a wry smile. "But she really is good at heart—a bit bashful but a good person nonetheless."
Mikoto hummed as he nodded his head. "She was pretty mellow for the most part when we were in Verdantis. She also didn't mind accepting my help with more delicate magic." Astrid seemed surprised, but a smile of pride adorned her lips.
"Ah, Mirabella, has she truly grown so much in such a short time?" She seemed like a proud mother, if anything. "At any rate, I have to thank you for being friends with Mirabella. Please bear with her, regardless of how brash she may seem."
"Not a problem," Mikoto waved off. "Her personality does remind me of my own sister, so it shouldn't be too difficult."
"Oh? You have a sister as well." She questioned me curiously.
"Yeah, a little sister; she's a little brat, but well, I do love her." He spoke, and a hidden smile crept onto his face. "But then again, little siblings are just like that, huh?"
She chuckled in agreement. "You have the right to that. Little Mirabella and Valerie would often drive me mad with their shenanigans."
"Glad to have a kindred spirit."