Seiken Densetsu
CHAPTER 1: Burning Heart
“You’re up.” said one of the veteran soldiers. The boy to whom he referred looked far too young to be sharing the barracks with his fellow knights. He was on one knee with his hands and head leaning on the pommel of his sword, likely offering words in prayer to the Mana Goddess. At being called forth, the boy stood, giving one long sigh. He looked toward the veteran knight and could see the corridor past him illuminated by sunlight pouring in from the arena. He had already passed this corridor several times within the day, yet now it truly beckoned. He sheathed the sword to his hip and raised his shield in his left hand. “You fight in your father’s name,” said the veteran knight as the young man approached the corridor. “Heaven only knows you could not have come this far otherwise.” The young boy hid a smirk that was forming at the side of his mouth. “Fight well.” And with that the young boy entered the golden passage.
“Citizens of Valsena,” King Richard began, “Today we hold ceremony as we have countless times in the past- with song, with cheer, with drink and with a burning fire in our hearts. I am reminded of our country’s last melee some years ago, in which- as some of you may unfortunately recall- I was shamelessly thrashed about the arena by our late Knight of Gold.” The enchanted crowd laughed jovially. “Time can grant us such cherished memories that can only grow sweeter in remembrance and time can bring about countless ceremonies for the years to come, but as we all know, it can also give to us grief and sorrow.” He continued in a solemn tone. “It has been many years now since Golden Knight Loki was lost in the Dragon War and not a day passes that I do not miss him.” A few heads in the crowd bowed in quiet mourning. “His dedication and service to this country as well as his skill and reckless charm go unmatched to this day. Yet, my good countrymen and women, today I am once again reminded of the gifts that swim and grow with time. And so, I am honored to present to you the day’s final match.” The Kings voice began to rise and the cheer was forming on the faces of the crowd once more. “You have followed him as a child and watched him grow into the young image of his father. You have seen him today do battle with the best of soldiers and come out victorious. He has fought his way to the final match despite his youth and inexperience.” King Richard gestured toward the east of the arena and all eyes looked on with anticipation. “Citizens of Valsena! I present to you, Duran, mercenary of Valsena and son of Golden Knight Loki!”
The crowd went wild as they beheld the young man entering the arena. He was a handsome fellow who wore the look of one stern and dedicated, but also youthful and even innocent. He tossed his red ponytail to his back, raised his shield and bowed his head to his fellow country-folk and they roared in response. It wasn’t due to him being the offspring of one of their cherished heroes, though that does account for the lot of it. To them, the boy was the representation of a new generation. A generation that was full of life, ambition, hope, pride and strength. The generation born from the hardship and loss sustained during the Dragon War. To all of those at the tournament, Duran was the very meaning of their sacrifice.
“And to the west, I present a man who has had his share of clashing steel on the battlefields. He has quickly gained an outstanding reputation amongst his peers as an exceptional fighter and has risen through the rankings to become the leader of the Silver Horsemen. I present to you, General Christophe!” The crowd went equally hysterical as a huge man in full silver armor stepped out from the hall into the arena. He was an impressive sight, glistening in his silver and standing at six feet, seven inches. He raised his two handed sword and hollered the cry of the Golden Knights - ‘sai calael’ - which meant ‘to heaven’ in an ancient Elven dialect.
“Warriors of Valsena!” the king roared. His visage had changed from one of merriment to one of commanding intensity. Duran and Christophe immediately faced him at attention. “You two fight on behalf of your honor, your country, and in memory of those who came before you.” His steel face quickly melted into a chivalrous smile. “Do not disappoint them.” And with a quick blessing from the Priests of the Mana Goddess and with a rich tune from the trumpets, the battle began with earnest applaud.
Duran readied his sword, taking cover behind his shield in a defensive stance. Christophe reticently approached with his two handed sword out before him. As he neared, Duran lunged forward with a thrust, still keeping his face hidden behind the wooden shield. Christophe easily parried it and maintained his poise. Duran regained his balance and began circling Christophe.
“You should not be so eager to capture you father’s name.” Christophe jeered in a hard voice. Duran remained silent and continued circling him. “It is not too late to retire, boy. Why don’t you continue your training with the other knights and come back to me when you are more prepared?” He was not so much taunting as he was honestly consoling him. However, If Loki’s boy needed a good knock to the head to understand the discipline within Valsena’s knights, Christophe would not hesitate to deliver. In fact, he would be honored.
“Stay your tongue, knight, and fight me.” Duran sneered.
“Don't be foolish. This will be no simple sparring match as with the other knights. Unlike those who would show you leniency on behalf of your heritage, I withhold nothing.”
“Of course! How could I expect such restraint from a man who refers to himself as ‘Bruiser’ on the battlefields?” Christophe chuckled. It was a title he had earned from his closest brothers-in-arms when, after a hard week of training and a few too many drinks at the pub, he had beaten several men after they commented on his large stature being a result of ‘inadequate manhood’. Yet he was becoming more annoyed with Duran’s brash attitude and more eager to beat it out of him. For a man of his repute, he was not one to waste too much time on talk.
“Very well, boy.” He raised his weapon over his head slowly, as if he was lifting something well over his own weight. “Have it your way.” His sword smashed into Duran’s shield with a blinding speed. Splinters shot forth as Duran toppled over and tried to regain his composure. Meanwhile, Christophe was back in his stance with his sword before him. Duran tried to look unimpressed but he felt the power of the blow still trembling through his arms and down to his legs.
“Alright then, I see from where you get your name. But I assure you,” Duran poised as if to lunge at Christophe. “It will not be enough to take me down.” Duran charged at him attempting to bash him with his shield and throw him off balance, but Christophe stepped into him as he moved forward. Christophe was almost double his size, and Duran crashed into the fully armored knight and took a blow to the head from the pommel of his sword. Duran stumbled to his side, his head spinning. The audience groaned as they heard the crack against Duran’s iron helmet. Duran fell to one knee and took a moment to gather himself. Shouts from the audience pleaded for him to rise. Christophe remained at ease, allowing Duran time to recover.
“Hmph. What was that you said, boy? Not enough to take you down? Well I certainly
hope I did not over do it.” Christophe scoffed. Duran embedded his sword into the gravel and used it to pull himself up. “Stay down, I beg. I do not wish to make this any harder on you.” Christophe implored, but Duran had a fire in his heart unlike any other and he would not see himself defeated by one blow in the final match. He got to his feet and took cover behind his fractured shield.
“Begging for an easy victory?” Duran said, his voice slightly quivering. “It is unfortunate that I’ll not be granting you one this evening.” Though he could never admit it, Christophe admired the confidence in Duran. It reminded him much of Loki. But Duran was far from his father’s image in that his father had the skill to follow through with his word. Years of praise and pampering had made Duran arrogant and his head full of pride and glory, so Christophe believed, and the knight meant to set things into perspective.
He pulled Duran toward him by his shield and tossed him to the side. Duran stumbled, but regained his footing. He turned his head just in time to see a glint of light shooting towards him. Hoisting his shield with his left hand, he parried Christophe’s sword with all his might. The heavy sword crashed into the gravel and embedded itself firmly within. Duran saw his opportunity and he swung his blunted steel into the back of Christophe’s right leg. The towering man fell to his knee and Duran swung his shield around into the behemoth’s silver helmet, sending it flying to the ground. Christophe was anything but stunned and he retracted his head giving Duran a grisly smile. He reached towards the young mercenary and grabbed onto his sword arm with a fist like the maws of a lion. Duran’s first reaction to pull away proved fruitless, so he instead tried to smash Christophe’s arm with his shield. Yet as the shield plummeted, Christophe released Duran’s sword arm and retracted his own, causing the shield to swing passed its intended target. The shield zipped by with such force that Duran spun around in a half-circle, exposing his back to his opponent. Christophe reached for the collar of Duran’s tunic and yanked him to the floor. He hit the ground with a thud that made the crowd buzz. Christophe seized the moment and quickly planted one knee on Duran’s chest and the other on his sword arm. With the wind already beaten out of him, the added weight of the silver titan made it much more difficult for him to suck in air.
“I’ll not shame Loki’s blood and beat you like a child from this vantage, but I demand that
you swallow your pride and resign from this fight.”
Duran was now under Christophe’s control, but the young man would not yield. He tried to attack Christophe once more with his shield but the knee on his chest made extending his left shoulder difficult. The knight caught his shield and stripped it from his grip. Duran tried to squirm free from the pinning knee but was unable to. He twisted and thrust his hips and shoulders in every way, but the knight was just too large. The crowd became very anxious and began to holler and yell in disapproval.
“Listen to them.” Christophe urged. “Do you not hear their disappointment?” Duran had finally ceased struggling to break free. He breathed heavily, eyes closed to shield them from the sun. “Contrary to what you might believe, I take no pleasure in this.” Christophe shifted his hips to make himself more comfortable upon the now motionless Duran. “I respected your father very much and I would not have his only son make a fool of himself in a fight that he cannot win. Resign with dignity and I will continue to train you and shape you into something more.” He looked at Duran sternly. “I have given you more chances that I should have. Speak!” The boy would not respond. The large knight sighed. “Arrogance, pride...they come at a price, my young friend.”
Christophe reached for his two handed sword still embedded in the gravel. Duran glanced downward at the knight’s hips and saw Christophe’s silver helmet resting near his foot. Christophe was taking a moment to withdraw his sword from the ground and this granted Duran just enough time to take action. Duran hooked his foot into the helmet and thrust his legs upward. The sudden force shoved Christophe to his side which lifted the knee on Duran’s chest. Duran reached towards the silver helmet with his free hand, unhooked it from his foot and clutched onto it. He then smashed the helmet across Christophe’s face twice. Christophe glared at Duran with an expression of blistering surprise at the first blow. The second blow sent the knight crumbling to floor.
