As the crowd's silent amazement settled and they processed how smart the ten-year-old crown prince was, I continued with more force and verve.
"There's more to yesterday, my brethren. It was a complete, decisive victory without any casualties—but it doesn't stop there."
I let the silence hang for a moment. Let them feel the weight of it.
The audience gave me bewildered looks, wide-eyed and breathless, waiting in anticipation for me to tell the rest of the tale.
"A thousand bandits lay bound as we entered Fort Gehena. Soldiers cheered and celebrated with the brethren they had freed from the depths of Gehena.
Two thousand soldiers stood under the sun, their eyes squinting against the daylight they hadn't seen in over a decade. Brothers embraced as they reunited—some laughing, some crying. A rare, heartwarming moment amid the blood and dust of war.
The young prince smiled. Just for a moment.
Then his gaze darkened, and his voice cut through the air like a blade.
'Bring me their leader. Now.'
The celebrations stopped. Cheers died on trembling lips.
Two soldiers stepped forward, dragging a man eight feet tall with a massive, hulking frame and a commanding presence. His hands were bound in iron chains, but his eyes still carried the sharp glint of defiance.
They forced him to his knees before the prince—who stood no taller than four feet and eleven inches.
The size difference was laughable.
But no one was laughing.
The prince's gaze never wavered, his voice as cold and sharp as steel.
'State your name and title, ruffian.'
The bandit leader glared at him, a sneer twisting his face. 'Why should I tell a little brat like you anything? Go back to your mother's lap, pipsqueak. You're not even worth my time.'
The bandits around him burst into crude laughter, their jeers filling the air. The prince's soldiers, though, remained deadly silent, their hands twitching on their hilts.
Rhydher didn't flinch. He took a slow step forward, his voice like ice.
'You think that's clever? That weak little insult? It's nothing more than the pathetic screech of a dying man clinging to his last shreds of pride.'
The bandit leader's grin faded, replaced by an uneasy shift in his stance. 'What did you say, kid?'
'You're out of your depth,' Rhydher replied, his tone a controlled fury. 'You're a joke, and you've made yourself nothing more than a pitiful distraction. I still haven't heard your name, but at this point, it hardly matters.'
The bandit leader's jaw tightened, frustration building in his eyes. 'I'll kill you, brat!'
Rhydher's lips curled into a small, dismissive smile. 'You can try—but you'll fail.'
He stepped closer, his voice now a whisper in the bandit's ear.
'But it won't change anything. You're nothing. You think you can threaten me because I'm a kid? Pathetic. Here you are, bound in chains, standing at death's door. I could have you executed right now—but that wouldn't be any fun.'
The bandit leader, now visibly trembling with rage, found his voice. 'You'll regret—'
'Enough.' Rhydher's voice thundered across the square. The entire area seemed to quiet at his command. 'You can keep barking, but the truth is, you're already defeated. Despite your numbers, your position, and your weapons, you couldn't even kill one of us. Weakness and stupidity—that's all you've shown me.'
The bandit leader stood there, seething with frustration, his pride completely shattered. His men were silent now, the weight of Rhydher's words settling over them like a blanket of dread.
'What's the matter? Did you see a ghost? Or are you missing your mommy?'
A few soldiers chuckled. It was the bandit's fault—he started it, and now he was paying the price.
Rhydher's gaze sharpened. 'Just extracting information and killing you wouldn't be any fun.' He smiled coldly.
'Let's have a duel. If you win, I'll let you all go. But if I win, you'll tell us everything we want to know… then I'll dispose of you as painlessly as possible. Better than being tortured to death, right?'
The bandit leader's head snapped up. His sneer returned, though the fear behind his eyes was unmistakable.
'You've got a death wish, kid.'
Rhydher's eyes glinted dangerously. 'Careful. You're already on borrowed time.'
The bandit leader forced himself to his feet, his chains rattling. He towered over the prince like a mountain.
Rhydher remained still.
The prince's soldiers, despite their discipline, showed flashes of unease. The size difference was obscene. The bandit leader's strength was evident in the bulging muscles beneath his tattered armor.
Then Rhydher spoke, his tone flat and commanding.
'Release his shackles and give him his sword. No one interferes in this duel. If he kills me—let him go.'
A ripple of disbelief passed through the gathered crowd. The soldiers stiffened. The bandits grinned.
'You're quite the cocky little brat,' Hode sneered. 'Not that it matters. This'll be over before you regret your words, flower boy.'
The iron cuffs fell from his wrists with a sharp clink. A soldier presented his weapon—a five-foot-long sword with a chipped, weathered blade. Even the sword was taller than the prince.
Rhydher drew his own sword, the polished mythril blade catching the sunlight. He lifted his small, rectangular shield—barely larger than his forearm.
They stood in the middle of the fort, under the eyes of everyone. No cheers. No sound. Just the weight of collective breath held in silence.
To any outsider, the outcome was obvious. A towering monster with a five-foot sword against a boy who barely stood to his chest.
The bandits' faces twisted into confident grins.
But the soldiers of Drakseid didn't doubt him. Not for a second. They knew their prince.
The duel overseer, General Maxwell, stepped between them. His voice was steady and sharp.
'There are no rules for this duel. Anything goes. You win when your opponent is dead or surrenders. The arena is this entire ground. Now—fighters, introduce yourselves.'
Rhydher's gaze sharpened. "Crown Prince of Drakseid, Rhydher H. Drakseid. No title yet."
The bandit leader grinned, his teeth flashing in the sunlight. 'Gregor N. Hode—Man-Eater of Verdune.'
Maxwell's eyes narrowed. 'Both fighters have introduced themselves. At your pace—START!'
Hode Moved First
Hode charged, sword raised high, a wall of muscle and steel bearing down on Rhydher. The ground trembled beneath his heavy steps. His strength was undeniable—if he connected, it would be over in one blow.
Rhydher didn't move.
Hode's sword swung down, fast and brutal.
Rhydher sidestepped. Barely an inch of air separated him from the blade as it cut down. The impact cracked the ground beneath them.
Dust rose. Hode's grin widened. 'Too slow, brat.' He thought he struck the prince.
From the dust Rhydher's sword shot forward. A clean, surgical strike aimed at the inside of Hode's knee.
Hode twisted—too slow. Steel kissed flesh. Blood splattered across the dirt.
Hode growled, staggering back. But his grin remained. 'That all you got?'
Rhydher's eyes sharpened. 'I'm just getting started.'
Hode's foot slid back into a balanced stance. His sword rose at an angle. His breathing steadied.
Rhydher saw it immediately—corrected grip, adjusted weight distribution, increased speed.
He's learning. Good.
Hode stepped in—no reckless charge this time. A calculated swing, low and fast. Rhydher's shield snapped down to intercept—
Clang!
The force shot up his arm. He felt the bite of impact in his shoulder.
Hode followed through, pressing his weight into the blade, trying to lock Rhydher down.
Rhydher slid under the pressure, twisting his body. He let the blade scrape down his shield's edge—
Slide—
Hode's stance opened.
Rhydher's sword flashed—
A shallow cut across Hode's ribs. More blood.
Hode roared, pivoted, and swung his sword wide—
Rhydher ducked. The blade cut through empty air, and Hode's overextension left his side open.
Perfect.
Rhydher's sword shot toward Hode's ribs—
CLANG!
Hode's elbow came down, deflecting the strike with raw strength.
Hode's fist shot forward—
Rhydher's shield snapped up. The blow connected—
CRACK.
The shield held. Barely.
Rhydher slid back a step, his arm numb from the impact.
Hode's grin sharpened. 'Not so easy, huh?'
Rhydher's gaze darkened. 'You think this is difficult?'
Hode's breathing sharpened. His stance adjusted again—higher guard, balanced weight. Rhydher analyzed every movement.
Rhydher shifted his weight. His feet adjusted. His breathing slowed.
Reading the stance of his enemy. Predicting his opponent next strike. Exploiting the weakness.
Hode lunged—fast. His sword angled downward, aimed at Rhydher's left side.
Rhydher stepped into the attack—
Shield raised—
Metal met metal—
Scrape—
The angle forced Hode's sword down—
Rhydher dropped low—
His sword flashed across Hode's exposed thigh—
Cut.
Blood sprayed.
Hode stumbled. One knee hit the ground.
Rhydher didn't hesitate. He slid behind him—
Blade reversed—
He cut clean through one of Hode's Achilles tendon.
Hode roared and collapsed to one knee, breath ragged. His sword wavered.
But he didn't drop it.
Blood pooled beneath Hode's knee. His breathing hitched, but his eyes were steady. He still had fight left.
Rhydher's gaze sharpened. "Not bad, old man." Hode wasn't that old just massive.
Hode raised his sword. Determined to win. One last swing—
Rhydher charged.
Hode's sword swept low—
Rhydher jumped.
His shield and sword aligned.
Direct strike.
The mythril blade sank into Hode's chest.
Hode's eyes widened. Blood surged from his mouth. His sword slipped from his grip.
Rhydher twisted the blade—
RIP.
He pulled it free with a clean arc of blood.
Hode's knees hit the ground with a dull thud. His chest heaved, blood spilling down his lips.
Rhydher's gaze was ice. Slowly, deliberately, he gripped Hode's hair.
'Look at me. Man-eater of Verdune. I am the son of Drakseid.'
Hode's dazed eyes lifted toward Rhydher's face.
'Tell the tale of how a ten year old beat you in hell.'
Rhydher raised his sword high—
SWISH.
The mythril blade cleaved through muscle and bone with chilling ease.
THUMP.
Hode's head hit the ground and rolled, his face frozen in shock. Blood sprayed across the dirt in an arc of crimson.
Hode's body slumped forward, lifeless.
An arrow cut through the air toward Rhydher's head—
SNAP.
Rhydher caught it mid-air with his left hand. He dropped the arrow at his feet.
His gaze settled on the kneeling bandits, trembling beneath the weight of what they had witnessed.
'Brute force triumphs smarts. Smarts triumphs brute force.'
He glanced once more at Hode's lifeless body, his tone cold and cutting.
'I have both.'
The crown prince was victorious."