Crowned by War II

Preface: A follow-up/part two of this piece. When I was originally writing that one, I had intended to include the duel that followed between Marten and Bellerex, but as I was writing it at work between tickets, and wanted to post a response before the post on Reddit got too old. (I tend to go for as fresh a prompt as I can, for maximum eyes on a response.) The OP praised what I posted and expressed their desire to see the fight itself. And since I did somewhat feel like it was unfinished, I decided to oblige.

"Come then, boy, and test your mettle against the Lord of Battles, and see if you can take my crown from me! You face the King of War, and you had best not disappoint!"

We stood in the sand-covered floor of the arena, the stands around us empty and barren. Above and across from me stood the Shrine of the War Crown, hanging with the banners accumulated over the ages by the one who wore it. It had showed the long-practiced care and maintenance, its earthen tones re-painted when needed, the scarlet adornments and accents also, the gold and silver and platinum filigree here and there polished. Only the Sign of War itself above the shrine needed nothing, a divine blessing keeping it cleaned and gleaming.

The sands in the arena had been smoothed and swept, raked into a mandala pattern with the same long care. Apart from around the pair of us. I was simply armored, light mail and plate with the sphinx-sigil and colors of the Bellicon League, a vambrace and gauntlet on my left arm, a bracer on the right, greaves and sabatons. I held my gladius at one side as I faced down my opponent.

Bellerex, by contrast, wore no armor whatsoever. He was bare to the waist, his body hale and well-built despite his age, and showed the multitudes of scars that he'd taken over the millennia of his existence. Tattoos banded his arms and his neck, though the ones on his forearms were hidden by the leather wraps he'd tied around them. He wore loose, pristine white trousers, with black footwraps and legwraps below the knee. His clean white teeth showing in the midst of his short-cropped gray beard beneath a shaved bald head. He bore a blade in each hand, a falchion on the right, and a short xiphos on the left, both held in an almost lazy, loose grip. Around his brow sat his crown, an iron circle wrought to resemble interlocked blades, woven with chain-like designs.

The echoes of his last boast faded in the grounds of the shrine, and I set my jaw. "Have at you!" I declared, and then I moved.

Only one such as he could have seen me move. I felt the parry of my slash, my vambrace already up to intercept the retaliatory swing of the falchion. Bellerex smiled as he regarded me, the xiphos locked with my gladius. "Oho! Such speed! But I could hardly expect otherwise of any challenger for my crown."

Sand fountained upward from the tamp of my foot, breaking the blade-lock. My armored arm knocked his falchion away before I lunged inward to slam into his broad chest. It was like striking a wall, but there was a micron of a step backward as he strengthened his stance. His arms scissored inward, to aim for a grapple or grip, but caught only air. He turned his head to look up, watching as I somersaulted over him, but then was already moving out of the way as, mid-turn, I suddenly catapulted back down, the slash parting the air with a sound like tearing silk.

"Ah-h-h," his satisfied sigh reached me as the sand fell back to the floor, xiphos held reversed as he scratched at his beard. The old man chuckled. "That lunging strike actually made me give ground, however small. And the air-step as well! Such techniques I've not seen in so long--"

He had to interrupt himself to sidestep my next attack, but his reverse-swing of the xiphos-- intended to strike my head from my shoulders-- went over me as I instead spun low, my legs scything at his. His stance was too strong to topple him, but I had not expected it to. I used that iron strength in his thigh to step up his flank, rising up at head height. I could see the delighted surprise in his expression as my other foot came around and cracked off the side of his skull.

The blow did knock him off balance, but he was still upright as I landed and moved in. The flat of my sword caught his wrist, knocking the xiphos to the sands, before the vambrace caught him in the jaw, I flipped the gladius around and caught him in the temple with the knot. He staggered again, still off balance, before grunting as I brought the gladius across his collarbone and upper chest. I felt the edge bite at his flesh and smelt the spill of fresh blood before I leapt away again, re-adjusting my grip as I watched him.

Bellerex had regained his footing, and was looking at the blood trickling down from the injury. He touched it and licked it off his thumb. "The fabled technique of the Bellocin masters. The strength of the ox, ferocity of the lion, the speed of the hawk," he recited the tenets of the league's style. "Of course, boy, you know this as well--"

I turned, parrying his own blinding speed, bending backward to avoid the cross-swing that came in response to the parry, and was already blocking the knee that came up with my greave. He was laughing as I used his raised leg for my own to step off of, thrusting myself backward, handspringing to come upright, then air-stepping upward to avoid the fresh blitz rush.

But then he leapt after me, air-stepping himself to match me. "--I was the one who taught the technique to the League to begin with!" He air-stepped again to lunge for me, only to get knocked back to the arena floor with my left hook. He landed nimbly, rotating his arm as he watched my own descent. "Hell of a punch, boy."

I nodded at the compliment. "I am not hailed as Marshal Strongarm without reason."

The old man chuckled. "I would be a fool to assume you didn't have other tricks up your sleeve, then. Not merely mastery of the Bellocin technique." This time his parry was faster, and so was his retaliation, leaving a scratch across my plate before I leapt clear of his immediate reach. He was already upon me less than a blink later, and I trapping his punching arm underneath mine. "Aha, you think at this close range I can't use the falchion effectively and can use your free hand for a solid punch or two before I'll get free--"

He had been expecting me to go for the face and head, perhaps under the impression that I could silence his declamations. And it was true that I value less verbal sparring in a melee, but instead of going for his face, I got one punch in on his liver before he tucked his right arm in and trapped my armored fist. He did not crow about the trap, merely grinned again, before his head snapped forward. I'm no stranger to the Weagian Kiss, I've utilized it myself, and endured them more sturdily than others.

Others weren't wearing an iron crown when they did it, though.

My vision went blurry as I staggered back from the clutch, feeling my skin split and bleed where the crown had struck. As fast I could be to recover from such a blow and get my vision back, I knew I didn't have that kind of time. I shut my eyes and let other senses prevail, managing to block the falchion again with my armored arm on an instinctive reaction. I heard the movement of air and turned, barely parrying a swing, then grunting as his fist caught me in the jaw. I managed to turn with the blow to avoid getting it dislocated, and kept turning as I dropped, again sweeping low with my foot.

Once more, his stance was too sturdy to be felled by the kick, so I tried the step-climb off his knee again. This time he was turning in response to it and his fist once more got me, striking me in the chest and sending me flying backward. I only just managed to turn and use the air-step to slow my momentum before landing in an awkward stumble. My vision was clear enough to see him already closing again.

Another tamp of my foot sent a fountain of sand up, obscuring my presence long enough to get out of the line of his charge, but I heard him laughing again as I blinked my eyes to finish clearing my vision. The lingering ache throbbed in my head from the headbutt, I could feel the blood trickling down my face, and managed to see him slowly advancing. "You've been the best fight I've had in at least five centuries, Marten!" he declared. "Not many people can remain standing after taking two of my blows!"

"I wouldn't expect so," I admitted. "Not many could even stand a chance against you."

The old man tilted his head. "I've proven I can keep up with and counter your Bellocin techniques. You've felt my physical might. And still there's no fear in you."

I scoffed. "To live without fear is to be a fool. Accepting one's fear and mastering it is key to reaching your best self."

Bellerex chuckled, but shook his head. "No, even the best of challengers that have faced me have had fear inside them. These were men and women I know had mastered their fears--"

"--and you beat them all because in spite of that, they still had fear of you," I wiped blood from my face with a cloth. "If not when they stepped onto the sands with you, then certainly not long after, when they realized exactly what they were facing."

"And you aren't afraid of me, boy?"

He was upon me again, hoping to instill that missing fear into me with another blitz rush. But his step faltered when I threw bloody cloth in his face, once more somersaulting over him with a slash of my own, then air-stepping back out of his furious whirling swing's range. More blood splattered onto the sands from the fresh wound across his shoulder blades, but he laughed again as he popped his neck.

I faced him. "I knew what I was walking into. I knew who I was facing. Amras the Last."

His smile at last faded. I nodded. "That was your name, long ago, before you came out of the Far Reaches, wasn't it? With your company of heroes? Sezuai, Rhaene, Nehtana--"

"Do not speak their names!" His voice roared now as he came for me again, with speed that eclipsed the blitz rushes earlier. I had already moved to avoid his furious pursuit, once again tamping down my foot to send a fountain of sand in front of me to obscure my escape. When he turned again to find me, he had to jerk his head out of the way of the xiphos, which I had scooped up and thrown at him. As it was, it tore his cheek open.

"You miss them, don't you?" I asked him, as he felt the fresh well of blood on his face. "You've wanted a worthy challenger not so much for the fight, but because you want someone who can beat you, so you can move on to wherever they're waiting for you."

My escaping dodge wasn't fast enough either, as it caught my arm. If it hadn't been my armored one, I would have lost the limb. I could feel blood slicking the interior of the vambrace and gauntlet as I air-stepped away once more, but he was doing the same in the chase. Once again, I tamped my foot, but he was too close this time and the falchion slashed through it. I leant back from it, grunting as it caught the bridge of my nose and edge of my cheekbone.

"I won't keep falling for the same tricks!" Bellerex snarled as I parried his next swing, ducking close and bulling into him with the blood-soaked vambrace. "Did you want another butt in the head, boy-- yeeaarrrgh!!"

The scream came as I sank my teeth into his gashed cheek and tore a strip from his face. I spat his flesh into the sands and then blood into his eyes before reversing my gladius and bashing the knot into the wound. He stumbled back with a wild swing of his falchion, but I had already ducked and air-stepped backward.

"You want to die!" I shouted at him. "But your pride won't let you lay down and accept defeat!"

His eyes were blazing as he looked up at me. His smile was more fierce, with less delight in it now. "Oh-h-h, I'll make sure your armor has pride of place in the trophy case, Marten of the Bellicon League--"

He stopped to catch my flying knee in his free hand. I was able to see the astonishment at how fast the attack had come before the other came up and into his chin. He staggered back, tanking the downward hammer-fist of my gauntlet across the back of his neck. He still managed to step back and avoid most of the upward reverse-slash of my gladius, leaving another bloody carve in his chest. He blocked the follow-up slash, then grunted as my armored hand slammed into his liver again.

I jumped back as he aimed another punch, then watched as he felt the fresh slash on his chest, the bloody mess of his cheek. "You've been holding back?" His voice was bewildered.

I said nothing, knowing that he would work it out quickly enough. I was proven right when he chuckled again, nodding. "Of course. I wanted a worthy challenge," he spoke out the thought process. "If you'd come out with everything from the start, and it failed at the outset, you'd feel the fear you won't let yourself have. Because if I went down from your best shot, you had nothing left to fall back on, and-- you knew I would be disappointed in that." He looked up at me with a new respect in his eyes.

I nodded. "Ramp up my techniques as you adapt. So in the end, I know I've either died giving you a worthy challenge, or I have elevated myself to the point that I can surpass you."

He gave another, somewhat rueful, smile and chuckle, before his lip curled, distorting the ruined side of his face. "And invoking their names?"

I shrugged. "Bringing up your former comrades let me know that my theory was right. Your pride won't let you go without falling to a worthy foe. I suspected when I studied the teachings of my antecedent, Tiran Soldat."

"Ah, word of his prowess reached me, of course," the old man admitted. "I regret that he never sought me out."

"By the time he learned of your shrine, he was unable to make the journey." I shrugged again. "Lungrot had taken root by then. He could never have allowed himself to face you at anything less than his best."

The old man laughed, sadly this time. "Perhaps I shall meet him, whenever I move on to what comes next." He gripped his falchion sturdily. "Our next exchange is going to be our last, you know this, yes?"

I nodded, squeezing the grip of my gladius tightly. "I won't hold back this time, and I know you'll be coming at me with everything. Perhaps I'll fail to stop the wars eternal, but it won't be because of weakness."

He nodded again, and there was a silence that fell as we each took the moment to center ourselves. I saw the instant before he was going to move, and I once more tamped down my foot. But this time, every bit of sand in the arena leapt into the air, obscuring everything, and causing his blitz rush-- faster than the fastest blink-- to falter as he lost sight of me.

I had already moved aside from the path of his rush, then air-stepped back in behind him, my sword cutting across the backs of his legs. I heard the stumble, then the crash as he went tumbling to the arena floor as the sand fell back down around us. As I slid to a halt, I could feel my muscles screaming at me; forcing myself past my usual limits with the speed of my technique was not without consequence.

So I was limping with stiff, sore legs as I approached the old man, who had turned onto his back, blood pooling around his maimed legs. He propped himself up onto his elbows, falchion having fallen and spun away in his collapse. He had a smile on his face as I shambled up to him. "Ah-h-h," he sighed. "You didn't hold back. Thank you."

He regarded me from where he lay. "You know what awaits now, yes?" He reached up and took the crown from his brow, holding it up toward me.

I stood back from it. "I do not want your crown--"

"Want has nothing to do with it, boy," he snapped. "I was not the first to bear it. Nor will you be the last. But the crown will always be borne by the one who bested their predecessor. Take it."

His tone brooked no argument. I grasped it, and he pointed a finger in command. Reluctantly, I planted the gladius in the sands as I took it with both hands, settling it on my brow. There was a Power in it, one which was waiting for me to complete one final task, before it would reveal itself to me. I looked back at the old man.

"Peace, the world will get for a while," he said, as he lay back. "It won't last. It never will. But for a while, the wars eternal will stop." He settled himself. "But now... the time has come for me to move along to what comes next." A sigh. "Finally."

I took up my sword and held it ready. He watched it rise, and nodded. I plunged it down into his heart, and he let his eyes close with a content smile at last. So passed the One Born of the Far Reaches, the Eternal Champion, Lord of Battles, King of War. Called Karlvon, Yudaragi, Vasto Polmarc, Bellerex, Amras.

The Crown's Power whispered, but I let it know that I did not wish to know its secrets yet. I needed rest, myself, and then to see that the old man received a proper send-off.

In time, others would come to the shrine. Others would add their armors and weapons to the trophies. More banners would line the path through the valley.

They would come to face the Last of the Bellicon League, Scion of Tiran Soldat, Marshal Strongarm...

Marten, Crowned by War.