Valence has never felt pain like this. It’s like there’s a collar of fire around his neck, constricting and letting in less and less air with every moment that passes.

  As if that wasn’t enough, his armour, despite the Stonewall and Spellshield Skills he imbued into it earlier, was unable to completely resist the spear of earth that Heir Titanbend used to pierce his side, his own spear lying unused.

  Earth-Shaping?! No one had indicated that he should expect such magic from the heir of Titanbend – if he’d known it was a possibility, he’d have used his Elemental Shield instead.

  And now he has yielded the duel.

  Fear of the consequences of his loss settles in his chest like a stone. But as his airways constrict even more and the blood pours out of his side, he wonders whether he’ll even have to face them. Lord Markus is the heir of a Great House, and the wound which Valence dealt him was severe indeed – the healer will go to him first. By the time the healer comes to the Lesser heir, it may already be too late.

  Flashes of thought go through his mind, some relevant, some not so. What will his House do if he dies? Who will they take as their next Heir? Guilt and regret ripples through him at the realisation that, completely counter to what he expected entering the arena, they are now questions which will need an answer.

  He knows there will be no consequences for House Titanbend if he dies, not as a result of an honour duel. Especially not one he called, and one that was so one-sided to his benefit. Everyone will consider it his just desserts.

  He tries to reassure himself that at least his House will benefit from what his patron offered whether he lives or dies, but it’s cold comfort. Suddenly, the price seems far too small for what it has purchased.

  And more fool he for convincing his father to go through with it! But Lord Torrent’s words had seemed so convincing!

  Valence had been incensed by how he’d been treated in the commercial district, his rage building with every step towards their rooms. It was shortly after that when Lord Torrent had invited himself to a cup of tila and had revealed that the new Heir Titanbend was nothing but a boorish commoner – worse, that he was unappreciative of the rank he’d been given, an honour coveted by almost every noble in Moriax. Valence’s rage had become incandescent.

  Looking back with the cold of defeat sobering his perspective, he now sees with shame how Torrent had led him by the nose – encouraging his arrogant assumptions and both subtly and overtly egging him on. He’d dropped hints of how Lord Markus had only had his Class for a single year, how he hadn’t even been in this world for more than a few days. How he’d already offended a noblewoman with uninvited physical contact and been rude to those he’d encountered – completely believable after Valence’s experiences.

  The prizes Torrent had offered his House had seemed like a gift – a reward for doing something he was champing at the bit to do anyway. He’d only backed away from a duel in the commercial area because of the reputation of the Titanbends; this new heir from common stock had been revealed to be an incompetent, ill-mannered weakling not worthy of it.

  Valence had wanted to meet him on even terms – there was no pleasure in a challenge when all the odds were stacked in his favour – but Torrent and his father had convinced him otherwise. And with the promise of the Torrents’ support against social censure for demanding such a one-sided duel – and the assurance that many other nobles would be grateful for their ranks to be cleared of such gutter-sludge – Valence had agreed to bend his own honour a little.

  More. Fool. Him.

  Lord Markus might not be a conventional fighter, or a conventional heir, but he is certainly not the incompetent weakling Lord Torrent painted him as.

  Valence had expected him to fall with his first Flurry. But somehow, he kept going. His spear skills were nothing to marvel at, but his sheer creativity in the arena was something Valence can admire. And his perseverance…. He still can’t believe that Lord Markus continued fighting even after he’d been run through! Born nobles have yielded after a far less serious wound, yet this commoner fought on?

  But Lord Markus has proven himself to be no ordinary commoner. Even through his discomfort, Valence’s lips quirk up slightly. Snatching his very sword and neutralising it in his Inventory so that even if he got it back, his imbued Skills would be lost…who uses such a tactic?

  Valence hears footsteps over the sand and twists his head slightly. The healer, dressed in robes of white, hurries over and kneels down next to Lord Markus. She’s taken her gods-blessed time! Or is his pain tricking him into thinking more of a candle has burnt than in reality?

  Valence lays his own head back down, resignation going through him. His airways have constricted so much that only sips of air are managing to make it through now.

  Yet somehow, he hears his father’s voice.

  “Use your Heal, stupid boy!” Father sounds frantic. Valence’s head pounds. “Use your Heal!” His father’s voice sounds closer. Valence blinks his eyes open – when did he close them? – and sees his father above him. A moment later, a hand lies on his side and warmth pulses through it. The pain eases slightly.

  It clears his mind just enough to realise what his father was saying. Heal. Heal.

  Reaching out to his armour like he’s grasping a lever, he triggers the Heal that he imbued into it just that morning. Unlike his father’s Skill, his own is a refreshing cold breeze that sweeps through his body. The swelling of his throat reduces, and his mind clears even further as glorious air reaches his lungs once more.

  He’d do it again but Skills imbued in his armour take some time to regain their charge in exchange for being more powerful. He wills his mana into it, but knows that it will still be half a flame before Heal is recharged. And Valence doesn’t have the time or concentration necessary to withdraw his Skill and use it directly. His father doesn’t have those limitations, but still, he isn’t repeating his cast.

  “Healer! Come here and help my son! He has too much sand inside him for me to heal him. He’s bleeding out!” Father’s voice is commanding.

  “Lord Markus was run through with a sword, Lord Fell,” the healer replies, her voice clipped. “I will attend to your son as soon as I can.”

  “It’s fine,” a voice gasps. Valence is surprised to recognise it as Lord Markus’. “I have a healing…Skill of…my own. Go to…Heir Fell.”

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  “Lord Markus….” The healer trails off. Valence understands. If Lord Markus dies because of her negligence, she can say farewell to her career – and perhaps even her freedom if her negligence is deemed egregious enough.

  “Go. It’s…an order.” Despite the gasps, the firmness of his tone is unmistakable. The healer hesitates for a long moment, but as Valence turns his head to look at her, he sees her make a decision.

  “Indicate to me if your injury becomes too much for your healing Skill, or the moment your condition makes a turn for the worse,” she instructs Lord Markus.

  “Agreed,” Lord Markus accepts, and then he closes his eyes and goes still. For a moment, Valence fears that he’s just had that turn for the worse, but then he sees the man’s breathing has steadied. He’s healing, then.

  The healer quickly approaches Valence and kneels down beside him.

  “Lord Fell, I’m relying on you to keep an eye on Heir Titanbend while I attend to your heir,” she warns. Valence isn’t out of it enough to not realise the implications of her words – if Lord Markus dies because she is attending to Valence, she will drag House Fell into the courts with her.

  “That won’t be necessary.” A new voice enters the conversation. Valence didn’t even hear the footsteps approach. He turns his head to see Lord Titanbend himself, not looking very pleased. He seems to be accompanied by a menagerie of beasts, all of whom immediately set themselves near Lord Markus. When Valence sees the claws of the larnatis-like creature, he shivers. Now he knows where Lord Markus drew those weapons from. When the creature eyes him hostilely, he shivers again, abruptly grateful he didn’t have to face it in the battle.

  That thought just reminds him of his shame. Even barred from access to everything his House is known to be strong in – including a powerful healing Skill, if the other heir’s confidence in his ability to heal himself is not misplaced – Lord Markus still won. No, Lord Markus is no commoner. He can’t be.

  “Lord Titanbend,” the healer gasps even as Father makes his bow as best he can, given his kneeling position.

  “None of that, now. My heir has given you a task. Do it. I will watch over Markus.”

  Valence can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief – Lord Titanbend could have easily demanded that the healer return to his own heir. But he didn’t. And just as well – to his discomfort, Valence feels the collar of fire intensifying around his neck again. I thought I healed that, he thinks in dismay.

  “Yes, my lord,” the healer hastily agrees and then Valence feels her hands make contact with his body, followed quickly by a wave of her magic.

  “Heir Fell indeed has many foreign bodies in his system,” the healer murmurs to his father. “Including an active poison.” Valence hears the last with grim understanding – Heal is notoriously poor at dealing with poisons. He must have just healed its effects, but not dealt with the poison itself.

  “Well get them out then!” Father demands imperiously. From his position, Valence sees how irritation crosses the healer’s face, but she bites back any comment she might have wished to make in recognition of his superior rank.

  Instead, she just concentrates on her task. The first thing she does is numb the pain, cooling the burning of his wounds. Valence sighs in relief and relaxes a little. He has had many injuries in the past while training and sparring with his friends, but this is the first honour duel he’s ever fought – and the closest to death he has come. And that’s including the beast wave he fought in – when he had been surrounded by his father’s guards and kept from true danger, he now realises.

  It’s a new sensation, recognising just how close to death he’d got.

  And how does Valence deal with the undeserved mercy Lord Markus has shown him in sending the healer to him despite his own severe injuries? When he was the one to call such an unbalanced honour duel for a fault he can admit now really didn’t merit it.

  Thoughts trouble his mind even as the healer works. Finally, she sits back and sighs. Valence forces himself to pay attention to her.

  “I have done what I can,” she says, directing her words to Father.

  “And what, pray, do you mean by that?” Father sounds wary, worried.

  “I have removed the sand and metal fragments from Heir Fell’s abdomen, and repaired the ruptures to his gut and kidney. That wound is now fully healed, though Heir Fell should take care not to place the area under too much strain until the healing has had time to settle. No more than light exercise for a week and if Heir Fell experiences any pain in that area, he must visit a healer immediately. The poison is another question. I have healed the wounds caused by Lord Markus’...claws, and the effects of the poison, but the poison itself remains active.”

  “Well get it out, then!” Father commands.

  “I cannot, my lord,” the healer answers, rather curtly for someone speaking to her superior. “I am not a poison specialist and this poison is not responding to the normal treatments. I can call for a specialist from the palace healing department, or you can take Heir Fell to one yourself.”

  “If you are not competent enough to do the job yourself, call for someone who can,” Father commands derisively. “I will not stand for my heir suffering a flame longer than he must!”

  “As you wish, my lord,” the healer replies forcibly calmly, pushing herself to her feet and striding off.

  “Pah!” Father exclaims. “What is wrong with the palace department, sending such an incompetent healer!”

  “She did manage to heal my stomach wound,” Valence points out, not sure why he does. Father is right – she is incompetent if she can’t even fully heal him. That’s why she’s permitted to be here, among the nobles. Isn’t it?

  Father makes a wordless noise and waves the thought away.

  “I could have healed that if it hadn’t been for all the sand in the wound.” He looks down at Valence and his fist clenches, his eyes brimming with worry. If they weren’t under the eyes of most of the nobility of note in Moriax, Valence suspects his father would have grabbed him in an embrace. But such emotional outpouring in public is the domain of peasants. Valence is grateful he’s showing as much emotion as he is. Especially since he lost the fight.

  Suddenly finding it all unbearable, Valence pushes himself to his feet, brushing the sand away from his armour. He knows his chamber slave will clean it later, but it’s something to occupy his hands with. The fight might be done, but he can’t forget what it means to fight a Titanbend. There’s a reason why honour duels are so rarely called against their family.

  And while he should feel confident in himself as a noble, the truth is that all he can see is the determination in Lord Markus’ eyes when he was sprawled out on the sand, blood pumping out of the wounds Valence had just given him. And the way he fought through a wound that should have crippled him, dragging victory out of the jaws of defeat.

  “Father…I’m sorry,” he says quietly, avoiding his father’s eyes.

  “For what, my boy?” Alerion Fell asks, moving closer and setting a single hand on Valence’s shoulder. He must be worried to offer even that much.

  “For insisting on this duel.” He swallows. “And for losing.”

  “Ah.” Father clenches his jaw for a moment, fear flashing across his face before he smooths his expression again. “It will be well,” he assures Valence, a false note in his voice. Then it firms and becomes more true. “Valence, just remember, you are not born of common stock; your birthright is that of power and influence. You were born to be great. Regardless of what happens next, I am convinced that you will achieve that – how could you do otherwise, Heir of House Fell?”

  Valence swallows again, then nods.

  “Thank you.” He turns, prepared to face the consequences of his choices.

  “And son?” Valence turns his head to look back at his father. “You fought well. I’m proud of you.” Valence gives his sire a tremulous smile, then firms his expression into the noble mask he has been taught. Peasants wear their hearts on their faces; nobles keep them hidden.

  And Valence, as his father has just said, was born and bred into nobility.

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