Leonidas stood silently before the portcullis of Dawnhaven Arena.

  His [Archon’s Warplate], minus his helmet, was equipped, his [Archon’s Psiblade] was in his hand, and his eyes were locked upon the massive gate with expectation. His [Psionic Focus] was already passively working, as it had been since the second-to-last day of his training with Ceruviel.

  At his side, Tarnys—having been appointed to watch his back along with his new Lance—surveyed the closed gates with more outward nervousness than Leonidas himself felt. The Haelfar seemed to feel as though he would be executed if Leonidas suffered something as simple as a splinter, and though the reaction was extreme, it was also somewhat endearing.

  “{You have everything you need?}” Tarnys asked again for the second time in the last hour. “{The Dusk-Lord assured me you were prepared, but it cannot hurt to ensure.}”

  Leonidas suppressed a smile at the question, but answered calmly.

  “{Three health potions, three stamina potions, and three psi potions.}” he confirmed with a steady voice and reassuring voice. “{Her Grace saw me well-equipped, Tarnys. The largest impediment to my survival, now, is what lurks beyond these gates.}”

  “{Good.}” Tarnys muttered with a nod, while folding his arms and forcing himself to lean against the wall. “{I was charged with your safety by the Dusk-Lord directly, so I must ensure I do not fail.}”

  “{The Arena is my own crucible, Tarnys. You cannot protect me from it.}”

  “{No,}” he agreed, “{but I can make sure you don’t die due to lack of preparation.}”

  “{Your concern is touching.}” Leonidas mused with a shift of his head toward the Haelfar. “{Truly.}”

  “{Hmph. At least your attitude is the same.}” The Elf said, though there was a quirk at the corner of his mouth when he spoke. “{It seems Her Grace’s training did not beat that out of you.}”

  “{Oh, no, she seemed to think my attitude was one of my strengths, actually.}” Leonidas answered with a wry shrug of his armored shoulders. “{I suppose it makes sense, given—}” he caught himself before saying the wrong thing, like ‘becoming a King’, and quickly amended his tac “{—her expectations for a Squire.}”

  “{Yes, well, with a Sovereign Ambition I can hardly fault the pride.}” The Elf said, with a slight shift of his posture and a wary look Leonidas wasn’t sure he was supposed to catch. It was only his intimate familiarity with Haelfenn, combined with Ceruviel’s lessons—a continuation of Lyara’s own, in fact—that allowed him to pick up on the subtle tension in Tarnys’ shoulders, and the way his eyes flickered across Leonidas in trepidation.

  The Ambition, he had learned, was a key part of himself that had to be kept secret. Knowledge of it would incite murderous reactionary aggression from many parties in the city, especially those loyal to Braedon. Thankfully, Tarnys all but worshipped the ground Ceruviel walked on. He could be trusted.

  At least, that was the Dusk-Lord’s read—and Leonidas trusted her instincts and psionic abilities both enough to take her at her word.

  For the most part.

  “{An Ambition is an Ambition, Tarnys. I did choose it, but it was also a case of it being the best of several bad options. Do not worry about it too much.}”

  “{I don’t think I want to know what the others were, if that’s the case.}” Tarnys responded with a small shiver. “{That is a scope of existence I am happy to be bereft of carrying the burden for.}”

  Leonidas laughed at that, though it was mostly mirthless.

  “{You have no idea.}”

  Their conversation was abruptly interrupted, then, by the sound of a roar from the crowd and the emphatic voice of the Arena’s announcer.

  “AND THERE YOU HAVE IT, CITIZENS!” the woman shouted in English with discernible glee, and a performer’s enthusiasm. “THE SHADOW WOLF HAS CONQUERED THE HIVE TYRANT! WHAT AN AMAZING END TO THE PREGAME SHOW!”

  “{Another Hive Tyrant?}” Leonidas asked with a dry voice. “{Does the Arena breed these things?}”

  “{One of the nearby dungeons spawns them semi-regularly.}” Tarnys answered, despite the partially rhetorical nature of the question. “{It isn’t entirely easy to capture them, but keeping them contained is easy enough with the right tools and Store items. Most of the beasts are kept in stasis until they’re needed.}”

  “{Huh. I should have asked about that sooner, I guess.}”

  “{I doubt it was a necessary part of whatever curriculum the Duchess chose for you.}”

  “{No,}” Leonidas said with reflection, and a realization that the minutiae of the Arena probably wasn’t something a monarch should worry about. “{I suppose it was not.}”

  “{I doubt the match was as harrowing as yours, for what it’s worth.}” Tarnys said with another appraising look, which Leonidas caught. This time it seemed to outweigh wariness with respect, which was certainly an improvement. “{Unlike you, the pregame contender this time was almost at their second temper.}”

  “{Yeah, that would make a lot of sense.}” Leonidas said in a tone that he couldn’t entirely keep from being sour. “{There was no Arena Master out to get them.}”

  “{The fellow that did that to you got his comeuppance, Achilles.}” Tarnys reminded him wryly.

  “{Still a} dick {move.}” he grumbled, to which Tarnys shrugged and nodded.

  “NOW, CITIZENS OF DAWNHAVEN, IT IS TIME FOR A SHORT INTERMISSION WHILE THE ARENA IS CLEARED—AND THEN, IT IS ON TO OUR MAIN EVENT!”

  Leonidas tilted his head at the words, and let out a sigh of relief.

  “{Finally.}” he muttered, the Haelfennyr leaving his lips instinctively after his week with Ceruviel.

  “{Impatient to court death?}” Tarnys asked wryly.

  “{No. I simply despise the waiting.}” Leonidas replied seriously despite the joking tone. “{I can handle fighting, that is simple enough: myself, the enemy, and my own wits and skills. That makes sense to me. It is comfortable, in fact—}”

  “{Well that makes one of us.}” Tarnys muttered, though Leonidas ignored it.

  “{—and is what I prefer, but the calm before the storm? That, Tarnys, is what really kills people.}” he continued with a gesture of his free hand. “{It lowers readiness, and hastens complacency. Idleness is a poison all on its own, when it comes to battle. It allows a warrior to lose themselves in their own head, and while I am not wont to fall into that trap, it still irritates me.}”

  Tarnys raised his eyebrows at Leonidas’ words, but nodded slowly after he finished.

  “{I suppose I can see your point.}” he said after a brief pause. “{Though I am surprised by that insight, admittedly. Did Ceruviel teach you that?}”

  Leonidas blinked at that in momentary confusion, and then realized that Tarnys, naturally, had no idea about his past.

  “{She taught me many things.}” he said instead of lying, and with every iota of his improved Charisma put into the words to give them weight.

  “{Good.}” Tarnys said in a tone that seemed convinced. “{Hopefully it will be enough—because I wager you have two minutes before they rip open these gates.}”

  “{Thank Christ.}” Leonidas muttered with a squint at the portcullis.

  Tarnys fell silent after giving him a quizzical look, but Leonidas paid it no heed. Instead, he saw to his final mental preparation: checking his character sheet to remind himself of his arsenal. The moment he had the thought the system complied, and his existence was quantified in a crackling red screen before his eyes.

  Name: Leonidas Achilles Romulus Paendrag

  Age: 25 | Race: Human | Sex: Male

  Core Name: Cataclysm Core | Core Stage: Formation

  Class: Psiarch | Level: 8 | Rank: Novice

  Health: 240 | Mana: (99) 123 | Stamina: 117 | Psi: 51

  Affinity: Psi | Archetype: Knight | Discipline: Duelist | Ambition: Sovereign

  STR: 29 | AGI: 19 | DEX: 22 | VIT: 24 | END: 31 | INT: 19 | WIL: 42 | CHA: 24

  Psi Skills: Psikinetic Blade, Psikinetic Shield, Psionic Focus, Psionic Swordforce

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Bonded Items: Archon’s Psiblade (38% Synergy) | Archon’s Warplate (42% Synergy)

  Knight Skills: Chivalric Charge, Coupe de Force: Premier

  Sovereign Skills: Noble’s Resolve, Oath of Fealty

  Titles: Human Forerunner (U), Mana Sage (E)

  Traits: Cataclysm (T)

  3,350 / 8,000 XP

  0 Attribute Points

  4 Skill Purchase Points

  0 Skill Upgrade Points

  0 Skill Evolution points

  His attributes had all seen massive gains under Ceruviel’s brutal training, but none more so than his Vitality, Endurance, and Willpower—all of which had skyrocketed past their previous values. His Intelligence had increased the least, due in large part to his utter distaste for studying, but his Charisma had improved respectably after the inundation of courtly tuition and active interaction with multitudinous Charisma-heavy individuals.

  Charisma, it seemed, was trained through—to nobody’s real surprise—social interaction, and he had been flooded with that over the period of Ceruviel’s training. His Strength, Agility, and Dexterity had increased as well, though with no real challenges of a similar weight-class they had been smaller rises when compared to his mental attributes.

  Ceruviel and the Simulacrums had been too strong, and the Duskguard warriors had not been fighting to their utmost to kill him. The System, as Ceruviel explained it, understood the difference between lethal contest and training, and it was very tight with skill dividends during the latter.

  Ironically, it was his traumas and the vicious physical torment inflicted upon him that created the largest gains. Being all but obliterated day-after-day both physically and mentally had sent his Vitality, Endurance, and Willpower into the clouds and Ceruviel was quite confident that he very likely had the most ludicrous foundations of any Novice in recent history.

  She was equally confident that nobody below Second Tier could truly challenge him. It was not a statement that either of them would take as gospel, given his own existence challenged the norm of what was considered possible within the scope of the System, but it was quite a boon to consider.

  More than anything, clarifying his sheet confirmed the truth in clear text.

  He was ready for whatever they might throw at him.

  “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF DAWNHAVEN—”

  “{Here we go…}” Tarnys muttered with enough trepidation that Leonidas could have been forgiven for mistaking him to be the one fighting.

  “—AND VALUED GUESTS, THE MOMENT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR HAS ARRIVED! PREPARE YOURSELVES FOR TWO DAYS OF ENTERTAINMENT, PROVIDED BY OUR VERY OWN DUCHESS LATHERIAN; THE DUSK-LORD OF DAWNHAVEN!”

  A roar of approval emanated from the crowd, and Leonidas smiled wryly. He could imagine Ceruviel standing, staring, and appearing as disinterested as if she were watching paint dry—and he knew the audience would lap it up. Her stoic indomitability was legendary by that point.

  “AS YOU ALL KNOW, RUMORS HAVE BEEN FLYING FOR A DAYS NOW THAT OUR DUSK-LORD HAS TAKEN A SQUIRE UNDER HER WING, AND I AM PLEASED TO ANNOUNCE—”

  “{Good luck, Achilles.} Tarnys said quietly. “{The bullseye just got planted.}”

  Leonidas but didn’t reply beyond patting Tarnys’ shoulder reassuringly.

  “—THAT SAID SQUIRE IS HERE TODAY, TO PUT ON A SHOW THE LIKES OF WHICH WE HAVE NOT SEEN IN MONTHS! HE HAS ALREADY MADE ONE SHOWING IN THE ARENA, WHERE HE…”

  The announcer was tuned out as she went on to recount his last appearance in the Arena, and Leonidas focused inward instead while closing his eyes.

  Stillness and Form.

  Focus. Harness. Control.

  He had made great strides in cycling his mana during his week with Ceruviel, and it was that very disciplined which he wielded in that moment—sending power through his body’s mana channels in controlled bursts to exacerbate his physical abilities, and lend him an extra edge.

  His Vitality improvements had also permitted greater tolerance to his own power, and what had once been teeth-gritting agony was now a tolerable sear, like a shower turned just too far up on the heat. Painful and discomforting, but very much manageable thanks in part to his immensely improved Willpower.

  His heartbeat echoed in his ears, his breath filled his awareness, and Leonidas felt himself slow—and then steady. He felt himself reach the center he’d painstakingly worked to find, and greet the equilibrium that Ceruviel had drilled into him with brutality and unrelenting pain. Like a metal thrust into fire and hammered upon the anvil, he had emerged as a honed weapon.

  Now it was time to be quenched.

  What better way than through blood?

  “...AND WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN OF DAWNHAVEN—”

  The portcullis groaned and started to rise, and Tarnys gave him a silent thumbs up.

  “—ALLOW ME TO INTRODUCE THIS WEEKEND’S HEADLINE CONTENDER—”

  Leonidas snapped open his eyes and stepped forward the moment the portcullis rose above his head, blade held ready but relaxed at his right side. His armored feet clanked onto stone as he walked, and he lifted his head to survey the crowd as sound and volume reasserted itself—though his internal equilibrium remained.

  Ceruviel had done a masterful job of ensuring that once he found his focus, he did not lose it easily, if at all.

  “—THE SQUIRE OF THE DUSK-LORD, THE BLACK KNIGHT OF THE ADVENTURER’S GUILD…”

  The title was new, but not unexpected. It was unlikely it had happened without Sinalthria’s influence, either, and Leonidas found himself smirking. The Black Knight? There were worse titles, though it was perhaps a little corny.

  “...I GIVE YOU: ACHILLES!”

  The crowd released a deafening roar at the announcer’s words, and Leonidas raised his blade in greeting as he walked toward his preplanned position at the center of the arena. Screams, whistles, and shouts of indistinct English and Haelfennyr both blended into a cacophony of noise—one which rolled over his internal focus like a wave over ancient rock.

  Leonidas knew what was expected, however, and offered the crowd his most charismatic smile; lifting his left hand to wave politely at the various peoples in attendance while his attention drifted toward the Royal Box overlooking the arena floor. He knew to expect Ceruviel there, of course, staring at him with the same impassive and stony expression she always wore.

  He did not, however, expect to see Princess Aylar, nor the Haelfar he recognized—from renditions, not personal experience—as Prince Braedon seated next to her. The realization that not just his mentor, but both Royals were in attendance almost made him laugh. Ceruviel had hinted it might happen, but neither of them had been certain.

  It seemed her instincts had been right again.

  “WHAT A WARM WELCOME FROM THE ARENA!” the Announcer called cheerfully from where Leonidas spotted her at the forefront of the Royal Box, in the rows below the Dusk-Lord and the two Royals she ostensibly protected. “DO YOU HAVE ANY WORDS FOR YOUR FANS, ACHILLES?”

  Leonidas lowered his hand at the announcer’s question and turned his gaze across the arena’s stands. His eyes flitted across its denizens, noting that a large majority of terrans were in attendance. The Duskguard’s warning came back to him, and he filed it away for consideration while he weighed what to say. He couldn’t be seen to be pandering, because that would make him look weak—and he couldn’t be seen to be haughty, because that would make him look arrogant.

  Instead, he simply turned back to the announcer and offered a poise-perfect courtly bow.

  “It is my privilege, honored Announcer, to be able to represent both the people of Terra and the traditions of the Haelfenn that have joined us in our motherworld.” he said with smooth evasion of the potential trap. “While I am young, I hope to prove that the Dusk-Lord’s choice was sound, and that I can yet become a bridge between the old world and the new, much as Dawnhaven has become a sanctuary for both.”

  Leonidas’ [Psionic Focus] honed in on the announcer while he spoke, and he felt the moment that the Haelfar reacted to his words.

  Shock. Surprise. Amusement.

  Excitement.

  Silence followed his words for two thunderous heartbeats, and then the arena exploded. A wave of adulation washed over him, and Leonidas steeled himself against the emotional tsunami that crashed into his honed senses. Terrans and Haelfenn alike were roaring their approval for his words, and he very nearly sagged in relief—saved only by the discipline instilled in him to maintain his image. In many ways, this arena session was his debut to the city at large in truth, and he had no intention of ruining it.

  “WELL THERE YOU HAVE IT!” the announcer declared with an audible grin. “A TRUE KNIGHT, WORTHY AT LEAST IN COMPORTMENT TO BE CONSIDERED THE DUCHESS LATHERIAN’S SQUIRE!”

  Another wave of thunderous approval followed before she spoke again.

  “NOW UNLESS THERE IS ANYTHING FROM OUR ESTEEMED GUESTS…?”

  She along with many eyes in the arena turned to the Princess, Prince, and Dusk-Lord—and all three shook their heads. Ceruviel impassively, Aylar graciously, and Braedon with a smile that Leonidas felt was about as sincere as a penguin in madagascar.

  “...I ASK YOU, ACHILLES: ARE YOU PREPARED?”

  Leonidas smiled up at her, as much for the announcer’s benefit as the crowd’s.

  “I am.” he said calmly, and with neither aggrandizement nor arrogance. It was all well and good to play the Knightly role, but sometimes less was more, and the crowd could turn sour quickly if they thought all he wanted to do was seek their approval. It was best to be succinct where he could, to avoid tainting his good impression.

  “THEN LET US MEET OUR FIRST CONTENDERS!”

  Leonidas turned where he stood and planted his bastard sword on the stone before him. His hands folded together to rest on the amethyst in the pommel, and he took up a position of knightly preparedness, while his blue eyes sought out his opponents.

  A portcullis on the far side of the arena from where he’d entered rolled upward, and from the darkness emerged six large and gangly shapes. Their bodies were a mix of green and mottled brown, with large and wide noses, tusked mouths, tufted hair on their heads, and permanently scowling brows. Leather and chainmail adorned their bodies, and they carried a mix of spears, swords and shields, and even what looked like a gnarled ruby-topped staff in one case.

  Leonidas knew what they were immediately, and his jaw tightened reactively.

  Hobgoblins. This can’t be a coincidence.

  His eyes flicked toward the Royal Box, and he saw Ceruviel give him the faintest of nods.

  “OUR FIRST CHALLENGERS ARE THE HOBGOBLINS OF THE TOOFYSTABBAS TRIBE, A GROUP THAT OUR NEW HEADLINER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED WITH.” the announcer began with glee, while the audience booed and hissed at the Hobgoblins. “THE TOOFYSTABBAS WERE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE DESTRUCTION OF AN ENTIRE TERRAN SETTLEMENT, AND IT WAS JUST LAST WEEK THAT ACHILLES PUT AN ENTIRE CADRE OF THEIR SMALLER KINFOLK TO THE SWORD IN VENGEANCE.”

  +{Take advantage of this, Achilles.}+ Ceruviel said to him telepathically while the Hobgoblins, after listening to the announcer, turned their hateful eyes on him. +{I set the stage for you with intention. This is not the time for restraint. Your foes will not see you fight, but the crowd will. Dismantle these brutes, and show them who you are—who you really are.}+

  +{A bit obvious, Ceruviel, is it not?}+

  +{The best spectacles often are.}+

  “IT APPEARS THE TOOFYSTABBAS ARE NONE TOO HAPPY ABOUT THAT PARTICULAR REVELATION.” the announcer said, to the roaring approval of the crowd. “PERHAPS THEY WANT VENGEANCE OF THEIR OWN.”

  Leonidas snorted under his breath at the announcer’s words and lifted his blade. His helmet, previously absent, materialized upon his head in a flash-crackle of scarlet lightning—and the crowd howled in approval.

  “IT APPEARS OUR HEADLINER IS EAGER! WELL, LET’S NOT KEEP HIM WAITING!”

  The Hobgoblins barked at one another and split up; four of them moving to flank him, while another stayed at the side of what he assumed was their spellcaster. The fifth pulled a savage-looking horn shortbow from where it was hidden on his back, and reached back to withdraw some arrows.

  “LET THE FIRST MATCH…”

  Leonidas breathed out steadily, and summoned Psi into his left hand in preparation. Within his solar plexus, his [Cataclysm Core] roared to be unleashed, and he grinned with quiet approval beneath his helmet.

  He saw no reason to deny it.

  “...BEGIN!”

  Leonidas charged, and the crowd screamed their approval.

  far too long.

  five chapters are all gratuitous violence.