Chương 4: The Star-Element Gauntlet

Many armies of the Ostravian Empire can claim glory, but none can claim it like the Bratstvo Morosov. They are raised in the far northern ice-forts of Severny Zimograd and the cliff bastions of Moroskaya Hold, where the sea between Ostravia and Vyrmgaard narrows into a knife-thin strait of pure black water and screaming wind. They do not fight men. Demon war-barges crawling from Vyrmgaard. Horned mariners from the abyssal broods. Rift-spawn from the Worlds Between.

The Bratstvo Morosov board them in storms, burn them in ice-choked water, and drag their captains out of the rifts for execution. Once, it was said that when the strait froze over during the Winter of Bleeding Stars, the Bratstvo Morosov simply marched across the ice and continued the war on the other shore until the demon incursion had no choice but to retreat and regroup. If a Bratstvo Morosov calls you strong, pray he is wrong so he does not drag you into war as well.

—Excerpt from 'Notes from the Northern Nakri Campaigns', Written by Ilyan Vorograd, Surveyor of Strongholds Every servant froze where they stood. The two lines of noble guards by the doors stiffened. Even Milena's finger went slack on Orland's hand after Kazimir hauled him up by the collar. The only one who didn't look remotely shaken was Kazimir himself, because Orland's heart was hammering so hard behind his ribs he felt it might just burst from the anxiety.

"... Kazimir! Are you deaf as well as old?" Ludoslav barked behind Orland.

"You stand in my foyer, before my household, and call the Hero a fraud? Have you misplaced your senses along with your youth?"

"Unhand him this instant, Kazimir," Milena said sternly, placing a hand on the man's shoulders.

"Papa welcomed him himself. I don't know how the Braststvo Morosov welcome guests in the north, but—|"I was there when the boy deemed worthy of obtaining the 'Hero' Title was blessed in Relikov City last year," Kazimir said coldly.

"I attended the ceremony in which Naghari the Sage, the Saint-Archbishop, and the Saint-Monarch themselves stood witness and gave the Hero their blessings. There were hundreds of thousands of people who attended that same ceremony, and all of us watched the Hero depart through the southern gates." Several servants started looking around nervously. For his part, Orland really had to stifle down a gulp. Relikov City? Saint-Monarch? Naghari? The names meant nothing to him, but maybe that was the problem.

"The Hero received his blessings from the Saint-Archbishop on a distant stage when I saw him, yes," Kazimir continued.

"He was already wearing his mask, and the crowd was also thick as wheat in harvest, I will admit, but even from that distance I could tell the Hero was taller. Broader in the shoulder, harder built, and less…" His lip curled faintly as he looked Orland up and down.

"Rough-looking. The Hero was a fine young man worthy of divine blessing, and this boy is not him." The whispers grew. He could hear the room turning. It only took one accusation for half a room's welcome to become suspicion—he knew because he'd lived his whole life under it—so maybe it was a good thing his heart was beating so fast, because he actually managed a spur-of-the-moment smile out of sheer panic.

"Captain… Kazimir?" he said.

"If I'm not the Hero, then how do I have this?" He jammed his right hand under his coat, slipped it into his gauntlet, and pulled it out. Gleaming. A collective gasp swept through the foyer, and even Kazimir flinched at the sight of it.

"There!" Ludoslav boomed.

"There, you old wolf! Look with the good eye you have left! That is the Star-Element Gauntlet given to the Hero by the Curator Church and the Chosen Assembly!" Then he stepped closer, gesturing at Orland to lift his gauntlet and open his hand. He did.

"Look at the palm. The gemstone. That is the five-pointed star sigil. Is that not the very crest flown on every flag in this town tonight?" Dozens of eyes dropped to the gauntlet now. Truly, the five-pointed star on the gemstone in the gauntlet's palm was unmistakable. Not that Orland could tell anyone what it meant.

"... Indeed." Kazimir's jaw shifted.

"But relics can pass from hand to hand, and I am still not convinced he is the Hero I saw four months ago."

"Not convinced? What more do you need? A signed letter from Naghari tied around his neck?"

"I want a duel." The foyer perked up at once. Guards straightened. A few servants who had looked scandalized a moment earlier now looked thrilled at the possibility of evening entertainment for all.

"If the boy truly is the Hero, then he should have no issue besting me," Kazimir said, glaring at Orland.

"He is meant to defeat the Fiends of Calamity and destroy the Tyrant of Vyrmgaard. What use is a Hero who loses in a mere duel against a retired, disgraced soldier of the Bratstvo Morosov?" Then he dropped Orland and backed up into the foyer, creating space between them. Before Orland could even rub his neck and straighten his collar, Kazimir unsheathed the silver blade at his side—and blue frostfire crackled along the edge as he pulled it out. A delighted murmur swept through the assembled household.

Some of the guards actually grinned. One of the younger servants even let out a small, excited noise with a blush on her face before realizing she was in the presence of elders, and she retreated to reacting like the others: awed and eager in equal parts.

"Drop this at once, Kazimir!" Ludoslav snapped.

"By salt and saints, the Hero is an honored guest under my roof!"

"The Hero is an honored guest," Kazimir replied." If he is here." Ludoslav opened his mouth again, but then he seemingly thought better than to argue with the man. He stepped back instead, dragging Milena with him by the wrist—and now it was just the two of them Orland on one side of the foyer with a gauntlet he barely understood, and Kazimir on the other with a frostfire sword. … Bad, bad, bad. What the hell do I do? He'd hunted and fought many manners of lower magic beasts before, but never a human.

Not one who was actually trained in combat, anyways.

The last thing he'd ever looked to do was aggravate a townsguard enough to make them want to kill him, and the closest he'd ever gotten was just an hour ago, when Ruslan sicced a few guards on him. And that sword… it looked fierce as hell. There was no way he could— Kazimir lunged. One heartbeat the man stood across from him, and in the next he'd crossed the floor, blade cutting white-blue line straight for Orland's throat. Shit! He jerked aside on pure, panicked instinct.

Steel and frostfire hissed past his neck as he stumbled sideways, and only now did he realize Kazimir wasn't messing around. The man was fully intent on killing him.

"... He looks off-balanced," someone whispered from the back.

"That can't be right," muttered another voice.

"Kazimir was a captain in the north, yes, but shouldn't the Hero be much stronger still?" A third voice.

"Maybe the old wolf… is onto something?" Everyone was watching him now with a different kind of interest than before, so Kazimir turned to face him again, giving the blade a small flourish.

"What's wrong, Hero?" the captain asked, voice as flat and cold as steel.

"How does it feel to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders?" Then Kazimir came again. The next slash came just as fast as the first, and Orland threw himself back again, nearly tripping over his own leg. The sharp edge nipped his thigh through the cloth. Half the room gasped alongside Orland as a jolt of pure freezing heat ran up his leg—a horribly, horribly strange sensation—but still Kazimir didn't stop. Again. Again. Again. If Orland had to put a name to the man's style, it would be 'ferocious'.

As swiftly as a serpent striking its prey, Kazimir slashed at his limbs, targeting his extremities. The strikes were wild. Too much strength in them, but just as much control—Orland was too desperate. Every dodge barely put him out of harm's way. A nick at his forearm, a cut across his coat, and a sharp graze along his ribs made his breath hitch. Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. Bastard's carving me up slowly.

When Kazimir stepped in for another slash at his neck, he predicted it and ducked—only for the man to suddenly sweep with his legs, kicking Orland off his feet. He groaned as he hit the ground on his shoulder. If there was any weakness Orland could discern from Kazimir— anything at all—it was that the man's footwork seemed just the slightest bit sluggish. With that metal brace over his right leg, he had to be injured and unable to run. Was there anything Orland could do about that? Anything at all?

What I did before to Ruslan and the others—can I do it again? Make lumps of earth beneath his feet? Easier said than done, of course. As Orland rolled over, dodged a downwards stab, and hopped back onto his feet, Kazimir resumed a flurry of attacks, even faster, even sharper. He was almost rushing Orland with a maddened frenzy. A stab here, a punch there, striking Orland in the jaw and staggering him back.

At some point, Kazimir had stopped trying to land decisive fatal blows, and was seemingly intent on knocking him around to make a point. If he were to lose here, he'd lose his credibility as the Hero. They'd put tags on him, figure out his real name, unveil his real face, and… what? Off with his head, then tossed back to the slums with the rest of his body in pieces? … Fuck that. Gritting his teeth, he backpedalled a few steps after a kick to his stomach and clenched his gauntlet.

Kazimir stepped after him, rearing back an overhead slash that Orland could even predict the trajectory of: onto his shoulder, diagonally through his torso, and out through his hip. A bisecting cut. Maybe Kazimir was telegraphing it because he wanted Orland to know there was nothing he could do to prevent it, but —he could work it to his favor. He still didn't know what his gauntlet's ability was, exactly, but somehow he knew he had to grab that blade. Activate, activate, activate!

Kazimir's sword came in a bright arcing line of frostfire. Stop it! And then the floor in front of him exploded. Stone blocks shattered in a spray, and from that shattered patch of floor, a massive rock hand shot up and caught Kazimir's blade with a solid clang. Orland blinked. So did Kazimir as he scowled and yanked hard, trying to wrench his blade free to no avail. Frostfire crackled angrily and tried to shatter the hand, but the rock held. … Go!

He bit his tongue and uppercutted with his right hand, driving his full weight straight into Kazimir's stomach. It wasn't his best punch by far, but Kazimir was already struggling to pry out his blade. The punch landed, making the man double over—and Orland followed that with the hardest kick he could muster into Kazimir's right leg. Fate decided to throw him a bone, and something in that metal brace loosened. Maybe a bolt. Maybe a screw.

But Kazimir suddenly buckled, losing his balance on one leg, and that allowed Orland to jerk his gauntlet aside. The hovering rock fist mimicked his movement, wrenching the frostfire blade out of Kazimir's hand. For a second, as Orland reared his rock fist back and prepared to punch down at Kazimir, time seemed to slow. Kazimir gave him a hard, cold look. This guy…

Then Orland punched Kazimir in the face, and his rock fist followed with a second punch, slamming Kazimir into the ground and shattering the fist in the process. Afterwards, silence. … For one awful second, Orland stared down at Kazimir's unmoving body, panting wildly. Chisel me blind. Did I kill him? He dragged in a breath through his nose— then another, and another, forcing his shoulders to settle.

Everyone in the room was staring at him now, and the stunned silence stretching through the hall felt heavier than Kazimir's sword had. The quiet made the back of his neck itch. If he said the wrong thing now—if he looked afraid now— everything would collapse on him. So he did the only thing he could do.

"... Sorry, guys," he said, putting a crooked grin on his face as he straightened and wiped a smear of blood off the corner of his mouth.

"I… uh, I fought a few too many powerful beasts on the road here today, so I was just a little tired. I needed a warm-up first." For another heartbeat, the room stayed silent. Then the tension snapped like a rope, and the foyer erupted in cheers. Servants clapped their hands and laughed in relief, and some shouted praise to the saints. The noble guards evidently enjoyed that valiant display of power, too, because most of them started nodding approvingly as though they'd expected nothing less from him.

"Of course!"

"The Hero has been travelling across all of Ostravia, slaying beasts and demons day and night!"

"He must be exhausted!"

"And still he gave us a show!" Naturally, the Hero had let Kazimir push him around for a moment. Naturally, the Hero had just been holding back. Naturally, the Hero had ended the fight the instant he chose to, because the Hero was truly the Hero after all. Even Ludoslav recovered from his shock quickly enough to begin clapping, his ten rings clicking and clacking together as he beamed with satisfaction.

"Magnificent!" he declared. More noble guards boomed with applause, though Milena didn't bother with that. She rushed forward instead and threw her arms around Orland in a sudden hug, making him stiffen.

"That… was… so cool!" she exclaimed, practically bouncing with excitement.

"You really are as powerful as they say you are!" The warmth of her arms and the scent of expensive perfume nearly made his brain stop working. Heat rushed up his face, and he was grateful once again that half of it was hidden behind his mask. They bought it. Hah. But the cheering had only just begun to swell into a full celebration when a groan dragged through the foyer, cutting straight through the applause. Orland's head snapped down. Somehow, Kazimir was still moving.

The captain rolled onto one elbow, teeth clenched hard enough to show the cords in his neck, and for a moment he looked like he might just collapse again. Instead, he forced himself upright inch by stubborn inch. Orland stepped back instinctively. No way. He'd hit the man twice with everything he had. Twice. Once in the gut, and once with that monstrous stone fist that'd smashed Kazimir into the floor hard enough to crack it. And the old bastard was still trying to stand? … He was holding back.

He was so holding back. Kazimir managed to get one knee under him. His breaths were rough, but when he lifted his head, his one good eye locked straight onto Orland. That glare had not softened at all.

"I… still don't believe you," he rasped.

"Something's off about you. Just because you have the mask of identification and the knowhow to use the Star-Element Gauntlet doesn't make you the Hero. Why don't you put a tag on yourself?" Orland's stomach dropped.

"If you truly are the Hero," Kazimir continued, "then the tag will show it, yes? You should have the 'Hero' Title and its associated title ability. Put it on and prove it. Show everyone here who you truly—""Enough, Kazimir!" Ludoslav stepped forward, his face flushed red with anger.

"You have served the Belograd Manor faithfully for many years, and I have tolerated much from you because of your service in the north, but even loyalty has its limits." He jabbed a thick finger at the cracked floor between them.

"You stand in my own home and insult an honored guest. You challenge the Hero beneath my roof, lose, and still demand proof? Kazimir twitched a brow.

"Governor, you're not seeing reason. I have seen the Hero before, and this boy—""Be grateful I am not having you executed for this!" Ludoslav hissed.

"Guards! Take former Head Guard Kazimir to the physician and tend to his wounds! Now!" Two noble guards hurried forward, lifted Kazimir under the shoulders, and hauled him up and away from the foyer. Fortunately, the old wolf was still too winded and battered to resist, so the only thing he could do as they dragged him away was glare at Orland the entire time. That same hard suspicion remained there, completely unshaken.

As the men disappeared through a doorway, Ludoslav was already facing Orland again, his earlier anger melting away as quickly as it'd appeared. In its stead was a bright, cheerful smile as he clasped Orland's hands, shaking it vigorously.

"What a show! Truly, what a show!" Ludoslav exclaimed. The servants and guards murmured agreement around them.

"Being able to wield the Star-Element Gauntlet like that is proof enough for any sensible man that you are clearly the Hero! Please, forgive the former captain for his aggression. He… had his fair share of troubles in the far north. Old suspicions are hard to get rid of, you see." In response, Orland could only glance between Milena and Ludoslav nervously.

"Uh. Sure. No problem."

"In fact, seeing you in action tonight has given me full confidence that you will be able to defeat the God-Sucking Leech tomorrow!" Ludoslav said happily.

"Come, come! Let us have our feast first to celebrate your arrival, and then you can tell us all about your journey here! I'm sure my daughter would like to hear it, right?" Milena smiled and nodded. However, Orland was still caught on something Ludoslav said before that. He blinked again.

"I'm fighting the what?"