The walls of Beroh Keep rose against the twilight sky.

  Constructed from dark, imposing stone, the keep stood tall and formidable, a mighty presence atop the steepest hill for miles around. Beroh Keep had the aura of a battle-hardened soldier, whose walls no doubt knew countless tales of war and siege and endurance and defiance throughout the ages. It dwarfed the original H?erz Castle, though now that it had grown into Castle Redmane he supposed they were about equal in size.

  Which would change, of course. Castle Redmane would continue to grow, and this one would become his possession as well.

  Redmane observed from below, spying the vigilant guards stationed atop the high battlements, their eyes fixed on the drawbridge and gatehouse where two familiar faces, flanking a shabbily dressed stranger with crimson hair, approached the entrance.

  Two sentries stopped them at the front side of the gatehouse, looking at Ser Velibor and Ser Grimgarl’s battered and bloodied clothing and arms with suspicion.

  “Who’s this,” said one.

  “And what happened to the others?” said the other one.

  Ser Velibor opened his mouth to explain, but Redmane was already talking.

  “Ser Aerin Morholt sought death at my hands, and I granted it. Two of his comrades joined him. These two who remain have given their allegiance to me. I now seek a pair of traitors you harbor within your walls, Helmold Brecht and Aric Morholt.”

  The sentries were clearly unprepared for Redmane’s honesty.

  They flinched from his words a bit, eyebrows raised. One of them laughed. The other looked at Ser Velibor and Ser Grimgarl and asked, “Is this true?” in a tone that suggested he was prepared to hear them say it was all in jest.

  Ser Grimgarl smirked and shrugged. Ser Velibor nodded gravely.

  The sentries stared.

  Then they turned their stares to each other, as if uncertain of what to do.

  “Krum’s back, yeah?” said one.

  The other nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Should go get Krum I think.”

  “Aye I’ll go get Krum.”

  The sentry on the left hustled into the keep, leaving his comrade alone with Redmane and the two knights.

  There was a brief, awkward silence.

  “How’s the family?” asked Ser Grimgarl.

  “Oh, they’re well,” said the sentry. “Thanks for askin. The missus is growin a pumpkin for the harvest festival contest. I told her if the thing gets any bigger, we can live in it!”

  Ser Grimgarl laughed warmly. Ser Velibor’s laughter was weaker. Redmane stood there in stony silence.

  In a short while, the sentry returned with a man in tow.

  A man two heads taller than him. Taller even than Redmane, and twice as wide.

  Krum of Asgoph towered over everyone. His broad shoulders and chest were bare, revealing plates of steely muscle and a tapestry of scars crisscrossing his arms, torso, neck and head. An unkempt mohawk crowned that head, and an equally wild handlebar mustache framed his mouth, which was set in a perpetual scowl. Dark, beady eyes, like those of a bear or a wolverine, sat in the shadow of his perpetually furrowed brow. He carried no arms or armor, nor shoes even, merely a pair of fingerless leather gloves with metal studs over the knuckles, and breeches secured by a thick leather girdle, of a kind laborers sometimes wore when lifting heavy things.

  “Who is this puny one,” said Krum. His voice boomed like thunder, even in a normal tone.

  Redmane looked up at Krum. “I am Redmane. I seek two men who have fled to your castle and joined your Faction, Helmold Brecht and Aric Morholt. It is a matter of personal honor.”

  “Morholt…” Krum folded his enormous arms, frowning. “So. It is you.”

  Redmane slowly nodded.

  Krum’s scowl deepened. “You took five of my men. Three dead, and two alive. Now you come to my keep and ask for two more.”

  “If it weren’t for Helmold and Aric, your men would still be alive.”

  Krum’s laugh erupted like a shockwave.

  “HAH! If not for the pride of Aerin Morholt, he may yet have lived!”

  Redmane shook his head. “I would have come for him, eventually.”

  That made Krum’s eyes widen into a glare that would have intimidated most men. The giant’s scarred lips parted into a toothy grin. “So… You would have faced me eventually, no matter what. Good.”

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  Redmane smirked.

  “What shall Krum of Asgoph do with this one, hmm…” he stroked his moustache, an evil smile on his face. His gaze fixed on Redmane again. “I hear tell of a House Redmane in the north. It must be you.”

  “It is indeed,” said Redmane.

  “Very well then. I know how we’ll settle this.”

  Redmane waited patiently for his explanation.

  “A challenge!”

  His eyebrow rose.

  People seemed to love challenging him lately.

  No matter. If this was the fastest way to the desired outcome, then so be it.

  “But Krum of Asgoph shall not take to the arena over the fate of a mere two men,” he boomed. “Nay, the stakes must be higher!”

  “What do you propose, then.”

  Krum’s beady eyes narrowed. His gaze bored into Redmane, as if he were trying to peer into his soul and get the true measure of him.

  “You and me. Until one yields or is beaten senseless. Winner takes all! All of your men, and all of your land, and your very allegiance.”

  “So if I beat you, you join your Faction to mine and personally bend the knee?”

  Krum’s face lit up with a grin that stretched from ear to ear. The glimmer in his eyes hinted at madness.

  “And if Krum of Asgoph prevails, Redmane shall kneel!”

  “Challenge accepted.”

  Torches lined the inner courtyard of Beroh Keep in the early evening, casting warm light over the gathering crowd.

  Soldiers and castle servants and normal folk alike pressed in close, forming a ring around the courtyard’s center, the murmur of their voices filling the air, creating a buzz of excitement. The scent of sweat and smoke mingled. Banners hung from the high walls, the colors of their heraldry muted in the torchlight. Armor and weapons clinked as guards shifted, keeping the crowd confined in its shape, all eyes fixed on the two figures at the center of the arena.

  Redmane stood at one end of the ring, watching Krum go through a series of stretches and warm-up exercises.

  Now was as good a time as any to have a look at his profile.

  —

  Krum of Asgoph

  Class: Warrior

  Archetype: Berserker

  Faction: Defenders of Volos

  Level: 157

  —

  He let out a low whistle.

  This one may turn out to be a proper test.

  A hush fell over the crowd as Krum of Asgoph strode into the center of the arena.

  “Redmane…” said Krum, his voice a low rumble, his beady eyes aglitter with the sweet promise of violence.

  Redmane smiled and stepped into the circle to join him.

  “Krum of Asgoph,” said Redmane, as he inclined his head in a bow.

  “Rules?” asked Krum.

  “Use what you like, but acquit yourself with honor,” said Redmane.

  Krum grinned and nodded slowly in approval.

  [Imbued] marked as Prey

  Might of Umber

  Flicker

  Gnosis: 1567

  Krum was using Skills as well. Redmane felt Gnosis pouring into his skin and muscles, fortifying them.

  Iron Constitution

  Unstoppable

  Heart of the Berserker

  Redmane cracked his neck. Flexed his claws.

  Krum of Asgoph stomped the ground hard enough to make the earth shake, and roared so hard it made the torches around him gutter like candles.

  Berserk

  The arena shook with the force of Krum’s charge, his steps like the earth-quaking tremors of an enraged bull. In a split second, he surged forward, closing the gap between them, his fist cocked high, ready to unleash an overhand blow that would land with the force of a cannonball. As the punch came hurtling towards him, Redmane moved out of the way with lightning speed, the wind from the attack ruffling his hair and cloak.

  Krum spun, his momentum unbroken, and his punches flew so fast they became a blur. Too fast for normal eyes to follow. As if he had a thousand fists.

  But Redmane could see.

  He ducked and weaved, slipping out of reach, sidestepping, moving his head left and right, evading by inches. By design. Better to escape narrowly, and ensure one remains within the proper range to counter. And counter he did, but he chose his shots with care. Once for every five or six punches avoided, Redmane’s claws found flesh and scored a deep wound.

  The wounds bled, but the familiar speed surge from Bloodlust didn’t come, Redmane understood why without having to guess. One of those Skills Krum had on was preventing both Bleeding and Venom from finding purchase in his body.

  There would be no easy victory this time.

  He had a tough time on the last one, too, but he was outnumbered five to one.

  The crowd watched in breathless silence as two titans tested their mettle in the flickering torchlight. The tension in the air was palpable already, charged with anticipation, and they had only just begun to fight. Heartbeats quickened. Eyes went wide. Occasionally someone gasped at an especially powerful move or skillful counter.

  Krum's fists crashed against Redmane's claws like thunderclaps echoing through the night. Redmane retaliated with a ferocity that matched the storm, slashing through Krum’s flesh with frenzied swiftness.

  Blood sprayed, staining the ground crimson as his wounds deepened.

  Their movements became a blur, a whirlwind of speed and strength. The ground shook with each impact, cracks forming like spiderwebs beneath their feet. The clash of their bodies was like the collision of mountains, unstoppable forces, unbreakable wills.

  One of them would break, to be sure.

  But it would not be Redmane.

  Krum would have to kill him first.

  Even after winning his freedom, even after every triumph great and small since that beautiful, bloody night, ever was he ready to wager it all on these claws.

  It was the way of warriors. Of Kings. Of Gods.

  Redmane parried a punch and struck back, clawing across Krum’s face. The first head shot he’d landed thus far. A grin stretched across the giant Imbued’s face, blood trickling down his features and staining his teeth, and in his eyes, that familiar madness flared anew.

  He sensed honor and a warrior’s pride in Krum of Asgoph. But perhaps not the higher ideals.

  This one simply enjoyed pain.

  But he hadn’t landed a solid shot yet. Redmane felt confident at this stage, that he could stay ahead of Krum’s offense.

  The estimation turned out to be incorrect.

  Krum shot forward so fast even Redmane barely perceived it. A giant fist swept through the space where his head should have been, but his Skill saved him.

  Flicker

  Redmane felt it pull him through space, dump him out behind Krum.

  Lion’s Lunge

  Gnosis: 1537

  It was his turn to fly like he’d been shot from a cannon. The force of the Skill propelled him, a claw held high, coming in for a landing with concussive force on Krum’s back.

  Except he turned around. Instantly. In fact there was no ‘turn,’ there was Krum’s back one moment, his face the next.

  A fist cracked Redmane’s head to the side. Another landed before he’d recovered from the first, and the world became a blur as he staggered backward, spitting blood and teeth. A third blow slammed into his gut, sending him flying backward with such force that he lost his footing, sailed through the air and skidded across the ground upon landing.

  Corpus: 2202

  Redmane groaned. The dizziness doubled the crowd, quadrupled it.

  He felt a gust of wind.

  Krum no longer stood before him. He was gone.

  Then Redmane realized what had happened. The same thing that happened with the last Berserker. Ser Velibor must have been a student of Krum of Asgoph.

  Because Krum now hurtled down at him from the sky above.

  It looked like this one would land with more force.

  PATREON