Chapter 8 - Prince of Virelia

“Hey you, tall one. I challenge you to a duel. Duel to death," said the prince, holding the reins in one hand.

As he spoke, there was a sound of a door closing. Then another one. Then another. People began closing their windows and doors. The crowd panicked and began to run chaotically like ants. Mothers yanking their children, shopkeepers entering and locking doors, and even some people tripping on their own feet.

Tiberius looked around, puzzled. He was unsure what to do or say. He didn't recognize the person standing in front of him, so he assumed there was a mistake.

"Excuse me; are you talking to me?"

"Obviously," the prince said, getting off his horse. "I, prince of Virelia, challenge you to a duel."

"Prince? Oh," he said with a smile and a slight giggle, "you are the son of King Tharos."

"Yes, I am," he replied, tapping twice on his horse. The prince started to approach Tiberius after the horse gradually left him. "Let us see what you're made of."

"I apologize, man, but I believe you have the wrong person. I don't believe I offended either you or the king. I'm even his special guest here. Look!" Tiberius explained, taking the medallion from his pocket and showing it to him.

Prince moved closer and hit his hand away, causing him to drop the medallion.

"That little piece of metal is the last thing I care about," the prince said, standing in front of him with his fists clenched.

"Look, if something's wrong, we can fix it. Just calm down.” Tiberius tried to soothe him.

Prince was looking him in the eyes. He was clearly shorter than him, though not as short as the others. He wore shoes with higher heels, so he was slightly taller than the average daha.

"We can fix it? How? You gonna talk to the gods to give me another chance at pulling the sword?”

“Sword?” Tiberius repeated, confused.

“Yes, sword. After years of begging, my dad took me to the festival, and I, heir of the throne, was granted the chance to do it, to show that I am worthy of the power of the gods. But you… You took it from me. Just as I was about to grip the sword, you appeared and interrupted me. And worst of all, you moved the sword.” Prince spoke, his voice growing louder with each word.

“Look, you can try it again next year, can’t you—”

“There is no next year! Unless you are a king or a god, you are not allowed to enter the festival a second time, let alone pull the sword. You burned my only chance…”

Tiberius was trying to avoid eye contact as much as possible, since the prince did not seem to calm down but was even getting more furious as he talked. He considered fleeing because he was not the type of man to get into fights; however, there was no way out. He was backed up to the shop door, which was locked by the shopkeeper when the prince arrived.

Worst of all, the magic exists. He, who possessed no power, was confronted with a person from another world who most likely wielded enormous power, based on the crowd's reactions.

"You don't understand, do you? Or…” He stepped back a bit. “Are you underestimating me?”

Tiberius raised both of his hands and tried to wave and say that he did not, but even before he could say anything, the prince started to shout again.

“I am not just the prince. I've been chosen by the gods," he said, pointing to himself with his right hand. Then he continued to shout, showing the back of his hand: "You see this? I am chosen.”

There was a mark on it that did not ring a bell for Tiberius. Like an upward-pointing V with curled ends without any additional words or details.

“See?” Tiberius also showed the back of his hands right away. “I am not chosen. Now please just calm down, and let’s have a normal conversation. Maybe we can ask the king to retake you?” He forced himself to smile, despite his fear.

"Too late," the prince said as his muscles began to tighten and swell. His breathing grew heavier as he started to walk toward Tiberius. With every step, he looked more aggressive than before.

The moment he closed the distance, he swung his right arm to hit Tiberius, who barely managed to avoid it by leaning back and hitting his head on the door.

The prince giggled at this and then began to laugh slowly. As he took a step back and created distance, his muscles gradually returned to their original form.

“You—” he said while laughing, “you can’t even dodge a normal punch without hitting your head. If you pulled the sword, I would absolutely do that in a heartbeat.”

Tiberius held his head, rubbing it to relieve the pain. He couldn't understand what the prince had said or meant.

"Anyway, you're not even worthy of being challenged. Just die and be forgotten," he said as his hands burst into flames, engulfing his fists.

“Lo-look, we can talk it out.” Tiberius said with a shaky voice. He has never fought anyone and has always avoided conflict by talking it out. However, this one looked different. Worst of all, he had no way of fighting back. He could only get away if he could.

The prince extended his palms toward him (barely visible behind the blazing fire) and let out a torrent of flames, large enough to swallow him whole.

…

[Yesterday, one hour after Tiberius left the castle]

After his dinner with Tiberius and some discussions with his head mages, King Tharos was sitting on the throne, reading a book.

Suddenly, his son barged into his room without knocking on the door. Before speaking, the prince approached his father quickly and with an angry expression.

“Why didn't you say anything? Why did you leave me by myself?”

“I had a guest—”

“I am your son! Someone from your own blood! But you put the random guy who fell from the sky over me!”

King remained unfazed until the final sentence. Only now did he lift his head to look at his son, who appeared exhausted. Probably because he had to ride his regular horse here, which obviously took hours.

“He wasn't random. He moved the sword. If you had done it, I would take you.”

“Did any of you even give me a chance? When it was my time to pull the sword, that tall freak fell, and everyone focused on him.”

“Fate wasn't on your side then. As you know, even gods can be helpless against fate.”

His words were neither wrong nor overly correct. It was simply to calm the prince down so the king could read his book. In reality, gods are thought to have complete control over the future, past, and present. However, it is believed that they would never reveal what would happen to people. Only in life-threatening situations would they interfere, as they have done before.

“You didn't even trust me, did you? You did not even believe that I could do it,” said the prince after a minute of silence.

King touched his head with his left hand and looked down slightly, as if he had a headache.

“Look, go cool down, and then we can talk, alright? I already have enough on my plate. Last week we bought new slaves. Go have fun with them, will you? There are some pretty ones.”

“You don't understand,” mumbled the prince as he turned back, slowly walking toward the door. “I hope you can be as calm when I bring the ashes of that tall freak.”

Hearing this, the king's eyes widened as he stood up from his throne. “You will not do a thing,” he said with a furious tone, extending his hand forward.

The prince felt a sudden heaviness, to the point where he had to stop walking. His breathing became heavier, his knees began to shake, and he was hardly holding himself together.

The pressure on him gradually increased as the king stepped down from his throne and walked toward Yareth. “Don't you forget that you are only special because I am.” King finished his sentence as guards entered the room in a rush.

Normally, a guard entering the king's room uninvited meant their death. Only in certain situations, such as when the king used his powers, could his guards enter the room. Of course, guards had also felt the pressure, but since they had decades of experience, they were still in control.

“Take this idiot to jail. Chain him up and don't let go until he makes up his mind or learns some manners," the king ordered.

Both guards answered, "Yes, my king," and they took him by the arms and carried him out of the room toward the prison.

The main dungeon was obviously located away from the king's castle, but there was, of course, a prison beneath the building. Usually, the king's "special guests" or their slaves would be kept there. The intention of this prison was simple. You were either going to be released soon, or you will be beheaded for the fun of the royalty.

They took Yareth to a cell on the surface level. They placed him in a cell, chained both his hands to the chains hanging from the ceiling, and left him standing, then closed the door and told the guard to not release him but to not be harsh. Because they knew that if you hurt the prince, your head would be nothing but an accessory for the king’s collection.

After everyone left, the guard entered the cell.

“Are you going to poison me too?” asked the prince.

“Of course not, young master. Your father has sent you here so you could calm down and clear your head. Hallucination would be no help.” He replied and then proceeded to walk towards him. “But I will have to drain your mana to prevent you from escaping,” the guard informed.

“You know that I will kill you if you do it, right?”

“With all respect, I would rather die tomorrow than today.”

Then he pushed the needle from Yareth’s neck. This was a capsule to drain mana from the prisoner to prevent them from using magic. Since there was no natural way to stop it, they used a method to drain their mana so much that they became weak and couldn't use magic at all. Of course, the more mana you have, the bigger the capsule they would use. However, Yareth's guardian chose an average one because he did not wish to be killed too early.

…

Yareth was still in the cell, tired from standing up all night. The guard has been asleep for the last hour, next to his cell. Using this as an opportunity, he attempted to gather all of his mana on his wrists. This was going to take some time, possibly an hour, because the capsule was still draining his mana.

More than an hour passed, and he barely had enough mana to use magic. He coughed once and listened if anyone reacted to that. Seeing that there was no reaction, he tried to free himself. Suddenly, small drops of magma emerged from his wrists, burning through the chains. As he freed himself, he took out the capsule and sat down in the corner to regain his power since he was too tired to move.

Half an hour later, he felt ready. His muscles tightened as he approached the bars and bent them, allowing him to escape.

Taking out all the guards he saw, silently, without killing, and one by one, he exited the prison and went to get his horse. To find the king's guest and burn him to ashes.

Charles, the king's servant, discovered the truth early in the morning. He went to check on the prince and, if he agreed, talk to the king for his release. After seeing the situation, he rushed to the king and informed him.

The punishment for the guards was death. Letting the young prince escape was not acceptable. But the main problem was finding the prince before he killed the king’s guest.