Leena could still hear the prince’s voice echoing in the distance as she helped Misty stock a shelf.
“Are you sure you’re all right, dear? It just seems wrong they’re allowing this.” Misty spoke from her side, gently touching her shoulder.
Leena smiled, glowing a little brighter. “It’s fine. Uncle is handling it. It’ll be over soon, and he’s keeping his distance. Let him tire himself out.” Her smile faded slightly. “I am sorry for dragging you all into this.”
“Don’t be silly, dear. That merchant… no, you said he’s the *prince*? He’s the one causing all this. Why is he here? Why is he allowed to do so?”
Leena gently hushed her. “That’s a secret, though word is spreading anyway. It seems his retainer was trying to help him blend in as a common merchant, but he forgot his privilege. He pushed his desire to meet the heroes on us.”
Misty nodded, not quite agreeing, as more customers came into the store—partly drawn by the absurdity of the yelling merchant, and partly just wanting to buy potions and be happy to see the hero while they shopped.
Wolf, who had been watching near the window, came up to Leena as Misty left. “If you know who he is, why keep the game going? Why not just talk to him so he’ll leave? That’s all he keeps repeating, isn’t it?”
“Brother,” Leena said calmly, “do you wish to deny me my choice to ignore a spoiled prince who refuses to learn boundaries, no matter how ‘nicely’ he pushes them?”
Wolf quickly shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I just don’t understand.”
Leena nodded, not angry, just firm. “I won’t let him have his win. He came here, hid his rank, and assumed he’d get to play with the heroes. When we didn’t fit his desire, he mocked us and challenged me. Just because he *now* wants to talk doesn’t mean I forgive him, or that he’s learned anything. He merely wishes to cleanse his conscience so he can go home and parade a victory—‘met the heroes.’ Even if I’m being petty, I’m denying him that.”
“Sorry, Len. You’re not petty. I just thought it would be easier to get him to leave. I didn’t think much beyond that.”
“Funny enough, brother,” Leena said with a wry smile, “neither did the prince. That’s why he’s learned nothing. But luckily for me, you’re not a brainless stalker and understand boundaries.”
Wolf smiled bitterly. “Yeah. Well, I wish I’d learned to be a better person before chasing Nina away by ignoring her.”
“Relax, brother. She’s fine, helping her tribe. She will return one day, maybe sooner than you think.”
---
“I gave you time and my patience, Yarla.” The Mayor watched her from across the council table, the full assembly present. “The only reason—the *only* reason—I have not acted already is because my niece, bless her soul, asked me not to. And I warn you now, even staying my hand, things are happening beyond you to see this end.”
He smoothed his hair back, a tired gesture. The others watched alongside Yarla, waiting. She listened, hoping he would calm, or at least explain what 'things' were happening so she could plan.
“Why have you not left, Yarla?” the Mayor finally spoke, sounding almost defeated despite his earlier heat. “You said a week, and you’d be gone. Now we’re on week two, and I am getting letters from the kingdom itself, wondering if we are hiding something. As if *we* want this…”
“I did send formal letters to explain the delays,” Yarla replied, her tone strained. “They know the Prince has a habit of things like this, but he has never caused harm before. This is a new precedent, since he has never had to face others outside of court who could challenge him.”
“Oh, a *new precedent* for him! Well, that explains everything!” The mayor threw up his hands, looking at the ceiling. “I guess we should just wait to see how this plays out. What could go wrong?” He turned his gaze back on Yarla, his mockery stark. The others grimaced but did not refute him.
Yarla was about to explain she just needed a little more time—as she had every time before—when a knock on the door proved her fear that something was happening, making things more complicated.
“Enter,” the Mayor said, his anger deflating into cold finality. The rhythmic tap of his finger on the table warned her she was on the edge.
A guard entered. “Sir, the pri—uhm, the *merchant* we were told to monitor has now challenged Guard Captain Arlin to a duel. We await orders and report for direction.”
Every eye in the room turned to Yarla.
The Mayor spoke first. “You have one chance to end this now. Or I will.”
“Would you start a war over this?” Yarla tried, a last, desperate hedge.
“No. *You* will have started it, by allowing a spoiled child with power to run free and blind to his own actions. It will end today. It is merely a matter of how badly.” The Mayor watched her carefully, as if he was going to say more, but did not.
She nodded slowly, thankful Leena's father, the merchant leader, remained mostly calm and had said nothing about the stalking of his daughter until now… It seemed he had spoken with her already, and she did not want to escalate things just to make the prince leave. The others on the council just watched her, torn between sympathy and disappointment that she had not handled this better and had even allowed it to go this far.
*Perhaps they were right,* Yarla thought. She had trusted the prince too much, allowing him free rein. She would help end this farce one way or another. Though the Mayor’s calmness in the face of this new duel—even with his threat to end it—and seeing he had royal letters mixed among the others, did give her pause. She turned and fled the room to control the narrative once more, fearing perhaps the Mayor held more cards than she knew.
The Mayor shook his head after watching Yarla go. He looked at the royal letter he’d received just prior to the meeting. He had debated telling her the king was already removing the prince today—that the escort would be here to collect him regardless.
Yet he had said nothing. He wanted her to suffer the same uncertain fate that had plagued this town, to force her to learn that just because you serve a royal does not mean they get free rein, nor should you ignore the consequences they normally escape from.
---
Arlin limbered up as best he could, watching the crowd form with concern. He signaled a guard to keep them back. The last thing he needed was a riot.
“Well, ‘hero,’ will you fetch a blade to face me, or will you concede to slander?” the Prince called.
Arlin smiled. “I fight with shadows. I can blunt them, but it’s my weapon of choice.”
“Well then, I will use my gift as well. I hope you will not regret challenging me.”
Arlin laughed mildly. “I think I’ll be fine. Ready when you are, merchant.”
Arlin had some basic training, but he’d never been a frontline fighter. This felt different. Not just because this man had defeated Len, but his stance was too clean, almost fluid. Arlin was used to the sloppy form of drunks, easy to spot flaws. This looked more like wherever he tried to strike, the merchant could flow to counter.
He hated cheap tactics but wanted this to end clean. He’d deal with the fallout afterwards.
He pooled darkness near the merchant’s back, firing a blunted shadow vine aimed for his temple. If it worked, he could ease his fall with the same shadow. If it failed, it would reveal the merchant’s skill.
The merchant never wavered. Watching Arlin’s back with a hint of smugness, he pulled his head back slightly, then leapt farther away as the vine tried to trip him. Both moves failed with little effort.
“You forget, I train with shadow guards. This is nothing.”
Arlin looked at him, puzzled. What merchant trains against shadow guards?
The merchant grimaced. “I mean, I admired Tanya the Legend. To compete among legends, one must know their skills and limits. So I… sparred with similar types. That is why I know I can beat you.”
Arlin nodded slowly. It was possible. In a world full of monsters, a merchant hell-bent on chasing heroes might train like them. It just meant he was a greater threat than assumed, and his duel with Leena wasn’t a fluke.
Three more shadow puddles formed. Arlin favored single strikes and ambush over direct fights, but the merchant knew he was here and what he could do. He was trying to swap tactics, to force a slip-up—maybe panic if he got hurt.
Yet watching the merchant dance between the strikes, slowly closing the distance, was unsettling. Arlin did not move, surprising the merchant, who assumed he would flee. With a dangerous glint, the merchant arced his blade for Arlin’s ribs—a swing too close to dodge.
The blade slashed into his skin—and flowed through Arlin’s whole body as it faded to shadows. Stunning the merchant; that was not a simple skill…
“I do have some tricks,” Arlin spoke from behind him.
---
The arc of the blade swept through the smug hero, surprising the Prince. He knew shadow users could phase, but he had felt no form whatsoever. That mastery was rare. For a commoner, it would take years to shift form without breaking one's mind—Yarla said it was the hardest part of shadow magic.
“I do have some tricks,” a voice behind him spoke as the form in front of him faded.
Impressive, the Prince thought, feeling the tingle of mana aiming for his head. But it was foolish to announce the strike. The Prince ducked low into a leg sweep, feeling the start of contact on Arlin’s leg before his form shifted to let the sweep pass through harmlessly.
And to the Prince’s surprise, even between that phase shift, a puddle of darkness formed and slammed him backwards. He was forced to endure the knockback into a backward somersault, reforming his blade as a mild pain flared in his chest. Across from him, Arlin coughed, vertigo and motion sickness washing over him from shifting so much while using his power.
So, despite his talent, he was not used to being pushed…
The whisper of the crowd grew louder. A few voices asked if they should help the guard captain. *This is a duel of honor,* the Prince wondered, *why would they interfere?*
Yet as he watched Arlin recover, he could not help but reflect. These challenges kept happening because he forced their hand. But they were not listening to him.
Yet… did that make him right?
No.
So now the question was, how far would he go to defend his wounded pride when everyone kept saying he was wrong? Even debating challenging him amidst a duel of honor?
The town, Yarla, the lesser heroes… and the hero Leena… All said he was wrong.
Their words stung as he was forced to admit there might be some truth to them.
Yet even if he agreed, he was trapped.
The blunted shadow spikes came slower, less precise, but they were still trying to stop him. The Prince no longer felt he could win. Not from defeat—Arlin was too unskilled for that; his mana, while impressive, had a hard limit and was nearing it. The Prince knew he had already lost long before this duel, back when he mocked the heroes' choice and demanded his own be held. He was just trapped by his own actions and unsure how to get out.
Arlin seemed to sense the Prince’s shift in mood and lack of follow-up, even as he rested between strikes. Both knew this was still a duel and neither had conceded. So, half-heartedly, the Prince threw a few water blasts more for show than intent, making sure they went wide.
The same thought kept circling back: he was trapped with no way out. Even as he debated doubling down on his pride and forcing Arlin to yield…
And then, pushing into the crowd toward the duel itself, came one of his stricter royal retainers, dressed in full royal colors to stand out. He spoke clearly for all to hear.
“Young Prince, your father the King demands your return henceforth. Word has spread to the capital. Your actions are not becoming of your station. It ends now.”
The crowd murmured. Rumors had spread, but none had truly believed until now. Those colors were the kingdom’s. They watched the merchant, now named Prince, waiting for his words.
Yet he could not speak. This wasn’t the ending he wanted, and he refused to shame himself with excuses.
He wondered if this was how Leena felt when she was trapped by his actions and forced to yield. He had been so proud then. He tried to look for her in the crowd one last time.
Instead, his gaze caught a rare sight: Yarla’s shadow form shifting, preparing to control the narrative once more. He was proud, and ashamed, that she was willing to go so far for him. So, closing his eyes, letting his water sword fade to mist, the Prince steeled himself and said the words to end the duel.
“I yield.”
A calm hush fell over the crowd. The fight had been an odd spectacle and was ending just as strangely. None were sure how to respond to the randomness of it all.
“GIVE THEM A HAND, FOLKS! THIS WAS MERELY A DEMONSTRATION FROM THE KINGDOM!”
All eyes turned to the shadow woman who flowed to the center, trying to draw all eyes as she moved to the Prince’s side.
“The Prince was hoping the heroes would show their strength in duels! We tried to hide his rank to not force anyone, but it seems we misunderstood each other’s intent and the limits of your patience!” Yarla forced a smile, twirling slightly to keep eyes on her and not the defeated prince. “We overstepped. We regret that, but do hope you all understand we came in good faith and will leave the same way!”
The royal retainer did not share in Yarla’s desperate gamble to salvage the Prince’s pride. “The carriage is ready. I was merely sent to escort you, my lord. Your father will speak more on the matter when we get home.”
Arlin did not wait to see how it ended, going back to check on his friends to confirm it was over at Wolf’s shop. The crowd soon departed as if the prince was just a common braggart, worth little more than the inconvenience he’d caused.
And like that, everything was gone. He knew he could not see her again. The town did not want him, and he did not win. Everything, to the end, was a loss.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbXq0WSTwOV
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