Ignis tilted his head back and leered.

  “I relish the day I bring your fraudulent tales to utter ruin.”

  He lowered his axe and walked away. With his back to us he faced the dirt road, muttering to himself. One more powerful noble champion who hated my guts. Perfect.

  The last two champions filed their way to the forest entrance, the guard with large pauldrons flanking them as he eyed the forest beyond. One equipped with a sword and shield wore an olive tabard. He sported no discernable insignia and nursed a severe burn on his leg. The other wore opulent silver armor dressed in purple with the insignia of an amethyst which I learned signified him as a member of House Artisian, the noble house responsible for crafting and trading goods.

  The royal announcer stepped in front of the group, some of his usual braggy composure back to normal. When his eyes fell on the shirtless Borst and half-shirtless me, he scowled.

  “Distasteful,” he said, “how dreadfully, distastefully distasteful.” He scrunched up his nose as if a manticore had pooped on his boot. I made up my mind right then and there that I was going to get him that thesaurus. He continued.

  “It will not do to have such inappropriate attire in the court of his majesty the venerable King Extravagus the Second. We will send for appropriate garb from your appropriate houses before the ceremony in the court of your venerable liege.”

  Wai, what? We’re going to see the king?

  I had more overwhelming drama in 3 days than I had in my whole life prior. I was practically running on adrenaline at that point. Borst however wore a calm expression, as though he expected this.

  Can’t say I wasn’t grateful for the chance to change. I definitely did not want to meet the king in a caveman outfit. I pictured going “OOoh-OOoh Aaa” and picking lice out of his majesty’s hair. Surely a swift way to get beheaded. The proud attendant pulled me from my thoughts.

  “It will not do for the champions of the kingdom to ferry you in a farm wagon. New carriages have been sent for, to ferry you in luxury.”

  I shot a nervous glance over to the carriage that Osner was taken to. One of the veiled sisters in grey (couldn’t help but think of it as a nun habit) came out of the carriage to tend to the man in the olive tabard’s leg. I whispered to Borst.

  “But wouldn’t a farm wagon get us there faster?”

  Borst scowled. “King’s always like this. All about the show with ‘im.”

  I felt..angry. It wouldn’t do Osner any good if he needed emergency treatment in the city, to die waiting for the medieval equivalent of a limousine to show up.

  It took another two hours for the carriages to arrive. The longer it dragged on the angrier I got. Even the mountain calm Borst looked more than a little irritated. They strolled in as if they had all the time in the world.

  I was waved into one of the carriages. They even took the time to set out fresh tea. It really angered me, but at the same time I was thirsty. My throat was like a desert. Having learned my lesson earlier, I pinched off a couple leaves from the tea ball and put it at the bottom of my cup. I poured the piping hot water in from the decanter.

  It had that normal green tea taste but had a surprising sweet note to it. A warm refreshing river carved its way through the dry wilderness of my throat. It was so good I went back for seconds! My anger towards the monarch turned to just slightly irritated. He had sent those healers after all. And the tea was good.

  As the forest moved past, I was surprised that I didn’t miss home more. I hated to admit it, but I only hardly missed Dianna. I knew she was in another world worrying herself sick over me. But being here was thrilling. Terrifying, sure. But magic was incredible with its unique scents and flavors. And because of my amazing transformation, I felt like I could finally start rising to the challenges being thrown at me.

  I also knew I may have bitten off more than I could chew with this upcoming tournament, and I had a whole laundry list of things I needed to find out about this world. About the connection between me and House Alaster. About this power inside of me.

  I doubted Kalculus would be much help with that. I had a sneaking suspicion that even with my victory I’d still be a rock in his shoe. He had made it perfectly clear where he thought I should be.

  The seamless stone wall and gaudy gold tower of Vivenheim pulled into view from my carriage, and I could see the beginnings of twilight cast from the interlocking rings of the sun. Within minutes we were through the massive wooden gate.

  The market terrace was lively as ever. To my delight I noticed my favorite, most colorful performer. Harlequin had two feathers in his cap now, the fragile gold feather joined now by a small green one. It reminded me of the small shoot from when I planted a bean for a project in third grade, lively and determined but in need of tender care.

  He played robustly with quick, dramatic strums, almost sounding like the roar of a manticore.His fingers blurred with each strike. He sang in a deep, defiant tone.

  When the thief cuts the farmhand’s meager purse,

  When the newborn is denied its right to nurse,

  Justice! The cry from the poor and the babe!

  When kings rest on beds of luxury cloth,

  While the poor cannot spare copper for broth

  Justice! Cries the poor and the slave!

  The rest of his song drowned out by the din of the crowd.

  We rolled up to a beautiful gigantic gate made of iron and set into a section of borderless stone wall. The door looked to be a solid 3 feet thick, all iron. It had elephant spikes on the door similar to pictures I’d seen of the doors on the island of Zanzibar on Earth.

  Four guards in golden armor stood warily at the gate with the insignia of gold shield and silver sword on their white tabards. They all sported wickedly sharp polearms. Resting arrows could be seen through the turret holes in the wall, and something that suspiciously looked like a large cauldron was 20 feet over our heads. I had a feeling the palace was just as well defended as the wall outside. I never wanted to be at the wrong end of that cauldron of boiling wrath.

  The gates opened to let us inside. The view was incredible. The castle was centered in a circle the diameter of several football fields. A grand garden surrounded it like a moat, with hundreds of fruit-producing trees in greens, blues, and oranges. The inner circles of the garden looked like herb bushes, and I could smell mint, a sharp bitter spice, and several sweet notes I didn’t recognize. A branch of the Mantrapper was captured to irrigate the space with long branching pathways that didn’t cross the smooth slate walkways.

  The castle was seamless white marble. The ginormous gold tower loomed overhead in its sea of dazzling stained glass colors. I thought there was no way I could escape if it started to fall.

  We rolled along the path towards the side of the castle. Twin silver doors set in gold filigree were there to greet us.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Attendants poured from the doors wielding bags and suits and tools. One of them with a rapidly bobbing bun rapped quickly on my carriage door. He donned a silver tabard and carried two buckets and a bag.

  “Lord Alaster, I am to attend your suit and powder.”

  “Uh, come in?”

  Wait, powder?

  The man wasted no time. Within seconds the carriage doors were closed, the blinds were pulled shut, and before I could process what was happening I was being rapidly stripped of my caveman toga. He took to washing and dressing me like he was a soldier on the front lines.

  He kicked open a drain on the floor that I never realized was there, then valiantly scrubbed me with a soapy sponge. I took a deep breath before he dumped a warm bucket of clean water on my head.

  This was my first wash since coming to this world, and though it was super quick it felt awesome. I wondered humorously how they were going to manage cleaning Borst, since he had to bend over to get in the carriage. I decided it would be polite not to ask.

  Then out came the towel, and every bead of loose moisture was beat ferociously from my skin. Hurt a couple times.

  Then a new blue tunic and trousers was whisked on me, my collar adjusted.

  Then came the powder. It was bumped all over my face. My eyes started to water. I coughed as some of it ended up in my lungs.He held up a hand mirror and I was expecting to be powdered in white but it was in my chestnut skin tone, it just brought out the shine a bit. I was impressed with the results.

  Before I had time to properly thank him he, his stuff, and my putrid rag of a toga was gone. I stepped outside the carriage to take in a fresh breath. For some reason it seemed I could smell every subtle floral hint of the garden all around the palace. I breathed deeply and sighed. It was beautiful.

  I could hear Myria protesting from the carriage next to me.

  “Unnecessary! I’m really quite fine, thank you!” She sneezed uncontrollably with “Eck-Ka-choo!”s and “Hiagh-CHiet!”s, in a high pitched whine like a mouse. As she emerged from her carriage looking frazzled I chuckled uncontrollably. She glared at me and looked away, a bit of red touching her cheeks. Very cute.

  Borst emerged from his wagon with a well-oiled beard and a fresh orange tunic, while Ignis looked the height of pomp and circumstance in his polished red armor.

  The broken record player announcer stood on his tiptoes to mirror his self-perceived superiority and did his usual spiel.

  “Welcome to the fine palace of his Majesty, Extravagant the Second, by royal edict and fine pronouncement of the fine hunt this day. Do enter his castle with the finest of manners.”

  I should fine you a ticket, I thought miserably.

  The large silver doors swung open to reveal an opulent walkway. Every forty feet a golden chandelier held a full row of crystal candles with bright flames dancing within the crystal. A burgundy carpet stretched all the way to the main hall at the end of its length. On gold-embroidered frames the portraits of who I assumed were previous monarchs lined the walls. Dark wooden tables with blue and purple table cloths held decanters surrounded by stools.

  My jaw dropped through the floor when we got to the main room. Large tables decorated with the crests of the noble houses encircled the room. The most glaring feature was in the middle. It was an unbelievably accurate scale model of Vivenheim, complete with terraces and even the more prominent shops and buildings. It was entirely coated with gold. Even to the steps of the arena and the dais of the court. I whistled despite myself. Borst nodded approvingly.

  The noble houses were arrayed in lace gowns and shining doublets in their respective house’s colors. I must admit I looked the part myself with the cobalt blue and white trim of a lord like Kalculus wore. I doubted it would ever feel natural.

  The king sat in a guess-what-color throne towards the rear of the main room. He could give Santa Claus a run for his money in terms of size, with a short grey beard and jolly eyes. Just slightly below and seated around him were the heads of the noble houses. Kalculus sat on the king’s left, eyeing his half finished plate with furrowed brows as though he was counting how much each ounce of fish was costing the kingdom. To the king’s right sat a smiling bald man in burgundy robes with the eye and scepter. He said something which ended in the king’s bellowing laughter.

  Borst walked to sit with his house at the table with the orange tablecloth in white trim with the emblem of axe and hammer, the markings of House Mason. I learned they maintained the infrastructure in the country state of Vivien. Many large and strong men sat with beards of varying sizes and colors. The women at the table were broad shouldered and beautiful, most displaying long,simple braids. They all looked tanned like they spent quite a bit of time out in the sun. They were a rowdy bunch, clapping backs and roaring laughter in each other’s faces. Borst’s calm and precise demeanor seemed comically out of place.

  Myria walked over and sat down at the burgundy table, not looking any of her kin in the eye. This sort looked almost the opposite of Borst’s house. Instead of a sunny tan their complexions were paler, some almost ghostly. I assumed they spent a lot of time indoors, probably for arcane study.

  I sat where the blue banner in white trim was, the sign of House Alaster. I was surprised to find no one else at the table. I remembered how empty the dining room looked back at the manor.

  I forgot that quickly when the plates came out. A rack of sweet glazed meat a little softer than pork was sprinkled with nuts. An egg bowl filled with steaming mushrooms and vegetables came out next, and was served with a punchy tart fruit wine. Everything was delightful and perfect, and quickly satisfied my groaning appetite.

  Then the announcer puffed out his chest and blasted the bugle, which sounded a hundred times too loud indoors.

  “Honor to His illustrious Majesty, the illustrious King of Vivenheim, the protector of the illustrious country state of Vivien! Now to display today’s hunt for our esteemed guests.”

  A thick mist from out of nowhere choked the ceiling. I watched in amazement. The rolling billows stretched out as though they were a canvas, thickening to a mostly opaque grey.

  Images flashed on the mist with dancing lightning. It wasn’t 4K resolution and it was constantly flickering but I could see everything well enough, and could even see the curling wisps of the mist behind the images. I was awestruck. I mean, wasn’t a tv kind of like this though? For some reason it felt different. More organic, ancient. I guess I could call it mist-ifying. Or maybe not.

  A much smaller manticore without a mane (I’m guessing this was a she, since that would follow logically with lions) ran away from Ignis on the screen. I could see him visibly grinding his teeth at his table.

  So that’s why he’s mad at me. He can’t believe I scored an alpha and his lesser manticore ran away. Although, if someone told me even a week ago I would take down a mythical fire-lion I would have laughed in their face.

  It changed to a scene of Myria standing over another she-manticore. Her quarry was sliced and diced in a hundred cuts. It didn’t show how she was able to do that, but I knew I didn’t want to stay on her bad side.

  I turned to look at her. She stared at the man in burgundy robes at the king’s right hand. I would later learn he was the Archmagus, the most powerful magic user in House Opal, the house Myria was from. She had a sad longing in her eyes. The archmagus did not even meet her gaze.

  The billowing scene changed. It was my fight with the alpha manticore. I felt a growing dread about being exposed. It was also breathtaking to see it in color.

  When my mind invaded the consciousness of the boar, I only saw through impressions, feeling through the earth where the trees and monster were. Now the flame of the manticore blazed in white and gold torrents. A tsunami of sand hid me as I spun around the beast. Then in the sharp finale the sandstorm surged up and the manticore slumped over. Thankfully the picture ended with my shirtless top half emerging from the sand cloud.

  Kalculus’ hands clutched his armrests.Was he surprised, or even afraid of me? The Archmagus was grinning madly with his eyes glued to the pictures, then he looked at me and gave me a nod. I noticed out of the corner of my eye Myria slumped in her seat. She looked away. I remembered what Borst said about her having to work harder than anyone else, and I think I understood then why she was so angry. She was trying to gain recognition from the Archmagus. Father? Uncle? Grandfather? I’d taken that from her. Now she looked deflated. I remember feeling sad.

  “And now to award our courageous champions. You will be awarded in proportion to your catch.”

  “To the young lord Alaster, please step forward. “

  The announcer handed me a velvet bag the size of a grapefruit. A loud jangle sounded as he put it in my hands. I resisted the urge to count the coin right then and there and put the bag in one of my pockets, which bulged awkwardly. He then struggled to hoist something in a fine silk cloth into my hands. I pulled the cloth back and I felt my whole body tense. It was the stuffed head of the alpha manticore on a plaque. Its face was contorted into a snarl. They even restored the ruby radiance of the eyes. I was amazed they were able to do it so quickly. It had to be magic.

  A sudden impulse caught me. Was there a way I could somehow use this to my advantage? Was what I was about to do even considered proper?

  I walked over to Kalculus. He still had a white knuckle grip on his armrests.

  I knelt before him. Kalculus paled. He spoke frantically.

  “No, stand up. A young lord need not bow.”

  He took the plaque I offered him with trembling hands. His expression was distant, dark, and unreadable, his gaze on the manticore head as turbulent as the Mantrapper.

  After a while of standing in awkward silence, feeling every eye on me, I walked back to the blue table alone. I didn’t even get a “thank you”. What did I expect?