Blazkowicz's expression was a little dazed, as if everything that had just happened was a surreal, hazy dream, yet the reality of it settled on his skin, a hot, sticky film of orc blood.
"A masterful strike!" Harlan the Champion Swordsman exclaimed, clapping a huge hand on Blazkowicz's shoulder and shaking him out of his trance. "The timing was perfect. You used his own momentum against him, broke his leg with the sweep, then spun and put all your rotational force into that final punch. Simple, effective, brutal."
The force of the pat on the shoulder, immense enough to topple a lesser man, brought Blazkowicz back to the present. His senses returned, and he heard the whistles and cheers of the orcs, a bizarre, continuous roar.
"Champion Swordsman," Blazkowicz said, with a quiet, unsettling smile, the blood on his face making it seem even more eerie. "Has my image in your heart changed?"
Harlan's face became serious. He placed his left hand over his heart and bowed slightly, a warrior's gesture of utmost respect. "Blazkowicz, Third Prince. I am ashamed for having underestimated you. I should not have judged you by the standards of a mortal man."
"I accept your apology," Blazkowicz said, placing both hands on Harlan's massive forearm to help him straighten up. He looked directly into the warrior's scarred face. "But you shouldn't feel too bad about it. I'm an anomaly, something new that has never existed before. If I were a normal citizen of Argent Nur, your judgment would have been entirely correct."
Harlan was surprised by the boy's strength, which easily helped him rise. He thought for a moment, then seemed to find some relief. "So, you're saying I just need to learn more about you to make better judgments in the future?"
"It's not just you who needs to learn," Blazkowicz said, his gaze sweeping over the Sentinels at the edge of the arena, his voice filled with an authority that was far too big for his body. "Everyone needs to learn. I am Blazkowicz Novick, and I am destined to walk the path of a warrior. You must get used to me, and you must understand me, to fight alongside me."
The Sentinels, a collection of hardened warriors, were stunned by the young man's confidence. There was no arrogance in his words, only an open, unreserved certainty. It was a brilliance that radiated from him, infecting them all. The contempt in their eyes was replaced by a solemn respect as they all shouted in unison: "Then we will wait for you on the battlefield, Doom Slayer!"
At the edge of the arena, King Nowick nodded repeatedly, a deep satisfaction in his eyes.
"Look at him," he whispered to Queen Elise. "You've taught him so well. He is brilliant, and he has a clear purpose. He has proven himself with his actions, dispelling the locals' mistrust of outsiders and quickly integrating himself into their community."
"He knows he is a leader, and the Sentinels will take what they've seen today to every corner of the battlefield. Everyone will know there's an extraordinary prince. He will become a legend, a person of universal attention, and people will believe in him without hesitation."
Nowick's satisfaction grew with every word. He liked the son who had fallen from the sky, an affection that had only deepened after seeing him in action.
"As long as you don't think he's too calculating," Queen Elise said, a gentle smile on her lips, her eyes full of unconcealable pride.
"He is perfect," Nowick said, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. "Calculations are a sign of wisdom, and calculations used for good are a good thing. The enemies he will face are unlike anything we have ever seen. To defeat them, strength and wisdom are equally essential."
"Sometimes, we must be more ruthless and cunning than the enemy to defeat them," he continued. "Come, my Queen. Let's witness his victory, and the vow of the Watch."
Elise placed her hand on King Nowick's arm, the two of them a perfect picture of iron and roses, a balance of strength and grace.
"Champion Swordsman, Harlan Ogilvy," Nowick's authoritative voice boomed, carrying a ritualistic weight. "Fulfill your promise."
Blazkowicz watched with a sense of awe as his father, whom he had never met but already revered, approached with his mother. He felt a wave of nerves, but as he saw the comfort and affirmation in his father's eyes, his heart finally settled. What child doesn't yearn for their father's approval? Even a Primarch created by the Emperor wants to be seen and loved.
"Give me a ceremonial longsword!" Harlan called out, preparing to perform the oath of the Watch. In Argent Nur, a Sentinel's first act after training is to swear allegiance: to the kingdom and to the king. Only a select few can swear allegiance to an individual, becoming their personal guard.
"No need," King Nowick said, sweeping his cape aside. He drew a sword hilt from his waist, a weapon of war rather than a ceremonial blade. "Take it, my son."
Blazkowicz's hands trembled slightly as he took the hilt from his father. It was a little too large for him, but he gripped it firmly.
The crowd instinctively fell silent. The Sentinels, the military officials, stood on the left. The scholars, the civil officials, stood on the right. Queen Elise smoothed Blazkowicz's hair and adjusted his clothes.
Everything was ready. King Nowick stood behind him to the left, Queen Elise to the right, with the civil and military officials flanking him. Harlan knelt, his tall frame still meeting the boy's eyes.
Blazkowicz's face was solemn. He pressed the mechanism on the hilt, and a brilliant blue blade of dimension light sprang forth. He carefully rested it on Harlan's left shoulder.
Harlan Ogilvy, the proud Champion Swordsman, lowered his head and began to recite the oath of allegiance:
"In the name of the King's Sword and the Champion, witnessed by the King and Queen, I, Harlan Ogilvy, hereby swear this oath: My blood shall be your shield, guarding your safety; my sword shall be my vow, striking down your enemies. Loyalty is greater than soul, honor is heavier than life. Your will is my direction, your enemies are my mortal foes. This oath is forged in steel forever, this heart unwavering as the stars. Until my last breath, until my sword is broken, my soul shall still guard this vow."
Blazkowicz flipped the blade over Harlan's head and rested it on his right shoulder, a solemn expression on his face. "I, Blazkowicz Novick, accept your oath. I accept your loyalty!"
Neither of them knew that in the churning Warp, the Blood God was pleased with the warrior's fervor and bestowed a blessing.
"My Lord, what is your emblem?" Harlan asked. A personal emblem would be used to signify the vow between them. Blazkowicz, a newborn in the eyes of the law, had no emblem.
"Blazkowicz, what about this?" Queen Elise's gentle voice said, lightly pulling open his robe to reveal the blood-red runic mark on his chest.
"That works," Blazkowicz said. "It was born with me. It's the most suitable personal emblem."
Harlan, the Champion Swordsman, had stumbled into a duel and found himself a personal guard. It wasn't until much later, as they embarked on the path of conquering the stars, that he realized the truth: the King and Queen knew Blazkowicz would win. And Blazkowicz knew it, too.
He hadn't just accepted a challenge; he had walked straight into a trap, gleefully set by a four-foot-tall boy and his cunning father.