Chapter XXI
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Quitfrot — Night
The night air outside Quitfrot reeked of gunpowder and scorched earth.
Civilians stumbled from their homes, wide-eyed, pulling children close, whispering the same question to each other.
"*What in the hells is happening?*"
A sharp metallic clang echoed through the street — steel meeting steel. The fight between Gnorm and Caesar had already begun.
Even blind, Gnorm moved like a storm. His longsword whistled through the air, parrying Caesar's twin curved blades with uncanny precision. Sparks flew where metal kissed metal. Caesar lunged, feinted left, then slashed low — Gnorm twisted aside at the last instant, the blade carving a shallow line across his ribs. Blood beaded on the torn cloth. He didn't flinch.
"For a blind man," Caesar said, genuine respect threading through the danger in his voice, "you're really something else." He spun both blades in a slow flourish, edges catching the torchlight.
Gnorm's chest heaved, sweat rolling down his scarred face. "What kind of monster are you?" he rasped. "I felt it — felt you pull weapons straight from your mouth."
Caesar laughed — low, satisfied. "You noticed? Really something else, I tell you."
He raised his twin blades again and began to circle.
Gnorm tracked the sound. "I've heard so much about you elite knights." His voice was steady despite his breathing. "What in the nine hells did the Allthing do to you lot?"
Before Caesar could answer, a young girl burst into the street — slender, armored in light mail, one of Caesar's trainees. She pulled up short, eyes moving from Caesar to the blind man with the raised sword.
She froze.
"Caesar! What are you doing? You're scaring the whole damn village!"
"Go find the boy," Caesar said, not looking at her. "I'm dealing with something."
"If you say so..." She hesitated, then sprinted off into the shadows.
Caesar reached into his mouth again.
What came out this time was massive — a shoulder-mounted cannon, ornate and brutal, its barrel wide enough to swallow a man's arm, gold catching the torchlight in a way that made it look almost ceremonial. The street went deathly quiet around it.
Gnorm's grip tightened on his hilt. Something shifted in his face — not quite fear, but the honest acknowledgment of it. He planted his feet and raised his blade anyway.
Caesar shouldered the weapon.
Fired.
A deafening boom split the night in two. A glowing projectile streaked across the street toward Gnorm —
Julius appeared.
One heartbeat he wasn't there. The next he stood between Gnorm and the blast, one hand raised, palm out, expression unchanged.
Time seemed to stutter.
The golden shell struck something invisible inches from Julius's palm. The force of it — all of it, all that momentum and heat and intention — collapsed in on itself with a small, pathetic sound. Like gunpowder scattered on wet stone. A puff of smoke. The shell clattered to the cobblestones, inert, smoking faintly.
Iron Silence.
Everything dangerous that comes near him becomes nothing. The ability registers threat and drains it. Quietly. Completely. Like it was never real.
The street was silent except for the ringing in everyone's ears.
Caesar stared at the shell on the ground. Then at Julius. His mouth was open.
Julius lowered his hand.
"I don't want to hurt you," he said.
Caesar's face moved through shock, then twisted into fury. He stepped forward, blades trembling. "Who do you think you are? A god? A boy *playing* at one?" His voice rose. "You looking down on me, kid?"
"Go with your friends," Julius said. His voice was steady and cold — not aggressive, just final. "I don't want to fight you. Gnorm and I will ride out. There's no need for any of this."
Caesar's laugh came out bitter. "What kind of man runs from a fight?"
"A wise one," Julius said.
He held Caesar's gaze without blinking, without shifting his weight, without performing anything. Just looked at him. And somewhere in that look was a quiet, unhurried promise — *I will end you if I have to, and I will not enjoy it, and I will not hesitate.*
Caesar held the stare.
A long moment.
Then, slowly, he smiled. He sheathed one blade. Reached over and patted the trainee girl on the head as she crept back into view. Slung the cannon over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.
"We'll meet again, Julius..." He was already walking away, back turned, unhurried.
"...or should I say — Valthor."
Gnorm exhaled. His sword arm dropped. Relief moved through him like something physical, like a tide going out.
Gnorm and Julius rode east, side by side, horses pounding hard beneath them, the moonless sky pressing down close and dark.
"We need to ride east," Julius said, voice low against the wind. "I felt him."
A pause.
"Surtr. He's awake."
Gnorm said nothing. He spurred his mount faster.
They vanished into the dark.
Caesar strode through the wreckage of the ruined tavern. His companions were picking themselves up from the debris, dusting splinters off their armor, someone's boot sticking out from under an overturned table.
"What are you lot doing?" Caesar snapped. "Slacking off?"
Sera rolled her bruised shoulder carefully. "That kid." She said it like a conclusion rather than a sentence. "He's on another level, boss."
"What's the move?" one of the others asked.
Hoofbeats. Five Golden Cloaks rode into view down the street, armor gleaming under the torches, pulling up in a tight line. One dismounted and walked to Caesar, holding out a sealed scroll.
"Letter from the Allthing Council."
Caesar broke the wax. Read it quickly, eyes moving fast across the page. The dangerous smile came slowly, spreading as he rolled the parchment closed.
"Get ready," he said. "We're on the road soon."
Around him, the sound of armor being checked, horses being saddled, buckles cinching in the flickering torchlight.
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— To Be Continued —