Darian left the neglected wing of the castle and started making his way down the main corridors. Instantly, he was met with cold shoulders and contemptuous stares. Servants turned their backs or looked away; minor nobles muttered just loud enough for him to hear. The hate was a thick, suffocating wave, but Darian-or Min-jun, the critic who lived for negative engagement-felt a strange sort of detachment. This is just the scenery, he thought. Background noise for the villain's entrance.
He ignored the disdain and headed for the Training Hall. He needed to get a sense of the strength of the Empire's setting, of so many dull battle scenes he'd skimmed. When he pushed open the massive iron doors, the noise of clashing steel and shouting filled the air. This was the first time Min-jun had seen the medieval fantasy setting come to life with genuine kinetic energy.
Darian was mesmerized by seeing the medieval fantasy surroundings this close for the first time. He was absorbed in the spectacle of swords clashing; his attention was fully on the training soldier, and he never noticed another soldier. He brushed past Darian, making him fall to the floor. It was intentional, but he acted as if it were a mistake. Darian can feel his disgust in his eyes.
Darian scrambled up, rage-both his own and Darian's inherited fury-flaring in his gut. "What the hell are you doing, bastard?"
The knight turned, smirking as he made a mocking bow. "Oh, forgive me, Your Highness. I didn't see you." His eyes, however, openly mocked the disgraced prince.
Darian looked around at the other soldiers. Not one of them moved to assist him or intercede with the knight. They watched, grim-faced, taking pleasure in his humiliation. He knew in that instant that this was the world of the 'stupid prince'—he had no authority.
He took a deep breath and pressed down the useless anger. He needed authority. He scanned the room until his eyes fell on a huge, serious-looking man overseeing the far end of the hall.
"You!" Darian called out, his trembling with fury, still-princely finger pointing. "Training Captain, come here immediately!"
The large man marched over, his face hardened by years of discipline. "Captain Jarek, Your Highness. What is your command?"
"Captain Jarek," Darian growled, pointing at the arrogant knight who knocked him down. "Take this man into custody at once for assaulting the royal family."
Captain Jarek stood firm. "My apologies, Your Highness, I cannot. I am only a Captain. I cannot act against a knight unless I have a direct current order from a higher-ranking superior, and your status," he said, trailing off and letting the implication hang.
Darian knew the game. The original Darian's authority was non-existent.
He looked at the face of the rookie who had insulted him. "What is your name?"
The knight straightened, his arrogance blazing now that his protection was confirmed. "It's Lorin, Your Highness."
"Lorin," Darian repeated, his voice dangerously even. "Since the Captain can't punish you, I will."
Lorin smirked, crossing his arms. "With respect, Your Highness-only a person in a high position can punish me." His emphasis on the word 'high' perfectly mocked Darian's new status as the lowest royal heir.
Min-jun felt the hot spike of his own ego—the RantLord's ego—mingling with Darian's inherited rage. He knew there was no imperial law he could use, no rank he could pull. Yet, to retreat now would confirm his weakness to every person in the hall. That was unacceptable. He had to win this first, pivotal public confrontation. An idea, wild and brilliant, surged into his mind.
Darian looked at Captain Jarek. "Captain, are duels permitted here, provided both parties are willing?"
Jarek blinked, surprised by the pivot. "Yes, Your Highness. Within reason, and with proper equipment."
Darian turned back to Lorin; his expression cool, his cheek still throbbing.
"All right, Lorin. I challenge you to a duel."