Only I Am The Strongest

"Put my name on the ledger."

The soaked leather pouch struck the marble desk with a wet thud. Kieran Drakeshade kept his bruised hand pressed over the drawstrings. The grand hall of the Royal Citadel echoed with the voices of armored nobles and silk clad officials. He stood before the registration official in a torn tunic that reeked of swamp water and dried goblin gore.

“What!”

The clerk recoiled. He pinched his nose in disgust and pointed his finger toward the gates outside.

"Remove that filth from my desk. This line is for squires of recognized lineages."

Kieran leaned closer. "The king issued a public decree. Any man with the entry f*e can test for the Knight recruitment."

"The f*e is fifty silver." The clerk sneered. "You look like you would gut a merchant for a single coin."

"Count it." Kieran pulled the drawstrings open.

A foul smell drifted from the pouch upward. Kieran had spent six months hunting venomous scuttlers in the outer ash wastes to collect the city bounties. Every silver piece represented a night of freezing rain and near starvation. He needed the knight recruitment tournament. It offered a barracks bed, three meals a day, and a chance to escape the disease ridden slums.

The clerk picked up a silver piece using a polished letter opener. "This is tainted money. You probably stole it from a dead soldier in the gutter."

"I earned every single piece." Kieran tightened his jaw. "Register my name."

"I will do no such thing." The clerk tossed the coin back into the pile. "The knights require pure strength to combat every battle; against humans or demons. You lack even a spark of elemental affinity. You are useless. The demons would smell your weakness and frenzy. The knights would end up using you as bait."

"Let the field examiners decide my worth." Kieran kept his voice level. "Take the f*e."

"Are you deaf?" The clerk signaled to a pair of guards standing near the arched doorway. "Take your trash and leave before I have you thrown in the dungeon for loitering."

Kieran planted his feet. He had nowhere else to go. The slums offered nothing but slow decay. This desk served as his only gateway to survival.

"The law is the law." Kieran stated. "Take the coin."

Footsteps clicked against the marble behind him. The sound carried an arrogant rhythm that made the nearby nobles pause their conversations.

"The law is designed for human beings." A cultured voice echoed through the registration hall. "It does not apply to stray dogs barking at the castle gates."

Kieran turned. A young man in immaculate silver armor walked toward the desk. Intricate blue runes glowed along his polished breastplate. Two armored guards trailed a few paces behind him.

The clerk jumped to his feet and offered a deep bow. "Lord Alaric, son of Lord Vayne. Welcome. Your registration was processed yesterday morning."

Alaric ignored the greeting. He stopped in front of Kieran and looked him up and down. His lips curled into a sneer of contempt.

"I heard the demons have breached the eastern wall." Alaric spoke loud enough for the entire hall to hear. "We need men who wield divine magic to cleanse the corruption. Men like me, with discipline and pure blood."

"I paid the entry f*e." Kieran met his gaze.

"You think this is about money?" Alaric stepped closer. "Do you think a rusted sword and a few silver coins make you an equal to the high houses? You are an orphan with no magic and no name. Your presence here insults the royal crest."

Kieran clenched his fists. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to walk away. Challenging a noble in the capital meant a public hanging. He looked back at the pouch on the table. Those coins were his life.

"My blood runs red just like yours." Kieran said. "I can hold a line against the horde."

Alaric laughed. It was a cold, hollow sound. He raised his boot and placed it on top of the coin pouch.

"Your blood is dirt." Alaric kicked his leg outward.

The pouch flew off the desk, it hit a pillar and burst open. Fifty silver coins scattered across the floor. 

Kieran stared at the money. Six months of agony and near death experiences rolled away into the shadowed corners of the room.

"Pick up your garbage and leave." Alaric ordered.

Kieran swallowed his pride. Anger burned in his throat, but survival mattered more than dignity. He dropped to his knees. He bent down to grab a silver coin resting near the base of the stone pillar.

An iron plated boot slammed into Kieran's ribcage.

Bone fractured as air vanished from Kieran's lungs. The hit lifted his body off the floor and threw him backward. He crashed onto the hard stone.

"Did I give you permission to crawl in my presence?" Alaric stepped forward. "A lowly wretch like you belongs in the mud."

Kieran gasped for air. He placed his palms on the floor and tried to push himself up, but his left arm buckled under his own weight. He refused to stay silent. He turned his head and spat a mouthful of dark blood onto the pristine white marble near Alaric's boot.

"Was the King born a King?" Kieran forced the words through his gritted teeth. "Does a man become a Grand Mage without ever studying the arcane?"

Alaric narrowed his eyes. The aristocratic sneer faltered for a fraction of a second, replaced by genuine annoyance at the peasant's audacity.

"There is no such thing as a natural born knight who never endured hardship." Kieran tightened his jaw, fueled by an exhausted idealism. "The legendary Army Commander clawed his way out of the lowest slums to become the most decorated warrior in our history. Today, I earned my entry f*e in blood. I will become just like him."

Alaric let out a harsh, echoing laugh that carried across the silent hall.

"A rat should not dream of becoming a lion." Alaric leaned down, bringing his face closer to Kieran. "That Master was great because he possessed divine talent. You have nothing. You are poor. You are talentless. You are a void of magic who spends his days indulging in delusional fantasies. Your ideals are as worthless as the dirt on your face."

Alaric stood back up and gestured to his armored guards.

"Beat the delusions out of him." Alaric ordered. "Teach this rat his proper place."

The two men stepped forward. 

The first kick caught Kieran in the stomach, sending his abdomen bruised under the pressure. He curled into a tight ball as the second kick landed on his spine. The third hit his shoulder blade. The guards fell into a rhythm of violence.

Kieran protected his head with his forearms. The bones in his arms cracked under the repeated strikes. Every blow sent shockwaves of agony through his body. He choked on his own blood. He coughed and splattered red blood across the white floor.

He opened his swollen eyes for a fraction of a second.

A high mage stood on the curved balcony above the hall. The old man wore robes of deep purple silk. He held a crystal glass of wine. The mage took a slow sip and watched Kieran get pulverized. The official did not shout for order or summon the city watch. 

Kealan was too insignificant to waste his spit on. The world belonged to the strong, the weak existed only to be crushed. 

The beating continued until Kealan went limb, a terrifying numbness replaced the sharp pain. Kieran lay crushed against the cold stone floor. His breath rattled in his chest. He could no longer feel his legs.

The guards stepped back. Alaric stood over him.

"Throw his carcass in the back alley." Alaric adjusted his gauntlets. "Let the street dogs feast on the remains."

Kieran stared at the high ceiling. The ornate chandeliers fractured into blurry points of light. His heart struggled to pump blood through his broken veins.

He closed his eyes and waited for death to take him.

It did not come.

The cold stopped. An unnatural pressure bloomed deep inside his chest. It felt like a solid stone resting directly on his failing heart. The phantom stone grew heavier. It began to radiate heat.

Kieran gasped. The incoming air burned his throat.

The pressure intensified. It felt as if he had swallowed a live coal.

Deep within his body, an ancient seal recognized mortal peril.

The invisible containment around him disintegrated.

A suffocating heat flooded Kieran's veins. It incinerated the cold numbness. The fire scorched his stomach and flooded his muscles. He opened his eyes, the blurry white haze of his vision shifted into a piercing, radiant gold.

The air around his broken body began to warp.

Alaric paused. The noble turned back around.

A frown creased his forehead.

"What is that?" Alaric asked.