Sir Lucas's agreement to speak with Lord Baren was a significant hurdle cleared, but Liam knew his father's approval would be the true test. The old knight, true to his word, sought an audience with the Lord of Lithia that very evening.
Liam was not invited to this initial discussion. He paced his chambers, the refined Lilith essence still thrumming within him, a quiet promise of greater power. He could only imagine the conversation: Lucas, stoic and factual, recounting the spar; his father, wary and burdened by recent betrayals.
The summons came the next morning. Liam found his father in his study, Sir Lucas standing respectfully to one side. Lord Baren's face was a mask of stern contemplation.
"Liam," Baren began, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. "Sir Lucas has informed me of your… unusual request to participate in a tournament hosted by House Oulbeck. A tournament, I might add, for which we have received no formal invitation."
"Father," Liam began, "Lord Gareth Vangoria suggested—"
"Yes, yes, Sir Lucas relayed your explanation," Baren interrupted, waving a dismissive hand. "Be that as it may, the timing is… inopportune. Tensions are high. Your uncle's… recent actions have cast a shadow. To send you, my heir, away from the safety of Lithian Hold now, for a minor tournament…" He shook his head. "The risk is too great. My answer is no."
Liam's heart sank, but he kept his composure. He had anticipated this, though the finality in his father's tone was disheartening.
It was Sir Lucas who spoke next, his voice calm but resolute. "My Lord Baren, if I may be so bold. Your son's capabilities have… grown exponentially. Words, even mine, cannot do justice to what I have witnessed. Perhaps a demonstration is in order?"
Baren looked sharply at his Knight Commander. "A demonstration?"
"Tomorrow morning, in the main training yard," Lucas proposed. "Invite whom you wish – members of your council, perhaps even a few of the lesser lords currently visiting. Let them see. Let you see. Captain Torvin is a skilled man, a veteran of many skirmishes. A spar between him and young Lord Liam."
A flicker of interest, or perhaps surprise, crossed Baren's face. Captain Torvin was one of his most seasoned guard captains, a solid 3-Star Adept Knight. To pit Liam against him publicly was a bold move. "You have this much faith in him, Lucas?"
"I have faith in what my own eyes have shown me, my lord," Lucas stated simply.
The next morning, a palpable buzz filled the training yard. Lord Baren was present, seated on a raised platform, flanked by several of his key bannermen and advisors. Whispers rippled through the assembled household staff and guards.
Liam stood opposite Captain Torvin, a burly man with a scarred face and eyes that had seen too many battles. Liam was equipped with a standard practice longsword; Crimson Fang remained safely in his inventory, its true nature too potent, too revealing for this display. He needed to show skill, not overwhelming magical power.
The spar began. Torvin, expecting an easy victory against the young lord despite rumors of his recent improvement, attacked with confidence. Liam, calm and focused, met him. He didn't use the full, explosive power of Dragonheart Vigor, nor the blinding speed he was now capable of. Instead, he showcased pure, unadulterated swordsmanship. His parries were perfect, his footwork flawless, his counters precise and economical. He flowed around Torvin's powerful but predictable attacks, deflecting, redirecting, creating openings the captain couldn't anticipate.
It was a masterclass. Liam wasn't just defending; he was dictating the pace, leading Torvin into ill-advised lunges, exposing weaknesses the captain didn't even know he had. The crowd, initially whispering, fell into a stunned silence. Lord Baren leaned forward, his knuckles white on the armrests of his chair, his eyes fixed on his son.
After several minutes of being thoroughly outmaneuvered, a frustrated Torvin roared and launched a desperate, powerful strike. Liam sidestepped it with fluid grace, and in a movement too quick for most to follow, disarmed the captain, sending his practice sword clattering harmlessly to the dust.
Silence. Then, a slow, hesitant applause began, quickly swelling into a wave of astonished acclaim.
Captain Torvin, panting and red-faced, stared at Liam with disbelief, then slowly, respectfully, bowed. "My lord… I am… outmatched."
Lord Baren rose, his expression unreadable. He descended to the training yard, approaching Liam. "You have… improved, Liam. More than improved." He looked at his son, truly looked at him, seeing not just the boy, but the nascent warrior. The political calculus was already turning in his mind. Such skill, publicly displayed, could indeed bolster House Lithia's prestige, a subtle message of strength in uncertain times.
"The Oulbeck Tournament," Baren said, his voice now holding a different note, one of grudging respect and dawning consideration. "If you are truly set on this, you may go."
Relief washed over Liam. "Thank you, Father."
"However," Baren continued, his gaze hardening again, "you will not go alone. Sir Lucas will accompany you. And you will take a contingent of ten Black Knights as your personal guard. Disguised, of course. No overt displays of Lithian military might, but their presence will be a deterrent. Vorian has been dealt a blow, but he is a wounded viper – still dangerous. I will not have you unprotected."
Liam nodded. It was more than he could have hoped for. The Black Knights were an unexpected bonus, a significant security measure.
Preparations for the journey began immediately. Liam spent time familiarizing himself with Crimson Fang in private, the blade thrumming with a hungry energy in his grip. Sarah, her worry evident despite her attempts to mask it, meticulously packed his essentials, her hands brushing his almost accidentally as she handed him a newly mended cloak. A silent understanding passed between them.
Two days later, Liam's small party set out. Sir Lucas rode beside him, his expression thoughtful. The ten Black Knights, dressed in plain traveler's clothes, their specialized armor and weapons carefully concealed, fanned out, forming an almost invisible but formidable protective screen.
The road to Oulbeck territory was initially uneventful. On the third day, however, as they traversed a rolling, sparsely wooded region, they came upon a larger, more ostentatious caravan halted by the roadside. Banners displaying the silver hawk of House Voss fluttered in the breeze.
A young woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and hair the color of polished ebony, dressed in practical but elegant riding leathers, observed their approach. A masterfully crafted longbow was slung across her back. This was Lady Elara Voss, Liam vaguely recalled her name from his past – a prodigious archer, already a 3-Star talent at sixteen, and known for her sharp wit and even sharper tongue. House Voss and House Lithia had a history of cool, if not outright hostile, rivalry.
As their parties drew near, Elara Voss offered a curt nod. "Lord Liam Lithian, I presume? Heading to the Oulbeck folly, no doubt. One hears even the more… provincial Houses are sending their hopefuls this year." Her tone was light, but the barb was unmistakable.
Before Liam could formulate a polite but firm retort, a gruff voice cut in from another group that had just crested a nearby hill – a rougher, less organized band. "Nobles squabbling already? Save it for the arena." The speaker was a powerfully built young man, no older than seventeen, with a grim face and eyes that held a deep-seated resentment. He carried a massive, crude-looking woodsman's axe that, despite its appearance, looked like an extension of his arm. This, Liam sensed, was Kael Thorne, a commoner whose participation was sponsored by a wealthy merchant with a penchant for disrupting the noble order. His skill, Liam remembered, was brutally effective.
Sir Lucas's hand instinctively went to his sword hilt, his gaze sweeping over the newcomers, assessing the potential for trouble. The air grew tense, the disparate groups eyeing each other with suspicion. The road to Oulbeck, it seemed, would be far from dull.