The bustling castle courtyard of Fendarrow surrounds me. Though I hail from the kingdom's fields, the energy of the people is still a novel experience. Ahead, a growing crowd gathers near the banquet hall, their excited voices rising above the normal chatter. As I approach, I see people forming a ring around two figures, one is a well-dressed, foreign-looking man brandishing a gleaming longsword, the other the weathered Captain Norvak, with a grim expression.

  "Last chance to retract your accusation, Norvak!" the foreign man calls out, twirling his blade with practiced flourish. "Or meet my blade!"

  The air crackles with anticipation as the captain and the foreigner engage in a staredown. The captain’s hand, firmly on the hilt of his weapon, prepares for the inevitable. The foreigner's smirk widens into a predatory grin. With a blur of motion, he lunges forward, his longsword whistling through the air towards the captain’s chest, which Captain Norvak parries with a clang, sparks flying with the clash.

  Confused, I don't do anything. Is this between the two of them, or am I expected to help the captain?

  The clangs of steel ring out as the foreign man and the captain continue their deadly dance. My mind races, weighing the implications of joining the fray. Captain Norvak, grim-faced and determined, parries the foreign man's lunge and counters with a swift, practiced thrust of his own longsword, aiming for an opening in his opponent's guard that is met with a quick sidestep from the foreigner, his blade cutting only air as his opponent expertly evades the attack.

  Enraged by Captain Norvak's aggressive counter, the foreigner snarls, his eyes burning with malice as he thrusts his gleaming longsword towards the captain's chest. Captain Norvak skillfully parries the foreigner's lunge, his blade deflecting the attack with a sharp clang of steel, leaving the foreigner’s attack to get flung aside.

  My eyes continually dart between the two, ready to act should the tide turn decisively against the captain. For now, I remain a silent observer, letting the duel play out. If I step in now, I’m afraid I might get in trouble for it.

  Captain Norvak, his face a mask of grim determination, thrusts his blade forward in a powerful lunge, aiming to end the foreigner's insolence. His blade finds its mark, slicing a shallow but painful wound across the foreigner's arm, a gasp of pain escaping his lips.

  Wincing from the fresh wound, the Foreigner snarls and lunges forward, his longsword flashing toward the captain with renewed fury, connecting with the captain’s armor with a jarring clang, leaving a dent and a painful bruise. The captain grunts in discomfort.

  Captain Norvak, his face grim with resolve, lunges forward with his longsword, aiming a precise strike at the foreigner, but it is immediately parried. The steel rings loudly as the captain's blade glances harmlessly off his guard.

  The duel rages on, a furious flurry of steel and grunts echoing through the square. Captain Norvak, though skilled, visibly begins to tire, his movements growing heavier. The foreign man, agile and relentless, presses his attack with renewed vigor. He feints left, then thrusts right, catching Norvak off balance. The captain's parry is slow, and the gleaming longsword finds purchase, slicing deeply across his arm.

  “An arm for an arm,” the foreigner smirks.

  The captain stumbles back, clutching the wound, his face pale with pain and blood beginning to seep through his fingers. The foreigner raises his blade for a final, decisive strike, a cruel smile twisting his lips. The crowd gasps, their anticipation turning to horror as Captain Norvak drops to one knee.

  Seeing the captain in need, with a sudden burst of speed, I launch myself forward, tackling the foreigner with a powerful surge. He stumbles backward, his murderous intent momentarily forgotten as he hits the cobblestones with a grunt, his longsword clattering away from his grasp. Captain Norvak, still clutching his bleeding arm, looks up in surprise.

  Swiftly, I grab the longsword lying on the ground, the weight feeling familiar in my grasp. With a determined glint in my eye, I pivot and bring the blade down towards the prone foreigner, but only swing it through the air as a warning.

  Scrambling on the ground, the foreigner snarls and attempts to lash out at me with a desperate, clumsy strike. However, despite his fury, the foreigner’s flailing fist misses me entirely, his momentum carrying him further onto the dirt.

  I grip the hilt of the longsword, my eyes fixed on the prone foreigner who was foolish enough to continue to resist, even though he is now unarmed. With a surge of determination, I swing the blade around in a powerful arc, which connects solidly with the foreigner’s side armor, drawing a pained gasp from him as his body jerks with the impact.

  Wounded and disarmed, the foreigner looks up at me from the ground, his face pale and contorted with pain. He raises a trembling hand, his eyes still burning with a defiant spark, but his body clearly gives in to the overwhelming odds. He surrenders.

  I step back from the man, leaving him sprawled on the cobblestones. Then, turning to Captain Norvak, I nod, "He is yours."

  The captain, his arm still bleeding but his eyes now sharp with renewed purpose, slowly rises. He eyes the defeated man with a mixture of anger and grim satisfaction. With a decisive movement, he takes the man’s weapon from me, then barks orders to two nearby guards who had been hesitantly watching the duel. "Take this troublemaker to the dungeons! And find that drunkard healer Dorgun, to tend to my arm, quickly!"

  I raise my hands in a gesture of silent disappointment. Aww, I don’t get to keep the sword…

  Captain Norvak catches my gaze, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Evidence, lad," he mutters, his voice gruff, gesturing with the confiscated longsword, "Belongs to the kingdom now. Come see me at the barracks after this rabble clears. We'll discuss a proper thanks." He gives a curt nod to the foreigner, now being roughly hoisted to his feet by the guards.

  I sigh and kick the prisoner. "You are really lucky you are not dead. Get moving! It seems our captain is feeling merciful today." The foreign man grunts, a mix of pain and defiance in his eyes, but he struggles to his feet under the guards' rough hands.

  The captain watches my interaction, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips before he turns his attention back to his injured arm. I bow my head slightly, a gesture of respect, and offer a quick apology. "Please excuse me for stepping in, sir."

  The captain, who had been inspecting his bleeding arm, looks up. His expression unreadable for a moment, he then gives a curt nod, a flicker of appreciation in his weary eyes. "No need, lad. You did what was necessary." He gestures with his good hand towards the departing foreigner and guards. "As I said, find me at the barracks. Once this mess is sorted, we'll talk properly. Fendarrow owes you for this."

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  My blood goes cold as I step away from the thinning crowd, expecting large amounts of sarcasm in that remark. I’m really in for it now… I leave the captain to oversee the aftermath of the duel and help myself to some food in the banquet hall while I wait for the captain to arrive. I can’t savor any of it, burdened by the anxiety of what my punishment will be.

  Eventually, I see the captain pass by, and I follow. The solid, unadorned stone walls of the barracks loom ahead, bathed in the dim glow of the setting sun. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of stale ale and polishing oil. Captain Norvak sits at a rough hewn table, a bandage now crudely wrapped around his arm, and a tankard of dark ale before him. He gestures to a vacant stool opposite. "Sit, lad. Tell me your name, and why a farmer's son from Fendarrow's fields is tackling foreign duelists in our courtyard."

  I look at the Captain wide-eyed. He sits before me, drinking openly during this time of prohibition... I guess all that confiscated alcohol has to go somewhere…

  "Just bringing food into town," I respond, my voice even, though a hint of bewilderment might linger in my eyes.

  Norvak takes a long draught from his tankard, his gaze sharp over the rim. "Aye, plenty of that comes through. But not many farmers leap into a street brawl to save a captain's hide. You have a name, lad?"

  I meet his gaze evenly. "Tallihan. I'm on the outer guard. I was just doing my part."

  Norvak sets his tankard down with a soft thud, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studies me. A flicker of recognition, or perhaps just a thought, crosses his features. "Outer guard, you say? Protecting the borders, then. A demanding post, that. Not many come into town with such ready reflexes. Seems 'doing your part' means more than just watching the woods and fields, eh, Tallihan?" He leans back, a knowing glint in his eyes.

  I suspect he is goading me into saying something I shouldn’t.

  I shrug, neither confirming nor denying the implication.

  A wry smile plays on the Captain's lips as he observes my hesitation. He takes another slow drink from his tankard, his gaze never leaving mine. "Modest, are we?" he grunts, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Well, modesty won't get you far in this kingdom, Tallihan. But action… action gets noticed. Now, about that 'proper thanks' I mentioned. That foreign dog, he's a trouble-maker from the kingdom of Valhoon. Been stirring up dissent, trying to undermine the Grand Council. Your intervention tonight... it bought us time. And for that, I owe you. What do you need, Tallihan? A drink? A favor? A chance to prove that 'outer guard' skill of yours on something more than just trolls and Sasquatch?"

  I raise an eyebrow as to what the dissent was about. Concerning what I want, all I do is eye the sword, but don't say anything, and just shake my head. "It is not my place to ask, sir. I was just doing what guards are supposed to do."

  "A principled man, then. Fendarrow could use more like you, Tallihan. But a deed like this, it deserves more than just a nod. If not for yourself, then for Fendarrow. There's always need for a keen blade and a strong arm where the Grand Council is concerned."

  Is that why you don't want to give me that sword? I think to myself. However, I respond by saying "Well... I am a guard... Doesn't that mean you already have me? What exactly are you suggesting?'

  Norvak chuckles, a low, gravelly sound. "Aye, a guard of Fendarrow, you are. But the outer guard and the court guard, they're different beasts, Tallihan. Your blade is for the fields and forests. Mine is for the inner courtyard and for protecting the Council. What I'm suggesting," he leans forward, his good arm resting on the table, "is that the Grand Council has need of men who aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. Men who can handle themselves when words fail. Like tonight. That 'dissent' I mentioned? It's not just words. It's becoming... an illness. And sometimes, the best cure isn't a speech, but a strong hand. A strong hand that isn't afraid to bend a few rules for the good of Fendarrow."

  I raise an eyebrow, wondering if I was bending any rules. The only rule I can think of would be not reporting this man for his alcohol... I feel uneasy about the situation...

  The captain observes my expression, a knowing glint in his eyes. He leans back, studying me. "Uneasy, are we, Tallihan? A good guard questions. But a smart guard understands that some rules are made to protect the peace, and some... are made to be flexible for the greater good. What do you think would happen if every man knew the Grand Council was weak, unable to handle a sniveling agitator from Valhoon?" He gestures around the dimly lit barracks. "There's more at stake here than just a duel in the courtyard. Think on it. Fendarrow is a proud kingdom, but pride can be fragile. We need men who understand that."

  I nod, I don't dare argue. Norvak watches me, a faint, approving smile playing on his lips. "Good," he says, pushing himself up from the table. "You understand, then. Fendarrow is a tough land, and sometimes we need to be tougher to protect it. "I have a task for you, Tallihan. Something that requires discretion, and that 'outer guard' experience of yours. A matter concerning some... unfortunate disappearances along the old trade road to Oakhaven. Too many merchants going missing, too many rumors of strange lights and even stranger beasts." He leans closer. "The Council wants it handled quietly. No fuss. I have been looking for capable hands. Are you interested in proving your worth to the kingdom, Tallihan?"

  Some reward… I inwardly complain. Hey, you just saved my life, how would you like a new position on latrine duty! I can't say no, so I just nod with the hope of getting this conversation over with as fast as possible.

  Captain Norvak claps me on the shoulder with his good hand, a dry, almost relieved smile spreading across his face. "Excellent, Tallihan. I knew I saw a spark in you. Report to the southern gate at dawn. A small patrol will be waiting. They'll have further instructions and supplies for your journey. And," he adds, a glint in his eye, "make Fendarrow proud. And try not to get into any more duels on your way out of town."

  I offer a crisp salute. "For Fendarrow!"

  Norvak returns the gesture, a genuine, albeit tired, smile on his face. "Indeed, Tallihan. For Fendarrow. Now get some rest. You'll need it." With a final nod, he dismisses me, leaving me to make my way out of the barracks and back into the quiet courtyard. The mission to the old trade road to Oakhaven awaits at dawn.

  Once out of sight, I kick the dirt. Now I see why no one else was stepping in to save him! Rule number one in the military: never volunteer for anything!

  The quiet courtyard is a stark contrast to the earlier commotion. I linger a little bit before exiting the city gates, my eyes scanning the few remaining late-night wanderers, hoping for a sympathetic glance, a whispered word of praise, or even a curious stare from a passing girl who might have witnessed my heroic tackle. But the city is settling into its nocturnal rhythm; the crowd from the duel has dispersed, and the few people I pass by are either too preoccupied with their own late-hour errands or too quick to avert their gaze, seeing only a lone figure stalking through the shadows. The cheers and gasps have faded, replaced by the distant rumble of a cart and the chirping of crickets. No one seems to notice the anonymous hero of the fight.

  I kick at the dirt again, the frustration still a dull ache as I pass through the city gates and follow the familiar path home. The praise and applause I had hoped for are nowhere to be found, leaving a bitter taste. The path home is quiet, illuminated only by the faint glow of distant stars and the occasional torch. I eventually find my way back, seeking the familiar comfort of my bed. Sleep comes, a deep and restorative balm after the night's unexpected events.

  When I awaken, the first rays of dawn paint the fields around my home with soft light. The air is crisp and cool, carrying the scent of dew-kissed earth. The new day brings with it the stark reality of my new mission. The southern gate awaits.