Fiend's Fourth Hurdle

"You want to be a true Drakmore?" Talen said with a crooked smile. "Then become one. Go and fight in the arena."

The words landed like a slap. Even Hans and Leo blinked, their confident faces momentarily confused. Bron tilted his head, lips curled and amused.

Ergon felt his stomach turn. "Ah... Father? What do you mean by that?"

"I can't teach you valor with words," Talen said, his tone blunt. "You have to earn it. Become a warrior first and then a soldier and maybe you can think of honor. Then and only then, you can start walking the road to becoming a true Drakmore."

His words were cold.

Ergon's mind spun. How? He was noble-born. A son of House Drakmore. The idea of being thrown into the pit was unthinkable.

"But... that's a place for slaves," Ergon said, trying to steady his voice.

Talen raised a brow. "Then you can start in Irene's Iron Arena. That's where soldiers go to become men."

"Father, this is outra—" Ergon stopped mid-sentence, the rest caught in his throat.

Leo broke the silence, voice sharp and sarcastic. "Well, brother, here's your opportunity! Go on and win a hundred fights. Who knows, maybe you'll become a warrior who makes us tremble one day."

Bron chuckled beside him. Hans remained silent with his arms crossed while carrying the same unreadable look.

"Please, Father," Ergon tried again. "I don't think I can... not like this. Not in my current state."

Talen's jaw tightened. His voice turned to iron. "It seems you're mistaken. That wasn't a suggestion. It was an order."

The air turned cold.

"Father!" Ergon stepped forward. "You can't sentence your own son to die in the Colosseum!"

Talen's fist slammed into the ruined table, splitting what was left of it. "Don't you dare call me your father!"

The room trembled with his voice.

"I don't recognize you as a son of mine," Talen growled.

Ergon took a step back. He felt it in his throat, a tight, aching knot that wouldn't let him speak or cry.

"A man who hides behind the shadows of great men who hold their sword and ground in the name of the Great House Drakmore, a man who fucks this whore and that whore by the coins and golds of my House, a man who knows nothing of a warrior's valor or a soldier's honor and sacrifice."

"Gods forbid such a disgrace of a pig be of my name or of my house or of my blood."

The shame wrapped around Ergon like chains. He couldn't breathe.

"You will fight in the Iron Arena," Talen continued. "As a final mercy, you may take whatever armor or sword you find in the armory, though I doubt you'll find one that fits."

Ergon's thoughts wandered—Felicia, Velicia, Elicia. His beloveds are waiting for him in his private mansion, the only place he ever felt wanted.

"Father… may I spend a day before departing?" he asked quietly, a glimmer of hope left in his voice.

"No. You shall not."

His head lifted, confused. "Huh? But why…"

"I know of your intentions. Did you think I wouldn't notice? You brought those three whores into Steelreach again, parading them like guests."

Ergon's voice cracked. "Let me at least spend my final moments with them."

Talen leaned forward, cruel and smiling. "Who said you wouldn't?"

Ergon blinked.

"These whores will fight in the pit too. You'll be sent into the arena with them."

It broke him.

"What?" Ergon stepped forward. "No! Please! Why are you dragging them into this? They have nothing to do with..."

"Nonsense," Talen snapped. "Now of all times you want to play the noble protector? Pathetic." He leaned back in his chair. "You loved them more than your House. Let's see how much they love you back when you're just another corpse in the sand."

Then came the knock, the creak of the door opening. A man entered, quiet, tall, and grim.

Don. Ergon's personal bodyguard.

"You," Ergon muttered, eyes narrowing.

Don didn't flinch. He bowed before Talen.

"Accompany this failure to the Iron Arena," Talen ordered. "Make sure those three whores are brought as well."

"Yes, my lord," Don said. His voice didn't tremble.

Ergon turned to him. "Don! You were supposed to be my trusted companion!"

Don looked at him now, annoyed more than apologetic. "My loyalty lies with the Warlord and the House. Please excuse me for what I'm about to do."

Before Ergon could speak again, Don grabbed him by the arm with one hand and dragged him from the room like a sack of meat. His weight meant nothing. Don didn't even breathe hard.

"FATHER!" Ergon shouted, twisting desperately. "BROTHERS! HANS! PLEASE! STOP THIS! I'M YOUR SON! I'M YOUR BROTHER!"

No response.

Talen didn't move.

Hans ignored him.

Leo chuckled at him, and Bron followed with one of his own.

The door shut close slowly.

And with that slam, the last sight Ergon had of his father and brothers vanished.