Chapter 324: The Arena
The Governor's threat landed with a weight that made argument feel dangerous. The assembled nobility went very quiet.
Nerve agent wasn't theoretical to these people. Some years back, a minor noble — green family colours, old grudge — had discovered his wife involved with a rival house's scion. In response, he'd produced a nerve toxin canister from somewhere, detonated it in the upper hive, and killed tens of millions of residents, wiping out dozens of noble families in the process.
Several people in this room had probably lost relatives to that incident. None of them wanted a repeat, and none of them were confident enough in the Governor's sanity to test whether he meant it.
Reluctant compromise settled over both sides.
"A duel, then. In the Killing Grounds. Each side sends its finest warrior."
The speaker was a man from the stepmother's faction — pale skin, unusual bone structure, a small unchanging smile on his face that suggested genuine amusement at the proceedings. He addressed the stepmother briefly with a look that was hard to read. She fell silent.
He spread his hands toward Nightingale.
"Since the Governor won't permit open war, single combat is the most economical resolution available.
Do you agree, Lady Nightingale?"
The mood on Nightingale's side shifted immediately. Her advisors watched the pale man with visible wariness — none of them dismissed him.
One advisor spoke carefully.
"Baron Pallid — are you proposing to participate?"
The man called Baron Pallid smiled a little wider, showing teeth that were pointed and white.
"That is what I do. You're not afraid, are you?"
The advisors exchanged looks and didn't answer.
Baron Pallid had arrived on the planet decades ago, coming in on a transport from somewhere else. His combat record since then was extensive and unblemished — hired for difficult work, the kind that didn't appear in official records, and he'd never failed a contract. At some point he'd been formally legitimised and ennobled, ending up in Campella service.
During the Aeldari warrior's rampage through the hive, he'd been among the defenders who repelled an attack on the Campella tower — and succeeded. Given his pallor, his unusual skeletal structure, and the way he moved, most observers suspected extensive biological enhancement of a non-standard kind.
If he entered the arena, he would be extremely difficult to beat.
The stepmother immediately pushed her advantage.
"If it's a duel, then fine — but our military strength is three times yours, so you only get one fighter and we should be allowed three. That's just proportional."
Nightingale's side was already unhappy with the duel proposal. One Baron Pallid was hard enough. A three-on-one arrangement was something else entirely.
Before anyone else could respond, Baron Pallid himself interjected.
"That won't be necessary. If I bring two additional fighters, our opponents have no chance at all — there's no entertainment in it.
How about this: I face thirty of your people alone.
Thirty against one. Do you accept?"
Nightingale's advisors ran a quiet calculation behind their expressions. If he was genuinely fighting thirty fighters in rotation, attrition alone would eventually bring him down.
Nightingale looked at her advisors. The senior one nodded fractionally.
"Agreed. Thirty of our warriors against you tomorrow morning. If they lose—" she kept her voice steady "—then I accept it as the Emperor's judgment. I will relinquish my claim to the Campella succession without further contest."
The stepmother started to object. Baron Pallid turned and looked at her.
Just looked.
She closed her mouth.
He nodded toward Nightingale. The arrangement was set.
The next morning, the Killing Grounds filled up.
The arena was circular — modelled loosely on ancient amphitheatre architecture, capable of seating twenty or thirty thousand spectators. It hosted noble tournament competitions under normal circumstances, the kind where the winner walked away with prize money and admirers. Today was not that kind of occasion.
Both sides' fighters had entered.
Nightingale's first combatant was a young warrior in powered armour, armed with a monomolecular combat blade — a weapon with a single-molecule cutting edge, capable of slicing through almost any material, though fragile enough that it rarely survived more than one or two engagements without the edge collapsing. Sufficient for one duel.
Baron Pallid stood opposite him in a lightweight suit of powered armour, a combat knife in each hand. His expression was that of a man waiting for something he'd been slightly looking forward to, and slightly bored by the anticipation.
His subsequent performance confirmed he'd earned that expression.
The moment the arbiter called the start, Baron Pallid threw one of his knives.
Not a lunging attack. Not a feint. He simply threw it, casually, as if discarding something he didn't need.
Nightingale's warrior had no time to register what was happening. The knife crossed the distance, split through his powered armour's helmet, and removed the top of his skull.
He hit the ground.
Total elapsed time: half a second.
The stepmother's faction erupted in noise.
Nightingale's advisors went very still.
The second fighter lasted one second before losing his head to the remaining knife, deployed with similar economy.
The next ten fights followed the same pattern. Ten warriors, all dead inside three seconds each. Nightingale's side was collapsing in on itself — the morale damage was becoming visible.
An advisor approached Nightingale and started to speak. She raised a hand.
Her eyes, calm and unwavering, moved to the front row of the spectator seating — to the figure sitting beside General Zeppelin, cracking sunflower seeds with elaborate casualness.
"It's fine," she said quietly. "The Count will act."
☆☆☆
-> 20 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you