“This will never not be cool!” Helenn excimed.

  Rykard had to agree with the pregnant shortstack on his shoulders. The scene of the cosmic stag ripping through the veil between worlds was nothing short of awesome. In cosmic darkness and starlight, the majestic demigod trotted out into the world, drawing its outwardly massive, inwardly infinite carriage after it.

  Starlight Wandering All Worlds awaited its contracted conjurer impatiently. The entity was there to transport him, not to be a showcase for his allies. How one injured the pride of such a being and the other did not, Rykard did not quite understand. He was human and it was a creature of esoteric yers wrapped around raw cosmic power. Understanding would always be limited.

  Still, Rykard took a second to turn towards his harem. Miyo, first and foremost, stood at the head of the half-dozen women. Mena would be capable of taking care of any woes pregnancy might bring with it. Lyvia would protect them. Tena, Hey, and Vyra would all work as hard as the rest of them from the safety of the Estate. A messenger from Moydra stood at the side, fascinated by the dispy. He was one of their many ways to communicate with the world beyond.

  The king beheld all of them in detail. He drank in their beauty, bowed his head in gratitude for their patience, and mented that he would miss yet another stretch of time of the development of his heirs inside them. When he came back, two weeks from now at the absolute earliest, they would be yet a little bigger.

  A series of kisses was their goodbye. Then, he turned away and entered the carriage. The mighty steed lost no moment to get moving.

  _________________________________________________________________

  The six day journey was simultaneously deeply interesting and utterly dull.

  Between Helenn and the ever-shifting insides of the carriage, Rykard had plenty to do and explore. However, all of the carriage was shifting to give him whatever he desired at that moment, making it rgely predictable what he was going to run into. It lost its appeal after some time. It still beat the regur travelling in a cramped carriage. Him and Helenn could take long walks and experiment with Artifice. Those two things alone made this more bearable than any other journey.

  What they built was sadly not of this world. The inside of the carriage was more Conjuration Realm than not, so whatever they made from the materials within it could not be moved past the door and would stop existing altogether the moment they took their eyes off it. Still, they challenged each other and kept up with creative tools of enjoyment that had no practical application.

  Early in the seventh day, they arrived in the Contestant Hexagon.

  In some ways, it reminded Rykard of his own Estate. Surrounded by moderate mountains, the hilly terrain surrounded a central structure. Whereas Rykard’s home was an opulent mansion fit for a couple dozen, up to a hundred people, with support staff and all, what he looked at the heart of this Hexagon was a ministry.

  The building had four wings, id out like the leaves of a clover. A central dome connected everything. Marble and gold shone in the light of the early day. Rays reflected off of rge fountains that y in opulent gardens within the gorgeous walls. Everything was clean, every wn mowed, every hedge trimmed, every window polished to its utmost.

  There was busy activity. Unlike Rykard’s Estate, which had to house only himself and Miyo, it was obvious that this ministry had been home to several hundreds if not thousands of people and continued to sustain a simir number. A number that was now pouring out of the building and forming orderly rows by the main road the carriage rolled down.

  “Should we be worried about that?” Helenn asked in a chirpy tone.

  “You don’t sound worried,” Rykard pointed out.

  “I got my fated Master right here.” The shortstack was hovering against his side, nuzzled even more intensely against him with all the adoration her small frame could muster. “What could I ever worry about?”

  Fingers combing through her warm, golden hair, Rykard hummed in approval. “I know what a battle formation looks like. That’s not one.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “An honoured welcome.”

  The orderly rows stood off to the rows of the sides of the paved road. People in ornate armour of bck and brass fired bolts of arcane into the air as the carriage passed. The explosions whistled past the contracted demigod. Starlight Wandering All Worlds came to a halt. Helenn and Rykard disembarked.

  As the cosmic stag disappeared into particles of gactic might, the king and his accompanying haremette approached the obvious head of the organization. Fnked by four other people, all of them dressed in bck and brass, the person in the middle was the only one to embody the white and gold of the architecture towering behind them. Despite that, under the fwlessly clean robes, they wore a second robe of bck whose sleeves surfaced from underneath the white.

  Rykard found them momentarily confusing to look at. The features were feminine, the lips full, the hair long and of a white-blonde shine. It took a few moments of close inspection to be certain that he was a highly androgynous man. He cpped his hands with a solemn, serious expression, amber eyes respectfully lowered.

  In response to the cp, all of the gathered bureaucrats and guards stood at attention. “We greet the Contestant Rykard of New Eden,” the feminine man spoke, his voice a tranquil sound as beautiful as a sun-kissed meadow. “I, Loran Tyr, First Minister, welcome you to our humble realm of Prosperity.”

  “I am most honoured by your swift and grand response to my unannounced visit, Loran Tyr,” Rykard said loudly, so all could hear the genuine warmth in his voice. Hands folded behind his back, the king, in his new and sharp uniform, strut forward and stopped at a respectful distance from the First Minister and his four companions, likely the other high ministers.

  Rykard surprised everyone by bowing in kind. Not as deeply, as a king he had to wear his head high, but certainly long and deep enough to be more than a nod. He held the pose until Loran began to raise his head and then moved in perfect unison with the man. They both stood fully straight at the same moment.

  “Truly, this is all the welcome I could ask for.” Rykard kept his grip on the initiative. “You show me the skill of your guards.” He gestured towards the darkly armoured men and women, who mustered him with eyes of smouldering orange. “You trust me to marvel at the beauty of your architecture up close.” He gestured at the great ministry before him. “You allow me to stand before you, despite having heard who I am and what I am capable of.” Rykard folded his hands behind his back once again. “It takes a great amount of guts to stand before me, especially when I am an unknown to you. For all you know about me, Loran Tyr, you must excuse me the question: are you the Contestant of the nation of Prosperity?”

  “I am,” answered the beautiful man.

  “Then I truly appud your valour,” Rykard decred. “We all know how the great game of the gods is pyed. A nation with such great beginnings could not be headed by one whose might is in his brawn and magic. It must then be your bravery and intellect that has earned you the rare privilege of shaping a new world.” The king approached two more steps, remaining another three removed from the fellow Contestants. Once more, he bowed his head - just a little deeper. “Truly, I can respect such confidence in the face of unknown power.”

  “I thank you greatly for your kind words,” Loran Tyr answered and hid his hands in his wide sleeves. “The messengers of Benhuldran described you as a man of reasonability… and a few eccentric habits.”

  “So one could say,” Rykard said with a chuckle and stood once more straight. “I like to live my life honestly. May I ask a question, First Minister?”

  “Of course, honoured guest.”

  “Is just Loran fine?”

  Now it was his turn to chuckle. “Yes, king of New Eden, Loran is fine… may I invite you inside? You arrive just in time for the morning banquet.”

  It appeared a genuine and innocent invitation, so Rykard had no reason to refuse. A proper feast with other people and varied foodstuff sounded like a wonderful time to spend the morning. “I’ll be taking that offer - and please, Rykard is fine.”

  The First Minister turned and so did the four other people by his side. The orderly crowd then dispersed, flowing back into the giant building through the various doors lining the walls of the two nearby wings. Loran, meanwhile, guided the king and his companion towards the central dome.

  “It was described to me that you travel with a fox woman of red hair,” Loran struck up a casual conversation on the way. “Then again, it was also described to me that you enjoy the company of many women.”

  Rykard gestured for Helenn to answer for herself. “Master enjoys that company of all the women that he deserves, which is all the extra subby, extra cute, extra breedable ones,” the angel babbled. “I’m Helenn, cherub of Subana, and I’m all three of these things, so he chose me as his travel companion and relief tool.”

  “Subana… hmmm… I believe I have heard of such a goddess before… a sexual deity, is she not?” Loran suggested and looked ot one of his fellow minister. “Vanthis, do you know that name?”

  The minister addressed was a middle aged dragon woman with swung, goat-like horns and bck hair that showed the first gray streaks. In her robe of bck and brass, the dark-skinned female looked quite intimidating, but her body nguage remained open, although not fully friendly. “I have not,” she answered firmly.

  “A shame. Knowledge is ever treasured among us.”

  Vanthis nodded and looked to Helenn. “If you would sit with me during the banquet, I’d like to hear the details of Subana and her faith.”

  “I’ll gdly tell you all about the goddess of good girls!” Helenn answered enthusiastically.

  A pair of guards awaited them at the gate to the dome. This pair was armoured in gold and marble as well, the ptes made up of trimmed stone. Any individuality was covered by the thick protection, leaving them as embodiments of their rank. Clutching their halberds in one hand, they moved in perfect symmetry, pulling the door open just as the group stepped through it.

  The inside of the dome was a three-yered descent. The uppermost yer existed primarily for movement, circling around the walls and connecting the four wings of the ministry via massive ornate gates. Each of them had a word embzoned atop the arch. ‘Knowledge’, ‘Might’, ‘Peace’, and ‘Future’ were the four words that Rykard read. Directing his gaze upwards, he also found the word ‘Unity’ stretched out among the manifold decorations of the dome’s fresco.

  The scene depicted was one of war, separated into the four aspects of the words. A scene of great men and women debating about a map bordered on the marching armies of bck and brass, white and gold, which then bordered on those opposing forces shaking hands, then together looking towards a sunset. The shape of the dome and the arrangement of the pictures suggested a cycle of history, conflict, unification, shared dreams, and new wars. The thread of unity went through it all.

  Fitting for that depiction of war was the lowest level of the dome. Set deep under the middle ring was a pit surrounded by infernal runes of protection. The soil had a rusty, brown colour, a particur shade soil only took when it was repeatedly drenched in blood.

  “Quite ugly,” Loran said, tracing his gaze. “Barren dirt, as much crushed, crusted blood as it is earth. Runes sanctified through unholy rites to allow the men and women around safety while the sves fight for their amusement.”

  “Then why keep it around?” Rykard asked, primarily out of curiosity.

  “Because it is good to remember one’s roots - and because sometimes a pit fight makes for splendid entertainment. Under civilized rules, of course, and only between consenting parties.” Loran sighed. “When war is inevitable, a duel can also be preferable to a bloody battle.”

  “There is wisdom in that,” Rykard agreed.

  They descended to the middle yer. It was the broadest of the three and held a great many tables, all of them filled with food. A diverse crowd of people mingled there, many of them clearly from Loran’s original world, many more either by dress or species shown to originate from somewhere else.

  “Honoured guests!” Loran raised his voice, having stopped on the middle of the staircase. “We are joined today by Rykard, king of New Eden, Contestant and winner of the first Divine Game, with him is one of his women, Helenn, blessed cherub of Subana!”

  The elites cheered for the kings arrival and he waved as he fully joined the crowd. He kept an eye on Helenn, while she joined Vanthis over bread and cream cheese. Otherwise, he was swiftly occupied by a great crowd that beset him. The atmosphere was beyond friendly and maids always made sure that he could drink what he wanted. They offered wine, but recommended water. Rykard asked for fresh milk and was brought that as well. It fit nicely with the bread and meat he filled up with.

  This was the bustling of a court - a different kind of court than Rykard was used to. Loran was First Minister and obvious head of state, by the grace of gods and his charm, that much conversation revealed. However, compared to the imperial court of Troyk, power was a lot more spread out. Loran was no more the centre of attention than his fellow ministers and the high officials below them.

  It was quite a refreshing gathering of elites - but a gathering of elites was certainly what it was. Words were spoken carefully, to avoid hurting any sensibilities. The subjects discussed were often esoteric and philosophical, rather than practical. Rykard did not get a complete read on the character of this government, but he did find it to be typical in its functions.

  Tables were cleared of food gradually. The feasting slowed. It was shortly after that, that Loran approached Rykard again. “Forgive me if this may be rude,” he began, “but my ally here would wish to step into the pit with you.”

  Rykard raised an eyebrow and beheld said ally. He was a tall man with long, bck hair that gradually transformed into a fming mane. His chest was half covered by a bck toga. A massive ornament of forged wings around a marble skull sat on one shoulder.

  Eyes as red and orange as the heart of a volcano stared from a serious face. The man was entirely tense, loaded like a coiled spring with untapped power. The red cape behind his back fluttered and bent from some unknown power. A mixture of staff and spear in his hand did much the same, jittering in its location and dimensions. The tent magic was tangible.

  “I was brought to this world to fight you,” the intense man decred.

  Loran sighed. “You really have to work on your tact, friend.”

  “I don’t mind,” Rykard chuckled. “Is that true though?”

  “You cannot bme a man for taking precautions,” Loran said in a dissuading tone. “Only a fool would disarm themselves in blind trust. I used the phrase ‘someone that could beat this world’s Contestant named Rykard’.”

  “And I relish the challenge!” he decred. “I am Ahdean, Firelord, and I ask for the honour of a fight!”

  “Sure,” Rykard agreed casually. ‘Might as well find out how gracious the gods are when it comes to providing the other Contestants obstacles for me.’ “Good thing you do have that pit, hm?”

  “The wards have been created by infernal rites, but they are well maintained by modern means,” Loran answered with a charming smile. “I look forward to seeing you in this field of battle.”

  “It is quite the sight,” Rykard boasted. “Do we just jump in? I see no stairs.”

  “Yes,” Ahdean answered before Loran could and lead by example. One jump over the railing and he nded in the pit. Twirling his staff in ritualistic motions, he fanned the fmes of his hair until they had grown to an inferno. He stopped in an inviting battle pose, weapon behind his back. The strange bending effect was emphasized by the angle, the pce where the spear disappeared behind him not matching where it re-emerged for a straight weapon.

  Rykard could not help it - he grinned. The excitement and bloodlust was rising within him, strong enough to make some of the weaker willed men and women around him take an involuntary step back.

  Every fight in this new world coaxed more of that vast potential out of him. Rykard relished in the challenge, in legendary battles. He would fight so many of them that some of them would be relegated only to those whowitnessed them, for their accounts would not fit into the already thick books filled with the rest of them.

  Every fight in this new world killed part of that apathy that had started to set in. That boredom with a settled world. This world too would settle one day, of course.

  On his terms.

  “Helenn, be a dear and do not comment this fight. We’ll respect our hosts.”

  “Roger that, Master!” the cherub chirped.

  “Fight me!” Ahdean demanded.

  Rykard did not let the man wait another moment. From where he stood he leapt, nding in the ring with his hands in his pockets. “You’ll get everything you wanted, Firelord. Provide me with as much as you can give.”

  “Confident! Good!” Ahdean retreated three steps, only so they were equal distances from the wall. The pit wasn’t small, but it wasn’t huge either - about ten metres across. The rust-red dirt was compact, with an upper yer dusting Rykard’s shoes and Ahdean’s bare feet the brown of long-dried blood.

  Up above, the people were hurrying to crowd around the railing or to ascend to the yer further up to get a different angle.

  The Firelord wore his power openly. Rykard leaned forwards slightly, his grin only widening. That man was stronger than Benhuldran, it was evident in every second the infernal power radiated from his coal-skinned form. Anticipation made the king’s muscles twitch.

  “BEGIN!” Loran shouted.