Disrespect

With the rays of sunlight seeping through the curtains, Argon stirred from his slumber, his body enveloped in a satisfied languor. He saw no sign of Ruby; the woman was already gone, having served her purpose admirably the previous night. His body still felt the delightful remnants of the evening spent; the memory brought a smirk to his lips as he got out of bed.

Dressing in his Dayless armour, he lumbered downstairs, still feeling the slight haze of the rice wine. The brothel's madam was waiting for him at the entrance, her countenance marred by the ugly purple bruise on her cheek - a clear reminder of his strength. Her eyes looked upon him with a mix of fear and respect.

In a tone filled with authority, Argon ordered, "Bring my servant down here. And arrange to send some of that rice wine to my residence later today."

"Of course, my lord," she quickly agreed, relief apparent in her voice. "How many jars would you like?"

"Ten," Argon answered nonchalantly.

"Absolutely, my lord. And because of the inconvenience I caused last night, I will also add two more jars for free," the madam offered hurriedly, eager to appease him.

A slow smile spread across Argon's face at her words, "Good, good. See to it." His command resonated in the silent room, a potent reminder of his newly gained status and power.

In his gauntlet-clad hand, Argon held out the coins, dropping them one by one onto the wooden desk with a satisfying clink. Their echo seemed to fill the room, the sound of wealth and power brought into material form.

As he turned away from the desk, he caught sight of Brolan descending the staircase, a certainly satisfied glow on his features. A low chuckle escaped from Argon's lips, "Seems like you've had a good time, Brolan."

Brolan shrugged, a grin stretching across his face, "Not too shabby, Master."

Then, as an afterthought, he turned back to the madam, who was still counting the coins in her trembling hands, "Send the wine to this address." He quickly relayed the details, leaving no room for error or deceit this time. With the promise of the fragrant rice wine on its way, the two men left the brothel, ready to face whatever the day would bring.

As the duo ambled through the sunlit streets, Argon elbowed Brolan lightly, an impish grin playing on his face. "So, come on. Spill the beans, Brolan. How was your night with Sapphire?"

Brolan shot back a wry smile, "She was good, Master. Very good."

"Oh really? Managed to keep up, did ya?" Argon chuckled, a teasing lilt to his voice.

Brolan rolled his eyes, the metal of his helmet making a slight clinking sound. "Sure as hell did. She was all over me. Couldn't get enough."

"Hmm... Good to know you're not completely useless," Argon quipped, a note of amusement in his tone. "I swear, if you'd embarrassed me, I'd have had your head."

"Nothing to worry about, Master," Brolan retorted with a hearty laugh. "I assure you, my performance was nothing short of exceptional."

"Damn right it better be!" Argon chuckled, giving Brolan a firm pat on the back. "After all, we've got an image to uphold now, don't we?" They shared a hearty laugh as they continued their journey, the streets buzzing with life and energy. The morning after their victorious night was proving to be just as entertaining.

Argon and Brolan finally arrived at their humble abode to find a soldier pounding on the door with unyielding persistence. Argon's face contorted into a grimace, clearly irritated by the untimely disturbance.

"What the fuck do you want?" Argon growled, striding up to the soldier with a dangerous glint in his eyes. His gruff voice echoed through the narrow streets, startling the soldier.

The man was momentarily stunned, his face paling as he stammered, "Er... S-Sorry, Ser Argon... I've been trying for a while..."

Argon's annoyance escalated. "Do I look like I give a flying fuck? What the hell do you want?"

The soldier finally managed to regain his composure, standing tall as he conveyed his message. "The Baron has summoned you, Ser."

At the mention of the Baron, Argon's demeanour shifted. His tone softened, the irate look in his eyes replaced with a calculated calmness. "Alright, let's go then," he conceded, stepping aside to allow the soldier to lead the way. The day was clearly far from over.

Argon and Brolan, trailed by the messenger, made their way back to the imposing manor. They trudged along, feet stirring up the dust from the cobbled streets. The grandeur of the manor stood in stark contrast to the rest of the rustic village, further emphasising the power of the Baron.

On reaching the manor, they were met by Thorne, the head servant. His eyes briefly flitted over them, but he refrained from making any comment. "The Baron's in his study," he informed them tersely, leading the way through the opulent corridors.

They followed him silently, their boots echoing in the quiet halls. Thorne halted before an imposing oak door, knocked twice, and stood back. A muffled 'Enter' came from inside. Argon and Brolan exchanged a brief look before stepping into the Baron's study.

With a wave of his hand, Baron Eldrige directed them to take a seat opposite his imposing desk. "Ah, my newest knight and his trusty slave," he said, his voice heavy with scorn.

Argon, unphased by the Baron's tone, leaned back casually in his chair. "What do you require, Baron Eldrige?" he asked, his words respectful.

The Baron let out a mirthless laugh. "It seems our little band of insolent peasants have gotten ambitious," he said. "They've formed a ragtag army, if you can call it that. Around a hundred men from Blackwood Village, Stonebridge Hamlet, and Willowbrook Settlement have banded together."

A snort escaped Argon. "An army?" he scoffed, "Those shitheads wouldn't know the blunt end of a spear from its pointy end."

"I agree, yet it seems they think otherwise. They've been causing quite the ruckus," Eldrige continued, his gaze hardening. "So, I'm assembling a Centuria to nip this rebellion in the bud. I don't want them spreading this treasonous sentiment to other villages."

Argon's eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he quickly smoothed his features into his usual carefree expression. "I reckon I'll be thrown into the fray then?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

Eldrige's stern gaze didn't falter. "You're right on the mark there, Argon," he said, nodding in confirmation. "You'll be joining the fight, but first, you'll need to assemble your Contubernium. With Brolan by your side, you'll only need to round up six more brave souls or fools from the barracks. Just make sure you don't pick the ones that are already assigned."

Argon grunted in understanding, rising from his seat. "Sounds simple enough. I'll pick the biggest bastards I can find. Wouldn't want to disappoint you, Eldrige," he said, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips.

"Just make sure they're capable, Argon. I don't want to waste resources on a doomed endeavor, the Centuria will leave tomorrow at first light," Eldrige shot back, his voice ringing with a finality that allowed for no further discussion.

Argon nodded at the Baron, a glint of determination flashing in his eyes. "Well, then. Time to gather some lads. We'll be off, Baron Eldrige," he said. With a quick nod to Brolan, he exited the study, his slave close at his heels.

They made their way to the barracks, the sounds of training soldiers filling the air. The clanging of swords, the grunts of men pushing their bodies to the limit, and the occasional shout of a drill instructor created a chaotic symphony.

The soldiers were in full swing, their bodies moving in well-practised routines. The knights, distinguishable by their black Dayless armour, were clustered on the viewing platform, watching over the proceedings with hawk-like intensity. Among them stood Garrick, his eyes scanning the field with a critical gaze.

"Now, let's see who we want in our squad, Brolan," Argon said, his gaze sweeping over the soldiers. The task ahead was daunting but exciting - handpicking their team from a sea of potential warriors. The future was looking more interesting by the minute.

Argon considered approaching Garrick for advice but quickly dismissed the thought. He didn't want to appear reliant on anyone. He needed to make a show of strength to establish himself among these hardened men.

With a sharp intake of breath, Argon straightened his posture and bellowed out, "Listen up, you lot!" His voice echoed through the training yard, cutting through the din of clashing swords and grunting men. At once, all activity ceased. The soldiers, caught off guard by the sudden demand, turned to face him.

"Which one of you ragtag bunch of misfits ain't pledged to another knight's Contubernium yet?" he demanded, his gaze sweeping across the gathered crowd, challenging anyone to defy his authority. The silence that followed was thick with anticipation, the soldiers all exchanging glances with each other, waiting to see who would step forward.

Argon's stern gaze roved over the sixteen men who had stepped forward, his lips curling into a disparaging smirk. "So, the runts of the litter, huh?" His voice carried a deliberate edge of contempt, clearly designed to challenge and provoke the soldiers.

He took a moment to survey their uncertain faces before continuing. "Which one of you lot wants to serve under me, huh?" The question echoed ominously in the tense silence that followed, the soldiers shifting uncomfortably under his intense scrutiny.

After an awkwardly long moment, harsh, derisive laughter punctured the silence. One of the knights perched on the viewing stand, clearly amused by the situation, heckled loudly. "Who'd want to serve an honorless bastard like you?"

The taunt, harsh and pointed, hung heavily in the air. The soldiers remained silent, no one daring to meet Argon's gaze. A palpable wave of tension coursed through the training yard as everyone waited for Argon's response.

A vein throbbed visibly in Argon's forehead as he snapped, "Which small fry had the balls to say that?!" His icy gaze settled on a particularly smug knight who bravely stepped forward.

"It was me, Ser Vardan," the man called out, not bothering to hide his contempt. A man of middle years with a reputation for arrogance among the barracks.

Argon sneered at him, his lip curling in disdain. "Come down here and repeat that, you spineless wimp!"

Ser Vardan, taking up the challenge, activated his artefact, his body suddenly surrounded by a faint, luminescent aura. Not to be outdone, Argon activated his own artefacts. But even before Vardan could register what was happening, Argon had surged forward, launching a vicious kick at his adversary.

In the nick of time, Vardan's artefact, a Shield, activated, protecting him from what would have been a deadly blow. The force of the kick, however, still sent him sprawling backwards, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Argon's malicious laugh echoed around the training ground as he crowed, "Ah, the Shield one... Well, now you're truly fucked. Your attributes are pitifully weak."

The knight barely had time to recover before Argon launched himself at Vardan again, raining blow after blow on him. The assembled soldiers watched in stunned silence as Argon pummeled the knight.

Argon's blows landed with thunderous force on Ser Vardan, his Dayless armour the only thing saving the man from being pummelled into a bloody pulp. Each strike echoed through the silent training ground, leaving no doubt as to the savage strength Argon possessed. Yet, the Dayless armour, known for its extraordinary resilience, seemed unblemished despite the brutal onslaught.

The Dayless was more than just ordinary armour. The glossy black surface remained untouched, not even a single scratch marring its perfect sheen. The awe-inspiring durability of the armour served as a testament to the craftsmanship the ancients had to make the Dayless, offering a remarkable display of protection, even in the face of such a ferocious onslaught.

Yet, while the armour may have remained unblemished, the same couldn't be said for its wearer. Ser Vardan, despite the protection of his Dayless, looked like a man on the brink of death, his features twisted in pain and the breaths he took coming out in strained, ragged gasps. It was a grim reminder of the brutal might Argon possessed.

Seeing the brutal spectacle play out, Garrick steps forward, his gruff voice slicing through the tense silence that had fallen over the training grounds, "Enough, Argon! You've made your point!"

His voice, while not particularly loud, carried an inherent authority that commanded respect. The words seemed to reverberate through the crisp air, a sharp contrast to the grim scene unfolding in front of the crowd. His seasoned, battle-hardened eyes were a cold slate of steel as he levelled his gaze at the young knight, Argon.

Argon, immersed in the physical assertion of his dominance, momentarily paused at the intervention. He glanced back at Garrick, the burning fury in his eyes ebbing ever so slightly. Garrick's stature, coupled with his austere demeanour, served as a sombre reminder of the gravity of his words, causing the previously escalating scenario to come to an abrupt halt.

Around them, the gathered crowd of soldiers watched with bated breaths, the harsh echo of Garrick's voice still hanging heavily in the air. It was a stern reprimand, a call for sanity in the midst of the madness that had overtaken the training ground. The significance of the moment was not lost on anyone present as they watched the powerful display of authority against the raw, unchecked aggression of Argon.