Chapter 13: As long as we have not given up, we have not yet failed
Daemon stayed in his office all morning. He was slumped in his armchair, legs stretched out on the desk, a half-empty packet of biscuits resting on his chest. He nibbled while staring at the ceiling.
’I am going to die.’ he thought. ’Maybe tomorrow, maybe in a month, maybe in a year. What’s the point of training? What’s the point of fighting?’
He no longer wanted to do anything... Nothing was worth the effort anymore.
It was at that moment that a guard knocked on the door and entered without waiting. "Young master, Lord Conrad Nikmar is downstairs. He is asking to see you."
Daemon sat up slowly, eyes narrowed. "Conrad? What does that guy want?"
He slipped on a jacket, smoothed his messy hair as best he could, and went down to the ground floor. In the manor courtyard, Conrad was on his horse. Behind him, about ten guards in full armor formed an honor guard.
The Twelfth District was known for its many commercial relations. It was very rich, much richer than the Thirteenth, and it was the main supporter of the Summer family of the Sword Clan.
Needless to say, they did not have good relations with Daemon.
"Lord Dagon." said Conrad without getting off his horse. His voice was polite but icy. "I came to discuss a matter."
Daemon crossed his arms. "I’m listening."
"Your docks." Conrad made a vague gesture to the west. "The Thirteenth District has held the monopoly on maritime traffic for three generations. It was acceptable when your family was in power. But today, you are an outcast, and your district is poorly managed." He paused. "We want to buy your rights to the docks from you."
Daemon felt anger rising in him, but he kept his face neutral. "The docks are not for sale."
Conrad raised an eyebrow. "Everything is for sale, Lord Dagon. We will offer you an advantageous price. Let us manage the maritime trade, and you can focus on... other things."
"The answer is no." Daemon straightened up. "Now, get out of my district."
Conrad looked at him for a long moment. Then he shrugged and turned his horse. "As you wish. But do not forget that the Twelfth District has long arms." He pulled on the reins. "Let’s go."
Daemon, already in a bad mood, was frankly annoyed and decided to take a bath to clear his mind.
Slowly, the small troop set off in the direction of the twelfth district.
"Young lord! Young Lord Nikmar!" A feminine voice rang out behind them.
Conrad raised his hand. His guards stopped. He turned on his saddle and saw a young woman running toward him. She had long white hair tied in a ponytail and ruby eyes. She was dressed like a servant.
"Who are you?" asked Conrad.
The young woman bowed deeply. "I am Lord Daemon’s personal servant."
...
In Daemon’s office, the afternoon was well advanced.
Daemon was seated at his desk. He was reading the letter that Conrad had sent that morning.
The letter was formal, written in gold letters on thick vellum. Conrad Nikmar was challenging Daemon Shaytan Dagon to a single combat. If Conrad won, Daemon would cede the entire Thirteenth District to him, lands, docks, manor and all its revenues. If Daemon won, Conrad would pay indemnities equivalent to fifty percent of the Twelfth District’s resources, permanently.
On the surface, those fifty percent were much more attractive than the entire Thirteenth District. The Twelfth being an economic giant.
But there was a problem.
How the hell was Daemon going to win a fight against Conrad? Conrad was twenty-three years old, in peak physical condition, and had already mastered the First Sense of the Sword. Daemon, on the other hand, had no chi, no training, and a heart that threatened to give out at any moment.
They were alone in the office, Daemon and Luna.
Daemon sighed. He placed the letter on the desk and closed his eyes.
"Master." he said in a weary voice. "In addition to wanting my death, do you also want me to die in poverty?"
...
A few hours earlier
"Who are you?" asked Conrad.
The young woman bowed deeply. "I am Lord Daemon’s personal servant."
"A servant." He sneered. "And what could a servant possibly want from me?"
"I apologize for my master." she said in a humble voice. "Please punish me in his place. But do not speak of it to the Lord of the Summer family."
Conrad raised an eyebrow. "Huh? And what exactly did he say?"
The servant raised her head. "My master is impulsive, Lord Nikmar. He said that the next time you set foot in his district, you had better have a well-sharpened sword. He said not to blame him if he injures you to death."
Conrad widened his eyes. "Lord Daemon has really grown bold? Since he thinks he can prevent me from setting foot here, why doesn’t he stop me himself?"
The servant lowered her head, feigning dread. "So you want to fight my young master, Lord Nikmar? A duel, for ownership of the district?" She clasped her hands. "Please, don’t do that! It is all he has. Be magnanimous..."
Conrad clenched his jaw. "He shouldn’t have provoked me." he said in an icy voice. "I will send an official letter. A duel, in a semester at the latest."
He turned his horse with a brusque gesture and left at a gallop, his guards on his heels.
...
Luna was leaning against the window, arms crossed. She still had her little smirk, but her eyes were serious.
"After only a few minor difficulties, you give up?" she said. "And if you are going to die tomorrow? What does that change? Today, you must fight to unblock your chi core."
Daemon opened his eyes. "So you did all this so I could still train?"
He did not understand Luna. In the end, she would get her remedy, Daemon had already ordered it, and the money had already been paid. Even if he gave up, she would leave with the potion as soon as it arrived. She had nothing to gain by pushing him to fight.
’So why? Why force me when I was ready to let everything go?’
Luna uncrossed her arms. "I don’t need a cowardly disciple." she said in a firm voice. "As long as we have not given up, we have not yet failed." She headed toward the door. "I want you on the training ground today to train your cardio."
Daemon remained silent for a few seconds.
"How many laps?" he asked.
Luna took a drag on her cigarette. "Until your limbs hurt more than your heart."