Seven years ago, the stadium of the Fire Dragon Sect
While the young disciples fiercely battled each other on the arena for rewards and the title of the strongest in the group, a lively conversation was going on between the prince and the elder on the spectator stands, shielded from the outside world by a powerful protective dome. For his age, the young prince behaved impressively, both in demeanor and speech, indistinguishable from children much older than himself. He calmly and thoughtfully discussed many things with the elder of the sect. And only his occasional glances at the elderly knight nearby betrayed some self-doubt.
"How do you find the skill of our novices, my prince? Surely, they are good enough? If you wish, you may choose one of them, and he or she will become your trusted companion," inquired the elder Edward.
"Well... they don't impress me much..." the young prince tactfully declined the elder's offer, again casting a glance at the great knight Lark standing nearby, checking if he approved of his words. The knight calmly nodded in response.
"But how is that possible, my prince? At least look at Bran, how mighty he is, crushing everyone in his path. I'm sure he will serve you well," the elder persisted in his attempts to convince the prince to choose one of the novices.
Rand glanced at the man the elder called Bran and saw a tall youth who was currently beating his opponent. But it wasn't even a fight; it was more like a humiliation. The disparity in strength between them was too great. This scene captured Rand's attention completely for a few seconds.
The arena for the novices:
Boom! Bran's fist slammed into his opponent's face, knocking out several teeth out of his mouth.
Boom! Bran's leg struck just above his adversary’s solar plexus, and he doubled over, spewing the contents of his stomach.
Between these strikes, Bran spoke to his fellow sect member:
"I told you that you would kneel before me and beg, and here you are, on your knees. I didn't even have to use my legacy."
"I... won't kneel... I... haven't lost yet," the youth wheezed, breathing heavily, and launched a desperate counterattack. Even in his horrifying condition, his movements were fast, and his hands were full of strength. It seemed he even managed to use some technique, his hands began to resemble claws, and his fingers shone with a crimson light. But, to his horror, halfway to his target, Bran caught his hands in a grip, then with one swift motion, twisted them to an unnatural angle, and immediately everyone in the vicinity heard the loud sound of bones breaking.
Crunch, crunch.
"Aaaaah!" the youth screamed in unbearable pain, his hands twisted ninety degrees. Bran let go of him, and the youth managed to jump back. After that Bran said again words similar to his previous ones:
"On your knees, beg me."
"I... surren... Boom," before the young man could completely say the word "surrender," Bran's fist slammed into his jaw, cutting off his speech.
"No, no, you won't escape that easily, Michael. Kneel. Beg me to forgive you. That’s your only chance."
"I... won't..."
Boom, boom, boom.
Michael tried with all his might to withstand these endless blows, attempting not to expose his maimed hands. He tried to distance himself from Bran and shout "I surrender" again, but each time Bran interrupted him at the last moment, not letting him say the salvation word. Unfortunately, during the battle, it was impossible to leave the arena without the observer's permission. Meanwhile, the chief observer stood a few meters from the arena, near the stands, completely ignoring Michael's pleading glances.
"No one will hear you, no one will save you. When you wanted to take my place, you should have known that this would happen. For the last time, kneel, beg me to forgive you or..."
At this moment, the boy finally realized that the chief observer and Bran were in cahoots, and according to the rules of the competition, the fight would not end until one of the opponents surrendered or the observer's verdict. And that meant this fight wouldn't end, and under this barrage of monstrous blows, he might even die. No, not "might," but definitely would! Michael for the first time felt the fear of death, and his knees bent on their own, and against his will, his tongue blurted out:
"Forgive me... senior... forgive me... you're the best... I beg you, just don't... don't hit me anymore."
Bran put his foot on his kneeling opponent and said with a smile:
"That's better, my new dog, that's better. Remember this day well," after which he raised his right hand.
And at that moment, the chief observer finally stepped onto the arena and announced:
"Bran Stark wins, he takes first place in his group."
Seeing this picture full of cruelty and completely undisguised bias, even the elder momentarily lost his ability to speak. He certainly allowed Bran some freedom, but all of this went slightly beyond his expectations. Or even not slightly… And all of this happened in front of the honored guests, one of whom was the young prince... A real disgrace... But after gathering his thoughts, he managed to calmly continue the conversation with the prince, trying not to show the emotions that overwhelmed him.
"Well, he can be excessively cruel, but only to his enemies. But deep down, he's a good, kind boy, and I'm sure he'll be an excellent companion for you," elder Edward tried to smooth things over, but at that critical moment, the conversation between him and the prince was interrupted by the great knight Lark, who added fuel to the fire:
"Everyone with eyes could see that the boy wanted to surrender many times, but he wasn't allowed to, and no one even thought to stop the fight. Is this the way your sect`s competitions usually happen? And after such, you dare to call our orders dishonorable and excessively cruel..."
It was evident that hearing these words was extremely unpleasant for the elder, each word literally pierced his heart like a dagger. Most people would consider the knight's words an insult, and they would be not far from the truth. And if these words came from someone less important, the elder would have pushed them back down their throat from where they came. But this old knight was the emperor's confidant and the personal protector of the heir to the throne, so the elder had to swallow his pride and respond in an apologetic tone, even with a hint of deference.
"No, no, no, great knight Lark, this situation is completely abnormal. I was just about to find out why the observer didn't stop the fight. And punish all the guilty parties. Faaargus!" the elder explained to the guests, then, using spiritual sense, called the deacon, who was the chief observer at this competition. The deacon, not quite understanding why he was summoned, entered the protective dome and bowed slightly to all present.
"Yes, elder, I'm listening."
"Why didn't you stop the fight between Bran and Michael when everyone here could see that Michael was trying to surrender?" the elder constantly winked his right eye as he spoke. He would have gladly discussed all the details with Fargus beforehand through spiritual sense, but with the great knight Lark so close, he could easily eavesdrop on their conversation, and that couldn't be allowed, otherwise the elder would have been even more disgraced, so he had to resort to such a primitive and crude method. And to his great regret, the deacon didn't understand the hint at all.
"But you yourself reque...," Fargus began to speak, but before he finished his sentence, the elder's face unexpectedly turned crimson, and his palm multiplied several times in an instant, covered with red scales, and beastly claws grew on it. After this almost instant transformation, the elder struck Fargus with his powerful palm, or rather paw, loudly shouting: "You deceiver! Out of my sight!"
Boom! And the bewildered deacon flew out of the protective dome with a scream.
" I'm sorry that you had to witness such a thing, sometimes subordinates disobey and try to avoid responsibility. And this one is quite stupid. Don't worry, he will suffer a worthy punishment for his negligence in the future."
Rand watched this whole scene calmly, not reacting at all to the elder's rage and the overwhelming power of his blow to the deacon, as if something like this happened every day in front of him, but Lark wasn't so calm. During all this action, he, like a true defender, shielded the prince, in case of any unexpected event, and only after the elder's apologies, he stepped away slightly from Rand and removed his hand from the sword hilt.
"So, what do you think about Bran as a potential companion for you?" the elder attempted to steer the conversation back to where he wanted it, deep down he already understood that there were no chances that the prince would agree after such a performance. But if he had aborted his attempt even before the prince's direct refusal, it would be even more shameful, and there remained a tiny chance that he would still agree...
Before replying to the elder, Rand looked into the eyes of his protector, Lark, and understanding what the prince wanted to convey with that look, Lark nodded. They understood each other perfectly without words.
The elder looked on in puzzlement at their quick exchange of glances. He tried to detect traces of Qi between them, which would indicate some kind of conversation, but found no hint of anything like that. It seemed that they just looked into each other's eyes without any hidden meaning.
After the approving nod from the great knight, Prince Rand turned to the elder.
"I think he suits me overall, but to be sure I need to test him first," the prince said. For a moment, the elder couldn't believe the words he had heard; he even checked just in case if he was in an illusion. But when he realized it was reality, a huge smile spread across his face, and he joyfully spoke up:
"Excellent, you truly have an eye for talent, my prince. Bran is the future pride of the Fire Dragon sect. He possesses high-quality talent as well as the legacy of the giant snake Kemoyin, a beast equal to a cultivator at the Nascent Soul stage..." The elder continued to praise Bran until, under the prince's and Lark's expectant gazes, he remembered that there was still some "but."
"My prince, how do you plan to test him?"
"Of course, in combat," Rand confidently replied.
"But... you're too young for such a thing. Bran is already twelve, and you're only seven, it wouldn't be quite fair..."
"Don't worry about that, the prince will only fight at half strength. Their cultivation levels are the same, so if your Bran is even half the genius you describe him to be, nothing bad will happen to him," Lark spoke instead of the prince.
At such an answer, the elder literally swallowed his prepared next words. Trying to refuse further would not only be equivalent to admitting the inadequacy of their genius but would also invalidate all his attempts to present Bran as a companion to the prince. Besides, Bran's combat potential was high enough, so he shouldn't embarrass the sect too much, even if he lost.
But first and foremost, he had to warn him, so the elder briefly interrupted his conversation with the honored guests and sent Bran a message through spiritual sense. Although he knew that Lark would surely find out the content of the message, there was no other choice.
"Prince Rand wants to fight you. Show what you're capable of, and then you'll be rewarded. But behave as dignified and respectful as possible, otherwise you'll regret being born."
"But. Uncle…"
"I don`t want to hear any "but", embarrass me — and I will not look that you are my sister's son."
After this short conversation with his nephew, the elder returned to the waiting prince and knight.
"Prince, you may enter the arena and test Bran in combat, but according to our rules, you're not allowed to use any artifacts in the arena."
Upon hearing these words, Rand calmly removed his robe, several rings, two bracelets, a protective breastplate, and several small other artifacts. Then he took off his short sword, dagger, and a couple of knives from his belt, and then piled all these items into an impressive heap, which he then tucked into his ring encrusted with precious gems. When he was done with all this, he took a new ordinary robe from Lark's hands and turned to the elder.
"I'm not allowed to remove the crown and amulet as the heir, but I won't use them. I hope my word is enough for you."
"Of course, my prince, of course. Everyone knows that your word, like the emperor's, is inviolable," the elder replied, not forgetting to flatter godlessly.
But the little prince wasn't listening to him anymore; he leisurely walked beyond the protective dome and jumped from the ten-meter-high stands to the ground, then headed straight for the arena where novice Bran was already waiting for him.
After Rand stepped onto the arena, which was immediately enveloped in some kind of protection formation, Bran greeted him with a deep bow without delay and said:
"My prince, I heard that you visited our sect, but I could never have imagined that you would want to witness the battles of ordinary novices. It's a great honor for me and for everyone else." He pointed with his hand to a small group of boys and girls in the distance watching them. "And even greater honor for me is that you decided to test me in combat, but I must warn you that I never give up, no matter who my opponent is."
"Don't worry, there won't be much of a fight. What we're going to do is better called a game. You like playing with dogs, right? I like it too. So let's play right now. And let's start with something simple: come here, lie down."
"What?" Bran asked, standing still and not understanding what was being asked of him or what was going on here.
"Bad dog, you should follow your owner's commands."
With these words, the prince walked toward Bran, stopping a few meters away from him. The boy, still not understanding what the prince wanted from him but ut nevertheless, obeying his trained instincts, which literally screamed of danger, he stood in a fighting stance. From the side, their standoff looked quite comical. On the right stood quietly a very young boy in richly adorned clothing, only slightly taller than a meter, while on the left stood a young man, looking ready for a fierce battle, in a robe torn from many battles, and taller than a meter seventy. And it wasn't the boy who panicked, but the young man.
"The disobedient dogs should be punished," Rand said, and his words matched his actions, as he immediately leaped quickly at his opponent and struck Bran's chin with his little fist. The prince moved with such incredible speed that Bran barely had time to react to the attack. It was only thanks to his bloodline from the snake Kemoyin that he noticed his movement. But all he could do was watch as the prince's fist approached his chin and hope the blow wouldn't be too strong. But his hopes were in vain. When the fist touched him, Bran felt a monstrous surge of power from it. And the thought flashed through his mind: "How can such power be in such a small body?! We're at the same cultivation level!" The force of the blow tossed him up ten meters, and in flight, the residual force from the blow made his body rotate in the air. After the sudden but impressive flight, he fell to the ground like a stone and even lost consciousness for a few seconds. And when he came to his senses, he heard the following phrase from the prince:
"After a little lesson, the puppy managed to obey the command 'lie down.' Now, as far as I remember the teacher's knowledge, the animal needs to be praised. You're a good boy, puppy."
At that moment, Bran finally realized that there was definitely something wrong with this prince. Despite his innocent seven-year-old age, the prince behaved like some kind of demon. He didn't come to fight him. He really wanted to play with him, like a cat with a helpless mouse.
"You didn't come to test me or evaluate my skills; you came to show your superiority over me and humiliate me," Bran said with obvious anger in his voice as he got up from the ground.
Surprised by his opponent's angry outburst, Rand asked him, "Didn't you just play with that boy? You were having so much fun. What's wrong with the same game now?"
The prince's words made Bran silent, and for a while, he couldn't find an answer to that.
"So, you want to punish me just like I punished Michael? Do you think I'm no better than that trash?" With each word he spoke, Bran's body was growing larger and was covering with snake-like scales, and by the end of his speech, even his eye pupils became vertical. After all this transformation, his appearance could only be remotely called human.
"No matter how strong you are, I won't kneel before anyone like some trash!" Bran said with a noticeably roughened hissing voice, and at the end, he even hissed like a real snake. And then he ran towards the prince, gaining more and more speed with every second.
"Even such a wicked dog like you will obey commands if punished enough times. Step," the prince said, and then he magically found himself shoulders of the still running Bran. Before the young man could do anything, the prince struck him on the back of the head with an open palm. At the moment of impact, Bran felt like a building fell on his head, and not the palm of a seven-year-old child. He fell again, and his face sank into the ground for about ten centimeters. And while Bran was struggling to get up, the prince managed to jump off his back and land nearby.
"Good job, puppy, lie down."
"Don't underestimate me," Bran growled, spitting out dirt mixed with blood from his mouth. "Green Halo."
Immediately, a greenish smoke began to emanate from Bran. It at first surrounded him and then spread across the arena, forcing Rand to jump almost to the edge to avoid being touched by this smoke.
" Now you can't hit me, prince, without touching my poison. Without protective artifacts, you won't last long. Give up. The bloodline power is invincible."
"Silly dog, I didn't allow you to get up. Lunar Palm," after these words the prince's hand covered with a milky-white light, and then this light separated from his hand, flew up a few meters and headed through the smoke towards Bran at incredible speed.
This time, due to the considerable distance between them, Bran managed to prepare and cross his arms in a defensive stance.
"Raaash," Bran half-shouted, half-hissed, taking Rand's technique head on. The force was enormous again, but this time he was prepared. In order to block this power, he had to fall to one knee, and the armored skin on his arms, which bore the brunt of the blow, cracked, letting blood flow abundantly.
"I didn't lie down; I coped; I'm not a command-obeying dog," Bran thought, filling him with inexplicable joy. But as soon as he wanted to share this thought with Rand, the second Lunar Palm fell on him, and despite his resistance it drove his face into the ground again.
And in this way, there was a one-sided exchange of blows for some time, after each of which Bran ended up lying on the ground. But he didn't give up because he believed he had a tiny chance of winning. Bran's first hope was his smoke; he tried several times to approach the prince to envelop him in his poisonous cloud, but Rand was too fast, the arena was too big, and his poison dissipated too quickly in the air, so all his attempts ended in failure. The second hope of the young man was his superior defense and mighty regeneration, which his partial transformation bestowed upon him. Of course, it couldn't be endless, but he hoped that the prince would exhaust himself sooner; after all, he was the one constantly attacking, and from a distance, too. But minutes passed, Bran felt the earth in his mouth again and again, but the prince showed no signs of fatigue. And then Bran felt despair.
"I su...," Bran began to say the cherished word, but Prince Rand interrupted his speech with a palm strike to the face.
"I don't need your surrender; I need you to obey my commands. Otherwise, you won't leave this place alive," Rand said.
"It's impossible, my uncle, the elder, he will order to stop the fight right now," after these words, he directed his gaze at the impregnable protective dome of the stands. But nothing happened. The elder couldn't not see or hear his plea.
"He won't order anything, even if I beat you to death right here. My knight will take care of it," Rand said.
Stunned, Bran realized that the prince was telling the truth. He could indeed kill him here, and nothing would happen to him. Most likely, to avoid spoiling relations with the emperor, his death would be attributed to an accident during a training fight. And even his uncle couldn't do anything, or rather, he wouldn't even think about it. For him, his well-being was much more valuable than his nephew's life. So Bran realized that he had only one way out.
"All right, I'll lie down as you command," Bran said.
"Good boy, puppy, and now say 'woof.'"
"Woof."
Seven years ago, the stadium of the Fire Dragon Sect
While the young disciples fiercely battled each other on the arena for rewards and the title of the strongest in the group, a lively conversation was going on between the prince and the elder on the spectator stands, shielded from the outside world by a powerful protective dome. For his age, the young prince behaved impressively, both in demeanor and speech, indistinguishable from children much older than himself. He calmly and thoughtfully discussed many things with the elder of the sect. And only his occasional glances at the elderly knight nearby betrayed some self-doubt.
"How do you find the skill of our novices, my prince? Surely, they are good enough? If you wish, you may choose one of them, and he or she will become your trusted companion," inquired the elder Edward.
"Well... they don't impress me much..." the young prince tactfully declined the elder's offer, again casting a glance at the great knight Lark standing nearby, checking if he approved of his words. The knight calmly nodded in response.
"But how is that possible, my prince? At least look at Bran, how mighty he is, crushing everyone in his path. I'm sure he will serve you well," the elder persisted in his attempts to convince the prince to choose one of the novices.
Rand glanced at the man the elder called Bran and saw a tall youth who was currently beating his opponent. But it wasn't even a fight; it was more like a humiliation. The disparity in strength between them was too great. This scene captured Rand's attention completely for a few seconds.
The arena for the novices:
Boom! Bran's fist slammed into his opponent's face, knocking out several teeth out of his mouth.
Boom! Bran's leg struck just above his adversary’s solar plexus, and he doubled over, spewing the contents of his stomach.
Between these strikes, Bran spoke to his fellow sect member:
"I told you that you would kneel before me and beg, and here you are, on your knees. I didn't even have to use my legacy."
"I... won't kneel... I... haven't lost yet," the youth wheezed, breathing heavily, and launched a desperate counterattack. Even in his horrifying condition, his movements were fast, and his hands were full of strength. It seemed he even managed to use some technique, his hands began to resemble claws, and his fingers shone with a crimson light. But, to his horror, halfway to his target, Bran caught his hands in a grip, then with one swift motion, twisted them to an unnatural angle, and immediately everyone in the vicinity heard the loud sound of bones breaking.
Crunch, crunch.
"Aaaaah!" the youth screamed in unbearable pain, his hands twisted ninety degrees. Bran let go of him, and the youth managed to jump back. After that Bran said again words similar to his previous ones:
"On your knees, beg me."
"I... surren... Boom," before the young man could completely say the word "surrender," Bran's fist slammed into his jaw, cutting off his speech.
"No, no, you won't escape that easily, Michael. Kneel. Beg me to forgive you. That’s your only chance."
"I... won't..."
Boom, boom, boom.
Michael tried with all his might to withstand these endless blows, attempting not to expose his maimed hands. He tried to distance himself from Bran and shout "I surrender" again, but each time Bran interrupted him at the last moment, not letting him say the salvation word. Unfortunately, during the battle, it was impossible to leave the arena without the observer's permission. Meanwhile, the chief observer stood a few meters from the arena, near the stands, completely ignoring Michael's pleading glances.
"No one will hear you, no one will save you. When you wanted to take my place, you should have known that this would happen. For the last time, kneel, beg me to forgive you or..."
At this moment, the boy finally realized that the chief observer and Bran were in cahoots, and according to the rules of the competition, the fight would not end until one of the opponents surrendered or the observer's verdict. And that meant this fight wouldn't end, and under this barrage of monstrous blows, he might even die. No, not "might," but definitely would! Michael for the first time felt the fear of death, and his knees bent on their own, and against his will, his tongue blurted out:
"Forgive me... senior... forgive me... you're the best... I beg you, just don't... don't hit me anymore."
Bran put his foot on his kneeling opponent and said with a smile:
"That's better, my new dog, that's better. Remember this day well," after which he raised his right hand.
And at that moment, the chief observer finally stepped onto the arena and announced:
"Bran Stark wins, he takes first place in his group."
Seeing this picture full of cruelty and completely undisguised bias, even the elder momentarily lost his ability to speak. He certainly allowed Bran some freedom, but all of this went slightly beyond his expectations. Or even not slightly… And all of this happened in front of the honored guests, one of whom was the young prince... A real disgrace... But after gathering his thoughts, he managed to calmly continue the conversation with the prince, trying not to show the emotions that overwhelmed him.
"Well, he can be excessively cruel, but only to his enemies. But deep down, he's a good, kind boy, and I'm sure he'll be an excellent companion for you," elder Edward tried to smooth things over, but at that critical moment, the conversation between him and the prince was interrupted by the great knight Lark, who added fuel to the fire:
"Everyone with eyes could see that the boy wanted to surrender many times, but he wasn't allowed to, and no one even thought to stop the fight. Is this the way your sect`s competitions usually happen? And after such, you dare to call our orders dishonorable and excessively cruel..."
It was evident that hearing these words was extremely unpleasant for the elder, each word literally pierced his heart like a dagger. Most people would consider the knight's words an insult, and they would be not far from the truth. And if these words came from someone less important, the elder would have pushed them back down their throat from where they came. But this old knight was the emperor's confidant and the personal protector of the heir to the throne, so the elder had to swallow his pride and respond in an apologetic tone, even with a hint of deference.
"No, no, no, great knight Lark, this situation is completely abnormal. I was just about to find out why the observer didn't stop the fight. And punish all the guilty parties. Faaargus!" the elder explained to the guests, then, using spiritual sense, called the deacon, who was the chief observer at this competition. The deacon, not quite understanding why he was summoned, entered the protective dome and bowed slightly to all present.
"Yes, elder, I'm listening."
"Why didn't you stop the fight between Bran and Michael when everyone here could see that Michael was trying to surrender?" the elder constantly winked his right eye as he spoke. He would have gladly discussed all the details with Fargus beforehand through spiritual sense, but with the great knight Lark so close, he could easily eavesdrop on their conversation, and that couldn't be allowed, otherwise the elder would have been even more disgraced, so he had to resort to such a primitive and crude method. And to his great regret, the deacon didn't understand the hint at all.
"But you yourself reque...," Fargus began to speak, but before he finished his sentence, the elder's face unexpectedly turned crimson, and his palm multiplied several times in an instant, covered with red scales, and beastly claws grew on it. After this almost instant transformation, the elder struck Fargus with his powerful palm, or rather paw, loudly shouting: "You deceiver! Out of my sight!"
Boom! And the bewildered deacon flew out of the protective dome with a scream.
" I'm sorry that you had to witness such a thing, sometimes subordinates disobey and try to avoid responsibility. And this one is quite stupid. Don't worry, he will suffer a worthy punishment for his negligence in the future."
Rand watched this whole scene calmly, not reacting at all to the elder's rage and the overwhelming power of his blow to the deacon, as if something like this happened every day in front of him, but Lark wasn't so calm. During all this action, he, like a true defender, shielded the prince, in case of any unexpected event, and only after the elder's apologies, he stepped away slightly from Rand and removed his hand from the sword hilt.
"So, what do you think about Bran as a potential companion for you?" the elder attempted to steer the conversation back to where he wanted it, deep down he already understood that there were no chances that the prince would agree after such a performance. But if he had aborted his attempt even before the prince's direct refusal, it would be even more shameful, and there remained a tiny chance that he would still agree...
Before replying to the elder, Rand looked into the eyes of his protector, Lark, and understanding what the prince wanted to convey with that look, Lark nodded. They understood each other perfectly without words.
The elder looked on in puzzlement at their quick exchange of glances. He tried to detect traces of Qi between them, which would indicate some kind of conversation, but found no hint of anything like that. It seemed that they just looked into each other's eyes without any hidden meaning.
After the approving nod from the great knight, Prince Rand turned to the elder.
"I think he suits me overall, but to be sure I need to test him first," the prince said. For a moment, the elder couldn't believe the words he had heard; he even checked just in case if he was in an illusion. But when he realized it was reality, a huge smile spread across his face, and he joyfully spoke up:
"Excellent, you truly have an eye for talent, my prince. Bran is the future pride of the Fire Dragon sect. He possesses high-quality talent as well as the legacy of the giant snake Kemoyin, a beast equal to a cultivator at the Nascent Soul stage..." The elder continued to praise Bran until, under the prince's and Lark's expectant gazes, he remembered that there was still some "but."
"My prince, how do you plan to test him?"
"Of course, in combat," Rand confidently replied.
"But... you're too young for such a thing. Bran is already twelve, and you're only seven, it wouldn't be quite fair..."
"Don't worry about that, the prince will only fight at half strength. Their cultivation levels are the same, so if your Bran is even half the genius you describe him to be, nothing bad will happen to him," Lark spoke instead of the prince.
At such an answer, the elder literally swallowed his prepared next words. Trying to refuse further would not only be equivalent to admitting the inadequacy of their genius but would also invalidate all his attempts to present Bran as a companion to the prince. Besides, Bran's combat potential was high enough, so he shouldn't embarrass the sect too much, even if he lost.
But first and foremost, he had to warn him, so the elder briefly interrupted his conversation with the honored guests and sent Bran a message through spiritual sense. Although he knew that Lark would surely find out the content of the message, there was no other choice.
"Prince Rand wants to fight you. Show what you're capable of, and then you'll be rewarded. But behave as dignified and respectful as possible, otherwise you'll regret being born."
"But. Uncle…"
"I don`t want to hear any "but", embarrass me — and I will not look that you are my sister's son."
After this short conversation with his nephew, the elder returned to the waiting prince and knight.
"Prince, you may enter the arena and test Bran in combat, but according to our rules, you're not allowed to use any artifacts in the arena."
Upon hearing these words, Rand calmly removed his robe, several rings, two bracelets, a protective breastplate, and several small other artifacts. Then he took off his short sword, dagger, and a couple of knives from his belt, and then piled all these items into an impressive heap, which he then tucked into his ring encrusted with precious gems. When he was done with all this, he took a new ordinary robe from Lark's hands and turned to the elder.
"I'm not allowed to remove the crown and amulet as the heir, but I won't use them. I hope my word is enough for you."
"Of course, my prince, of course. Everyone knows that your word, like the emperor's, is inviolable," the elder replied, not forgetting to flatter godlessly.
But the little prince wasn't listening to him anymore; he leisurely walked beyond the protective dome and jumped from the ten-meter-high stands to the ground, then headed straight for the arena where novice Bran was already waiting for him.
After Rand stepped onto the arena, which was immediately enveloped in some kind of protection formation, Bran greeted him with a deep bow without delay and said:
"My prince, I heard that you visited our sect, but I could never have imagined that you would want to witness the battles of ordinary novices. It's a great honor for me and for everyone else." He pointed with his hand to a small group of boys and girls in the distance watching them. "And even greater honor for me is that you decided to test me in combat, but I must warn you that I never give up, no matter who my opponent is."
"Don't worry, there won't be much of a fight. What we're going to do is better called a game. You like playing with dogs, right? I like it too. So let's play right now. And let's start with something simple: come here, lie down."
"What?" Bran asked, standing still and not understanding what was being asked of him or what was going on here.
"Bad dog, you should follow your owner's commands."
With these words, the prince walked toward Bran, stopping a few meters away from him. The boy, still not understanding what the prince wanted from him but ut nevertheless, obeying his trained instincts, which literally screamed of danger, he stood in a fighting stance. From the side, their standoff looked quite comical. On the right stood quietly a very young boy in richly adorned clothing, only slightly taller than a meter, while on the left stood a young man, looking ready for a fierce battle, in a robe torn from many battles, and taller than a meter seventy. And it wasn't the boy who panicked, but the young man.
"The disobedient dogs should be punished," Rand said, and his words matched his actions, as he immediately leaped quickly at his opponent and struck Bran's chin with his little fist. The prince moved with such incredible speed that Bran barely had time to react to the attack. It was only thanks to his bloodline from the snake Kemoyin that he noticed his movement. But all he could do was watch as the prince's fist approached his chin and hope the blow wouldn't be too strong. But his hopes were in vain. When the fist touched him, Bran felt a monstrous surge of power from it. And the thought flashed through his mind: "How can such power be in such a small body?! We're at the same cultivation level!" The force of the blow tossed him up ten meters, and in flight, the residual force from the blow made his body rotate in the air. After the sudden but impressive flight, he fell to the ground like a stone and even lost consciousness for a few seconds. And when he came to his senses, he heard the following phrase from the prince:
"After a little lesson, the puppy managed to obey the command 'lie down.' Now, as far as I remember the teacher's knowledge, the animal needs to be praised. You're a good boy, puppy."
At that moment, Bran finally realized that there was definitely something wrong with this prince. Despite his innocent seven-year-old age, the prince behaved like some kind of demon. He didn't come to fight him. He really wanted to play with him, like a cat with a helpless mouse.
"You didn't come to test me or evaluate my skills; you came to show your superiority over me and humiliate me," Bran said with obvious anger in his voice as he got up from the ground.
Surprised by his opponent's angry outburst, Rand asked him, "Didn't you just play with that boy? You were having so much fun. What's wrong with the same game now?"
The prince's words made Bran silent, and for a while, he couldn't find an answer to that.
"So, you want to punish me just like I punished Michael? Do you think I'm no better than that trash?" With each word he spoke, Bran's body was growing larger and was covering with snake-like scales, and by the end of his speech, even his eye pupils became vertical. After all this transformation, his appearance could only be remotely called human.
"No matter how strong you are, I won't kneel before anyone like some trash!" Bran said with a noticeably roughened hissing voice, and at the end, he even hissed like a real snake. And then he ran towards the prince, gaining more and more speed with every second.
"Even such a wicked dog like you will obey commands if punished enough times. Step," the prince said, and then he magically found himself shoulders of the still running Bran. Before the young man could do anything, the prince struck him on the back of the head with an open palm. At the moment of impact, Bran felt like a building fell on his head, and not the palm of a seven-year-old child. He fell again, and his face sank into the ground for about ten centimeters. And while Bran was struggling to get up, the prince managed to jump off his back and land nearby.
"Good job, puppy, lie down."
"Don't underestimate me," Bran growled, spitting out dirt mixed with blood from his mouth. "Green Halo."
Immediately, a greenish smoke began to emanate from Bran. It at first surrounded him and then spread across the arena, forcing Rand to jump almost to the edge to avoid being touched by this smoke.
" Now you can't hit me, prince, without touching my poison. Without protective artifacts, you won't last long. Give up. The bloodline power is invincible."
"Silly dog, I didn't allow you to get up. Lunar Palm," after these words the prince's hand covered with a milky-white light, and then this light separated from his hand, flew up a few meters and headed through the smoke towards Bran at incredible speed.
This time, due to the considerable distance between them, Bran managed to prepare and cross his arms in a defensive stance.
"Raaash," Bran half-shouted, half-hissed, taking Rand's technique head on. The force was enormous again, but this time he was prepared. In order to block this power, he had to fall to one knee, and the armored skin on his arms, which bore the brunt of the blow, cracked, letting blood flow abundantly.
"I didn't lie down; I coped; I'm not a command-obeying dog," Bran thought, filling him with inexplicable joy. But as soon as he wanted to share this thought with Rand, the second Lunar Palm fell on him, and despite his resistance it drove his face into the ground again.
And in this way, there was a one-sided exchange of blows for some time, after each of which Bran ended up lying on the ground. But he didn't give up because he believed he had a tiny chance of winning. Bran's first hope was his smoke; he tried several times to approach the prince to envelop him in his poisonous cloud, but Rand was too fast, the arena was too big, and his poison dissipated too quickly in the air, so all his attempts ended in failure. The second hope of the young man was his superior defense and mighty regeneration, which his partial transformation bestowed upon him. Of course, it couldn't be endless, but he hoped that the prince would exhaust himself sooner; after all, he was the one constantly attacking, and from a distance, too. But minutes passed, Bran felt the earth in his mouth again and again, but the prince showed no signs of fatigue. And then Bran felt despair.
"I su...," Bran began to say the cherished word, but Prince Rand interrupted his speech with a palm strike to the face.
"I don't need your surrender; I need you to obey my commands. Otherwise, you won't leave this place alive," Rand said.
"It's impossible, my uncle, the elder, he will order to stop the fight right now," after these words, he directed his gaze at the impregnable protective dome of the stands. But nothing happened. The elder couldn't not see or hear his plea.
"He won't order anything, even if I beat you to death right here. My knight will take care of it," Rand said.
Stunned, Bran realized that the prince was telling the truth. He could indeed kill him here, and nothing would happen to him. Most likely, to avoid spoiling relations with the emperor, his death would be attributed to an accident during a training fight. And even his uncle couldn't do anything, or rather, he wouldn't even think about it. For him, his well-being was much more valuable than his nephew's life. So Bran realized that he had only one way out.
"All right, I'll lie down as you command," Bran said.
"Good boy, puppy, and now say 'woof.'"
"Woof."
