“Why does Vur always end up at an empire’s or a kingdom’s capital every time he goes on adventure?” Grimmy asked. His wings were spread as wide as they possibly could, and he was gliding through the air with his legs dangling underneath him. Smoke drifted out of his nostrils as he sighed and swayed back and forth, causing the cursed elf on his head to smack his scales.

“You’re making me nauseous,” Lindyss said. “Stop swaying. And you know why he always ends up at places in power. It’s because you taught him to be as prideful and stubborn as yourself.”

“You’re saying that like it’s a bad thing,” Grimmy said and raised an eyebrow. He flapped his wings twice to ascend and flew through a cloud. Curses came out of Lindyss’ mouth, and Grimmy chuckled while descending. “We’re almost there.”

A palace came into view. Its fence was made of steel, and its gardens lay mostly bare. A few flowers were sprinkled here and there, but the majority of it was overrun with weeds. The palace walls were in chunks, and it was hard to differentiate the pieces that belonged to the ceiling and the pieces that belonged to the walls. It was almost as if a crazy lady with a sword had tried to kill someone who could teleport throughout the whole building.

“You think this is Vur’s fault?” Lindyss asked and sighed. “I swear, everywhere that boy goes, he brings about destruction. Then it’s up to me to fix it. Then, while I’m busy, he runs off to cause trouble elsewhere.”

“You mean busy drinking on a beach while your undead servants do all the work for you?” Grimmy asked. “Because that’s where I found you before I dragged you here.”

“I was busy relaxing,” Lindyss said and glared at the dragon underneath her. “I have a very strict schedule of work and relaxation, and you just happened to find me on my relaxation portion.”

Grimmy snorted. “Alright, whatever you say,” he said. “But I do wonder what kind of mess Vur got himself into this time. Why would he need our help?”

***

Ralph stared at the golden man underneath his foot. There were multiple holes in the knight’s body, and his head was partially severed, but the expression on his face was one of outrage instead of pain or fear. “Do you admit defeat?”

“I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it once again,” Sir Edward said and spat on Ralph’s toes. “Only a noble can defeat me. I refuse to fight a peasant; my honor prevents me from doing so.”

“Soldier, why don’t you let me fight him?” Lord Briffault said and walked up to Ralph. “He’s undying and stubborn; we might as well accommodate him. Forcing him to admit defeat like this might cause a disaster similar to attacking the genie.”

Ralph shrugged. “I just didn’t like his mustache,” he said and took his foot off of Sir Edward’s chest.

“Ah, envy, the worst of the cardinal sins,” Sir Edward said and clicked his tongue. He nodded at Ralph. “It can consume even the best of us, lad. One day, when you become as great as me, you’ll be able to grow out a mustache just like this one.”

Ralph stabbed Sir Edward’s shin with his spear, piercing through his leg and into the ground. He cleared his throat when Lord Briffault patted his back and helped pull out his spear. “Sir Edward Baron,” Lord Briffault said. “I am John Briffault the Third and a Half. I challenge you to a duel.”

“At last! A noble title,” Sir Edward said, his golden eyes glowing with a bright light. A small roar escaped from his lips as he rose up, his injuries mending at a pace visible to the naked eye. His gaping wounds stitched themselves back together, and the golden blood he spilled on the ground was sucked back inside of him. “Let us duel!” He drew his sword and pointed it Lord Briffault. Then he sheathed it and cleared his throat before turning around. “Hold on a second.” Sir Edward turned back around, a piece of paper in his hands. “First, we take bets; after all, what is a duel without bets?”

“What are we betting?” Lord Briffault asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Soldiers!” Sir Edward said and nodded. “We’ll bet with your soldiers. If I win, I get to keep a hundred of your soldiers. If I lose, a hundred of your soldiers get to go through the gate.”

Lord Briffault furrowed his brow. “Now hold on just a second,” he said. “Didn’t you say we had to defeat you to proceed? Doesn’t that mean all of us get to go through? And my soldier here”—he patted Ralph’s shoulder—“already defeated you plenty of times. You can’t keep changing the terms to entry.”

Sir Edward rubbed his chin before sighing. “You’re right,” he said. “As a noble, I can’t keep changing my words. How about alcohol? Do you have any alcohol? If I defeat you, you give me a drink.”

“We … don’t have any food or drink,” Lord Briffault said.

Sir Edward’s eyes bulged, and he pointed his sword at Lord Briffault. “You’re conducting a siege without food or drink? Are you daft? Next, you’ll be telling me you didn’t bring tents for shelter or extra clothes to endure the harsh nights.”

Lord Briffault cleared his throat. “Well, we weren’t expecting such a long, drawn-out campaign. We thought it’d be over before the sun set.”

“How foolish,” Sir Edward said and shook his head. “The youth of today … ah. Come, let me treat you all to a nice meal and drink.”

“While I appreciate the offer,” Lord Briffault said, “we’re already dead and have no need for either of those. Shelter from the cold isn’t necessary either.”

“That’s no way to live!” Sir Edward said. “Just because you’re dead, you can no longer enjoy the joys of life? What kind of nonsense is that? Let me tell you, my friend. You and I, we’re alive. Right now, in this very moment, we’re alive. We’re talking to one another, seeing one another, communicating with facial and bodily expressions. Tell me, can the dead do that, good sir?” He shook his head before Lord Briffault could answer. “I’ll tell you—they can’t! How long has it been since you’ve had a warm meal in your stomach? How long has it been since you’ve had ale bubbling down to your stomach?”

Lord Briffault swallowed his saliva, and though it was faint, he swore he heard his companions doing the same. He turned around and swept his gaze over his men. “What do you think? Shall we take a short break? While Zyocuh’s out there having the time of his life, we’re in here forced to do his bidding. Taking a short break doesn’t go against any of our orders.” His men nodded in agreement, and he turned back around. “Alright. But do you have enough to feed us all?”

“Of course, of course,” Sir Edward said and nodded, clapping his hand on Lord Briffault’s shoulder. “It’ll take some time to prepare. Say, about as long as it’d take a mutant dragon to defeat a chimera queen. That’s no problem, right?”

Lord Briffault raised an eyebrow. “Is that a standard measure of time around here?”