October, Year 483
Mount Roya
North

Corey threw a cautious glance at Gideon then let his eyes fall on the ice cubes melting in the glass he held. It seemed that the vice minister was serious about fighting him.

Why does he want to do this right now? Corey shifted in his chair and reached for the crystal decanter on the table between him and Gideon. He poured the whiskey into his cup and did the same for the older man.

"Let's try not to blow up the mountain before Dawn gets back and clears all this up," he suggested calmly and took a little sip.

He found himself considering rejecting Gideon's challenge but as his eyes slowly drifted to the eager men surrounding the glass dome around them, he quenched the idea. People wanted to see this happen and withdrawing now could shake up his soldiers' moral.

Damn you, Gideon. Corey's grip on his glass tightened and he fixed his burning gaze on the man. Of all times to do this, you choose now.

The vice minister said nothing, a cool smile his only reply as he sharpened the blade in his hand. The grating sound of grinding metal punctuated his silence with each firm stroke he made down the weapon with his custom, diamond-plated whetstone. Sparks flew as the metal was polished.

It was a battle axe, pristine, golden and heavy. Corey was sure that it was the Westley family's heirloom, and the whetstone would cost a middle class family their entire fortune.

Letting out a sigh Corey reclined in his seat and tipped all the content in his glass into his mouth. "Wonderful, Gideon. You want to fight?"

He shrugged off his outer coat then poured himself more whiskey. "Haven't we done enough fighting over the years?"

"I suggest a peaceful resolution." Kathryn added and Corey nodded in agreement.

"See," he sipped on his alcohol then rolled the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt to his elbows, "even the computer agrees with me."

"I am not a fan of technology," the older man answered roughly and held his weapon up into the light. "I'm not a fan of you either."

"True," the minister murmured and finished off his drink. He reached for the other untouched cup and tossing it's contents into his mouth, "let's get this over with."

"Gladly, Roya. Gladly." Gideon stood up and walked to the other end of the room, his footsteps falling into a subtle rhythm with each stride.

When he reached the far end of the arena, he turned back to Corey. "I never pictured you as an alcoholic."

Corey tried to laugh but failed miserably. The result was an ugly cough that made him wince.

"Me and my secrets." He tilted his head to the side and watched the crowd stir up into a frenzy.

Maybe this is a good thing. He thought and stood up. He left his royal blue coat draped over his chair and he walked until he and Gideon were an equal distance away from the table.

"I'm ready."

Once he finished his sentence, the table vanished and in it's place stood a woman. Dressed head to toe in northern colors-blue, red and white-she raised her right hand over her heart and made a fist with her other hand, her left fist over the palm covering her heart-the sign of absolute loyalty to the North.

Corey and Gideon saluted back immediately, their movements swift precise and simultaneous.

The woman smiled and stood at attention. "My name is Priscilla Orr and I will be the referee presiding over this match," she turned her gaze to the VIP area above the arena. "Tonight we will be viewing a fight between our two ministers. Both are experts in their own fields, so please place your bets. Our computer-generated odds are 1 to 4 for Gideon Westley and 8 to 1 for Corey Roya!"

Gideon smirked and Corey shook his head. Cheers sounded in the background as Priscilla snapped her fingers and sent a holographic screen into the air. "You know the rules. No kills. Clean hits only. And absolutely no interferences until there is a knockout or a plea."

"We'll fight when you're ready." Corey said coolly. The fact that the odds were not in his favor only made things so much better.

Gideon passed his axe to his left hand and flexed his fingers around its handle. "Choose a weapon Corey, I would hate for you to lose your head too soon."

Corey smiled and waved towards Priscilla. "My gloves please."

The referee nodded then turned back to the crowd.

"Our minister has decided to select a pair of gloves as his weapon, but as we know, these aren't any ordinary gloves," as her voice fell, a pair of silky white gloves appeared in Corey's clenched fist. "Our one and only General, Noble-born vice minister has also chosen an special weapon, the Westley family heirloom-the Bloodless."

As the crowd roared with excitement, Priscilla teleported out of the arena and into the VIP area high above the domed arena.

"Prime Lord Estell, Noble Lord Maudlin, welcome to Mount Roya." On seeing that the two men were already seated in the luxury room, she immediately bowed. Her waist bent at a precise forty-five degree angle, and her short crop of blonde hair fell down her symmetrical face.

"How may I be of service?"

The two Lords turned to each other then laughed at her question. They paid her no heed, their gazes fixed on the arena. Priscilla straightened up at their apparent dismissal and remained silent, ready to obey any command she received.

"We arrived at the same time, to see the minister of course," Richard Maudlin informed her then pointed to the stage, "imagine our surprise to when we notice all of this. . . commotion."

"Yes," Priscilla nodded and kept her smile, despite the discomfort crawling along her shimmering skin.

"It is quite an affair. It took a while to set up the entire thing, you were not the only ones caught off guard, I assure you." She tried to inject as much enthusiasm into her voice as she could.

"Well," Edward Estell said, "I'm surprised that those two still have time for such trivialities, especially when our world is on the brink of destruction."

Priscilla paled slightly but kept on smiling. The little sparks that floated along her fingertips revealed how uncomfortable she truly was. "Would you like some refreshments? Would you like to bet?"

"If I could see the minister, that would be wonderful." Lord Estell frowned and turned away from the arena.

"I don't mind the wait," Lord Maudlin cut in and picked up a drink from the table in front of him. "What are the odds?"

"The odds are in favor of Gideon at the moment, but given that they are subject to change with each attack made, betting on Corey might have better returns since there is a chance he could win." she explained.

Both Lords frowned.

"What authority do you have, as an android, to address our rulers by their names?" Edward suddenly snapped and narrowed his dark eyes at her.

Priscilla took a step back on receiving his accusatory stare. 'Android' sounded like a curse the way he said it. "I'm afraid that I am only following instructions set by the minister himself."

"Cool down, Edward." Richard chuckled and laid a hand on his the man's shoulder. "Thank you for the information, Priscilla. You know, we all think of the ministers as royalty. Don't mind my friend here."

The lady nodded stiffly. "Is there anything else you would like me to do? I still need to officiate the fight."

"We wouldn't mind the refreshments you mentioned," he smiled.

"And alert the minister of our presence," Edward said, and after a cold glare from Richard added, "please."

"As you wish, sires." Priscilla clasped her hands and bowed again as she teleported out of the room and back to the arena.

†

Gideon raised a criticizing brow at Corey's choice of weaponry. "Gloves, Roya? I knew you were a flower boy but really?"

The general eyed the white gloves cautiously as though there was a chance he'd get infected from whatever disease plagued the minister the moment they touched him. "Are you going to fan me to death?"

Corey chuckled and ran his hand through his hair. "It has been quite a while since I've wiped the floor with you," his eyes narrowed and he snorted, "you've forgotten respect."

"Alright spectators!" Priscilla appeared before them again, both hands in the air as she addressed the crowd. "If you were just coming in, our opponents are the ministers, Corey Roya and General Gideon. With more than a century of experience between them, this match is bound to be eventful."

"Say Gideon, isn't this bullying?" Being a decent show host like she was programmed to be, she turned to the general.

"Well," his voice echoed across the arena, "I can't say that it is."

Priscilla let out a cool laugh. Obviously disappointed with Gideon's curt reply, she tilted her head towards Corey. "How about you, minister? Isn't this fight a bit forced? A match between a man old enough to be your great-grandfather?"

The minister shook his head gently, as though he knew something she didn't. "He's not that old, Pri, and he has been asking for it for a long time."

"For those who don't know their history, Corey and Gideon have been rivals since the moment our dear minister was sworn in," Priscilla immediately jumped at the opportunity to spur the crowd even more. "At twenty-four Corey Roya became the youngest minister to ever exist, and coming in second place for the position-just short of a few points-was Gideon Westley, the man popularly known for his ancientness. . ."

As her words fell, several people in the audience let out a few laughs. Gideon's longevity was no joke, at one-hundred-and-twenty he had already outlived most of his generation, over a century of existence yet he was still going on fifty.

"Without further ado," the drums rolled and the lights dimmed, "let the fight begin."

†

Oh, a fight. Who are you betting for?