Among the Seven Great Martial Families of Komen, there is only one that stands at the pinnacle.
The calamitous Olethros family. Pioneers of the art of swordsmanship and men who have crossed the lines of mortality into godhood.
They are reclusive and seldom seen outside of their own territories.
The Olethros main house is located at the peak of a mountain on a large island. It is a shining, white beacon that inspires reverence and awe from those who live below.
And Solomon couldn’t believe he was standing inside of such a place once again.
"...What is that?"
Raizel looked up from his kneeling position with sparkling eyes.
"He’s to be my vassal, Patriarch. Do you approve?"
Solomon kept his eyes shut and his eyes down. But on the inside, he felt like he should have asked for more gold before coming here.
Inside a grand hall, the two boys kneeled beside each other on a bright red carpet.
A few feet away, there were steps leading up to a gold and jewel-encrusted throne.
A single man sat upon it. He resembled Raizel almost to a tee. They possessed the same jet black hair and identical golden, almond-shaped eyes.
Though the man was by far the harder and sharper of the two. His gaze was heavy as lead. A simple tapping of his fingers caused the hairs on Solomon’s neck to stand up.
His voice was deep, dry, and commanding.
"Is the hall the type of place where you come to make jokes? I should like to give you a hat with bells on it since you fancy yourself a jester."
On the nearby walls, Raizel’s siblings either smirked at his scolding. He resisted the urge to pull down his pants and moon them.
Instead, he kept his attention on winning over his father.
"I wouldn’t bring him before you if I weren’t serious about this. I know your time is quite valuable." The young boy flattered.
His father didn’t seem swayed in the slightest.
"You are so confident despite bringing me something you found on the street. You are like a dog."
"He’s a good find, I assure you."
His father huffed. "I change my mind, you’re worse than a dog. A mutt is thoughtless, but you understand full well what it is that you are doing."
"Oh, come now, Patriarch. Does not every dog have it’s day?"
Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever heard a conversation like this one take place between a father and child. Especially not in a prestigious martial arts family.
Raizel seemed more like an adult in a child’s body than an actual child. He showed his father respect while simultaneously offering very little give on the things that he wanted so as not to be rolled over.
His siblings, judging by their frustrated faces, thought him to be audacious. Solomon thought he was a genius.
But then again, it’s often easy for children to impress other children.
"...Lift your head, boy."
Solomon knew instantly that the man was talking to him.
He raised his head and opened his eyes.
For a fraction of a moment, he thought he saw recognition in the face of the man on the throne.
But it must have been a trick of the light. When he looked again, there was nothing.
"...Do you know who I am, child?"
Solomon nodded slowly.
"Zadkiel Olethros. The Armageddon Knight."
"You speak well for a wretch."
Solomon’s father was a rather important person. He was quite passionate about making sure his son was literate and mannerly.
They were skills he never thought he’d have to use after he passed.
"...Thank you, sir." He lowered his head again.
Raizel elbowed him.
"Patriarch." Solomon corrected.
Zadkiel continued to stare at the boy hard.
"Give me your name, wretch."
"...Solomon."
For a moment, Zadkiel didn’t say or do anything. It was like the information had barely even registered.
And then he stood up from his throne.
He reached for a gold flagon sitting on a table between himself and his steward.
Stepping down from his throne, he walked over to Solomon and poured wine over his head.
On the wall, Raizel’s other siblings snickered.
When the flagon was empty, Zadkiel took a few loose strands of the boy’s hair and rubbed them between his fingers.
The only thing that rubbed off on his thumb was the fruit wine he’d spilled. Zadkiel almost seemed disappointed by this.
"...How strange. You look so much like him, I thought your hair would be the same."
For a moment, Zadkiel locked eyes with Solomon.
His eyes were a deep, dark orange. Like an enraged sun fallen from the heavens.
"It seems you are not as mannerly as I thought."
Zadkiel backhanded the boy without thinking.
Solomon’s body went flying across the room and struck a nearby wall with such force that the boy blacked out instantly.
As his body crumpled to the ground, Zadkiel returned to his seat as if nothing unwarranted had occurred.
Raizel wanted to say something, but dared not. Even with all of his knowledge, there was a limit to just how much he could do right now.
Besides, with everything he had planned, Solomon would have to get used to this sort of thing fairly soon...
Raizel’s heart thumped with anger as he watched his father take his seat. But he kept his eyes and his expression completely neutral.
Zadkiel’s eyes settled on him, and for a moment neither of them spoke.
"...Don’t like the wine, Patriarch?" Raizel attempted to joke.
His father didn’t look the slightest bit amused.
"Did you bring the boy here knowing that he had a mage’s body?"
"I did."
"Warlocks make poor swordsmen, Raizel. Their understanding of aura is exceptional, but their bodies are feeble, and they lack the necessary hand-eye coordination skills."
"I am aware of this, Patriarch."
"Are you? So you’ve brought me an urchin from the streets even knowing that he is not an exception to this rule? I should have you flogged."
This was the moment Raizel had been waiting for. The moment everything hinged upon.
He clenched his fist until his knuckles turned white and placed it over his chest.
"I swear it, Patriarch. This boy will be the exception."
"And if he isn’t?"
Raizel’s answer was bold and without hesitation. "Then I forfeit both of our lives."
It was hard to stun a man like Zadkiel. After living for more than two hundred years, he had seen more than enough to fill several texts and tomes.
He recognized the look in his son’s eyes all too well. It was the look of a man who knew something that he didn’t.
And Zadkiel certainly didn’t expect to see that kind of look from a boy not even ten years old who had never been outside their territory.
"...Intruiging."