Surviving a challenge is not victory

Rodrik let the silence stretch for a moment longer, his gaze sweeping over the chamber. The assembled nobles, clerics, and knights were still digesting Sancho's declaration, but their expressions spoke volumes—some were apprehensive, others cautious, and a few, like Count Oppa, were visibly shaken.

Rodrik smiled faintly.

"So, what you are truly suggesting, Sancho," he said at last, "is that Count Oppa and Bishop Julian have been deliberately obstructing communication with my court, suppressing military reports, and manipulating the direction of the kingdom—all to keep me blind and compliant?"

Sancho of Corduba met his gaze without hesitation. "If Your Majesty wishes for the truth, that is the truth."

Rodrik chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Fascinating," he murmured again.

He turned his gaze to Count Oppa, who remained kneeling, trembling, his hands pressed against the cold stone floor. The man had been one of the most powerful figures in the court not long ago, but now, stripped of all pretense, he looked pathetically small.

Rodrik sighed. "Well, Count Oppa?"

The fallen noble twitched but said nothing.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

Still silence.

Rodrik's fingers drummed against the armrest of his throne, the slow rhythm echoing in the tense chamber. He shifted his gaze, now landing on Sir Egilhard, his trusted commander. The knight stood rigid, his armored frame casting a long shadow against the flickering torchlight. He, too, was waiting for a command.

Rodrik had a decision to make.

He turned back to Sancho. "And tell me, if I were to accept your accusations, what do you propose should be done?"

Sancho did not hesitate. "Summon the court. Open the royal records. Let us examine all correspondence from the past year. If all the letters you receive are in their favor, and the letters accusing them are hidden away. This is proof that they're trying to manipulate you. If these men have been honest, the evidence will show it. If they have lied, the kingdom will see their treachery for what it is."

Rodrik smiled once more. He had to admit, he liked this careerist's nerve.

"Very well," he said. "We shall put your claim to the test."

A sharp intake of breath from Count Oppa was all the confirmation Rodrik needed. Oppa looked at the other ministers tremblingly, but could not say anything.

It was over.

Rodrik's expression hardened. "Sir Egilhard."

The knight stepped forward at once. "Your Majesty."

Rodrik gestured toward Count Oppa. "Take him away."

The count let out a strangled cry. "Your Majesty, no! I have served you faithfully—"

"Faithfully?" Rodrik repeated coldly. "You claim faithfulness, yet even now, you have not denied the accusations laid before you."

The chamber remained deathly silent.

Oppa's hands clawed at the hem of Rodrik's robes. "Your Majesty, I beg you—"

Rodrik pulled away from his grip, his expression unreadable. "You begged for my trust when I first took the throne. I gave you power as the chief steward of the palace. Now you beg for your life. Tell me, Count Oppa, what exactly have you ever offered this kingdom, beyond empty words?"

Oppa had no answer.

Rodrik straightened. "Take him."

Sir Egilhard moved without hesitation, grasping the man's arm and dragging him to his feet. The count struggled briefly, but his strength had long since left him.

His desperate gaze darted around the room, seeking refuge, seeking an ally—anyone who might intervene on his behalf. But no one moved.

Not Bishop Julian. Not count Theodemir. Not even the palace guards who had once followed his orders without question. Sir Egilhard, whom he trusted most, was apparently one of the first to betray him.

It was only as he was being dragged away that he made one final, desperate gamble.

"Your Majesty!" he shrieked, his voice high and ragged. "This is not justice! You are not yourself—you are cursed! You are possessed!"

The words sent a ripple through the chamber.

Rodrik stilled.

Oppa saw the reaction and seized upon it. "Yes, yes!" he cried. "Ever since the day you fall into the river! Everyone says so! You are not the same! Some foul spirit took over your body! Ask them! They whisper it behind your back!"

Rodrik did not flinch, but his grip on the sword tightened.

The chamber was utterly still.

For a brief moment, the thought flickered in Rodrik's mind: They do whisper it, don't they?

But then, that moment passed, and he let out a soft breath.

When he finally spoke, his voice was even. "So, Count Oppa," he said, almost amused, "as long as I agreed to march north, to give up resistance and make you steward of the court, you said I was the rightful king. But now that I wish to fight with enemy and defend my throne, suddenly I am a demon?"

Oppa opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Rodrik shook his head. "You didn't live up to my expectations."

With a flick of his wrist, he motioned for Sir Egilhard to proceed.

The knight obeyed, tightening his grip. Oppa screamed, pleaded and admit he was talking nonsense, but the king's eyes never wavered.

Rodrik let out another sigh. "I had considered sparing you."

And then, before anyone could react, Sir Egilhard unsheathed his dagger and drove it cleanly into the count's neck.

The room remained eerily silent as Oppa's body crumpled to the ground, blood pooling around his fallen form.

Rodrik remained seated, his expression unreadable.

Even Theodemir, a man who had spent decades navigating court politics, said nothing. Bishop Julian's lips moved in silent prayer, but he, too, made no protest.

Rodrik exhaled, slowly, as though grounding himself in the moment.

He had known this was inevitable.

He had spent days preparing for it.

And yet…

He was not prepared for how easy it had been.

How effortless it was to erase a man's existence.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, at last, Sir Egilhard stepped back, his blade still dripping crimson. He met Rodrik's gaze and, without a word, lowered his head in silent deference.

Rodrik nodded.He turned and looked south - the direction of the approaching Muslim army.

The storm is coming.

But he hadn't win the game. He just survived from the first challenge.