Sir Roland hesitated, eyes glancing to his hand still shaken from his prior battles, but nonetheless he gripped tight onto his blade and dutifully approached his challenger. This was a duel, not a desperate brawl intent on taking the other’s life by any means necessary. There were no harsh emotions involved nor lingering resentments.

  The Emir simply wished to test him, to see whether his resolve was true or merely hollow.

  “What of my fellows?” Roland asked. “If I agree to your challenge, will you allow them safe passage back to Francia?”

  “Whether this day ends with your victory or death, no harm shall come to them. You have my word.”

  Lady Angelica and Sir Astolfo could only bow their heads, reluctant, as Roland prepared for one last fight. To the paladins, a duel was sacred. Chivalry rested in their hearts and wore on their lips. They could not interfere in this sacred tradition even if it meant idling by as the haggard Peer walked toward his doom.

  The players, on the other hand, were shackled by no such beliefs, and as a result they angrily voiced their dissent.

  “What kinda farce is this?” Marco said, struggling to stand up. “Listen, I ain’t gonna pretend to know about the grudges Sir Roland’s wracked up. That’s his responsibility and burden to bear. God knows I’m not a clean man myself, but don’t act like you’re doin’ us a favor by pickin’ on a guy already beaten.”

  Harper joined him, delivering the Emir a harsh glare. “The old mobster’s right. All of you people of this world seem to cherish honor and fairness, yet there’s nothing fair about this. Your grunt already did plenty enough to wear us down. This whole thing’s nothing but a glorified execution.”

  The other Peers gasped at the players blatant disrespect, but it wasn’t as if they were entirely wrong. The result had already been decided the moment Roland stepped onto the Temple Mount. Had Mister al-Balijan truly wished to slay them, he could have easily done so without all these theatrics. Well, that was if Lucius didn’t get involved.

  But the gentleman hadn’t done so. He patiently waited to hear Roland’s answer and acted not in retaliation even when the others heckled him. Clearly knightly fellow had his principles, so how would he move to resolve this situation, then? Lucius was quite curious.

  After pondering for a thoughtful moment, the Emir regarded the group and spoke, “Very well. I wish not to let this nation’s new identity arise from unjust beginnings, but neither can I allow Roland to remain in this land until he is fully recovered. My people will never allow it. So, let us proceed as such—”

  The Emir raised his curved sword and pointed it at the group. “Attack in any number. Whether I face one or many, it matters not. Such aid demonstrates Roland’s convictions as well, that there exist those willing to come to his side. Struggle, resist all you can, for that will show me that he is a man worth fighting for.”

  The others briefly looked amongst each other, affirming their shared resolve, before staggering forth and joining Roland, exhausted though they all were. From the players to the Peers, every single person flocked beside him; and Roland struggled to contain a trembling breath, for there were no words that could express his gratitude.

  Angelica raised her mace and held firm her shield. “No matter our differences or the years we’ve spent estranged, I will trust in you, Roland. We will fight together, until the very end.”

  The Emir beheld them all, his rainbow veil shimmering in the moonlight, and for a brief second Lucius thought he saw a smile flash across the young man’s face.

  “You have good people with you, Roland,” he said. “I pray that their decision will not be of waste.”

  The light intensified around the Saracens’ ruler. It wrapped around his blades, his arms, the colors blurring in an ethereal canvas that felt both strange and divine, a power drawn from somewhere far beyond the mortal realm. Before the Emir’s might, Lucius was reminded of the demons in a way. The rainbow sparkled with a contrast far different than its surroundings, as if it were pulled from an old technicolor movie back on earth and imposed directly into the real world. It was odd, distinctly foreign, and yet unlike the demons it didn’t unsettle the minds of those who gazed upon it. On the contrary… a feeling of awe swelled in the group’s bosoms, for they were undoubtedly in the presence of a holy being.

  In the midst of night, the Emir shone brighter than any star in the sky.

  >[EMERGENCY QUEST!]<

  Emir-al-Balijan, the new ruler of the Arabian Emirate, has challenged you to trial by combat. The Saracen people have long wished for revenge against the paladins of Francia, but the man before you is different. He will usher these people toward a new age. However, the holy war’s scars cannot be mended until the source of Arabia’s pain is rightfully judged. Protect Roland, defeat the Emir, and perhaps this hurting land can finally begin to heal.

  Success: 5000 Cosmic Coins, increased reputation with both the Frankish Empire and Arabian Emirate, as well as Roland’s survival.

  Failure: Decreased reputation with both the Frankish Empire and Arabian Emirate, a negative debuff whilst in the World of Charlemagne, and Roland’s death.

  The group had not a moment to plan before their foe rushed forward and slipped between them, twirling in confusing, hypnotic movements. There was a sway to his steps, a rhythm that couldn’t be followed with the naked eye. Poor Marco and Harper could do nothing to stop him as he maneuvered his way directly toward Roland and nearly severed his head right then and there.

  Angelica intervened just in the nick of time and blocked him with her shield. She was much more sluggish compared to their time in the pyramid, as was the same with everyone else. The mace in her hand grew heavier with each passing second. Roland had the strength to at least swing his sword. Thus, the two Peers worked in tandem, covering for their weak points and slowly guarding against the Emir’s complex assault.

  Astolfo supported them from behind, blowing into his ivory horn despite his parched throat and sending waves of sound crashing forth. Unfortunately, his attacks never once struck the Emir, for the man never stayed in one place for long. He dashed here, then there, and then over there—gliding about the battlefield with little effort.

  The players tried to block off his escape through various methods. Mister Crowley buried small mines into the ground and detonated them with a remote control whenever the Emir drew close. Miss Rhodes, meanwhile, used various sheets and quickly-knitted cloaks to protect the group whenever their adversary went on the offensive.

  Those with higher physical prowess, such as Miss Enapay and the mobster-firefighter duo, carefully followed him, waiting to attack whenever he exposed his gaps. The man could only do so much at a given time. When he lunged for Roland’s head, a sharp spear jabbed at his side. Other times it was an axe, or a gauntlet, or even a small bolt of lightning sent by Mili.

  It was ten against one. Even a competent warrior such as al-Balijan couldn’t hold forever against such numbers; and with Lucius vigilantly monitoring his predicted path, victory seemed an inevitable result, one soon to come.

  But was this truly all he had to show?

  The man’s swordplay was certainly impressive, but the rainbow on his back hadn’t done much of anything yet. It left faint traces of color wherever he moved—that was it. Surely, this sacred artifact was capable of much more, wasn’t it?

  An ominous foreboding crept down Lucius’s spine. At first glance, the Emir seemed no different than before, but the gentleman could tell that his pace was getting faster, more complex. His once-manageable stride grew more blurred with time, until neither the Peers nor the players could track his dance of blade.

  It was as if he were the light itself, flashing past them in prismatic arcs.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “On your left, Sir Roland. Do pardon me.”

  Lucius reached out and clashed with the Emir before the latter could skewer Roland’s side. The Saracen man disappeared just as quickly as he struck, and he reappeared immediately to the Peer’s right side, only to be thwarted once again by the gentleman’s timely assistance. The rainbow flared vibrantly. Not a speck around them could be seen untouched by their foe’s colorful traces.

  Yet through it all, the Emir hadn’t broken a single sweat. He remained ever as composed whether it be whilst blocking a wayward blow or swinging his curved swords down upon an unsuspecting Mili. Were it not for Lucius, half of the party would have already fallen by now.

  “You are an interesting one,” al-Balijan said amidst his assault. “I have heard about you from my messengers: Francia’s newest Peer. Why are you not tired like the rest?”

  Lucius smiled and blocked three simultaneous strikes to his shin, waist, and neck. For some reason, the gentleman had a feeling he was being purposely targeted. “Whatever do you mean, my friend? I am plenty exhausted. Why, I must utilize all the strength of my being just to follow your footsteps.”

  The young man let out an amused laugh and further sped his tempo. “It is a shame. Were we in different circumstances, I would have liked to test your capabilities to the fullest. But the time for such thoughts is over. I have seen enough.”

  With a flip of his rainbow veil, the Emir bolted into the air… and then vanished. Gone, in the blink of an eye.

  The group quickly huddled together and anxiously waited for the man’s next attack, but it never came. The twilight hung high above them. Not a sound could be heard in the city save for the group’s coarse breaths.

  When time itself seemed to slow, and their nerves began to lessen, the rainbow light around them rushed to congregate at the temple’s center. It blinded those near in its growing incandescence. Everyone forcibly closed their eyes, only to be met with a startling sight when it was safe to reopen.

  The temple, the city, they were all gone, replaced by a vast and sprawling oasis. Rivers poured through the land as tufts of foliage and bunches of fruits rested in the midst of a golden desert. A blazing sun pushed down on them from above. What once was night had been replaced by this realm’s scorching noon.

  “Uh, I’m not the only one seeing this, right?” Mili muttered, stumbling over her feet. “Did we get teleported somewhere?”

  Roland grimaced and knelt onto his knee, before attempting to grab at the sand. It was no use. The grains couldn’t be picked up as if it were still the solid stone of the temple’s base.

  “No, I do not believe so,” he said. “It’s merely—”

  “A mirage.”

  The group jumped back in alarm as the Emir manifested right behind them. A gentle air enveloped his demeanor as he peered at the sands, the lush oasis brimming with life and possibility. “It is said that the first wiseman came here with his followers after fleeing the empire. They crossed the desert for forty long days and nights, enduring the elements and ravaging heat, before finally arriving at what would become the Rivers’ Cairo today. This oasis resembles both our traditions and our hopes—that no matter the difficulty, the Arabian people would have their faith rewarded, just as our ancestors did centuries ago when they departed under uncertain skies.”

  No one dared approach the Emir, vulnerable though he seemed, in fear of retaliation. Except for Lucius. The gentleman took the chance to stand by the young ruler’s side and look out toward the horizon alongside him.

  “This view is quite the stark difference compared to the city of today,” Lucius said.

  Al-Balijan uttered a quiet laugh and softly closed his eyes. “Yes, there remains not a remnant of the flowers that used to bloom here. In time, we turned these rivers into channels, and the sand below our feet became glass. This little pond grew larger, the people who drank from its waters surged in populace, and so was Arabia made from a gathering of outcasts into a grand nation of its own.”

  “And yet, progress has stalled, hasn’t it?”

  “That is right.” The Emir turned his back and walked toward the fiery sun, before stopping at the border where the real temple should have ended. “I cherish Arabia with all my heart. It saddens me to see my people filled with such bitterness, to witness their slow decline as they allow their past to impede what could be their future. No one wanted to be responsible for this cesspit of self-loathing. Thus, I climbed when others wallowed. I commanded the citizens to behold my every action, to see and hear and feel clearly the weight of my resolve. When all bore witness to the dawn I would bring, my judgement became the judgement of Arabia. My will is the will of the Saracen people. That is why I cannot allow you to go easily, Roland.”

  The Emir swerved his head and faced Roland once more. “To deny them this trial would be too cruel, too unfair. For their sake, I must be firm.”

  The Peer nodded sadly, relating with the young man as one who also once carried the burden of leadership, yet that did not mean he would allow himself to be executed here.

  “Twenty years is a long time, yet not long enough to forget,” Roland said. “Even so, I sincerely hope for the day when our twin nations can regard each other as friends once again. If it happens not in my generation, then let it be for the next.”

  The Emir chuckled. “I wish for such a future as well, Roland. That is why you must defeat me here. This oasis, this mirage… triumph over it all.”

  The man’s body began to glimmer. His flesh and bone joined the emerging, radiant light, until various silhouettes poured out one by one, their shapes molding into that of a man. The party was quickly surrounded; and from the light’s dim, al-Balijan’s appearance resurfaced, only now he was one amongst many, his true form hidden in a legion of clones.

  Fakes though they were, the force of their blows were very much real. The newly-formed army descended upon the weary group and battered them with swift cuts of blade. They had not the speed nor complexity of the Emir. It didn’t matter. Everyone struggled to resist the assault, and with time, they would surely be whittled away into nothing more than flayed, bloody pieces.

  Lucius, of course, discovered the real body right away, for it was impossible for these copies to ever exude the raw beauty and emotion contained within those of the living. The gentleman considered going after him, lest his loveable fellows suffer more than they could handle, but he stopped at the last moment and instead turned his attention toward the good Sir Roland.

  The man appeared to have identified the real Emir as well. He was too busy dealing with a dozen of the clones, however, so Lucius waltzed right on up and cleared a path for him.

  “I can see it in your eyes, my friend,” the gentleman said to him. “You’ve discovered the source, no? Go and ride like the wind. This conflict started with you, thus it is only right you should end it.”

  Roland gave Lucius a thankful grin, before sprinting forth with the last remnants of his strength and descending upon an astonished al-Balijan.

  “How did you know?” the Emir said, pushing back Roland’s sword.

  “These fakes are made of pure light,” Roland responded, readjusting his stance and advancing before his foe could steady himself. “Have them wear your face all you wish, it changes not their origin. Their disguise refracts when viewed at differing angles. Only the real body will remain unchanged.”

  “Hm, so this power had a weakness. I thank you for the lesson, Roland.”

  “I’d be glad to teach you many more should you ever visit my abode in Francia.”

  “Yes… perhaps I will.”

  The two clashed fiercely, neither side willing to relent as sparks flew from the collision of their blades. Roland was at his limit. It seemed he would collapse at any moment, and yet the Peer continued standing, continued fighting, even when his body was riddled in wounds.

  That beastly ferocity—the savage might Lucius had witnessed at the pyramid—was the only thing propping his body up, only it wasn’t nearly as sinister as before. Roland accepted his faults. He no longer had a reason to run away, and so the dark power he once rejected now channeled into a pure, honest desire to protect.

  For the sake of his convictions, he would not fall here.

  Clang!

  A whizz of silver flew past Lucius’s eyes. Soon, the clones began to dissipate, and the party all crumbled in relief. The battle was over, but who emerged the victor?

  Lucius smiled and crossed his arms, satisfied, for there—gashed, bloodied, yet undeniably victorious—was Sir Roland. The Emir raised his hands up in surrender, for his curved swords were disarmed, and his heart was mere inches away from meeting the Durandal’s edge.

  The mirage of the oasis fizzled out, welcoming the group back to the evening skies of the Temple Mount. Every last stretch of Roland’s body trembled from vast strain; and perhaps, if the Emir truly wished so, he could have overpowered the Peer with nothing more than his bare hands. But victory wasn’t what he wanted. This battle’s purpose, from the very beginning, was to assess.

  Al-Balijan hung his head back and laughed, his face relaxed into a much more casual expression, one actually befitting a young man of his age. Solace washed over him; and when Roland finally collapsed from the stress of it all, the Emir reached out and helped his once sworn enemy back up.

  “Congratulations, Sir Roland,” he said to him. “You have well and truly bested me.”

  There was nothing left for Lucius to do, no meddling or encouraging words here. Roland proved all by himself the value and courage of his cause. The phantoms of twenty years past would still remain with him, oh yes, but taking the first step toward atonement was always the most difficult one. And he succeeded beautifully, a sentiment the young Emir appeared to share as well.

  Roland’s breath hushed, and he fell unconscious, his body’s limit finally reached. Al-Balijan carried him back to the concerned embraces of his fellows, before raising his head up and gazing out to the rising dawn.

  Thus did Lucius’s adventures in Arabia come to a close. By morning, they would leave the city and return to the familiar avenues of Francia.

  >[Congratulations! The Emergency Quest is now complete]<

  *(NEW!) 5000 Cosmic Coins

  The Esteemed Gentlepeople of the , to whom I am forever grateful

  [The Distinguishedly Dandy Gentlemen Hall of Fame]