Inktober 2026 - 28 - Trophy

Standing in front of the king in his throne, the knight had his sword pointed at the sovereign’s throat. The warrior was panting so heavily that his shoulder rose up and down with every breath, but his blade stayed true. His light armour was banged up in places, and there were a few tears in what was visible of his chain mail. There was blood on the tunic he wore underneath, and cuts and bruises barred his face. His voice however rose loud and clear within the great hall.

“I do not want your trophy, usurper. I have no use for it. I fought this tournament for the sole purpose of getting the opportunity to confront you, and finally bring justice to this realm. Your tin cup means nothing to me. Nor do the accolades of your consort, whom I hold in nearly as little esteem as you.”

The chalice he was speaking of was on the ground at their feet, and the king’s court was gathered around them, frozen in place, fearing for their ruler’s life. None of them had ever imagined for a second, during the competition that had taken places over the last couple of days, that the victor could ever turn on them. The clanging of the golden goblet on the cobblestones as the young man had discarded it and drawn his weapon had been quite the wake up call.

“You have relished in the systematic destruction of many things I hold dear, in the enslavement of many people I loved, and the death of many people I respected. You never earned your place on this royal chair, and you do not deserve it. You have never in your miserable existence known honour. Everything that you claim to be yours, you have stolen. Like a worm in a great oak, you have carved your way into this noble nation, bringing nothing but weakness and putrefaction in your wake. And today, your reign of decay ends, and the people of this land are finally free.”

Before anyone had time to move a muscle, the knight flicked his wrist, and slit the throat of the accused. People gasped, some even fainted, without anyone to catch them in most cases due to most having their eyes glued on the gruesome scene: the dying king was desperately grabbing at his wound, but to no avail. Quickly, his body slumped to the ground, dead. Snapping out of their stupor, the guards, which had remained motionless for fear of escalating the dangerous situation, drew their own swords, realising they no longer had to worry about making things worse.

“The only prize I have been seeking is the end of tyranny. I do not particularly wish to add anyone else’s blood to that of this false prophet, but will gladly do so if necessary for the completion of my quest. Keep in mind that I have just vanquished all of the best fighters of this land, and ask yourself whether the preservation of this man’s twisted order is worth facing me in battle.”