Rykard decided to go for none of those options.

  Rykard decided to just walk forward.

  The guards were visibly unsure what to do with that. They stood there, spears still crossed, as he simply and methodically pced one foot before the other. Miyo followed behind him. The king walked as if the spears weren’t there and the guards pulled them back just before he made contact with them.

  Not even looking at them, Rykard continued on his walk into the building. A king did not ask for guards to allow him to enter his future property. “Your confidence continues to be astounding,” Miyo cooed behind him and he smirked back at her. An extended arm told her where her pce was and she swiftly took it, nuzzling against his side like an affectionate canine.

  Together, they continued into the building. Various people looked at them pass, but none dared stop them. He walked like he owned the pce and that natural authority made everyone assume he wasn’t to be messed with. They were, of course, correct.

  A problem arose though.

  “You,” Rykard addressed a man passing by him. An elderly gentleman in expensive clothes. He shot the king a dirty gnce but swiftly straightened up when the king gred back thrice as intensely.

  “How can I help?” the man asked in a gruff voice.

  “Where is the debate chamber?” the king asked.

  “Right down that hallway,” the man answered and pointed deeper into the building. “Just follow the idiotic shouting.”

  ‘The people of this Hexagon are pretty brazen,’ Rykard thought and dismissed the man with a wave. They continued down the hallway and soon picked up a storm of at least a dozen voices, all trying to one-up each other.

  The door to the debate chamber was open. Two more guards fnked it and Rykard also walked by them without a single word. Whatever their reaction to that was, it came too te, Rykard and Miyo were already several metres into the room.

  As could be expected of a craftsman council, the chamber was ornate. Expensive stone and wood furniture filled the octagonal walls. Viewing stands rose along the sides of the room, the snted seats allowing those up there to look at the two dozen guild masters down below.

  The structure of the room suggested an order no one was keeping. People from above were shouting at people below. Ordered discussions only took pce between a few individuals at the table, otherwise it was a massive mess. Rykard even spotted someone from the viewing stands jump down and swiftly getting into a fist fight with a burly guild master. Three other people joined the fight. It was not clear if that was to separate those two, take sides, or punch both of them.

  In that chaos, Rykard entered practically unnoticed. “This is about what I expected,” Miyo said btantly. “Rabble rousers and rabble itself.”

  “Quite,” Rykard found himself agreeing. “Here I thought that receptionist was an exception. Guess she was the nicest of the lot. Then again, the butler was nice enough.”

  “He was paid to be nice.”

  “That is true.” Rykard hummed.

  “Contempting your opening bid?” Miyo asked.

  “Lots of opportunities,” her king confirmed.

  Of all of the angles, only one seemed like it would prevent him from having another bothersome conversation with a disrespectful local. Sensing her man’s resolve, Miyo stepped away and positioned herself next to a nearby guard.

  Rykard rolled his neck and walked forward. Finally, some heads turned in his direction, but it was already too te. One of the people involved in the brawl was shoved in his direction. They bumped into Rykard, shoulder first. “Oy, watch where you’re fucking standin’!” the guy slurred.

  “Maybe you should watch where you get shoved, pal,” Rykard answered.

  “I’m not your pal, dude!”

  The answer to that was a fist straight to the cheekbone.

  The man stumbled back and growled. He threw himself back at Rykard, who gave him another shove. This time with enough force to send him flying into the p of a hitherto calmly talking person at the table. “THAT’S IT!” the woman roared and threw the man off herself.

  Several more people jumped down from the watching areas. What had started as a two-person brawl swiftly swelled into a fight that consumed the entire chamber.

  Rykard was certain the people coming at him did so only because he was someone they did not know, not because they had the faintest idea who he actually could be. Smacking their fists aside effortlessly, the king concentrated on blocking and dodging, particurly the former. He was partaking in the brawl and no one with an eye on him could say he did not take his fair share of punches - he just had a longer breath than anyone else involved.

  To a lesser mind, the cacophony of aggressive shouting and flying fists must have been confusing. To Rykard, this was just another day on the battlefield, a simple one at that. No enemy spells to interrupt, no summoned creatures to deal with, no enchanted war machines that cleaved through front lines, just men and women smacking and decking each other.

  One man in front of Rykard got surprise reinforcements by two more behind the king. They grappled his arms - or attempted to. “FUCK!” one man cursed when a flying elbow broke his nose. The other screamed like a bitch when Rykard stomped on his big toe. The man in front tried to get a cheap shot in. The punch nded squarely in Rykard’s flexed midriff.

  “OW!” The attacker cursed, pulling his fist back. He held his wrist as if he had just punched a sheet of metal ten centimetres thick.

  Another man jumped at Rykard from behind. Using his momentum against him, the king bowed over forwards. The assaint did an involuntary somersault, his crotch smming into the face of the one still nursing his wrist.

  Like that, the fight continued for almost fifteen minutes, until the heat of rage was repced with a groaning and exhausted respect for the sole person that still stood straight and unbothered in their midst. “I am Rykard, the Contestant,” he announced. It was far from quiet, not with all of the heavily breathing people around, but he overpowered that noise. “If you got it out of your system, dies and gentlemen, I would like to discuss the terms of your fealty.”

  There was a lot of grumbling, but none dared show him obvious disrespect after all of that. Groaning and grunting, everyone dragged themselves back to their pces. A new chair was brought in so Rykard could sit at the big table. Everyone else on it hissed whenever they moved. Injuries went from minor bruises all the way to broken ribs.

  “How about I fix you all up before we do this?” Rykard asked. “Wouldn’t want you to bleed on whatever agreement we sign.”

  Rykard did not let them contempte the offer. A wave of green energy emanated from his being, rippling over the table, and soaking into all it touched. As it progressed, it lost intensity. A second, then third wave continued outwards, fixing up everyone at the table and many people on the stands above.

  “Thanks,” one of the more civil people at the table grunted. All around, people straightened up as the pain faded away. Not all wounds had been completely healed, that would require a more direct effort, but the worst had been mended. Enough that Rykard felt he could have this conversation now.

  “As said, I am the Contestant and I am here to take your fealty,” he announced simply. “I bring to you access to a new trade network, plenty of materials, and I offer you local autonomy in exchange for the usual two things an overlord asks for, that being taxes, be they in material or currency, and men.”

  “Right… history tells us that all Contestants are fuckin’ eccentrics,” one of the guild masters spoke up. “So what’s your deal, beyond being all nice and shit?”

  Rykard grinned. He was about to gesture for Miyo to approach when the redhead plopped down in his p already. His queen got comfortable, using one of his arms as her backrest and slinging her legs over the opposite armrest. “I propose to you all a world of harems.”

  “Ain’t no way.”

  “There’s plenty of ways,” Rykard assured. “I will assure that the birthrate of this world is skewed in a way to enable it. In return, I ask of the men that they make themselves worthy of such a-”

  “Yo, stop,” one of the guild masters interrupted Rykard. “You had me at harems. All in favour of becoming subject of this New Eden… kingdom?” A nod ter, the man continued. “...All in favour, hands up.” Nearly all of the hands went up, including that of half the woman at the table. “Cool, it’s done, you’re the leader now.”

  Rykard felt the mental switch flip to conditions completed. ‘These people are odd,’ he thought to himself. ‘Then again, harems are enticing.’ Under any other circumstances, this would mean he was done there. However, he had more objectives than fealty this time around. “Alright then, I have a question for you all. Are there any among you that specialize in the creation of folding fans?”

  “That would be me, your highness!” someone from up in the stands shouted. “Those assholes down there are all in the boring typical trades!”

  “Fuck off, Carl, you fancy-shmancy asshole!”

  Rykard did not need another brawl on his hands. “Alright then, you’re all dismissed. Get back to your work, I sense you care more about that anyhow. Do me the favour though and elect an official representative in the coming weeks. We’ll need someone to talk to about trade.”

  “You hear the man, Joshua, get to work!”

  “Fuck you, I’m not walking away from my forges, you do it!”

  “I have apprentices to teach!”

  “How about Lesley?”

  “How about fuck you?”

  He had dismissed the meeting, but the meeting evidently had a life of its own. Rykard got up, Miyo id across his arm in a princess carry and gestured with his head to Carl to meet him outside.

  _______________________________________________________________

  Miyo posed with the folding fan she had been handed. She turned the skillfully combined object of wood and paper around, inspecting its make. Then, with an impressively swift gesture, she opened it up. On the unfolded paper was the stylistic depiction of a temple.

  “No.” The redhead folded the fan back up, then threw it onto a pile of others.

  “What was wrong with that one?!” Carl shouted.

  “There was nothing wrong with it, it was simply unworthy of the first queen of this world,” Miyo answered simply. “Do you disagree with my assessment?”

  Carl grumbled a number of curses but did not actually push back. Whether that was because he agreed or because Rykard was sitting next to his favourite fox dy was up for debate. “That’s the best of my craft. None in the guild can offer you any better.”

  “That categorically cannot be true. I am reliably informed that this world has utensil worthy of my hands.” Miyo grabbed one of fans on the discard pile and used the expensive item to casually waft air into her face. Technically that was the purpose of a folding fan, but Rykard knew the difference between an armament and a ceremonial weapon. “Do you hide a talent from me?”

  “No!” Carl shouted. “You think I don’t want the favour of the fuckin’ queen?!”

  “You might still have it if you speak quick,” Miyo informed him. “Our time is precious. As we speak, the other Contestants are increasing your influence. Every minute wasted is a percentile shaved off the likelihood of my Rykard’s vision coming true. That directly impacts your ability at gathering a harem.”

  Rykard just leaned back and watched the vixen pressure Carl into compliance. The fan-maker chewed on his thumbnail as he thought. Then, he snapped his fingers. “The old master!” he excimed.

  Miyo bowed forwards, clearly interested. The shorter man could not help himself and snuck a gnce at her cleavage. Knowing his pce, he went right back to looking at her face. “Details?” the ever-cool kitsune asked.

  “Back in the age of Eri, a great master was commissioned to make folding fans for the daughter the ogress had with an elf. The great master fulfilled the request, but hid his creations all over the city to py a prank on the tyrant Gorger Lady. She did not take kindly to that and ate him. Legend has it that those fans remain hidden in the city to this day.”

  “Are you truthful in this cim?” Miyo asked.

  “I didn’t believe it, but if you’re that sure that there’s better fans around, that’d be the only ones that come to mind.” Carl dared to pull his shoulders back. “Or you could pick one of my brilliant creations, your pick.”

  “Rykard, my love, you are hereby tasked with finding these ancient folding fans,” Miyo decred.

  The king had already stood up. Miyo’s home culture had much greater veneration for ancestors and old masters than his own did. From the moment he had heard one of such mentioned, he knew that there was no choice but to find them. “Any clues?” Rykard asked Carl.

  “Fuckin’ beats me, but feel free to check out our library.”

  That was one way to start this.