Duke Varian stood tall and composed, his piercing gray eyes locked onto Darin like a predator sizing up prey.

"It truly is remarkable," the duke mused, his voice smooth as silk. "All this time, I expected a fearsome overlord. Instead, I find… you."

Darin scowled. "Wow. So rude. I didn't ask to be here, you know!"

Varian ignored him entirely and turned to the king. "Your Majesty, I do hope this is a jest. You cannot seriously allow a pretender to hold a seat in your court."

The king, sipping his wine, arched an eyebrow. "A pretender? Why, Duke Varian, are you questioning the will of The Grand Shadow Beast?"

Varian's eye twitched. "I beg your pardon?"

The king gestured smoothly toward Grumble, who was still lounging on his tiny throne, licking his paw like he hadn't just been granted more political power than half the nobles in the kingdom.

"The Shadow Beast has already recognized Darin's place in court," the king continued. "To question that is to question him."

Varian turned slowly, as if struggling to process the fact that he was now being outmaneuvered by a cat.

Grumble yawned.

Varian looked like he was considering murder.

Darin, sensing imminent violence, took a slow step back.

"Okay, look," Darin said, raising his hands. "I don't want to be here. You don't want me to be here. But maybe—we can both agree that I am not worth the effort?"

Varian's smile was pure menace. "Oh, I disagree."

Darin gulped.

Varian took a step forward, eyes sharp, calculating, and possibly ready to commit several war crimes.

And then—

Everything went wrong.

Steve, who was absolutely NOT tiny, had been completely silent up until now.

This was, in hindsight, a terrible sign.

Because the moment Varian took another step forward, Steve, who had been lying on the floor like a lazy dog behind Darin, suddenly sprang to life.

There was no warning.

No build-up.

Just one moment of absolute stillness—and the next, a very large, very excitable dragon was launching himself directly at Duke Varian's face.

"KREEEEHHHHH!"

Darin barely had time to process what was happening before a hundred pounds of reckless enthusiasm and bad decisions slammed into the Duke of Varian at full force.

Steve screeched triumphantly, his wings flaring as he latched onto Varian's very expensive noble coat.

Varian swore and staggered back, trying to shake off the wildly flapping dragon now clawing at his chest.

"GET THIS THING OFF ME!" he bellowed.

But there was no getting Steve off.

Because Steve had decided he was winning this fight, and Steve did not believe in losing.

Varian stumbled into the council table, nearly knocking over a nobleman's wine goblet, while Steve wrapped himself around the duke's torso like an overly aggressive scarf.

The guards did not know what to do.

One of them half-drew his sword, then hesitated. Was he supposed to… defend the duke? Attack the dragon? Was this an assassination attempt? A duel? A religious event?

Nobody knew.

All they knew was that Duke Varian was currently engaged in a life-or-death struggle with a four-foot lizard and losing horribly.

Varian snarled, managing to grip Steve by the shoulders and pull him away just enough to glare into the dragon's wide, innocent-looking eyes.

"You little—"

Steve did not let him finish.

Because at that exact moment, the absolute menace of a dragon reared back—

—And HEADBUTTED VARIAN DIRECTLY IN THE FACE.

There was a horrific cracking sound.

Varian's head snapped backward. Thе оriginаl sоurсе is М|V|L5ЕМРYR.

His balance wavered.

And then—

The Duke of Varian collapsed like a sack of bricks.

Flat on his back.

Unconscious.

Absolutely, completely out cold.

A noblewoman shrieked.

A servant dropped a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

One of the scribes fainted.

The guards stared in horror.

Steve, having claimed absolute victory, sat proudly on Varian's unmoving chest like a conquering warlord.

His tail thumped against the floor as he let out a tiny, smug huff—as if to say:

"Yeah, that's right. I win. I am the champion."

Dead silence.

Then—

Vincent let out a wheeze.

The sorceress raised an impressed eyebrow.

Darin?

Darin wanted to crawl into the void and never come back.

"Oh gods," he whispered. "Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods—"

He turned to the king, horrified.

"What do we do?! I just committed accidental noble assault!"

The king, looking completely unbothered, took a slow sip of wine.

"You didn't do anything," he said.

Darin flailed. "MY DRAGON JUST KNOCKED OUT A DUKE."

The king set his goblet down, steepling his fingers. "Yes… and that means we must now consider the consequences."

Darin paled. "Oh gods. Am I going to be executed?"

The king smiled. "Oh, Darin. No, no, no."

Darin sighed in relief.

The king leaned forward.

"You're going to be challenged."

Darin's soul left his body. "I'm WHAT?!"

The king gestured to Varian's unconscious body. "You see, by knocking him unconscious, your dragon has technically, under noble law, declared a formal duel."

Darin choked. "NO, HE HAS NOT."

The king raised an eyebrow. "The court saw it. The nobles saw it. The scribes wrote it down."

Darin turned to the royal scribe.

The scribe held up his notes.

The Grand Shadow Beast's Champion Has Laid Claim to a Noble Duel.

Darin screamed internally.

Vincent clapped him on the back. "Congratulations, Darin. You're now legally obligated to fight Duke Varian."

Darin buried his face in his hands. "I hate this kingdom. I hate all of you. I hate my life."

Steve, the tiny menace who caused all of this, wagged his tail, clearly pleased with himself.

Grumble, still lounging on his tiny throne, let out a long, smug purr.

Vincent grinned. "You know what, Darin? I think you're gonna do great."

Darin, vibrating with pure existential horror, let out a long, miserable groan.

This was it.

This was how he died.