The God Paradox

2.2 - The Wizard

A platoon of ten soldiers marched through the city streets in the dead of night. As they passed, some residents hurried to shut their windows and douse their lights, trying to avoid the echo of heavy boots striking the stone-paved streets. At the head of the squad was a soldier in a more ornate, almost golden, suit of armor, marking him as their leader.

Their destination was clear: the largest tavern in the city, The Golden Leprechaun. The reason for their march wasn't immediately obvious—at least, not until they turned the corner and saw a crowd gathered outside the tavern. The soldiers pushed their way through, using force as necessary, shoving or even striking with their shields to clear the way. It was more crowded than The Golden Leprechaun had ever been.

The onlookers hurled insults at the soldiers or shouted about the true king having arrived in the city. Some seemed eager to pick a fight, but were restrained by older, wiser townsfolk. At the center of the tavern's commotion sat Merlin, the legendary wizard. He was spinning tales about the latest bearer of the sword, extolling the hero's bravery and recounting the tale of how he had subdued a demon's soul. Merlin's words were an attempt to rally support for the coming revolution. The tavern was so packed that it was difficult to reach him, but the soldiers found a way.

The golden-armored captain stopped in front of Merlin, who barely seemed to notice him. The wizard's demeanor conveyed that he didn't view this man as a threat.

"Hello, Merlin."

The soldier's voice, muffled by his closed helmet, carried clearly enough to draw a faint, uninterested glance from the wizard. Merlin, still seated, responded with cold indifference.

"Just say what you came to say. Do you think brute force will extinguish the flames of revolution? Do you expect these people to forsake the rightful heir to the throne?"

The soldier stood silently for a moment, as if waiting for Merlin to continue or offer more resistance. The tension in the tavern was palpable; the once lively chatter had given way to a cautious quiet, as all eyes watched what would unfold. Even the tavern keeper, flustered, hastily closed out tabs—some inaccurately—and the customers, far too eager to leave, didn't complain.

Seeing that Merlin wasn't going to speak further, the soldier raised his voice to address the room.

"By order of the Council, I declare that the army will remain neutral in the contest for the throne. I am here to deliver a message: King James III invites the challenger to a duel. The duel will take place in the arena at noon today—eight hours from now. I also announce that, by provisional decree, James III is officially the King of Brittany, and his coronation will follow the duel."

Merlin, who had been listening intently, now retorted with a sharp tone.

"And who said we accept this duel? More importantly, who said we'll step into an arena surrounded by guards ready to stab us in the back?"

"Am I to take this as a refusal from your so-called king?" the soldier inquired. "If so, then James—"

"No!" Merlin interrupted. "But know this: if you try anything, the blood of innocents will be on your hands. If this is a trap, I will summon an explosion large enough to destroy this entire city. Are we clear?"

"As I said," the captain replied calmly, "the army will remain neutral until one of the two claims the throne. Besides, we know you're bluffing. You haven't wielded that much power since your goddess abandoned you."

With that, the soldiers turned to leave. The crowd began murmuring as Merlin, sensing he had lost his audience and the atmosphere had grown tense, opted to vanish. In his usual fashion, the wizard disappeared into a swirl of fabric, leaving the tavern in the blink of an eye.