Vengelis had been able to best the aging Master Tolland for many years now, but he still believed the man had more to teach him. For Vengelis, unlike many of the Sejero soldiers of the day, there was no laid-back, contented posttraining stage in life—no juncture at which a warrior could proclaim aptitude and rely upon the tutelage of a former education. Refinements could always be made. New techniques could always be discovered. The day a warrior stopped bettering himself through ferocious and disciplined training was the day he witnessed his own defeat. There was no room for the soft among the strong. As a young teenager, Vengelis and his compassionless fists had proved this to many former champions before their swaggering challenges stopped coming.

Now in the prime of his fighting life at twenty-one years old, Vengelis had not been challenged in years.

Despite his celebrity and prestige, Vengelis liked returning to the harshness of Mount Karlsbad for days or weeks at a time to spar with the only worthy partner on Anthem: the eccentric and mysterious Master Tolland. Vengelis had traveled north with Lord General Hoff and Darien three days previous. As always, he had issued strict orders to the Imperial Army not to interrupt their stay. Vengelis Epsilon’s orders were always followed.

“I think you’re losing your touch, old man,” Vengelis said as he locked arms with Master Tolland.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Master Tolland murmured. Now over sixty years old, Master Tolland was only a shadow of his former physical self. Nevertheless, he could always provide a challenge for Vengelis—an accomplishment few could claim. Even as Vengelis taunted, Master Tolland nearly caught him in a leg lock. Vengelis rolled out of it, defending the ligaments of his knee with practiced grace.

“You leave your legs open for submission too oft—” Master Tolland sunk below a furious high kick. “Good!”

Vengelis smirked. “And to think, you would have me hide my power.”

“Of course I would not have you hide it. I would have you appreciate the nature of your Sejero gifts.”

“You think I don’t appreciate my power?” Vengelis shouted, burying a fist into Master Tolland’s raised forearms. The deafening sound of knuckle against arm echoed for miles in every direction.

“I would have you appreciate the”—Master Tolland dodged another blow— “Effects and ramifications of your actions.”

 “When will you ever give up on lecturing me? You and your conservative perspectives on Sejero strength. I’ll never understand your stale theories on leadership and morality. You know, some of my generals in Sejeroreich say you lack the courage to embrace Sejero power. They say you’re frail, though never in my hearing range.”

“And tell me, have any one of these ruthless and sedentary generals ever left the warmth of their palace to issue me a formal challenge?”

Vengelis smirked. “They may be sedentary, but they’re not stupid.”

“A sense of relativism is not weakness, Vengelis. It is strength. It takes courage to consider all ends, and not simply believe in what you choose or what you’re taught.”

“I’m a realist,” Vengelis grunted, trying to catch Master Tolland in an arm bar. “I place my convictions in power, and power alone. All other beliefs are conditional upon the might to see them through. Those without the strength of fist have no right to word of voice.”

“You’re not cruel, Vengelis,” Master Tolland panted. “In no way overtly sadistic or tyrannical like many of your forefathers. But one day I hope you are able to rise above the politicians and sycophants of Sejeroreich. You could be so much more.”

In the midst of their titanic spar across the sky, both master and former student suddenly pulled away from one another and looked into the distant horizon. Still far away, someone was approaching from the south.