asconian's blog

The Palace of Urbik lay in silence. Young King Sebastian, barely twenty-one, walked through one of the long corridors with his hands in his pockets and his mind restless. He had spent the morning buried in formal duties, meetings, and endless protocol, but now, as evening fell, he craved something different. 

Something that would break the monotony. Athletic by nature, weightlifting no longer satisfied him. He needed something more intense. 

His eyes drifted toward one of his bodyguards, a broad and powerfully built man perhaps ten years older, standing motionless beside one of the palace doors.

Sebastian smiled. “Sergeant, I have a challenge for you.”

The bodyguard raised an eyebrow but kept his disciplined posture.

“What kind of challenge, Your Highness?”

Sebastian stepped closer.

“I want to fight you. No rules. 

Here and now.”

The sergeant blinked.

“Majesty, I don’t think that would be… appropriate.”

“Why not?” Sebastian insisted, folding his arms. “Afraid you might hurt me?”

“It’s not that, sir, but—”

“If it’s protocol, forget it. And if you think you can’t handle me, I’ll understand,” Sebastian added with sharp amusement.

The sergeant exhaled slowly, maintaining his composure.

“That’s not the issue, Your Highness. I have no doubt I’d destroy you. But I’m your bodyguard, not your opponent.”

Sebastian’s grin widened.

“Then prove it.”

The sergeant stared at him in silence. He knew the young king was strong and well-trained, but fighting him was an entirely different matter. Still, he also knew Sebastian would not take no for an answer.

“As you command, Majesty.”

The bodyguard removed his jacket and shirt, revealing a powerful torso and thick, battle-hardened arms. For the first time, Sebastian felt a flicker of fear. He pulled off his own shirt, remaining only in training trousers.

The Fight in the Hall

It was a private reception chamber deep within the palace, far from the main halls. No one would interrupt them. No other guards would step in to separate them.

Sebastian locked the doors himself with a predatory smile.

The two men stared at each other in silence. The tension was immediate.

Sebastian, burning with adrenaline, wanted to test himself against this perfect alpha male standing before him. The bodyguard, a hardened army sergeant, knew the king would instantly notice if he held back — and that would be humiliating. So if the monarch wanted a real beating, then that was exactly what he would get.

The room offered enough space to move. Sebastian adopted a firm stance, ready to attack.

At first the sergeant stayed cautious, defensive, but he quickly realized the king was serious. Sebastian lunged forward, trying to seize the initiative, yet the bodyguard caught him with practiced strength and slammed him onto the floor.

Sebastian growled and twisted violently beneath him, muscles tightening with precision as he searched for leverage.

“You’re strong, Your Highness,” the sergeant muttered while pinning him down. “But you still lack—”

Sebastian exploded upward, wrenching free an arm, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting his body with sudden force. In an instant the sergeant found himself on the floor with the king above him, locking him down.

“You were saying?” Sebastian asked with a crooked smile.

The sergeant snorted and, with superior technique, reversed the position effortlessly.

“Majesty,” he growled, “I’m going to crush you.”

And the fight continued.

Minute after minute, sweat against sweat, both men battled with mounting intensity. Every time the bodyguard threw Sebastian down, the king forced himself back up again. His strength was impressive. His determination relentless.

Neither man yielded.

The room thickened with tension. Protocol vanished completely. Sebastian moved like a wildcat, dodging attempts to restrain him, but his opponent — an experienced soldier shaped by years of military combat — had stopped holding back.

“Your Highness… you should surrender,” the bodyguard grunted, trapping the king’s arm in an iron grip.

Sebastian clenched his teeth and suddenly drove his forehead toward the man’s jaw. The impact staggered him just enough for the king to spin free and shove him backward with all his strength.

Both crashed into a heavy wooden table that split apart with a violent crack.

The bodyguard cursed and rose quickly, but Sebastian was already on him, driving a hard punch into his ribs. It wasn’t elegant technique — just raw youthful power. The sergeant grunted and answered with a brutal shove that hurled the king into a bookshelf, sending volumes crashing to the floor.

Sebastian brushed off the dust with a grin full of adrenaline.

Now he wanted more.

Street-fight rules.

Both men raised their fists.

The blows began to land hard.

“That the best you can do… Sergeant?” Sebastian taunted between heavy breaths.

That was enough.

The bodyguard charged, wrapped both arms around the young king’s waist, and drove him violently into the ground. They rolled through broken furniture, trading blows without restraint.

Sebastian freed one fist and smashed it across the man’s face with a sharp crack.

The sound echoed through the chamber.

The bodyguard froze for half a second, blinking, then returned the punch with equal force. If the king wanted a bar fight, he would have one.

Blood began to appear on both their faces.

The fight became savage. No elegant holds. No refined technique. They rolled across the carpet, smashing furniture, overturning chairs. Sebastian drove an elbow into the man’s collarbone; the bodyguard answered with a crushing hook to the king’s stomach.

Air exploded from Sebastian’s lungs, but he refused to stop. He surged forward again, grabbing the sergeant by the neck and slamming him against the wall with a dull thud. The bodyguard gasped, then twisted explosively at the last second and threw the monarch hard against the floor.

Both men lay there breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, bruises already spreading across arms and faces.

What had begun as a test of strength had transformed into something far more primal: a brutal contest of endurance where both men abandoned rank, restraint, and limits.

The opening minutes had been technical. The sergeant had tried to control the young king with holds and takedowns. But Sebastian fought like a cornered animal.

The bodyguard decided it was time to finish it.

“Come on, Your Highness,” he growled. “Yield.”

Sebastian answered with another vicious headbutt attempt, but this time the sergeant avoided it and hammered a devastating punch into the king’s ribs instead.

The impact thundered through the room.

Sebastian gritted his teeth and charged anyway, driving the man backward like a bull into another table. Wood splintered beneath them.

The sergeant shook himself loose, eyes blazing now, and hurled Sebastian into a bookcase. Books rained down over the young monarch, but he rose immediately, lip split open and chest heaving.

Sebastian spat blood onto the carpet.

He was close to defeat.

The bodyguard laughed dryly.

“You asked for this.”

His fist shot forward.

Sebastian narrowly dodged the first punch, but the second smashed directly into his cheek. His head snapped sideways and white flashes burst across his vision.

Instead of retreating, he roared and launched himself forward blindly.

The king saw one final opening and threw everything into a last attack.

But the sergeant’s reflexes were iron.

He trapped Sebastian’s arm, pivoted sharply, and slammed him violently onto the carpet.

Time to end it.

Two brutal punches landed cleanly.

The king could not continue.

Sebastian collapsed onto his back, chest rising and falling wildly. The bodyguard, equally exhausted, dropped beside him.

For several seconds, only breathing filled the room.

Sebastian touched his bleeding lip and let out a rough laugh.

“Damn… that hurt.”

The bodyguard snorted.

“I don’t know whether I should apologize or congratulate you.”

The monarch pushed himself upright, every muscle burning, his face covered in bruises.

“Thank you,” he muttered. “I needed this.”

The sergeant stared at him in disbelief.

“I beat the hell out of you, and you’re thanking me?”

Sebastian smiled despite the pain.

“Because I learned something. And in a few years… trust me… nobody will be able to defeat me.”

The bodyguard studied him silently, then nodded with genuine respect.

“I believe it, Your Highness. You’ll become a formidable king… and very difficult to bring down. You were one stubborn bastard today.”

A lie. The king had nearly broken him too.

The sergeant rose to his feet.

“If you keep this up, Majesty, soon you won’t have an equal.”

Sebastian stood carefully, stretching aching muscles.

“Then we’ll have to do this again soon.”

The bodyguard sighed with resigned amusement.

“Whenever you wish, sire. If you want more bruises, you’ll get them.”

Sebastian laughed softly and extended his hand. The man shook it with a crooked grin.

Both would leave with cuts and bruises, and the next day no one in the palace would mention what had happened.

But inside those four walls, one truth had become undeniable:

The young king was far more than an heir.

He was a warrior.

Later that night, the bodyguard — whose name was Marcos — examined the bruises spreading across his ribs before collapsing onto his bed.

God, the king was unbelievably fierce.

Next time, he thought grimly, there would be no restraint at all.

Sebastian had the body of an athlete, tall and determined, and anyone foolish enough to mistake him for a pampered prince because of his refined appearance was deeply mistaken.

Beneath that elegant exterior, an alpha male was emerging. A genuinely dangerous man.

Marcos closed his eyes, preparing to sleep, though one thought kept repeating in his mind:

He was going to earn every coin of his salary, because sooner or later the king would demand another fight — and next time it would be even harder.

The following morning, Marcos found an envelope beneath the door of his quarters opposite the king’s chambers.

Inside was two thousand euros.

A note accompanied it.

My favorite warrior,

Thank you for the lesson. I enjoyed it more than anything, even if I’ll be covered in bruises for days.

Consider this compensation for wasting your time.

But prepare yourself, my shadow. One day I’m going to surpass you, and when that happens, we’ll have to face each other again.

Marcos smiled with genuine admiration.

“Well,” he muttered, shaking his head, “looks like the monarch still hasn’t had enough.”

And when the king wanted to test himself again, Marcos knew exactly where he would be — ready for Sebastian to feel his fists all over again