Chapter 59: Battle and Worthiness

Mark’s heart skipped a beat the moment the giant Amazon’s heavy gaze locked onto him, weighing him for one unnerving instant like he was nothing more than an annoying, insignificant insect. Then, almost as quickly, her expression softened, recognition settling in and easing the pressure behind her stare.

She stood currently in her full, natural giantess form, towering over Mark and everything else scattered throughout the chamber. Scarlet hair, pulled up into a high, tight bun, framed her mature, oval shaped face, a few loose strands falling free around it.

Her eyes carried a deep, warm brown, complemented by an outfit that leaned crude and barbarian in style, though it still carried an undeniable sense of regality rather than reading as simply wild or untamed.

Her frame stood tall and powerfully built, athletic in every proportion, broad shoulders framing strong, capable arms, a defined waist giving way to thick, muscular legs beneath. The most noticeable was the large red tattoo mark over her upper arms that gleamed faintly.

She wore armor pieced together from dark leather, coarse fur, rough hammered metal plating, and scattered bone ornaments. The full outfit included a rugged leather chest piece, a single large shoulder guard, tightly wrapped bracers, a wide, heavily decorated belt, a short, layered warrior skirt, fur trimmed leg guards, and a sturdy pair of leather sandals.

Her overall presence read as fierce, wild, and thoroughly battle hardened, genuinely intimidating in the way only a true veteran warrior from some ancient Amazon tribe could manage.

Silence stretched between them for a long moment as neither moved. The Amazon glanced briefly down at her own frame before shrinking rapidly down to a smaller size, settling at roughly a third of her original towering height.

She now stood at eight feet three inches tall, still considerably imposing in her own right, and taller still than Cassandra even in her reduced form.

Mark’s eyes widened as another realization clicked into place, sparked by the very trait the second Amazon had just casually displayed in front of him.

This was the exact same size shifting ability Cassandra had developed through her own innate, adaptable nature, the trait allowing her to freely manipulate her size depending on the situation at hand.

But now Mark understood something further. This particular trait likely wasn’t unique to Cassandra alone, but rather something shared more broadly across every member bound to the same Amazon bloodline and unit.

It stood as yet another brilliant discovery regarding the Amazons’ unique, shared abilities, and he suspected there were still plenty more waiting to be uncovered.

The realization pulled his mind back toward a particular line he’d once found etched along the wall of Cassandra’s own chamber.

Tribes are unique and special with their potential abilities but share the same bloodline to form a single unit.

"I am at your loyal and honorable service, dear Prince."

The barbarian Amazon champion dropped smoothly to one knee, head bowed low, shoulders lowered in a gesture of clear deference. Mark rested one hand against her sturdy pauldron, a small smile crossing his face.

"Mind if I just call you Penthia instead?" he asked casually.

The Amazon held still for a beat before lifting her gaze to meet his directly.

"If that serves your tongue better, then I suppose it’s fine, dear Prince," she said.

That was when something else clicked fully into place for Mark, a detail his mind hadn’t quite registered until just now.

His title.

It had shifted, evolving alongside his growing authority rank the moment he’d unlocked another member of the Amazon Order.

Suddenly, another line from that same wall made complete sense to him now.

Your authority creates a bridge between two points that connect. The source of your authority isn’t far and inaccessible as it increases.

This clearly reached far beyond the typical bond most ordinary summoners shared with their summons.

For reasons he still couldn’t fully articulate, his own connection ran deeper, genuinely different, special in a way he was only beginning to grasp, and he found himself eager to explore exactly how far that difference actually extended.

"You may stand," Mark said gently.

Penthesilea rose to her full height, towering easily over him once more, her long legs alone accounting for a considerable portion of her already enormous frame.

She lingered a moment, glancing briefly toward her empty throne before returning her attention fully back down to him.

"There is, however, something you’ll need to accomplish first, in order to properly earn my worth and service," she said, her voice calm and measured.

Mark raised an eyebrow at that. Was this a request, or something closer to an outright restriction?

He wanted to understand exactly what she meant.

"And what exactly do these requirements entail, the ones that would supposedly prove my worth and value to you?" he asked.

The barbarian Amazon allowed herself a small smile, resting both hands against her broad hips.

"As a rigid, rigorous battle machine forged entirely through the harsh lessons of hardship, I propose a simple test. A battle of worthiness, in exchange for my service."

Mark’s heart skipped again, faster this time.

He hadn’t expected a demand quite like that, as though proving oneself worthy through combat counted as its own form of glory by her particular standards. Still, he found he couldn’t really argue against it, not coming from someone forged entirely through the crucible of vicious, unforgiving battle herself.

Actually, thinking it through, it made complete sense to him now.

"Don’t trouble yourself too much over it, Prince. But if you want my power and service properly bestowed on you, you’ll need to do what’s necessary to earn my acceptance first," she said.

"The terms are simple enough. I’ll fight entirely weaponless, restricted to just one arm, the other held firmly behind my back the whole time. It won’t take long, roughly thirty seconds in total. Survive that stretch, and I’ll know without doubt that I serve someone genuinely worthy of it. I give my loyalty to whoever can stand against my full strength, not simply to whoever happens to carry the highest authority rank."

’Hmm, it’s funny that when I got Cassandra, there wasn’t any requirement of her service. Maybe this one is actually worth the try.’ Mark considered the proposal for a moment before finally accepting the challenge outright. He activated Echo.

Gleaming bracers and matching armlets wrapped around his forearms in a flash of bright light, a solid pauldron settling over his right shoulder a moment later. He shifted into a ready combat stance, both hands raised defensively in front of him.

Penthesilea smiled with clear approval.

She tucked her left arm behind her back and made no move to summon any weapon at all, exactly as promised.

A brief, heavy silence settled between them. Then she spoke a single word. "Begin."

The next thing Mark registered was a fist already closing the distance toward him.

He raised both arms to block the incoming strike. He succeeded, technically, though the blow never actually connected with his guard at all. Instead, the sheer force behind the punch displaced the surrounding air violently, sending a powerful rush of wind tearing across his face.

Before he could fully process it, a leg swept in and struck him hard.

Mark hit the floor with a heavy, cracking thud.

She’d used the punch purely as a feint, deliberately drawing his guard upward before following through with a low, sweeping kick that knocked him clean off his feet.

His eyes went wide as he rolled desperately out of the way the instant a stomp came crashing down with brutal, focused force.

The resulting impact sent a shockwave rippling outward across a wide radius, catching Mark along its edge and hurling him even further across the chamber floor.

His heart pounded hard, adrenaline flooding his system all at once.

Was she genuinely trying to kill him, holding nothing back at all? He honestly couldn’t tell.

Still, he understood, at least in theory, the notoriously rough standards behind an Amazon sparring match, especially one initiated by a barbarian warrior belonging to what were widely considered the wildest, most unrelenting tribe among the entire Amazon Order.