I stand on the hill, looking down over the battle plain. My helmet and my armor catch the golden light of the rising sun, and the many encrusted gems throw back spears of brilliance. I wear a king's ransom, but it is fit and it is meet that I do so. My position as king is mine through right of birth, but reinforced through achievement. No man has yet to best me in single combat, though some two score have tried. I heft my axe, feel its comfortable weight in my hands, run a callused thumb over the ritual notches in the shaft. I have taken life, I will do so again. Such is my right, my honor, and my responsibility.