From Slave to King: My Rebate System Built Me a Kingdom With Beauties!-Chapter 226: I Challenge You, Borg!
Borg was ready to move toward the stables where his horse was being prepared, his servant having already scurried off to assemble the small escort for this mysterious expedition. But before he could take more than two steps, Maui jumped out from her hiding position with explosive speed, screaming at the top of her lungs while doing so to draw the attention of everyone in the immediate vicinity.
"BORG!" Her voice carried across the settlement with startling volume, cutting through the night air like a blade. "STOP RIGHT THERE!" Maui revealed not only herself but her position.
Shava was utterly confused by this deviation from what she’d understood the plan to be. If the goal was to kill Borg quietly, to eliminate him in the shadows before he could mount a defense or call for help, they’d just had the perfect opportunity. He’d been alone, intoxicated, distracted by other concerns—it would have been a success requiring only seconds of violence. And afterward, she would be positioned as the sole legitimate ruler of her people, the natural successor who could restore order after Borg’s chaotic reign.
This was the plan so why was Maui acting off script? Wasn’t this the purpose why they didn’t come with an army?
But Maui clearly had other ideas, and her public confrontation destroyed any possibility of a clean, quiet resolution.
The truth was that Maui had realized something critical from the moment she’d learned how easily Shava had been manipulated by Borg into this forced marriage arrangement. A woman who could be maneuvered so thoroughly, who’d needed outside intervention rather than handling the situation herself, couldn’t be trusted with absolute power. Not because she was weak—Shava was clearly competent—but because her judgment was compromised by personal emotions and blind spots that enemies could exploit.
The only reason Shava had reached out to them for help, Maui understood now, was so they could do the dirty job of removing Borg for her. Kill the usurper, eliminate the threat, absorb all the risk and potential backlash. And this approach would make it far easier for Shava to reunite the scattered orc clans under one banner afterward—a banner of vengeance for Kragg and Borg’s death, a rallying cry that would resonate with the orcs who already were dissatisfied with Borg’s rule.
But that banner of vengeance would be pointed directly at the goblins. Because the narrative, the story that everyone currently believed, was that a goblin had killed Kragg in the stronghold. And this perception would mean fingers being pointed at Byung’s settlement even if Shava didn’t explicitly encourage such accusations herself. The implication would be there, hanging in the air, impossible to ignore.
Otherwise, there would be no satisfactory explanation as to why the great chieftain Kragg and Borg had both died within what should have been the safety of his own territory, his own fortified position. Someone had to be blamed, and the convenient outsiders—the goblins who’d been causing complications—made perfect scapegoats.
If Shava took power through the quiet assassination of Borg, she’d be pressured by her supporters to seek revenge against those who’d killed her predecessor. Unity through shared enemy, strength through righteous anger. It was a political pattern as old as civilization itself, and Maui wasn’t about to let the goblins she now protected become victims of that predictable cycle.
Borg looked over his shoulder at the sound of Maui’s shout, and the rage visible in his eyes was immediate and visceral. Seeing Maui alive—standing right there beside Shava when he wanted to give her the benefit of doubt—triggered something primal in him. His face flushed darker, veins standing out on his neck, jaw clenching hard enough that his tusks became more prominent.
"You!" he snarled, his intoxication apparently doing nothing to diminish his capacity for fury. "How are you—"
But before he could complete the question, warriors began emerging from nearby buildings, drawn by Maui’s shout and Borg’s visible agitation. Within seconds, the two female interlopers were surrounded by dozens of armed orcs, weapons raised, forming a loose circle that prevented escape while awaiting orders from their chieftain.
Borg’s expression shifted from shock to calculated cruelty as he processed the tactical situation. He turned his full attention to Shava, his voice dripping with venom: "You treacherous bitch. You brought her here. You’ve been plotting against me this whole time, haven’t you?"
Shava opened her mouth to respond, but Borg cut her off with a sharp gesture.
"You will be punished for this betrayal," he continued, his words slightly slurred but carrying absolute conviction. "But you can make things considerably easier on yourself if you kill Maui right here, right now. Prove your loyalty. Show everyone that you chose poorly in your conspirators but still recognize where your true allegiance should lie."
The surrounding warriors shifted uncomfortably at this command, clearly uncertain how to process the situation. Their chieftain was ordering his betrothed to commit murder as a test of loyalty—it was twisted even by the standards of their often brutal culture.
Maui chuckled at Borg’s desperate attempt to regain control of the narrative, the sound carrying dark amusement that made several nearby orcs take involuntary steps backward. Then with deliberate ceremony, she unsheathed her twin swords—the weapons Borg recognized as it was the very weapon he had tried to stop her from retrieving, the blades that had tasted blood in defense of goblin territory—and raised them toward the night sky before releasing a howl like a wolf calling to its pack. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
The sound was primal, carrying across the settlement with eerie clarity, and it was only then that Borg looked up and realized with creeping dread that it was a full moon barely visible behind thinning cloud cover. The symbolism wasn’t lost on anyone present—the moon of challenges, of trials by combat, of ancient traditions that predated their current political complications.
"I challenge you, Borg," Maui proclaimed with absolute clarity, her voice now controlled and formal, speaking words that invoked customs older than any living orc. "For your position, for your authority, for the right to lead. Single combat, under the moon’s witness, until one of us dies."
Everyone present looked absolutely shocked by this declaration. They hadn’t expected her to invoke such an ancient tradition, hadn’t anticipated that a warrior like Maui, who had left this life behind her, would have the audacity to challenge a chieftain directly. But the shock quickly gave way to other expressions—interest, excitement, calculation—as they processed what this meant.
It was something that actually benefited Borg in some ways, Maui realized even as she issued the challenge. He’d been backed into a corner, his authority questioned, his legitimacy under assault. But a formal challenge? That he could work with. That gave him a path to reassert dominance while maintaining the appearance of honoring tradition.
Borg laughed at the challenge, but the sound carried an edge of relief mixed with anticipation. "You want to fight me? You, a traitor who abandoned this settlement, who’s been living among goblins like some kind of—"
"Yes or no, Borg," Maui interrupted, her tone cutting. "Accept or refuse. But know that everyone here is watching, and they’ll remember your answer."
Borg clearly had the upper hand in terms of raw authority. He could theoretically order any of the surrounding warriors to simply kill Maui right now, and most would probably comply. He would be justified in his own mind, could frame it as executing a traitor rather than murder. But then he noticed something crucial in the eyes of the orcs surrounding them—a mixture of anticipation and expectation that suggested refusing the challenge would carry its own costs.
This was tradition, ancient and sacred, embedded in their culture at levels deeper than individual loyalty to any particular leader. If he was to kill her without honoring the formal challenge she’d issued, he would lose respect that he couldn’t afford to sacrifice. The warriors might still follow his orders, but they’d do so with resentment, with doubt, with the knowledge that their chieftain was a coward who hid behind technicalities rather than proving his strength.
Borg was significantly intoxicated—the empty bottle he’d thrown against the wall moments ago was testament to that fact. His movements were impaired, his reaction time slowed, his judgment clouded by alcohol that still coursed through his system. Would this limitation affect what he could do in combat? Would it give Maui an advantage she desperately needed against an opponent who outweighed her considerable with not only his cunning nature but strength?
He didn’t know. But looking at Maui’s determined expression, at the way she held her twin swords with practiced confidence, at the calculating gleam in her eyes that suggested she’d planned for exactly this scenario—
Borg realized with uncomfortable clarity that she thought she could win. And that confidence, regardless of whether it was justified, made this suddenly far more dangerous than a simple execution of a troublemaker.
"Fine," he said finally, reaching for his massive axe. "I accept your challenge. And when I’ve crushed you into the dirt, maybe the others will finally learn what happens to traitors."
