Chapter 5: Designated Villain

  One of the best things about Rentan Academy, in Ambrose’s opinion, was the personal quarters. While first year students were stuck in dorms, everyone else had individual apartments, grouped up in little ‘neighborhoods’ of five to six apartments each, sharing common facilities and a place to gather.

  They weren’t necessarily placed with people of the same year, but there was a greater emphasis on one’s affinity, and the school tried to keep one of each of the five affinities together, when possible. It was something about a balanced education and learning from those different from you. Ambrose didn’t buy it, but it came with certain benefits.

  As the only shadow affinity wizard in his neighborhood, it marked him as different, dark, and dangerous. For some, that meant staying away. For others, it presented them with a chance to indulge their curiosity, and seek certain services. When he arrived outside his apartment off the main campus, he had a customer waiting.

  Harold Pembly was an overweight, twitchy wizard with a specialty in large cats, of all things. He ran a hand through his curly red hair nervously before spotting his approach. “Ambrose! There you are. I heard the headmaster dragged you off to throw you in the dungeon.”

  “No such luck, I’m afraid,” he said. “He patted me on the back and thanked me for standing up for his family. We’re getting drinks tomorrow night.” He put his hand on the round amethyst set into the wall, under his apartment number. The front door opened, and Ambrose ushered him in.

  “Really?” Harold sounded excited.

  “No, you moron. I was promised a slow execution if I mouthed off to him again. Don’t worry about it, it’s not your business. What do you want?” Ambrose picked his mail up from the nook under the window slot, and picked through it until he came to one bearing his family’s seal: a hand clenching a knife. He suspected the others would distrust him based on that alone.

  “Oh. It’s about the card we talked about. The [Tigress Assassin].” Harold looked around the neat, orderly room.

  Ambrose kept it simple, with an open living room kitchen combo split up by tasteful rugs and twin armchairs. He had a book shelf, a desk, and absolutely nothing to mark a personality or identity whatsoever. It gave away nothing.

  “Right, the cat lady you have a crush on.” Ambrose motioned for his classmate to sit, and went over to his desk. He reached in, and pulled out a card from a secret compartment.

  “N-no! It’s not like that, I swear!”

  “Whatever, it’s none of my business. Different streaks for different freaks, and all that. You bring the crowns?” Ambrose crossed his arms over his chest, the card tucked into the bandage around his wrist.

  Harold’s face turned bright red, and for a second, he thought the boy’s head would explode. But then pulled out a small velvet sack and jingled it. “Yes. I brought the extravagant amount you asked for. Is the card worth that much?”

  Ambrose smiled. “Honestly? Yes. But I got it at a discount, so I’m passing the savings off to you, from one deviant to another. Half the fee is for my silence.” He held out his left hand.

  For a second, it looked like the anger or fear would get to him, but he thrust the sack into Ambrose’s hands. The shadow wizard tucked it away in his pocket, and then produced the summon card with a flick and a flourish of his wrist.

  [Tigress Assassin: Uncommon. A fierce, honorable warrior of the matriarchal tribes to the southwest. As fierce as she is loyal, she specializes in ambush and subterfuge.

  Special: This creature enters the fight stealthed until she attacks.

  Strength: C. Defence: C. Speed: B. Magic: C. 3 mana, 1 ongoing]

  The creature depicted was a member of the cat-people that had been there a few decades back. Now, only a few scattered enclaves of them remained, and the rest had been pressed into service, or bound to cards. Powerful, rare cards since they were no longer producing more regularly. Ambrose had a feeling his underclassman cared less about that than the aesthetics of the former assassin.

  Harold snatched it, and it immediately disappeared into his deck. A look of pure glee lit up his eyes before he remembered where he was. “She’ll be a powerful addition to my deck. Duel me sometime and see!”

  Ambrose snorted. “You’re beneath me, Harold. Now, kindly exit and, as always, a pleasure to do business with you.”

  The wild wizard looked about to protest, but scowled and stormed off with the requisite door slam. Finally, Ambrose was alone and could take a moment before he faced the inevitable pain of correspondence from his dear father. He went to his bedroom, where he put his new haul into the safe under his bed, along with the rest of the year’s trading profits.

  If Professor Vanderborn wasn’t bluffing, Ambrose had bad news waiting for him. But looking at the stash of money he’d made over the years, it was hard not to feel both pride and frustration. The ship was sinking, no matter what he did, but at least he knew how to swim on his own. Inside or outside of the rules.

  Whatever, that was a problem for later.

  He took off his bandages, washing the mostly-healed wounds one last time. After a minute, he decided he had too much on his mind to care about being scratched and scuffed up, and didn’t replace them. With that taken care of, he grabbed a cup of tea and one of his textbooks, and read for a bit.

  Although he didn’t consider himself the world’s most dedicated scholar, Ambrose understood the value of knowledge, expertise, and memorization. The problem was, Rentan Academy wasn’t too difficult.

  He already knew the first three years’ material as well as he ever would. Fourth year had a greater emphasis on team fighting and working in a group, refining what they already knew and shaping them into the finest combatants, ready to serve any of the noble houses in their eternal war for control over the strongest cards and further expansion over the continent.

  His greatest curiosity were enhancement cards, which would unlock when he reached Shadow Affinity Level 4. Although not active spells, they still counted as combat cards that would change the nature of his spells in some way. Ideally, that would happen at the end of the year, and would be part of specializing.

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  If he could afford it.

  And with that thought, Ambrose sighed and decided he couldn’t put off the letter any longer. He set the book down on the side table near his reading nook, and retrieved the thick, heavy envelope from his father. It wasn’t that he was scared so much as he knew that it would ruin his day.

  Oh well, no point in putting it off. He ripped open the envelope and pulled out a triple folded letter over three pages.

  Ambrose,

  Another of our agents was killed in action, and we lost out on a few contracts afterwards. I will not mince words: we are on the verge of losing the estate, and with it, the titles, the privilege, and the protection. There is a good chance we will not be able to afford next year’s tuition without doing something drastic. Your mother is running out of jewelry. If that happens, we might as well just slit our wrists and be done with it. It’d be better than dealing with her whining.

  Vanderborn wasn’t bluffing, but then, he hadn’t thought the man was. Everyone knew that the Adams had fallen on hard times. There was every possibility Vanderborn knew every detail about the failed missions, and maybe even had a hand in it. The wily bastard understood the nature of power.

  It falls on you to speak to your headmaster and find out if there is assistance to be had, or jobs you could do to pay your way. Consider staying there over the summer if it means you can graduate with a full affinity proficiency. And if not, then be prepared to go to work for us, whether you’re ready or not.

  There was more, but Ambrose wasn’t interested in excuses, justifications, or hearing his father wax on about the cards he sacrificed to give him a chance to succeed. Considering Aloysius Adams couldn’t even use combat cards, it was nothing but a guilt trip born out of insecurity. He knew this, but it didn’t stop the irritation at knowing his father was a feckless fool, and it was all out of jealousy.

  He crumpled the letter and let it drop to the floor. Later, he’d burn it, but for the moment, Ambrose breathed deeply and thought back to Vanderborn’s offer.

  The funny thing is, he would’ve been after the number one slot regardless. Knowing there was a Wildcard waiting for him at the end of the journey just made it better. Earning it was ideal, but something this big wasn’t the kind of thing you left to chance. Winning the tournament, funding his next year, it was the most important task he had.

  And the possibility of staying at the Academy over the summer was even better, knowing that it would let him hide his new treasure from the family, lest they be tempted to sell it or try to use it through him.

  The latter was inevitable, but the more time he had to build his own foundation, the easier it would be to break away. His mother and father were counting on him, but so were his younger siblings. He didn’t give a damn about his parents, but Barabas and Cynthia didn’t deserve to fall into poverty just because their parents couldn’t manage the house that grandfather built.

  No, Ambrose had every intention of making it on his own, getting his siblings out of there, and maybe building something without the specter of his grandfather’s legacy looming over him at all times. It didn’t matter what it took, what cost he’d have to pay, how many people he would have to cheat.

  Nothing would get in his way; that Wildcard would be his.

  But not tonight.

  He retrieved a pack of ordinary playing cards from his desk, as well as some paper and a fountain pen. Locking up, Ambrose left his apartment and went to the small tavern where students got their food and hung out after classes.

  Meli’s Place served at least half the student populace, but luckily wasn’t too full that night. It was a cozy establishment, dimly lit with a resident musician who sat by the fireplace, strumming a guitar and singing. The chairs around him were mostly filled by first and second years who hadn’t gotten tired of his limited repertoire or clumsy fingering yet.

  Four long tables took up the majority of the open room, and plenty of people sat at the bar itself. Ambrose ordered himself an ale and a fish dinner and then sat down in a gap between a second-year he didn’t know, and a fourth year he did.

  “Hey Sockles, you ready to lose your dinner money?” Ambrose asked, pulling out the deck of playing cards. “Your luck was bad last time, but it can’t get any worse, right?”

  Jensen Soxon, a pyromancer with a bad temper and an even worse gambling habit, stared balefully at him. “You’re cheating, I know you are. And once I prove it, you’re going to give me all my crowns back, with interest.”

  “Am I?” Ambrose put on mock surprise. “That’s funny, because you’re not good enough for me to need to cheat. Otherwise you’re right, I wouldn’t put cheating past me. Beat me even once and maybe I’ll consider it.”

  “Pass,” he spat.

  Without missing a beat, Ambrose turned to the second-year on his other side. “What about you, small fry? Fancy a game of Devil’s Countdown? If you win, I’ll buy you dinner and a drink.”

  The petite blonde girl blinked at being addressed by him, and then shook her head. “No thanks.”

  “Damn,” said a deep, thick voice behind him. “Outright rejected. Between this and the imp, not having the best day, are you?”

  Ambrose took a breath and turned to face Raeleq standing behind him, a stein in his hand and a smile on his face. “I was actually doing some reading on your tribe, Ransa. I discovered something really interesting. You know what it is?”

  “No?” Raeleq said, unsure of himself.

  “They miss you. Turns out that for a backwater group of dirty nomads, you’re the kind of village idiot they actually look up to. Can’t imagine what that says about the rest of them.”

  The wild wizard’s face twisted into rage, and even Ambrose knew he might’ve gone too far. But before anything could happen, Luthor showed up and put his hand up on Raeleq’s shoulder.

  “Don’t. He’s just trying to get a rise out of you.” He leveled sharp, unimpressed eyes at him. “It only works if you let it.”

  “To be fair, I’m mostly doing it because I enjoy it,” said Ambrose. “Getting a rise makes it better, but isn’t necessary. Tell me, Graves, are light wizards required to be sticks in the mud? Every single one of you I've seen has either been a self-righteous hot-head, or utterly forgettable. You seem to be smack dab in the middle.”

  Luthor shrugged. “I’m good at what I do, but I don’t have the kind of mindless pride and ego that requires me to prove it every three seconds. If that makes me boring, I can live with it. It’s better than being obnoxious and petty. You’re not fooling me, Ambrose. You really don’t have to be such an ass to everyone. You might even enjoy making friends before we graduate. Why not join Raeleq and me for a drink?”

  The light wizard was serious, which just annoyed him. Raeleq himself didn’t seem too pleased at the offer, but he held off on complaining for the moment.

  “You know, I could,” said Ambrose. “But why would I? You’re boring, your friend is an idiot, and I’m in the mood to play cards. If you two want to pony up some money and get a game going, I might be amenable. Otherwise…” He blew a raspberry.

  Raeleq looked like he wanted to punch him, but Luthor shrugged. “Have it your way. The offer stands, if you can ever get over yourself. It’s never too late to try something new. C’mon Rae.” He nodded once to him before heading over to another table.

  For once, Ambrose said nothing. Socializing was something he knew he was supposed to get better at, but there was this gulf between him and the other students. One he didn’t know how to overcome. Especially not to people who were actually sincere, like those two meatheads. It was easier to schmooze with others like him, others who understood what it was like to always be fighting for what you had.

  Still, the idea of enjoying a drink and spending time with others with no pressure, no need to profit off of anyone, and no expectation of anything else…It tempted him.

  The waitress came by with his drink and dinner, and left it. On either side and in front of him, his fellow students ignored him entirely and focused on each other. Meli’s Place bumped with people having fun and enjoying their meals. There were at least thirty people there, but…

  Ambrose ate alone, and began to scheme about getting his Wildcard.