49th of Season of Air, 80th year of the 32nd cycle

  Whenever a lull happened, Sleek returned to the game of microraptor and scuttler played by the Explorer’s Gate’s Newstar Salamandara and the Shadow Valley’s Willow Blackeye. Fairly early on, the game had changed into microraptor and macetail, since the assassin-in-training could not breach the explorer’s defenses. Then the game devolved further into a two-person comedy act for which Sleek failed to find natural counterparts.

  “And Willow’s bolt strikes yet another of Newstar’s opponents with surgical precision as he dodges her missile.” Sleek chuckled. “You’d think she would have learned her lesson after the first three enemies she disrupted on Newstar’s behalf.”

  “She should ask for a commission,” Northstar muttered to herself, covering the voice-transmission spell seal to keep her words private, and Sleek loved the comment.

  “Willow should try to negotiate a percentage-based fee.” He changed the wording to avoid possible idea infringement complaints being filed with the association executives. “Maybe a flat twenty-five percent of each kill. Just look at her scowl. Is that really the face an assassin-to-be should wear publicly?”

  Sleek stopped poking fun at the young woman. The audience got their laughs, and he still had some leeway before her chaperone came to issue a warning for improper behavior. And you didn’t want assassins warning you over improper behavior.

  But the assassin in question seemed livid as Newstar finished off the opponent, seemingly without a care in the world. She was bound for a scolding by her master after showing such trudger-like stubbornness, but that was her problem, not Sleek’s.

  “Ooh! Thundertitans’ Bravesoul Thundertitan just walked into a trap by Diamondsouls’ Drake Softcloud. Will the prince break his way out of the spell seal?”

  ***

  Newt was about to collect another easy cluster of flags, this one worth thirty-seven points, when he stopped. He already had two hundred and forty-eight points. Thirty-seven was no small amount, but he just wanted to leave.

  “Hey, whoever you are,” he addressed the forest in general. “You can come pick these up if you promise to leave me alone. You’ve been chasing me for over an hour already, you can’t have more than twenty points. One simple decision, and you can cut your losses and double or triple your point total.”

  Newt waited, and no answer came. He stepped away from the flags, still nothing.

  Fine! Be stubborn! Newt picked them up, already aware of what the assassin was thinking. If they stuck to him until the end and eliminated him then, they might even win the event.

  Why didn’t anyone find the assassin’s damn flag already?

  Newt raised his hands, hoping the heavens had heard his wish, but he was still in the jungle, and a bolt whistled for his heart. With an already practiced ease, he jumped and rolled.

  “I heart you too!” With a snort, Newt continued his walk around the jungle.

  His mana was around half-full. And after realizing he could use the assassin like an ultimate hidden weapon, Newt had minimized energy use by focusing on defense and enduring attacks until his stalker found an opening and loosed a bolt into the melee, trying to eliminate Newt, but unerringly wounding and confusing his opponents instead.

  A rustle and a scream cut short came from behind Newt. He turned around, facing a fifth realm ultraraptor, its flag count at fifty-nine. The beast and Newt locked gazes for a split instant, and at the same time lunged at each other.

  The creature pounced with its hind legs, flashing its sickle-like claw at Newt’s torso. Without ceremony, Newt speared its heart, and the monster vanished just before bodily slamming into Newt. Under normal circumstances it was a suicidal attack, but with his enemy disappearing, Newt’s attack of mutual destruction became easy an win.

  He collected the flags and raised his hands, vanishing from the jungle with three hundred and forty-four points.

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  Newt barely materialized on the bone square when his teammates picked him up and threw him into the air. He guessed he had done good.

  “We have three hundred and fifty-six points, thirty-five per person.” Flare’s voice reached his ear, and Newt felt kind of grateful the assassin had pushed him into staying longer than he had wanted.

  “There’s two thousand and seven hundred points left in play with seventeen members from seven royal families.” Newt immediately spotted Maelstrom, carrying one hundred and seventy-two points’ worth of flags.

  Newt also spotted six projections with fifth realm manabeasts roaming the jungle.

  “What are the point totals?”

  “Not that impressive so far,” Rexheat said. “Royals and dukes pushed their luck, most of them getting eliminated with zero, but those who quit left with large sums. Ducal teams are between nine and seventeen, with Proudland duchy scoring twenty-two. The Quilins, the Couatls, and the Greyshields have scored nineteen, twenty-three, and twenty-five.”

  Newt’s heart thumped in his chest. “So, we’re eighth at worst? What about the assassin?”

  “That royal friend of yours found her thirteen flags.”

  Newt smiled and looked up.

  “And the Tidebreaker Princess runs into the Swordpeaks’ Feather Darkheaven…”

  Newt tuned out Sleek’s drone and focused on the fight. Maelstrom grinned like a dreadwalker, while Feather remained calm and aloof. He saluted, and she returned the gesture before they lunged at each other.

  Maelstrom was slower, her movements conservative and reserved as the overwhelmingly quick air mageknight threw attack after attack. Maelstrom’s defense devoured the force, building up like a tidal wave, and Newt saw how the battle would unfold if she endured the initial onslaught.

  Just as he had guessed, Maelstrom’s attack came crashing. Like a tsunami, she surged forth, and in one sweep made Feather vanish. It was obviously a spell of some sort, a method with which she absorbed a portion of each incoming attack’s momentum before unleashing it all at once.

  The young woman smiled, her face much gentler in her happiness, and even somewhat attractive. The numbers on her flag surged, and she raised her hands into the air with two hundred and sixty-three points won in total.

  Only eleven disciples remained, but all six manabeasts were still in play, with two of them on a collision course, which would result in carnage. The beasts had grown frenzied. They must have been starved, yet any prey they encountered vanished before they could take a bite.

  Newt did quick math, there were some nineteen hundred and fifty points in play, five hundred of which in the claws of the saurians, the rest split unequally amongst the humans.

  Newt made an ugly face.

  I should’ve stayed longer. I could’ve handled these guys.

  Then he looked at the seal scribes waiting in ambush and wasn’t quite as confident.

  Better safe than sorry. He had lost the money he had bet, but overall he was still good, much richer than when he had arrived at the Sage’s City.

  “Where’s Dandelion?” he asked suddenly, noting he wasn’t on any of the screens.

  “He was unlucky,” the usually quiet Twochains said. “Got surrounded by a trio from Firesahun and they eliminated him after a long fight. He should have quit, but even if he had, he wouldn’t have won first place with how many points the Diamondsouls are going to earn.”

  While Twochains spoke, a bloodneck and macetail exchanged violent blows in which the earth-attributed living fortress decimated the water-attributed carnivore.

  Time passed and the number of humans dwindled further, reaching six half an hour later, with nobody surrendering, despite each of them having well over two hundred points. The exciting battles revealed Newt’s shortcomings as well as advantages. Other than the Diamondsouls, the humans struggled against the manabeasts one realm above them. A Swordpeaks’ mageknight fled the macetail, but others were less lucky in their encounters.

  Newt could fight those manabeasts, relying on brute strength, but against humans such an approach didn’t work nearly as well. Granite Crust was the only reason he had survived encounters with significantly more skilled opponents.

  Time. Newt cursed the resource he lacked once more, recalling how Lady Woodhopper had described it as the one thing crushing all awakened without mercy. Even though decades had passed since her speech, Newt could still feel it hitting home. If he wanted to have a well sculpted, high realm, polished magical techniques, and weapon skills, he would have to sacrifice everything else.

  Newt scanned the screens. Unfortunately, all the remaining combatants used swords, and there was little he could learn from their fights. He wanted to go say hi to the people he still knew, but groups were supposed to keep to themselves until the event ended.

  Time ticked away, and everyone save for the three remaining Diamondsouls’ fortresses had surrendered. The three remaining participants were as fun to watch as grass growing. They hid themselves in a field of traps, meditating and waiting for a victim to enter their web, but the only one still roaming the area was the macetail, which was impervious to the seals they had scribed. Had they a week to prepare, they could have made something robust enough to slay it, but with the lacking resources at hand, they had hit the limit of their ability.

  Uneventful hours passed, and Newt had two more chances to regret leaving the challenge early, but in truth knew that there was little he could do to defeat the already armed and ready spell seals.

  Finally, the twelve hours passed.

  “The winner of the third round! The kingdom of Diamondsoul! Second place the kingdom of Swordpeak, third place the kingdom of Tidebreaker…”