Blake walked up to the registration desk of the main government hub hall. He placed an armful of mana-rat tails down on the counter and said, “Good evening. I’d like to exchange these and register in the tournament.”

  The woman sitting behind the counter looked up from her work after driving a tiny dagger down into the corner of a page and raised her eyebrows. “You again?” It was the same attendant—clerk, he’d heard someone call them—as before.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “The Scaleslingers said they wouldn’t let you in.”

  Blake snorted. “Yeah, they didn’t put up much of a fight.” Then he placed the rest of the hacksilver from his tip down on the counter and added, “This should be enough to pay the entrance fee, right?”

  “Correct.” The clerk waved over a young girl who seemed to be an apprentice here and had her take away the mana-rat tails. Then, the clerk sifted around through the drawers, hunting for more hacksilver. She gathered up enough, weighed the proper amount, then said, “Here is your bounty.”

  There was no scale, and Blake was about to ask how she knew that it was the right weight, but Ethbin interjected and said, She’s done this her whole life. She’s probably more accurate than most weigh scales, given the strength of her senses. To question her would be to question the regional government. And you don’t want all of them as your enemy. Yet.

  Blake shut his mouth, keeping himself from questioning the clerk’s measurements, but after a few seconds, he said, “I mean, you can just keep it. I’m gonna give it back to you anyway.”

  “It is policy. If I don’t see it change hands during the form exchange, then I cannot in good conscience send it in.” She handed him a second pouch of hacksilver, then pushed a stack of paper across the table. “Complete the forms.”

  It took Blake nearly an hour to read through everything, making sure he wasn’t about to sign his life away, but most of it was just waivers and information certification about himself. He had to declare his mana aspect, his age, his species, if he was Blended and what he was blended with, and so much more.

  When he’d finally completed the forms, he handed them back, along with the hacksilver, and said, “That should be it.”

  “I will send it in,” the clerk replied. “Your qualifying round begins in three days, and if you succeed, your first fight will begin at the end of the week. All fights are at Evening Bell. If you are late, you are automatically disqualified. The other rules will be explained to you when you arrive. Have a pleasant evening.”

  “Thanks,” Blake nodded. He was about to turn away, but he stopped and said, “Are there any cash prizes? I’ve heard you can earn money, but how does that work?”

  “You’ll get a fraction of the winnings from bets,” the clerk droned. “The house—that’s us—usually places a few bets as well, and we’ll award a cut to the winner if you do well. It is our way of encouraging the best fighters to fight harder.”

  Blake nodded. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”

  He walked out of the hall and pushed open the doors. The two Scaleslinger guards were still waiting for him, and though they looked exhausted, one still held his spear out in front of Blake. He wore a red scarf and had a scar over one of his eyes. He said, “You think you’re so special, hm? You got the prince’s pardon and an apology gift? Well, that’s not the same as his protection.”

  “Do you really want to fight right now?” Blake countered. He glanced at the soldier’s rank seal. Core Formation stage one. Unless the man was a generational talent of some kind, there was no way he would put up more of a fight than Heron.

  “No.”

  “Then save it for the arena. A bunch of you guys registered too, I take it?” Blake tilted his head.

  “Oh, we’re in the tournament alright. And every Scaleslinger knows to look for you.”

  “You spread the word, did you?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” the soldier countered. “You dealt a great dishonour to our sect elder’s son. That’s a dishonour to us as well. Whether it’s by my hand or one of my brothers’, or by the elder’s hand, we will defeat you.”

  “Ah,” Blake replied. He gave them a nod and a smile. “Well, I’ll see you in a few days.” He didn’t even want to make it seem like it was an option to fight them right here and right now. “Have a pleasant evening.”

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  Before any of the Scaleslingers could try to stop him, he ducked under the spear and marched away.

  ~ ~ ~

  When Blake returned to the Silk Fan Traders’ complex, Stone Moon was waiting at the gate for him.

  “What kept you, Mr. Blake?” Stone Moon demanded.

  “Sorry. They didn’t want me to take the taxi back with them. I don’t think Lady Sixin was…uh, too fond of the locals.”

  “And it took you a few hours to get back afterward?”

  “I had to get something to eat,” Blake countered. He wasn’t sure if he should tell them that he registered for the tournament, but they were going to find out eventually. “And I’ve registered for the tournament.”

  Stone Moon scoffed. “Of course. They said you’d be ambitious.”

  “Did I do something wrong?”

  “No. But walk with me.”

  Blake followed Stone Moon across the landing platform, dodging a descending longboat taxi, then entered the complex. As they walked, Stone Moon said, “We don’t have many employees who would enter the tournament, so we don’t have to worry about you competing with us. But remember: you are a representative of our trading guild. Do not act in a way that would reflect poorly on us.”

  “I understand, Stone Moon.” Blake was about to purposely say ‘Yes, sir,’ but he thought better of it.

  “You did an excellent job with your first expedition,” Stone Moon said. “While Lady Sixin might not have thought much of you, her husband was impressed, and these days, that’s all that matters.” He shook his head. “It’s just the way of the world.”

  Blake grimaced. He didn’t want to feel bad for Lady Sixin, knowing how she’d behaved, and he had bigger problems than the mistreatment of a noblewoman. But there were probably others in her position who didn’t deserve nearly as much scorn.

  He simply said, “I’m glad I performed adequately.” After a pause, he added, “Do we have any guests tomorrow?”

  “Not tomorrow. However, I have gathered up some recruits. I wish for you to provide your input on them tomorrow. They will be assisting you throughout your expeditions, so choose well.”

  “Understood,” Blake replied. Stone Moon had talked about wanting to create an entire division of monster hunters and proper tours, and they’d need more than just Blake to arrange that.

  “Until tomorrow, sleep well. I will see you at Sunrise Bell.”

  Blake returned to his room for the evening, expecting to fall asleep, but it didn’t last long. He wasn’t horribly tired yet. He let River out of his backpack, promised to find her a meal, then explored the complex a little more.

  They offered complimentary showers—free, but there was a time limit of five minutes—and Blake took them up on the offer. He still had to look presentable.

  The water was lukewarm at best, but with an enhanced body, it didn’t really matter. He scrubbed himself off as much as he could. Then, he travelled to the meal hall. It was well past the set dinner time, but the cooks granted him a few scraps “just this once.” It amounted to a bowl of rice and a few strips of fried meat, but it was better than nothing. He put the rice in his pocket as casually as he could, saving it for River.

  Finally, as they cleaned up, the cooks directed him to the Supplement Counter, where the pills and elixirs were allotted to guild members—the same counter he’d seen earlier that morning.

  Most members had already taken their elixir vial and pills for the day, but there was one in the corner on a small wicker tray. A paper had been tucked under the tray, which someone had written Mr. Blake on.

  He took the tray and walked back to his room. As he set the rice down for River, he held up Ethbin and said, “So, these pills. Should I be taking them?”

  I would suggest you do, Ethbin replied. They’re full of Soul Matter, like I said. For most of the old timers here, whose bodies are degrading, they’re simply necessary to maintain an aging system of meridians. But for you, it will truly make a difference. Your meridians will grow stronger than ever before.

  “What will that do for me?”

  You’ll be able to pump more Honour through them without ripping them.

  Blake nodded. He took the vial of regular mana elixir, sniffed it, then poured it out the window. It wouldn’t be too useful, but he kept the glass vial anyway, just in case. Then, with a deep breath, he picked up the pills and popped them in his mouth. It was a bad idea to try dry-swallowing them, and given that he’d never had many pills to practice with, it was a struggle. After a few attempts, and plenty of gagging, he choked them both down.

  “Fates, these are awful,” he gasped. “It’s like someone wrapped it in pure bitterness.” He winced, trying to use spit to wash out the inside of his mouth, but there was nothing he could do to make his tastebuds forget that flavour.

  Concentrate, Ethbin said. Use the Lightning Crucible cycling pattern.

  “Why’s that?”

  Right now, the Soul Matter is trapped in your stomach. You need to draw it out through your body and distribute it through your channels.

  “Right.” Blake dropped down on his bed, laid on his back, and used the first proper cycling technique he’d learned.

  At the moment, he couldn’t sense the Soul Matter. He couldn’t even detect it as an invisible flame. But he spent the rest of the evening cycling Honour through the channels in his body, hoping it was working.

  By the time he fell asleep, it didn’t feel like anything had changed, but he was barely conscious, anyway.

  In the morning, though, that was when there was a true difference.