Chapter 18 - Tournament Preparation

One of the books open on Luna’s desk was a faded tome with pages that had been yellowed with age, a text detailing ashborn anatomy. On the left was a great black and white illustration, depicting a massive creature with stony skin, leathery wings protruding from its sides, and a snarling drake-shaped head. The two soldiers fighting it in the foreground looked minuscule in comparison.

Gargoyles are a not uncommon breed of beast found in the Ashlands, often spotted from a considerable distance away owing to their size and propensity for flight. For as quickly as they can cover the air, they are slow and sluggish on the ground. Even so, soldiers should engage from a safe distance and always exercise extreme caution. Particularly when gargoyles often travel in packs.

The other book, which Luna was paying much more attention to, was a beginners guide to alchemy. Given that many of the ingredients in Aquilonia were new and utterly alien to her, this was one of the few areas where she was largely going in blind.

And it had not been easy to pinch the various ingredients she was carefully spooning into a conical flask, but the end result would be worth it. Luna checked her measurements, tipping a large spoonful of ground black powder into a solution of a bubbling green liquid. The substance fizzed as the powder made contact, dissolving and turning the liquid significantly darker in hue.

For as volatile as the substance looked, the smell was rather faint. A sort of iron-ish tang.

Luna moved with great care, every motion deliberate and mindful. Alchemy took care normally. With the bracers on her wrists, even more so.

“What are you working on?” Rema asked, seated on the edge of her bed. She winced as she moved around, the weights on her arms still giving her some difficulties.

“Just experimenting, trying out different recipes in this old guidebook,” Luna lied, not looking up from her work for even a second. This was, in truth, a very mild poison. Absorbed through skin contact, it would gradually fill a person with a great sense of fatigue.

And if, hypothetically, she were to coat the doorknob of another team’s dorm room, said team would have a greater degree of difficulty in the oncoming tournament.

Luna wanted to win. She didn’t care if she had to dip into underhanded methods to do so. Only fools would waste time moaning about ‘honour’ and ‘fairness.’

The door creaked open as Kiharu pushed her way inside, grunting and huffing with every step. Her weights, naturally, were larger and heavier than the others, owing to her naturally heightened strength. “Been wearing these things for days, and I still hate them!” the beastkin hissed.

“The results-” Luna began.

“- Will speak for themselves, yeah yeah. You said so before,” Kiharu growled.

“Well, it’s true,” Luna dismissively said, lifting a small silver stirrer from one side of the table. She swirled the contents of the flask, until it fully coalesced into a dark, cloudy mixture. Just as the textbook described. She slid a cork into the neck. She could wait until the tournament brackets were announced, which would likely be very soon, and then pick the right targets to apply this too. She had to be careful and sparing with this, lest a great rash of illness rouse any suspicions.

Kiharu sat on her bed, huffing as she slowly peeled her weights off. She at least had the decency to set them on the floor gently. She’d nearly punched them clean through to the room below the first time she’d dropped one of them. “Nearly got my ass kicked in training too,” she said.

“Me too,” Rema said, sagging against the wall behind her bed.

Romula, laying halfway off the side of her bed, gave a weak nod. “Me three. These things make basic way harder.”

Luna was not entirely unsympathetic, understanding the burden of their new training gear all too well. Gallow had not treated them any different during the daily drills, where the cadets practised a myriad of throws, blows, and holds. A standard throw began many times harder when your body and gravity were fighting you every step of the way.

“And people were laughing at us,” Rema added.

“So let them,” Luna said, turning to face her allies. “Scorn like that is the refuge of idiots. If they want to underestimate us, let them. It’ll just make them easier to beat when they get cocky.”

Kiharu barked a laugh. “Shit, you still seriously think we can win?”

“I don’t see why we can’t,” Luna admitted, shrugging. “You all have potential in your own way, it just hasn’t been properly realised.”

Rema offered her a nervous smile, before glancing away. “We appreciate your faith in us, Luna, but you should probably be prepared for disappointment,” she said.

“Don’t talk like that Rema, for goodness sake. If you’re already admitting defeat in you mind, what hope do you have?”

The door opened, revealing a panting and red-faced Syri. “I... oh goodness, I ran here as fast as I could... and I regret it immensely,” she said, looking to the great weights on her arms.

“Where’s the fire?” Kiharu asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“The...” She swallowed harshly, straightened her back, and eventually managed to get her posture fully upright. Syri did so hate slouching. “They finally posted the brackets for the cadet tournament.”

“Wonderful.” Luna forced a modest smile, covertly slid her bottle of poison to one side of the desk, and moved to stand. “Let’s see who we’re up against.”

A great wooden noticeboard dominated the entryway of Klein Tower, and a similar one could be found at every other tower inhabited by the students of the Citadel. Unsurprisingly, a modest gathering of students had already formed around the noticeboard, chattering and pointing to the diagram of the various tournament brackets.

Each class had their own tournament. Brawlers against other Brawlers, Paladins against Paladins, and so on. Each victory earned the winner a number of points for their entire Party. If someone won their first bout, they got one point. Two points for the out after that, and so on. And anyone who managed to win their tournament outright won a flat ten points for their Party.

It was possible for four members of a Party to do poorly, but to still rank rather highly among the groups if one member one their tournament outright.

Rema managed to read the board from afar, her eyes aglow as she enhanced her vision beyond human limitation. “My first fight in the Ranger’s bracket is against... Danta Mordias, of the White Serpents.”

“Never heard of her,” said Romula.

“I’m aware of her. She’s had some very good showings in the Ranger classes,” Rema admitted, her pretty features twisted into a grimace.

Luna knew getting closer would be no good to her, not when many of the others at the notice board were markedly taller than her. Huffing, she summoned a small gust at her feet that let her hover a few feet off the ground. It gave her the space she needed to draw closer and see who she’d be up against.

“Lethe Deskarte, of the Orange Griffins. Ah.” She managed a smirk. At least her first fight wouldn’t require too much effort on her part.

And, only one bracket over, was Prince Aryn Oathsworn of the Black Drakes. Well now... that was one who definitely needed a thorough thrashing.

“Well... it could be worse,” Kiharu said, after Rema finished reading off the rest of the bouts waiting for the Hawks. “I figure we won’t all get wiped in round one.”

Syri gave her a brief glare. “Please at least try to be optimistic.”

“Feh. Optimism is a human thing. Where I come from, we don’t waste time sugarcoating shit,” the beastkin replied, shrugging her broad shoulders.

“Well, it’s good to be a realist where possible. But,” Luna smirked, a malicious glint shining in her amethyst eyes. “I still think we’ve got this.”