MM - Chapter 98 - THE FIRST SERVING

Talerra Tafell aka SolumnRiver

Talerra fumed, scowling at Alaric's bandana-covered face as he glanced away from her to whisper something to someone. In the background of his side of the call, buildings zipped by at a speed that didn’t make sense. If she ran that fast in the city, she would definitely be fined by the guards and thrown in jail if she persisted. At least he was in the city.

Her group of five had been impatiently waiting for over an hour. The venue for their competition was a truly massive, ten story coliseum called The Celendine Emporium. A bunch of important looking NPCs had been gathering around a side entrance throughout the afternoon, filling the busy intersection with a lively hubbub. Among them, one stood out the most—a middle-aged woman that had every arriving noble bowing and scraping, each offering her gifts.

Talerra had tasked one of her people with investigating if the NPCs would intrude on their duels. The very high level guards attending the group had sent her people packing with leveled spears and the promise of instant death should they continue pestering the nobles. A few other groups of players had gathered to watch the commotion, excitedly gossiping about what could be going on.

By the time Alaric’s attention returned to her, his sharp-eyed gaze and voice held the domineering qualities she remembered from their time in the dungeon, “I’m ten minutes out.” He promptly ended the call without another word.

Talerra’s lips pulled tight across her teeth in a scowl. FierceFire wasn’t the only one to notice her reaction. The four elites Talerra brought—her most trusted confidantes, and fellow inner disciples—shared her best friend’s sneer, “I told you it was a bad idea inviting him. I don’t care what the announcements say. He can’t be trusted after what he did last time!”

Talerra widened her eyes at FierceFire’s slip.

Keep your mouth shut! There’s more than enough rumors demoralizing my guild already.

One of her stepmother’s head disciples—DoberMan—tilted his head. His following words let Talerra know the creds had already been squandered, “What did he do? Who even is this mysterious stranger we’re waiting for? I don’t understand why you invited him in the first place. We’re more than enough to take out Damian’s cronies.”

She did her best to divert the conversation, “He’s a renowned martial I invited before the rest of us reached level fifteen. Merely insurance in case we encountered any difficulties. Since I have to pay him if I renege, there's no harm in giving him the opportunity to appear.”

“You’re going to tell him to get lost once he’s here though, right? We can’t use our techniques if there’s an outsider present,” another inner disciple of the Phoenix Clan touted. Her pointed comment, detailing exactly how Talerra erred, was clearly aimed to flesh out if the rumors contained any merit.

Talerra’s chin rose imperceptibly, “I have no such intention. It will depend on his strength if he can wrest a spot from one of you.”

“What?! He’s not even an outer disciple and you’d allow him to take a position from one of us!” DoberMan couldn’t help his gaze from drilling into FierceFire who had already done exactly that.

Talerra responded with a common saying her stepmother was fond of, “Strength is absolute.”

DoberMan had no way to refute Talerra without insulting their master. As a notoriously vicious grandmaster, that would have been particularly idiotic. The group stewed in silence as the seconds ticked by. Ten minutes before the competition was set to begin, Damian’s group of seven entered the expansive plaza.

Talerra recognized each of them as a core disciple of the main branch of the family. As core disciples, they were among the most prestigious young masters of her generation. Trained from birth by the best of the best and nurtured with tens of millions of credits in boosters and supplements, they had no superiors, only equals and lessers. 

Eyeing Damian strutting in front of them, Talerra was once more reminded that some would always be more equal than others. She had once counted herself as one of them. Years ago, she chose the tutelage of her stepmother due to a ‘difference’ of opinion.

The cocky grins they sent her way couldn’t have contained more vitriol. Her people responded in kind with rude gestures and mocking expressions. Damian split from his crowd and approached. Talerra did the same, moving to join him. She briefly paused when FierceFire rested two fingers on her elbow, “Don’t let him get to you.”

With a subtle nod, Talerra gracefully moved to within earshot of the vile cretin, “I’m glad you came. I would have wept at missing the chance to pummel your face today.”

Damian turned to the side, his tongue sticking halfway out his mouth in a faux gag, “Dirtborns shouldn’t have the chance to lick my boots. This competition is a scam to besmirch my honor. Alas, an order from my grandfather must not be defied so I shall lower myself this once.”

Having expected something along those lines, Talerra couldn’t quite keep one side of her lips from rising as she returned a prepared insult, “I see your obsession with inbreeding has only grown thicker with the thinning of your blood. Expected, but a disappointment nonetheless.”

Damian’s eyes widened in a most satisfying manner. His response wiped the enjoyment from her like a bucket of freezing water, “I can’t wait to watch you die like your bitch of a mother. Squirming in agony in the dirt. It was almost poetic, you know. Her attempt to make a dirt angel with her flailing arms and legs, that is.”

As the world seemed to fold in around her, Talerra actually found herself thankful for the years of relentless taunts from Damian and the other core disciples. In a way, they had prepared her for this moment. If not for that cruel training, she would have thrown herself at him and ended up killed by the guards. Talerra's jaw ached from clenching her teeth. She welcomed the discomfort, basking in the clarity it heralded. She remembered where she came from and pride coursed through her heart.

Mother, give me strength. Watch over me as I create the justice you were denied. 

Damian threw his head back, hands pressed against his belly as he roared with laughter, “Done already? You’re just as dumb a bitch as she was. Don’t worry, you won’t have to wait long to see her again. Once this farce is over, I’ll be allowed to issue a real duel, just the two of us. Then, you can be reunited. Of course, the rest of your friends won’t long survive you. I hope you're enjoying your last few weeks of sunshine.”

“When I win. I won’t kill you,” Talerra’s pulse pounded loud in her ears. Her limbs and core were flexed to the point of pain, sending micro-tremors sweeping through her, “I want you to live a long, long life. Every day filled with a million little reminders that you’re less than the dirt you think is beneath you.”

“Wow, when you come up with a fantasy, you sure dream big, don’t you? You should consider a career in writing. Oh wait. I forgot you’re going to die soon. Well, you can start with a will, I suppose,” Damian’s smug smile was back in full force.

“That’s enough posturing, kids. Let your fists do the talking or you’ll end up insulting your elders to the point I’ve no choice but to personally reprimand you,” neither of them noticed Arya’s approach. The renowned assassin was simply standing next to them between one blink and the next.

They jerked back in surprise, quickly schooling their expressions free of any potential guilt. Talerra bowed politely, “Aunty Arya, thank you for coming!”

Knowing the woman was favored by their grandfather, Damian hid his disgust of her less than perfect pedigree, though his voice remained chalked with condescension, “Very well. I permit us to begin the final negotiations. I approve all the standard rules, as well as the additional provisions we already agreed upon. If there’s nothing else.” He paused for all of a half second before turning on his heel.

Arya winked at Talerra, calling after him, “Damian, I hear your little guild had quite the nasty surprise recently. I can understand you being testy. Sulking, and forgetting to show respect are two different things. Both with very different consequences.”

Damian stiffened, looking back with poorly repressed disdain, “My apologies, Aunty Arya. As always, it’s a pleasure to be in your presence.”

“That’s more like it. However, now isn’t the ti—”

It was rare for Arya to be flustered enough to show it outwardly. Her mouth hung open slightly as her eyes bulged at a figure stepping down from an NPC driven handcart. Damian and Talerra followed her gaze, both having very different reactions to the new arrival.

Damian’s hand found the hilt of his sword, his knees bent in preparation to lunge. His lips were pulled back in a white-toothed snarl. Talerra’s madly beating heart slowed to a steady rhythm. Her ace in the hole wasn’t something she was proud of, but she couldn’t allow herself to lose the first round with how much support Damian already had with the clan elders. 

If he gained even a foot of momentum against her, they would certainly turn a blind eye to any cheating, sealing her doom in the following rounds. Only by staying ahead at every turn would she have any chance of survival. And survival was exactly what she was fighting for. All paths other than complete victory led to naught but an agonizing death, just as Damian promised.

Despite all three of them staring at him, Alaric didn’t acknowledge their presence. With a skip in his step, he trounced to a nearby group of four players. He poked and prodded at them, laughing without a care in the world. Separating from his obvious friends, he still didn’t move their direction and instead approached the growing throng of noble NPCs.

Talerra couldn't keep the pout off her lips. After spending some of her precious Attunement raising Far Sight to beginner, she still couldn't read his level and health. Unexpectedly, the guards didn’t stop Alaric from entering the crowd of nobles. They received him with friendly waves and even a few bows. He stopped before the middle-aged woman Talerra noticed previously. When they bowed to each other, it was the first time Talerra saw the woman display any respect to anyone.

What did he do to get on their good side like that? Every person I've sent to investigate the nobles of Silverlight were rebuffed without mercy.

Alaric and the woman exchanged a few words, then she handed him something which he gratefully accepted over another bow. Shocking everyone present, nobles and players alike, the middle-aged woman wrapped her arms around Alaric in a hug before releasing him with a pat on the cheek. Clearly embarrassed, Alaric left the nobles. He said something to their guards on the way by and they laughed. Then, he finally made his way toward Talerra with the same easy stride. Two of the girls from his group of friends followed, stopping a short distance away. They watched Talerra and FierceFire with narrowed, suspicious gazes. 

Talerra barely had the presence of mind to acknowledge them. Her eyes were locked with Alaric’s. She froze, pinned in place by a pressure he seemed to exude as easily as breathing. For a brief moment, she couldn’t think or act. The mysterious effect was far from unfamiliar. It was exactly the way she felt whenever meeting her grandfather’s domineering gaze: Alaric had a mental ability.

Either he had it when they fought together before, or reached genesis between then and now. Either way was an absolute shock. To have a mental ability at their age was almost unheard of. Not even Damian had his yet and he was considered one of the top ten geniuses of their generation.

Talerra regained control of herself when Alaric glanced at Arya with what looked like recognition. The renowned assassin's fingers twitched toward her belt before she realized what she was doing. Talerra had known the man was dangerous from the first time they fought together. Seeing even her aunt wary of him was a shock she could never have expected.

The last system message put him at level twenty. He has a mental ability now too… just how strong is he?

As if to find the answer himself, Damian jumped in Alaric's way. His blade inched from its scabbard, reflecting the high sun’s rays, “Begone, beggar! This is no place for the likes of you!” Then, he gasped as realization set in. Flipping around, he raised a shaking finger at Talerra, “How dare you invite this criminal! Have you no shame?! Do you have any idea how many of our clan members he tricked into dying at the hands of that town lord? He should be put to death, not invited to a sacred family duel!”

Alaric attempted to move around Damian and join Talerra but her cousin once more threw himself in the way, his weapon sliding a little further into the light. Alaric paused. His voice was deep and smooth, tickling Talerra’s ears, “Odd. I feel a profound sense of disgust from your allegations. It's not your words. No, it's something else.” He snapped his fingers, eyes and mouth opening wide in realization, “Wait, don't tell me… Did you brush your teeth with dogshit this morning? Your breath, it's really too dangerous. You should be careful. If the guards see you wielding such a deadly weapon, they’ll definitely toss you in prison.”

Damian went rigid, and Talerra could just imagine him experiencing the exact same dose of freezing water he’d given her moments ago. Alaric took the chance to walk by him. He stopped next to her, dipping his head in a way that would only be respectful if he were family, “Right on time. So, who wants to explain the rules?”

Arya cleared her throat, pulling his piercing cobalt eyes back to her, “Best of five. No limits on levels, gear, or items. Damian has agreed to choose the first fighter. Winners of the previous bout will choose first in the following.”

Damian recovered enough to spin on them, spittle flying from his lips, “You can’t be thinking of allowing an outsider!”

Talerra was quick to interpose herself between them before Damian actually attacked. If he did, the match would be postponed, giving him time to come up with a countermeasure, “He's here as my noblesse champion. There’s nothing in the rules that forbids it and you’ve already agreed to them as is.”

Damian released his hilt, slashing a hand through the air, “That rule doesn't apply here! This isn't a personal duel!”

Alaric chuckled, Damian turning pale with rage before he even spoke, “How thick is your skin to be so scared of your cousin in front of all these witnesses?” With the back of a hand, he gently but firmly moved Talerra out of his way. His other hand pointed at Damian, leaning closer as his voice turned truly mocking, “It's been a while since I saw a childish little girl like you throw a tantrum in public. Talerra, talking doesn't always work with little kids, have you tried spanking her?”

It started as a twitch in Damian’s neck. The convulsion quickly worked its way down his right arm. The limb darted forward, fingers bent in a leopard claw strike aimed for Alaric’s throat. The insane bastard actually lifted his chin, giving Damian an easier target.

Talerra's carefully orchestrated plans crumbled as Damian's knuckles raced forward, then her hopes shattered entirely when one of the noble guards appeared in their midst. A metallic clang filled their ears as Damian's strike reflected off pristine golden-hued armor. Her cousin faltered, neck craning to look up at the tall guard's ornate, spiked helm. He tried to jerk his hand back but the guard once more moved faster than Talerra could track, grabbing Damian’s wrist in an unbreakable grasp.

His voice was steel as he lifted the helpless boy into the air, “For the attempted assault against a prized subject of Her Majesty, Queen Analice, and violence against a Warden of Celendine, the punishment is two months imprisonment, followed by death.”

Alaric peeked around the guard’s shoulder and directed a gloating smile at the furious Damian, “You really did it. I’m impressed. I knew you were stupid, but this is next level.”

Damian thrashed futilely, his feet kicking the air, “Damn you! Damn you to hell, you bastard!” The guard’s fully extended arm didn't so much as quiver.

Raine tapped his chin, directing his attention to the guard, “Master Warden, I know her majesty's laws are strict, but I can’t help wondering if there’s room for negotiation?” Damian’s eyes flew wide in disbelief, only for his hope to crumble.

The warden shook his head, “Impossible! Is what I would normally say. However, for one of your station, Master Alaric, there may be something we can do.”

Talerra almost laughed out loud at Damian’s rapidly shifting expressions. Word had reached them only hours ago that the Phoenix Clan was preparing for a massive migration of their workforce into ZionLine. The threat of losing a single level was nothing. That could be earned back in a matter of hours with the help of a few subordinates. However, being imprisoned for a month was no laughing matter. It was already common knowledge that deleting a character and restarting imposed a three week penalty. For anyone attempting to make waves in ZionLine, such a long imprisonment was a devastating prospect.

Damian hung limply like a cut of meat at a street market. Alaric and the guard eyed him critically, the former nodding thoughtfully, “It’s clear he’s learned his lesson, and I wasn’t harmed after all. I believe a light monetary penalty would be appropriate.”

“If that is your wish, honored one. Very well, compensation of ten thousand gold should be sufficient to quell Her Majesty, Queen Analice’s anger.”

“What?!” Damian’s voice cracked, rising several octaves.

Meanwhile, Talerra and Arya frowned, attempting to grasp the implications of what was happening.

How is Alaric negotiating with the guards? It even called him honored one…

Alaric shook his head sadly, “I’m not sure he can afford that, and we still have an appointment to get to. How about five thousand?”

The guard waved his arm left and right, sending Damian flapping in the wind. With a dramatic sigh, he unceremoniously dropped the phoenix scion to the ground, “I don’t like it. I doubt he will learn anything from such a minor penalty.”

The two stared hard at Damian, waiting for his response. To his credit, Damian didn’t launch into another tirade of insults. He fumed for a full four breaths, never breaking contact with Alaric. The darkness in his gaze made it clear the two of them would be enemies until the day one of them died in reality. A shudder of pure disgust swept through him as he tapped the air a few times, transferring the funds.

Alaric smiled brightly, clapping the guard on the shoulder, “Thank you very much for your timely intervention. It would have been a shame for me to kill him in the street. Here’s a little something for you and your men, Master Warden.” Alaric handed the guard a hefty brown sack that jingled enticingly.

“Honored one, your patronage is most appreciated,” Turning back to Damian, the guard leveled a threatening glare, “Keep your hands to yourself. There will be no further leniency.” He left without waiting for a response, vanishing and reappearing with the other guards. As they split the coins between themselves, they laughed aloud, pointing at Damian and waving.