Victor of Tucson

The liveried servant led Victor down another pathway through the gardens to yet another lawn, where a fighting pit had been dug and lined with fresh wood; the smell of sawdust and paint still hung in the air. The Lady and her guests came in twos and threes to find spots around the pit's edge while Victor stood off to the side, waiting for instructions. Yund appeared after a few moments, a clutch of snacks held in a napkin in one hand and a delicate wine glass in the other. The glass looked comically small in his massive hand, and Victor snorted an involuntary chuckle at the sight.

“Friends, thank you for coming. As you’re no doubt aware by now, my household suffered an affront that left us shaken and inconsolable last week. A vagabond took it upon himself to break into our home,” she gestured around her to the grounds and the manor in the background, “steal from us, assault us, and even try to take my daughter’s innocence.” She paused for the crowd to gasp, exclaim, and even swear threats of vengeance. “I took the matter to Magistrate Dorl; he cautioned patience. He counseled a measured and restrained response. He spoke of politics and influence! Our representative for Justice in the city spoke of politics! My blood boiled; I fumed; I raged at those who love me, shaken by my impotence. If only I’d had the guards kill him in the act! If only I’d made him disappear before approaching the authorities! Those are the mad thoughts that whispered in the back of my mind. Then, dear Larl, here, found a solution.” She paused again and gestured to a tall, thin Ardeni man wearing a very sharp-looking suit.

“That’s right! It might be archaic and out of fashion, but trials by combat are still perfectly legal, regardless of the political connections of your offender!” He said loudly, obviously reciting words that he’d been practicing.

“Precisely!” the Lady continued, “It is my right, nay, it is everyone’s right to put an offender that they’ve captured in their own home into a trial of combat. All we need are witnesses,” she smiled and waved around at the crowd, “to ensure a fair combat, and a willing,” she pointed at Victor, “Champion of Justice. Why, Magistrate Dorl’s assistant, Lisell, is even here to bear witness to the legality of our proceedings.” A thin, severe-looking Shadeni woman, wearing a black robe and a strange, square golden hat that reminded Victor of an old lady’s purse, nodded to the crowd, not a hint of emotion on her face.

A commotion broke out from the other side of the pit as a man wearing nothing but a pair of loose black pants and chains was pulled toward the pit by two servants wearing the Lady’s livery. He was an Ardeni, but big, larger than many the Shadeni Victor had met. He was as tall as Yund, though not nearly as heavy. He struggled and strained against the servants, but they had some control over him with the chains and managed to get him to the pit’s edge, where they held him, looking expectantly at the Lady.

“Gweld ap’Horrin! Your time for justice is at hand!” the Lady shouted, pointing at the bound man. He glared at her, eyes hooded by heavy, black brows scowling with his lips pulled back in a sneer. He started to answer, perhaps to offer a retort, but the Lady yelled, “Put him in!” The two servants gave him a shove, sending him down the eight feet to the hard dirt bottom of the pit. Then she whirled on Victor, “Your time is nigh, Justice! Do your work!” Victor felt a big meaty hand on his shoulder, nudging him toward the pit, and when he looked behind him, he saw that Yund had made his way over. Victor snorted and walked toward the pit; no doubt Yund wanted to make sure he didn’t make a run for it.

“Bitch! Wench of a lesser house! You call this fair? Me fighting bound by magical chains?” Gweld was shouting as Victor approached the edge.

“Your chains will be removed when our Justice has taken his position in the pit.” Lady ap’Brellin said, striding to a big wooden chair positioned on a small dais to provide her an unobstructed view of the pit. Victor stood at the edge and looked at the Lady. When she nodded, he hopped down into the dirt, staring at the guy he was supposed to fight and kill. He wasn’t a pleasant guy, that was for sure. Still fuming and straining against his chains, he had an ugly expression on his face, snarling and nearly frothing at the mouth he was so agitated. His hair was black, which was strange to Victor - every Ardeni he’d met had bright, colorful hair. Was he not Ardeni? Could the races of this world mix, perhaps?

“Are you ready, Justice?” the Lady asked from her perch. Victor formed his hands into fists and nodded. “Release his chains!” she shouted to someone; Victor had no idea who. A brief flash of light, and a puff of smoke, signaled the destruction of Gweld’s chains, and the big man flexed his fists, looked at Victor, and grinned.

“No weapons for us, then?” he called up at the crowd, suddenly charming. The frothing, raging face was gone, though his eyes were still obscured, hidden in the shadows of his brows.

“Justice?” the Lady looked at Victor questioningly. He didn’t know how to respond. The guy was bigger than he was and presumably quite a lot higher level. Maybe a weapon would even the playing field, or maybe it would just get Victor killed faster. According to the System, his skill with weapons was only “basic” - what if this guy was some kind of expert? He looked at the Lady and shook his head. She smiled, looked at Gweld, and said, “No, dear thug. You will die by the bare hands of Justice.”

“This lady really hates you, pendejo,” Victor quietly said as he started to circle the larger man. For his part, Gweld growled, rubbing his hands together, staring at Victor. Victor felt a surge of something like paranoia, and he wondered what strange fucking thing this guy was going to do. He didn’t want to give him time to do something wild, so he used his Channel Spirit ability to launch a rage-fueled leg sweep. He slid forward gracefully, bringing his left shin, throbbing and pulsing with red-hot Energy, toward Gweld’s legs. Gweld had been standing straight, not a muscle tensed, and Victor hoped to catch him off-guard. He was partially successful; Gweld cursed some word Victor hadn’t heard before and pulled his hands apart, pointing one palm down toward Victor’s sliding body. A wave of cold poured over him, cooling the rage-attuned Energy in his leg and slowing his movement immensely. His shin collided with Gweld’s and bounced off painfully.

“Fuck!” Victor grunted and tried to roll away, but he felt like he was in slow motion. He’d just dipped down to his shoulder when Gweld’s foot snapped into his hip, throwing him off balance and tumbling into the dirt. The crowd hissed, and if Victor could see the Lady’s face, he’d recognize the look of uncertainty and abstract frustration. He rolled again, nearly running into the pit’s wall, trying to get some distance between himself and the other man. He scrambled to his feet, arms held in a guard position in front of his face and neck, but Gweld hadn’t pursued him. He was standing in the center of the right, concentrating on the space around his hands again. Victor saw white smoke or steam rising from them, and he was just getting ready to launch himself at Gweld again when white crystal erupted around Gweld’s hands, spreading up over his arms, chest, head, and down his legs. After an instant, Victor faced a man encased in steaming white ice crystals. “Oh, this is bullshit!”

Victor had barely finished his objection when Gweld was on him, moving with the inevitability of a juggernaut; he stomped up to Victor and started punching at him like his arms and fists were pistons on a machine. Victor tried to block the strikes, but it was like trying to block burning logs; wherever he touched Gweld’s icy carapace, he was singed, and when he put enough force into his blocks to actually stop a punch, he felt his flesh getting smashed and torn, and the impact jarred him deep in his bones. Victor retreated around the edge of the pit, realizing he was in over his head. Again. Rather than panic or terror, though, he started to feel angry. Yund knew this fucking guy was tier two. What was this bullshit ability that coated him in fucking freezing ice? How was he supposed to fight that? Should he have asked for a weapon? Maybe a damn hammer would have been the right move. All these thoughts raced through Victor’s mind as he backpedaled away from the juggernaut.

The other half of Victor’s mind, the part that hadn’t been spouting a string of pointless questions and complaints, had noted that Gweld might be nigh-invincible and able to throw endless, painful punches, but he was also predictable. As he pursued Victor, he followed the same pattern: step, punch, step, punch-punch, step, punch, step, punch-punch. Victor avoided most of the punches, painfully deflecting one now and then to keep Gweld feeling like he was accomplishing something. As he backed away from a punch-punch combo, Victor channeled Energy into his right fist, used his Sovereign Will ability to pump up his strength, and stepped into Gweld’s left jab, taking the blow on the shoulder but delivering a savage right hook to Gweld’s hard, icy chest.

A thunderous crack echoed up out of the pit as Gweld’s carapace shattered, and he was flung back to the pit wall like a wrecking ball had struck him. Victor had no idea what kinds of tricks someone over level twenty might have in store, so he didn’t think it would be smart to let up the pressure. Instead, he went Berserk; he lifted his face to the night sky and roared, his muscles convulsing as rage-attuned Energy poured into them, making his back arch. As shades of red clouded his vision, Victor looked at the man sitting up out of the crumbled chunks of ice, and fury filled his mind. Here was his enemy; here was the one who’d been burning and smashing him. Here was the thing he needed to destroy.

Victor leaped at Gweld, hands clenched into rock-like fists, and they collided in a flurry of punches, explosions of ice, snarls, and screams. Gweld wasn’t done - he conjured hunks of ice to block punches and sent shards of ice stabbing into Victor’s body, eliciting cries of fury and even more frenzied punches and kicks and headbutts. As soon as the ice fragments pierced his flesh, his body pushed them out, flesh pulling together with hardly any blood loss. Gweld’s smug grin was long gone; panic stared out of the deep hollows of his bloodied eyes.

Victor could feel the rage waning, feel the fury in his muscles starting to cool, and roared in denial, pulling forth more Energy out of his Core and sending it surging along his pathways. Dimly he was aware that his Core was more a flickering light than a raging sun, his Energy nearly spent. Still, he didn’t care; the only thing that mattered was that Gweld was still moving, still trying to fight back. He drove him from one wall to another, punching, grabbing, throwing, pursuing. After a time, his mind came back to him, and he felt his hands hefting something heavy. He followed through with the motion, throwing it against the wall, and when he saw Gweld’s mutilated corpse slide down into the dirt, Victor stumbled backward, looking around in a panic.

The Lady’s guests were standing around the pit. Some held napkins or handkerchiefs in front of their mouths, looks of horror in their eyes; others leered openly, words of encouragement sent Victor’s way. Victor stumbled backward to the center of the pit and looked up to the Lady. She sat in her chair, beauty personified, with her hair perfectly coiffed and her hands folded in her lap, but in her eyes, in her bright, yellow eyes, Victor could see despair. At first, he thought she was upset by his savagery. He was certainly upset about it; why shouldn’t she be? But then she spoke, “Well done, Justice. Friends, please return to the estate; dinner will be served shortly. I apologize, but I’ll need a few moments - I’d hoped this swine’s death would bring me closure, but I feel nothing.” She stood and walked away. Some of the other ladies followed after, but most of the guests moved away from the pit, talking in hushed or excited conversations about the fight.

“Well, come on, kid. I’ll give you a hand out.” Yund had approached the pit behind Victor. Victor reached up and took his hand, allowing him to hoist him up to the edge. “I knew you were fighting above your rank, but that was better than I’d hoped. Nice work.” He patted Victor’s shoulder and steered him toward a dark path in the garden. “Let’s walk around the manor to get to the coach. I’d rather not go through that house with all those fancy shits. I already got my payment.”

They walked in silence for a while, then Victor said, “I’m glad he turned out to be a bad guy. Yund, I don’t ever want to fight someone like Belsa.”

“First of all, kid, ‘bad’ is relative. Just because all these nobles at this house hated that asshole doesn’t make him ‘bad.’ Don’t get me wrong, he probably was, but don’t believe people just because they're beautiful and clean. That ‘Lady’ has a lot of blood on her hands, believe me.” Yund reached up and put a hand on Victor’s shoulder while they walked. “Second of all, Belsa’s that new girl I got at auction yesterday, right?” Victor nodded. “Yeah, well, I’m an asshole, but I know you by now, kid. I’m not going to arrange a fight like that for you. What good would it do me for you to get yourself killed cause you feel sorry for your opponent?” He shook Victor’s shoulder and continued, “Now, enough moping. You won an impressive victory here, which means I owe you a reward. I already got it for you, too. Hang on; let me see here.” He held a hand to one of his pouches, concentrating for a moment while they walked along the garden path. “Aha!” A rolled-up piece of paper with a hunk of red waxy stuff holding it closed appeared in his hand. He handed it to Victor and said, “It’s a general cultivation method for Spirit Cores. When we get back, break the seal and stare at the runes - the System will trigger it, and the knowledge will go into you.”

“Seriously? I wish I had scrolls like that in high school.”

“Listen, that was pretty expensive - not many people are interested in Spirit Cores, at least not in this part of the world. After you learn it and get a few more levels, I’m going to need you to either get tagged or start wearing a collar between fights. Nothing personal, but I have an investment to protect.”

“Whatever. If I have to do it, I will, but I’d rather not get the tag - it seems too permanent. Hey, I didn’t level from that guy.”

“Your new class probably takes more effort to level. Maybe next time, or maybe now that you have a cultivation guide, you’ll be able to advance that way too.” Ahead of them, Victor could see a light on a brick post, signaling a gateway. When they approached, he saw that they’d come out of the gardens near the front of the house by the stables and waiting carriages. Victor followed Yund toward one of the carriages, but a figure stepped out from the shadows nearby as they approached. Lady ap’Brellin walked up to them, a small package in her hands.

“I know you’ve been paid, Mr. Yund. I wanted to give a gift to our young representative of Justice.”

“Oh, of course, Lady,” Yund said, bowing low and stepping to the side.

“I’ll see that he takes full possession before you leave, sir. I know how cutthroat your business is.” Yund’s obsequious smile faltered momentarily, but then it was back, and he nodded enthusiastically, taking yet another step back. She nodded and stepped closer to Victor, holding out the package. Self-conscious of his blood-stained hands, Victor reached out and took the paper-wrapped box. It was about three inches square and as heavy as a paperback book.

“Um, what is it?” he asked.

“Open it.” She nodded toward the box, indicating that she’d be staying around until he complied. Victor peeled off the brown paper, revealing a light brown wooden box. He lifted the lid, revealing a straw-filled interior on which a deep purple plum-like fruit sat. “This fruit will advance your race. If you want to ever achieve levels much beyond fifteen, you’ll need at least one advancement. This fruit should get you as many as four.”

“Lady! This is too valuable for someone like him! I can’t see you wasting such a prize!” Yund stepped forward, reaching for the box in Victor’s hands.

“Sir! You will back away and allow him to consume this fruit! I have paid for his services for the evening, and I will reward him as I see fit.”

“He could die in a day! Why such a rare fruit? You could give him a Wyrdla berry for a hundredth of the price!”

“That is the last outburst I’ll tolerate from you, Mr. Yund.” She didn’t even look at him, trusting that her words would suffice. They worked, though. Yund turned away and paced in a small circle, visibly clenching his mouth shut to avoid saying anything. “Come, Justice. Sit in your coach and eat the fruit. You won’t want to be standing when the effects hit you.”

“Um, okay. Thank you.” Victor was at a loss for words. What the hell did it even mean to ‘advance your race.’ He knew these guys used the word ‘race’ differently than the humans back home. When there were actually different species of people, it kinda made worrying about the color of someone’s skin seem a little dumb. He stepped past the Lady, opened the coach door, and climbed up onto his seat. He looked at the woman’s beautiful, cold face one more time, she nodded, and he ate the fruit.