Carr

“Yo, Gambler, it’s been a while, eh?” I asked, briefly glancing at him before turning my head back to the sky. “Lovely moon tonight, eh?”

“Can’t say natural beauty impresses me much at the moment,” the Old Gambler replied in a tired tone. Despite his words, he approached the railing I had been leaning against and joined me in enjoying that refreshing winter breeze. It had snowed earlier, but not much ice had collected on the railing just yet. “The world is quite ugly at the moment.”

“Ah, yeah…monsters or something?”

He regarded with a curious look. “You seem…quite calm about my presence. Usually you regard me with contempt. Caution. Fear. Anger.” The Gambler’s voice was calm, yet retained a certain inquisitive quality about it. “Tonight is different.”

“Tonight I know you’re fucking useless,” I said. “Johan killed your false god friend—congratulations, you got what you wanted and then regretted it immediately. How does it feel to be as out of the loop as everyone else?”

The Gambler shook his head, a bitter laugh punctuating the action at the end. “Not very good. Francisco is still alive, if only barely, and his sanity is questionable. He has lost nearly all his powers now…and as you can probably guess, I have no idea what’s going to happen to this world now that Johan took over the god sphere. Will the higher ups interfere? Probably not…but then again, I don’t think this kind of thing happens often.”

“Everything changed for you really quickly, huh?”

“Yes, young man. This gamble did not turn out as I had hoped—Johan is every bit as bad of a God as I had feared. This life was a nightmare, but it was a naturally occurring one. Now, I’m being subjected to someone else’s carefully crafted nightmare—one I had a hand in building.” He sighed. “It is rather unfortunate. Everything I have known for countless years…gone. It’s as if the laws of reality have ceased to be. Everything is uncertain now, I…I don’t know what to do.”

At first I made a sound as if to immediately respond, but then I shut my mouth to consider my next words carefully. This was the man who had brought me to this world. The one who gave Johan the tools to kill all my friends. “Despite everything, I would still like to say that I feel sorry for you,” I said, slowly. “That much as I hate you, my time here has taught me that there’s something to be said about letting things go and forgiving others. That I know what it’s like to have your life changed into something alien, borderline offensive and…just having to keep going.”

He turned to face me, surprise coloring his face. “That…that is more kindness than I deserve, young man. Truthfully, I expected—”

“I would like to say that, but since I’m not a fucking liar I’m gonna go ahead and say you deserve every bit of pain you’re suffering and more.” It was wonderful to watch the man’s face go from a sort of disappointed shock to a shrug that seemed to say ‘I don’t know what I expected, really’ as he shook his head. Finally, he seemed to settle into a state of annoyance. “Listen, Gambler, you’re an asshole. How many people did you murder with the Steel Price to get others summoned here? Do you even remember? Do you even care?”

“Francisco was a dangerous God!” he shouted in response. “He needed to be stopped by any means necessary. A few deaths in exchange for millions was—”

“Oh, and how did that turn out for you?” My voice wasn’t loud. It always made people more furious when they were yelling at you and you were just smiling at them. “Were all those deaths worth it for JOHAN?”

The Gambler’s fist tightened and he drew numerous breaths in response, evidently trying to soothe himself. He knew I was right, even if he wouldn’t admit it to himself. “Johan’s power will rise every day,” he said, looking up at the sky as if the previous conversation hadn’t occurred, “and you need to watch out over that. Soon enough he will be too strong for any of you to kill.”

“Is he getting any punishment over breaking the rules? I mean, he did interfere in the duel between me and your friend.”

There was a pause here. “I believe so. It will not stop his growth entirely, but it will hinder it. Perhaps it will give you some more time. Do you have a plan for killing him?”

“Just one. Do you have a reason for being here?”

“Just one.” He produced a small necklace from his pocket and handed it over to me. Perhaps I should have been more concerned about taking something the Old Gambler was giving me, but somehow the thought didn’t cross my mind at the time. “Take this.”

“Doesn’t really go with my eyes. Do you have it in green?”

“Wearing it will allow you to go back to the void if you wish,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore or what to do. But if you wear it, you should be able to go there…and research things if you like. Maybe you’ll find something you care about. The girl too, Isabella. Take her with you if you go.”

“Tell her yourself.”

Here, whatever measure of composure the Old Gambler had retained up to this point left him. His eyes went wide, his mouth opened as he spat out nonsensical sounds searching for a word to convey feeling, his hands waved around in every direction as if to mime what he could not say, and his legs moved back as though the simple mention of her name made him uncomfortable. “No. Not her. Not again. You—you deal with that.”

“Hey, wait—!”

The Gambler disappeared into the night, a flicker of magic that allowed him to escape even the Castle of Harlock. Maybe his rules are behind how Johan killed the Emperor,” I muttered. “Isabella, what the fuck did you do to him?”

THE EIGHT WRONG ANSWERS

Dear Challenger:

It is natural you may latch on to a theory and assume it to be correct until evidence of the contrary has been presented. The issue with such an occurrence, however, is that the comfort of a theory may lead you down to a path of complacency until your theory has been disproven, and by then enough time has passed that you fear it might be too late to chase after the truth. Oh, sure, you could theoretically go back and start thinking from the beginning, but most do not have the willpower to do so.

I offer you a handicap, then.

*I will disclose eight wrong answers to this crime, as a handicap. Thus, understand when I say this—*THE DEVIL’S POWERS WERE NOT USED TO MURDER THE EMPEROR. NO RULES WERE EMPLOYED THAT NIGHT BY THE MURDERER OR TO AID HIM.

This will, hopefully, keep you on the right track.

Celle

I stared at the book for a long time after I had started reading it. Blank pages had been filled with Carr’s thoughts. It showed what he had just thought and done, a meeting he must have just had with the Old Gambler. Carr—Carr said he was going out for some fresh air before coming to bed. Why is this showing up on this book now?

Yet even that shock felt like an act. I wasn’t worried about it—not really. Not as much as I should’ve been. Instead, my mind was racing with possibilities, wondering if this could be replicated, used in some way to help me solve the murder. I shouldn’t be excited for this. I should be scared.

And yet, feelings are often uncontrollable. So, no Rules were used to commit the murder and magic is also off the table…that’s going to complicate things. But the Emperor had been murdered somehow, so there was an answer to this somehow.

“I have to talk to Nevada,” I muttered.

Valder, the Sun Wolf

Everyone was loud.

Everyone was panicking.

Everyone was an imbecile.

It still feels weird, I thought, looking at where my arm used to be. Sometimes it still felt as though it were there. Often, the ghost of that arm woke me up with a pain that couldn’t have been real. One should not be able to feel pain in an arm he no longer has. Yet I feel pain about a father I no longer have, and I do not question it. Hypocrisy, perhaps. Some weird medical reason, more likely.

It mattered not.

“Is anyone there?” I called out.

There was no response.

Good.

No one wanted to allow me to exercise, and it was entirely too bothersome to argue with them. My injuries were severe, yet neither mine nor Johan’s heartbeat had stopped. This meant it was not yet time to rest. War with the Empire once more, I thought, stumbling out of bed. No one warns you about how losing a limb affects your balance. Last time, my knee bent for the sake of my sister and my people. This time, Johan shall be knelt before I cut off his head. The world turned sideways for a moment and I planted my fist against the wall to keep myself from falling.

I thought I had.

I felt the contact between the wall and my arm, yet my fall continued until the side of my shoulder slammed against the cold rock at my side. I don’t have that arm anymore. My body begged for rest, but it was denied. There was no denying that my legs were struggling to muscle me forward, but this would only get easier if I kept using them. And staying still will make it even harder in the future. Slowly, with some support from the wall, I pushed myself to the other side for the sake of using my remaining arm to drag myself forward.

There was no need to look.

I could feel exactly where it was. It called to me.

Reven, you bastard…out of all those useless imbeciles in the castle, you were the only one I paid attention to. You know why? Because you never shut up about what you had. Merchant, yes…but also a blacksmith, you were. That combination led you to some curious treasures. Being trapped in this castle-ship should have been ill-fortune, but to me it was an opportunity. Fever, pain, bloodloss—none of those mattered at the moment. I just used the wall for support and continued my solitary walk towards it. You never invited me to your castle. Claimed I was a brute. I think you were just afraid I was going to steal your fancy weapons and rip your heart out with them. Then again, maybe that made me a brute in his definition. Bullshit. It just made me practical.

“If you are feeling well,” Nevada had said, the day before, “why don’t you come with us? We’re going to have a party.”

“To celebrate what? Johan still lives.”

“To celebrate us being alive.”

“Hardly worth celebrating. Being alive just means our duty isn’t done yet.”

Nevada had been sad then, and it saddened me that we didn’t see eye to eye on this issue. We were the only real family the other had, but we had very philosophies. To her, the world was something for you—for her to take. To me, the world was somewhere you were placed with a mission—one you had to fulfill no matter what. Sometimes, you were born with it. Sometimes, you created that mission for yourself. Either way, once you had a purpose, you should be ready to die for it.

I am ready to die to protect my people and my family…but I would rather kill for it.

I did not have my king’s talent for Swordsmanship, nor did I have Carr’s talent with manual swordsmanship. It mattered not. From the start, my response to stronger opponents than myself had been to forge weapons to give me a fighting chance against others. Magical Swords could overcome even strong Swordsmanship. People liked to bullshit about life, fairness, and your place in this world.

Fucking waste of time.

If there’s something in your way, hit it until it dies.

If something tries to kill you, struggle.

That’s what I had been taught in Portna and it was all I needed. Weaker than the others I might be, in both magic and skill, yet that mattered little. All I had to do was struggle. From the day my decision to raise my sword against my father was made—from then until my last day. If a mighty sword attempts to kill me, I will step forward. If a god asks me to kneel, I will stand up. If Death itself comes for me, I will kill it first.

“There you are,” I said. An eerie laugh echoed around me, and in that feverish state it was only a few moments later I realized it was my own voice. “I have been looking all over for you.”

The armory.

The place where all of Reven’s exquisite weapons were maintained.

My arm burned, but it mattered little. This was something that had to be done as soon as possible. “Lend me an arm,” I told the suit of armor as I grabbed its gauntlet off and studied it. I can make a smaller one. It doesn’t need to cover anything…no. I need it to be able to grip something. I need to imagine an internal system for it. There was no need for anything too complicated. The finesse behind Carr’s swordsmanship was more than beyond me, it bored me. It wasn’t my style at all. So long as I could grip something, it would do.

I only had one shot, of course—my Blacksmith skill would be diminished the moment I used it thanks to Johan’s incompetent ass sitting in god’s throne. Suits some useless fuck like him to have that throne. He’s going to do about as good to me as the old god did. Hesitation meant death. It was time to act. A

[Blacksmith]: 692 → 491

A moderate replacement. Heavy, to be certain, but by pulling on a lever at its side I could force it to grip something tightly. Trapping might have been a better descriptor. Crushing it might be an even fairer word. There were only two states and the metal armor piece would not function as a limb replacement. It will help me in battle. That will be enough. But the balance still felt off.

Johan had cut my forearm just past my elbow—but it wasn’t a symmetrical cut. Diagonal, more like it, and this made the balance difficult if not impossible to adjust. My Blacksmith skill wasn’t high enough to account for that. Perhaps it was something to inquire with someone else. No. They would not give me help—they would dissuade me from fighting further.

Instead, I removed the gauntlet and placed my arm against a table while I withdrew my longsword from my waist. Thinking about the move would have caused me to hesitate, so instead my focus went to the gauntlet I had created. Hollowed out, aside from that small device for opening and closing…I can still put something there if need be. The dimensions should work out if I have an even cut around—here.

After two minutes of confirming my measurements, I tied a piece of cloth around my arm very tightly—most difficult with only one arm—and brought the longsword down to cut off the superfluous remainder of the arm to even out the cut.

It didn’t hurt as much as it should have.

Guess this means my fever is severe. At this moment, I withdrew a sphere from the inside pocket of my coat and contemplated crushing it. If I get close to death, this should stave it out, but there is no need to do it just yet. We have a finite supply even after raiding this place. I will try to tough this out if I can…just stop the bleeding and maybe some Healing from my sister at best. She’ll yell at me, probably.

As my consciousness started to question its existence, my eyes caught sight of a curious set of blueprints. In that hazy, exhausted state it took me a while to truly understand it, but fragments of conversations with Reven brought it alive again. Ah…I see…

It was fortunate, then, that I had kept whatever bone fragments I still had from my old arm. Those could be sharpened into projectiles. There was much work to do to implement those into my arm. But it was my duty to see this through.

Until Johan was dead.

Until my land was free from the Empire.

[Blacksmith]: 491 → 129