Musashi found himself surrounded by beautiful women who were lavishing him with attention. Normally, this would be a cause for celebration, or at least a round of drinks, but in this case they were trying to beat the shit out of him. Sometimes this, also, would be a cause for celebration, but this was neither the time nor place, and Musashi would prefer to end the day with his ass solidly unwhupped.

He stared down his opponents, the many Battle Dancers of the Bishoujeux Can-Can Revue, as they hung warily back, cautiously high-kicking in time to the music. Their numbers had been diminished by one dancer, who had rendered unconscious with his most potent smile (and a particular martial arts technique Rathus had taught him years ago). He turned one of his lethal expressions upon the remaining eleven dancers, who jerked back involuntarily as he smoldered at them.

One of the dancers stepped forward, and the light crew, ever at the top of their game, focused her in a beam of white light. She turned and rallied her fellow dancers.

"Come on, girls!" She told the hesitant Battle-Dancers. "He can't smile at all of us!"

Emboldened, the combatants split into pairs, and began twirling towards Musashi, curving at various aesthetically-pleasing angles to flank the Gun Knight. He dodged a kick, to the face, leaning backwards as one of the Battle Dancers spun past, sweeping her skirts up as she swiped at him with her heel. He grabbed her high-heel like a handle and stepped forward and past her, lifting her leg up to her chest in an impressive display of flexibility. He kept walking forward, pressing the heel to shove her off balance, sending her falling backwards.

He turned as two more dancers raced towards him. They came to a sudden stop a few feet from him and turned to face each other, grasping their hands together while they turned their faces to stare at Musashi. He stared back in confusion, wondering if things were about to get sapphic, when a third dancer came dashing towards him from behind the pair, hopping up onto their linked hands. With expert, Dwarven-trained coordination the two supporting dancers launched her, boosting her jump with a heave of their arms as she launched into a powerful leaping kick towards the Gun Knight.

Musashi ducked under the kick, reaching up to grab her by each thigh. He stood, lifting her into the air, and began to spin. The spotlight flit onto the pair, shifting to a blue filter as he twirled the dancer above his head, her legs fixed and splayed out in the kick position. He finished his spin, then gracefully yote her into the disarrayed pile of cardboard boxes.

A commotion drew his attention to his comrade's fight, where some kind of wrestling ring was being constructed piece by piece. Regis had gone shirtless, which Musashi approved of on a professional level, but had apparently caught fire, which Musashi generally advised against. Regis was definitely making it work, though, and didn't seem bothered by the fire in any meaningful way. He saw the Harem Master lift a hand, and the lights on the stage immediately shifted, taking on a reddish hue. The dancers began to form lines, stepping and weaving between each other with mesmerizing coordination.

Musashi took the brief respite to roll his shoulders and stretch out his limbs. The dancers were a lot tougher than he'd expected them to be. He supposed that would make sense. If what Regis had said was true, then each of the dancers alone was about 1500 ELO, a slightly stronger-than-average Adventurer. He'd fought large groups of Adventurers before, but most of those fights took place in a bar, which put an alcoholic haze on his opponent's movements, and usually meant he had a few pink elephants backing him up in the fight. Beating eleven more dancers of an equivalent level, doing it without punching them (which was important on a conceptual level) as well as doing it with style (which was the most important thing, conceptually) seemed like it'd be a bit of a challenge, and—

Musashi cocked his head to the side as the dancers advanced. Had... the tempo increased?

A line of four dancers dashed forwards suddenly, menacing him with kicks as he rolled backwards, out of the way. A second line of four dancers was there waiting to intercept him, and folded around him, fencing him in on all sides. The dancers spun and bobbed, kicking high and low alternately. He hopped a sweep kick that threatened to trip him, twisting his upper body to block a high kick from the opposite side. Another low-kick took him in the shins, and he barely managed to stay upright before another high kick hit him in the back of the head.

He spun around to block the next attack, and suddenly took an elbow to the ribs, sending a jolt of pain shooting up his chest. He turned to face his attacker and received another two kicks and a vicious elbow from all sides. This... wasn't working. The Gun Knight ducked low under the next high kick, then sprang up to step directly on the next low kick, as it passed under him. He took another kick to the head, but leaned into it, hooking his arm around it as he pushed off of the leg he was standing on. He lifted his leg and stepped on the shoulder of one of the dancers, pushing himself up and out of the posh mosh pit in a backflip, with his arm still hooked around one of the dancer's legs.

He continued the backflip, lifting the dancer off her feet, before using the momentum to launch her fifteen feet into the air, where she tucked her arms together and spun in an acrobatic flip-waltz. Musashi backed away as the other three dancers took positions as a landing crew to catch her. The Gun Knight rubbed at his ribs and head as another two lines of dancers advanced upon him.

"That... actually hurt..." he remarked to himself.

*******

Musashi might be comforted to know that he wasn't the only one having troubles, as Rathus was currently also busy getting his ass kicked. The Gun Knight rose to one knee and looked up, as Regis backflipped from the top rope of the ring.

"!" the Dwarf called out, his body enveloping in flames as the Named Move took effect. He rocketed down in an arc, slamming into Rathus's crossed arms with his knees, as the Gun Knight braced himself. Rathus grimaced in pain. The heat was intense, searing his arms and singeing his eyebrows as the flames danced around him. The Named Move subsided, and the flames wicked down to just the Harem Master's head. Rathus reached out and grabbed Regis by the ankles before he had a chance to move away. The Gun Knight began to spin on his heels, picking up speed before hammer-throwing Regis into the ropes.

Regis slammed into the ropes, which stretched worryingly with the impact, pulling taut as the force of the throw pulled them beyond the confines of the stage entirely. The Dwarf reoriented himself, spinning around to face Rathus as the spring action reached its apex, and sent him rocketing back towards the Gun Knight.

Rathus held his arm out rigid and took a knee, to deliver a Dwarf-sized clothesline.

"Elementary!" Regis taunted, his voice coming out as a callous, barking laugh. He dropped into a powerslide that sent sparks flying from the canvas of the stage, extending his own arm out to the side. He rocketed harmlessly below Rathus's outstretched arm, and caught the Gun Knight by the legs as he passed. Rathus, his legs pulled behind him, turned his momentum into a roll, tucking his head and rolling forwards into a crouch. The audience gave a whooping cheer at the display, right before Regis hit him from behind, having ricocheted off the ropes again into a second tripping powerslide.

Rathus fell onto his back, taken off guard by the sudden rebound, and slammed into the stage cracking the back of his head on the mat. Regis rolled out of his slide, leaping up and landing directly on the top rope, letting his momentum stretch it back and down. He took a moment to brush off his shoulder before the rope snapped back into position, hurtling him into the air like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Rathus watched as the Dwarf blotted out the lights, posing in a rigid, crossed-arms fashion as he rose into the air, looking as if he were simply standing on nothing as he ascended. Rathus recognized it at once as the , a devastating drop capable of breaking bones and ego in one fell swoop.

Regis corkscrewed down towards him, holding position as he spun, threatening to land feet-first onto the Gun Knight. Rathus watched him descend and waited until the last minute, before rolling to his feet, using the movement to strike with the back of his elbow. He caught Regis in the side of the legs, sending the Dwarf cartwheeling head-over-heels. Rathus continued his rotation, grabbing Regis around the neck with the crook of his arm and bellyflopping, effectively transforming Regis's attack into a modified brainbuster.

The Gun Knight scrambled to his feet, only to have them kicked out from under him as Regis rose. Rathus fell forward, directly into a rising uppercut to the solar plexus, that took the wind from his lungs. Regis raised up, holding Rathus atop one hand, before he began to spin the Gun Knight and toss him into the air, in an expert display of the .

"You may have a move or two," Regis admitted, as Rathus spun through the air above him. The Gun Knight fell, and Regis headbutted him out of the air, sending him hurtling towards the ropes. "...but I was expecting much more from a Gun Knight. I expected your brute strength would make up for your lack of technique..."

Rathus rebounded off the ropes, and ran towards the Dwarf. The heat was rising to his ears now. When was the last time he'd been in a proper exhibition match? He'd finished training at the House of the Rising Sun, and had one or two matches on his travels before he enlisted as a Gun Knight, but after that...

Rathus planted his foot and launched off to the side, turning his charge into a feint. He rebounded off of the side-ropes and launched himself towards Regis, leaping into a drop-kick. The dwarf raised one burning eyebrow and sidestepped the attack, grabbing Rathus by the ankle and yanking him to the side, redirecting the Gun Knight's trajectory to send him slamming into the corner post and sliding down the side. Rathus, shook his head. He was able to dispel the stabbing pain in his legs, but the shame and frustration clung too tightly to be easily rid of. He reached up and gripped the turnbuckle, hauling himself up to his feet. Regis had not moved from his place in the center of the ring.

"...But I suppose I was mistaken," Regis finished, dusting off his hands with vertical claps.

Rathus caught his breath, trying to figure out his next move. Was he out of practice? He was a Gun Knight, so he couldn't forget anything, but the Vow only did so much. Everything that had happened after he took the Vow was preserved with crystal clarity, but the same wasn't true of his memories from before he'd taken the Vow. They wouldn't degrade any further, but when he Recalled the times before his Vow, they were in whatever condition they'd been on the day he'd made his pledge. Incomplete, fractured, potentially misremembered.

Were his memories of his techniques incomplete? Was it possible he'd already managed to slip in his abilities in the span of the year or two between leaving his Puroreso dojo and his graduation into the Gun Knights proper? For that matter, did his Eidetic Memory even apply to muscle memory? He clenched his fist, shaking his limbs out as he squared up against Regis. Either he had slipped in his training, or Regis was right, and his training was never good enough in the first place.

No. He couldn't afford to let that be true. He grit his teeth and shifted his stance, forcing his expression into a leering scowl, his hands raised and fingers folded into points. He hunched over slightly, shifting his hands in mesmerizing patterns as he faced down the Dwarf.

Regis laughed. "A Heel turn already? Are you that desperate?" he asked. "That looks to be the style of Sultan King, if I'm not mistaken." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, smoke coursing off his fingers as he parted the flames of his beard. After a moment of silent scrutiny, he shook his head, waving his hand dismissively.

"You disgrace it."

Rathus growled, waving his hands in a circle pattern as he focused on the Named Technique he was preparing. His hands began to blur, leaving behind afterimages, until it looked like the Gun Knight had seven arms on each side. He cleared his voice and shouted, bringing both hands together into a mighty clap.

""

Regis's eyes glazed as the Named Move took effect, paralyzing his spirit and mind. He stood swaying slowly on the spot, his eyes unfocused and expression slack. Rathus dashed towards him, swinging with a wild haymaker. Regis was trained as a Puroreso practitioner, which included training the strength of your mind, so the hypnosis wouldn't last long, but with any luck, it should be long enough to...

Regis snapped back to clarity as Rathus' fist struck home, slamming into the Dwarf's forehead. The Gun Knight followed through, putting all of his weight into the blow, but succeeded only in pushing himself backwards. He looked up in surprise to find Regis holding both hands on either side of his forehead, index fingers extended like the horns of a bull. Rathus's fist was pressed against the Harem Master's forehead, his strike having no visible effect

"..." Rathus murmured under his breath. He leaped backwards as Regis ducked his head and charged him with a battering ram.

"!" Regis shouted, activating the iconic Named Move of the ancient Puroreso master. He blurred forwards, accelerating as if he'd stepped onto a treadmill set to the highest setting, except forwards and in a controlled manner rather than backwards and into the wall in front of your gym crush.

Rathus had only a split second to judge the relative height of a Dwarf who was rushing over while bent at the waist, and he dropped to his knees, taking the headbutt to the stomach in order to narrowly avert catastrophe. The wind rushed out of his lungs in a dry wheeze. He raised his arms and slammed them down on the back of Regis's neck. The Dwarf grunted in pain, and Regis reached down, grabbing the Dwarf by the waist and lifting him, dropping into a simple piledriver too sloppy to even have a proper name.

Regis, still upside down with his head pressed against the mat, hooked his legs around Rathus's chest. He lifted himself out of the Gun Knight's grip, sitting up while hanging from the Knight's torso, before reaching forward and wrapping his arms around the Gun Knight's neck. He let go with his legs and lifted them back and into the air, scaling up the edifice of the Gun Knight like some kind of bizarre gravity-defying slinky. He finished in an almost hand-stand position on Rathus's shoulders, with one arm wrapped under the Gun Knight's chin. He twisted his body, letting himself fall behind the Gun Knight, clutching tight to his head so that Rathus was hauled backwards and slammed into the mat, taking most of the force of the fall.

"Pathetic." Regis laughed, as he rolled to his feet. "Beyond pathetic. If I didn't know any better, I'd assume you were self-taught."

Rathus rolled up to face him, seeing red in more than just the billowing flames that surrounded the Dwarf. He shouted in blind fury, charging at his opponent once more.

*******

As far as encounters with a dozen beautiful women went, Musashi ranked this at about his tenth worst. He wiped a streak of blood away from his mouth as he looked up at the rafters. Three bound Battle Dancers hung from the rafters, tied up with shirt, a length of rope, and a torn petticoat, respectively. He'd figured that tying them up would work well enough, but in order to keep the others from untying them... he'd had to improvise. It had taken him a couple tosses for each dancer before the bindings had managed to catch on something. Thankfully the audience had thoroughly enjoyed it, cheering after every throw.

He glanced over to the backstage, where four more Battle Dancers had been dragged by the stage crew, after he'd rendered them unconscious with more pressure point techniques and a series of romance-novel-level swoons. The remaining five dancers looked a bit tired, but he imagined he looked a lot worse. His body ached, and he was pretty sure he had at least one broken rib. There was a brief lull in the action, while the dancers high-kicked at a gentle pace near the edge of the stage. He panted, looking them over. Maybe Rathus was right. This was starting to get stupid, and he'd probably be better served if he actually punched them. After all, they definitely weren't holding back at all, and chivalry was a bit less important when your target could probably bend a steel bar with her thighs.

He glanced at the audience, and up to the VIP booth where he knew the princess was watching. No... he'd already committed. It was too late to walk back the decision he'd made at this point. No time for regrets, only enough time to see it through. He shook his head and gave the rest of the dancers a casual shrug, ignoring the stabbing pain down his back as he lifted his shoulders.

"It's not too late for you to give up, you know," he informed them. As if in response, the dancers executed a classic Can Can move, turning in sync to flip up their petticoats and show him their rear end. The Gun Knight felt a complex set of emotions as excitement fought a resigned disappointment in a battle to the death within him. He sighed.

"Very well, then. Let's finish this." He rushed forward, as the Battle Dancers broke into formation, moving in practiced serpentine patterns as the flanked him, kicking out and striking with fists and elbows. Musashi activated his Battle Trance, doing a kind of badass twisting flip to slot himself directly into the empty space filled by their blows. He spun past them in midair, before grabbing the closest one by the waist, lifting her into a spin before dipping her.

"How are you doing?" he asked confidentially. "Not getting worn out, I hope?"

The Battle Dancer blushed as she stared into his eyes, but shot him a defiant look. "I can fight for days!" she spat back.

Musashi nodded, lifting her back into the air. "Oh, good," he replied, then hurled her into the orchestra pit.

Immediately, a tubadeur and a trombonist set upon her, menacing her with hot brass. She rolled to her feet and began kicking them back. An orchestra, even a free-range one, was dangerous for the average person, but if he was any worthwhile judge of the Bishoujeux Revue's abilities, she wouldn't be in any mortal peril. She would be distracted for a while, though. Long enough to finish the rest of the fight. Musashi turned back to face the other dancers.

"And then there were four."

******

Rathus surged forward, blind in his rage. He'd abandoned any pretext of technique, and was swinging with wild abandon. Regis was standing with his arms down at his side, having activated . Rathus didn't care. He slammed his fists into Regis over and over, relying on brute strength to overpower the technique. In the back of his mind, he knew that this wouldn't work. He didn't care. The Steel Body was invulnerable to attack, and it had only been overcome in three instances he knew of. He didn't care. The move left Regis wide open to a number of reversals or advanced grapples, which might work to wear his opponent down. He didn't care.

All Rathus wanted to do was wipe that smug fucking grin off of that face. His fists blurred, slamming into Regis's chest over and over. The Dwarf shifted slightly with every impact, but did not budge in his footing. He stood defiantly, staring down the Gun Knight with one cocked eyebrow.

"GRAAAH!" Rathus shouted, swinging one last haymaker. It landed square in the center of the Harem Master's chest, causing a tremor to go through the stage, and blasting the steam and smoke clear out of the air around the pair.

Regis simply shrugged. "Are you finished?"

Rathus stared him down, murder burning in his eyes. He considered his options carefully. He could try for a sudden pin, could change his attack angle, or maybe go for another disabler... His mind raced like a horse that had been set aflame, until he settled on his answer.

"No," he replied, and began rapidly punching the Dwarf again.

Regis, having dropped the Named Move with his shrug, sighed as the blows shoved him back inch by inch. He winced as one particularly heavy blow bruised his chest, then spread his arms wide, stretching them behind him like a pair of wings. Rathus watched them carefully as he punched with wild abandon. Regis was wiggling his fingers? He Recalled as he punched, going through his memories, but couldn't place the move. Was this the ? Why would he stretch back so far? Was this the ? No, that wouldn't work on an opponent who wasn't already downed.

Regis waited patiently, bearing the painful strikes, until one came hurtling in directly for his lower sternum. As the fist struck home in the center of the Dwarf's chest, Regis quickly dropped his arms to his side and used , clenching his pectoral muscles. The motion, and the Named Move, caused them to bulge to inhuman proportions, squeezing around the Gun Knight's hand. Rathus twisted off-balance, as he realized in horror that his fist was caught between the mighty pecs of his opponent. He stared at Regis, the rage momentarily ablated by absolute confusion.

"What in the—"

Regis cut him off with a cross chop to the sides of the neck, striking a backhand chop with both hands at once. Rathus jerked back, head pulsing and spots dancing in his vision. He stumbled backwards, stunned and uncoordinated, and felt himself being lifted by the Dwarf, a hand under his leg, another on his shoulders.

"I suppose you did your best, Ser Rathus," Regis said, his voice low and sympathetic, "But this fight was over the moment you chose to face me in Puroreso. A Gun Knight should stick with what he knows."

The Dwarf lifted the disoriented Knight above his head, draping him across both shoulders, one arm around his neck, one arm around his legs. He crouched down low, and took a deep breath. The lights within him surged suddenly, as he opened his mouth and Spoke:

"FIRE"

The fire surrounding Regis danced across his body as he invoked its True Name, commanding it to obey his will. The flames licked down his legs, coursing around them and billowing into mighty jets that blasted the stage below him, shifting from red to an intense white. The gouts of flame focused into refined jets, which began to char the canvas below him.

The fire intensified, and Regis slowly began to rise into the air, lifted by the focused thrust of the fire below him. He began to spin gently as he picked up speed, quickly shot into the air, rising above the stage until the audience disappeared behind the small runner curtain hung from the stage's ceiling. He slowed his ascent as he passed the rafters and stagelights, coming to an halt just below the ceiling, as high as he could reasonably get. The ring waited two stories below him.

Reaching the apex of his flight, he held position there for a moment, the flames swirling about his body. The jets on his feet blinked out, and he began to fall, fire flowing above him like the tail of a comet. He activated the Named Move finisher, blurring down to earth.

"!"

He slammed foot-first into the stage, pulling down with both arms to transfer the full brunt of the impact directly to Rathus's spine. The ring cratered around the Dwarf, sending splinters exploding up into the air.

Agony screamed through Rathus's entire body, every nerve lighting up as if he'd been set aflame. His thoughts swam within his head, and before he had time to register anything beyond the pain, he realized he was blacking out...

"I would have won!" Rathus insisted, wiping sweat from his brow. Master Sam "The Caveman" Savage remained unconvinced as he looked down at his bruised, beaten student.

"Oh? Is that so?" he asked simply, moving to the small brick stove and taking his teapot off the flames. He brought the simple clay pot over to the two cups he had set on the end table. He filled them both with the boiling water, which instantly began to take on a faint reddish hue from the seven herbs and spices he had gathered, his special blend. He moved back to the stove, closing the small hatch that opened to the wood fire burning below. He set the teapot on top of it to keep warm.

Rathus was sitting in his Master's study, which was also his kitchen, and his bedroom, and his dining room. The one-room hut was built at the top of a completely unnecessary set of stairs. Master Savage had built it far from the dojo itself, claiming that "the long journey represents the ascending path to Enfightenment", but mostly so that he could belt out his karaoke on the weekends without other people complaining. Rathus, one of his youngest pupils, had made the long journey, suffering from wounded pride and wounded wounds.

"What prevented you from winning, if you would have won?" Master Savage asked. "It sounds as if your victory was assured, so something unexpected must have come up."

The young Puroreso trainee looked aside. "H-he didn't fight fair. We were both supposed ta be using Face tactics, but then he kept on insulting me. He called me a hick!"

Master Savage nodded, handing one of the cups of tea to Rathus. He looked at the proferred cup and gave his master a suspicious look.

"Does this still have garlic in it? Garlic don't go in tea, Master," Rathus asked. He flushed a bit, looking away. "R-respectfully."

Master Savage chuckled mirthfully, pressing the tea into Rathus's hands. "Drink your tea, my student. And stop trying to figure out my blend, or there will be consequences."

Rathus snorted. "What, are ya gonna kill me?"

"Worse," Master Savage replied. "I'll be forced to sue you for stealing my trade secrets."

Rathus sipped the tea, grimacing. His master had little to worry about, as so far Rathus had only been able to identify garlic and paprika. The taste of the tea was indescribable. He looked around the small hut, wondering where he could ditch it. The potted plant near the door had already withered, the unfortunate scapegoat of many a student's tea.

"So, you would have won, but a few words from your opponent were enough to wrest victory away from you, hm?" Master Savage sipped at his tea, closing his eyes in quiet bliss as he swished the vile concoction around his mouth. He opened his eyes and looked down at his student. "I wasn't aware that he was an expert Namer, to strike you down so."

Rathus shook his head. "N-no, sir, he didn't use Naming on me. It was just normal name-calling, not uh, the other kind."

Master Savage sat down across from Rathus, setting his tea on the low coffee table, which had a few magazines spread on it: "Ringside Weekly", "Sparda Gazette" and "Cat Fancier's Weekly" (Not to be confused with Cat Fancier's Monthly, which featured certain Walpurgis models and was typically sold in a brown paper bag). He folded his hands, setting them in his lap.

"So," he said, "If he didn't use Naming, then how could simple words have decided the match? Did he break your wrist with an adjective? Did he give you that black eye with an imperative?"

Rathus flushed, looking down at his tea, which simmered ominously back at him. "N-no, Master," he admitted. "I... he said those things and it, well, it right upset me, so I just... I guess I kinda let myself get out of hand."

"Out of hand," Master Savage repeated quietly, simmering the thought in his head. A silence fell between teacher and student, broken only by the ticking of the novelty cat clock above Master Savage's display case of collectible figurines. Rathus sipped at his tea again, and instantly regretted it, his face shrinking into itself in an effort to get away from the offending object. He thought he detected... was that vinegar? After a few moments, Master Savage spoke again.

"This isn't the first time you've let your anger get the better of you, isn't it?"

Rathus frowned as Master Savage stood and slowly moved to the stove, opening the front hatch where the wood inside was burning.

"I... I know I got temper problems," Rathus admitted, voice surly. "Prob'ly comes from being a 'hick' and all."

"People from all walks of life struggle with anger," Master Savage replied, extracting a burning piece of kindling from the stove and bringing it back to the table. "Rage has a tendency of taking over, if you let it."

He held the kindling out towards Rathus. The flames ate at one end of the wood, licking upwards and letting off a gentle stream of smoke.

"Imagine that this fire is your rage. It burns brightly, but—"

"Yeah," Rathus replied, nodding angrily. "And the wood's me, right? Don't let rage consume me?"

Master Savage scowled, holding up a single finger on his free hand. "Do not think to preempt my lessons, you little shit," he warned.

Rathus sighed, looking away. "Sorry, Master. It's just... I already know what yer gonna say, but it don't make it any easier."

His teacher looked down at the dejected young man before him. The corner of his mouth quirked into a smile. "Oh? You already know what I'm going to say, do you? I'm proud of you, my young prodigy, so far along the path to Enfightenment already." He waved the burning wood gently, sending a few embers falling into Rathus's tea, likely improving the taste.

"Tell me then," he insisted, "What was I going to say?"

Rathus leaned away from the fire, looking at his Master sheepishly. He was a bit nervous, in part from his Master's tone of voice, but also from the fire being waved in his face. "W-well, you were gonna tell me not t'let rage consume me, right? I have to learn ta ignore the anger when it comes up. Somethin' like that, but with a buncha more fancy analogies and such?"

Master Savage stood up straight, moving the small length of wood away from his student. "Hmmm. 'Learn to ignore the rage'," he repeated. "I suppose that must have been what I was going to say." He nodded sagely, and gestured to Rathus with his free hand.

"Very well. Wise words from the mouth of babes."

Rathus's eye quirked as the anger rose in the pit of his stomach. "Master, I'm fifteen now. I ain't a baby no more."

His master waved dismissively, turning away from him and walking back to the stove. "Yes, yes," he replied. "That's all fine and good. Let's meditate on this wisdom that you've provided for us. Close your eyes and focus. Find your rage, and learn to ignore it, yes?"

Rathus muttered under his breath, but closed his eyes and folded his hands into his lap. 'Find the rage, and learn to ignore it.' He thought back to his fight, as Master Savage moved about the room around him. He had been fighting one of the other students in a practice bout, and had just bested him in the first round. They were waiting for round two to start, when the other student had started throwing insults towards him. Calling him a hick, and implying that he was illiterate.

Rathus felt the anger surging in his stomach, heat creeping up the back of his neck. He knew how to read! In fact, he had more books in his room than any of the other students. But his opponent had gone on, telling him that his dad was a filthy peasant just because he was a farmer, and implying that his mom was a sheep.

Rathus's cheeks felt hot, as the rage built up in him anew. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to focus on his inner self, ignoring the fire raging within him, ignoring the toxic smell of the tea, and the smoky smell of the brick stove. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't push away the rage. Thinking back on the events kept building it up, surging it through him until it felt like his very skin was burning. He felt hot from head to toe, blisteringly so. He felt—

Rathus opened his eyes, to see Master Savage sitting across from him, eyes closed, arms folded in meditation. Behind his master, flames danced across the walls of the building. Rathus stood and whirled around. The entire hut had been set aflame! He looked towards the door and saw a small piece of tinder, set below one of the curtains, which danced with fire.

"M-Master Savage!" Rathus cried out, "Your hut is on fire! What... did you— why?! What's happening?"

Master Savage made no immediate response, opening one eye calmly to look at his student. "Sit back down. We are ignoring the rage, as you said."

Rathus stared around the room, shifting from one foot to another. He shot a glance at his Master, hesitating. There was a well just outside the hut, and a water basin. He could grab a bucket, and...

"Sit down," his Master commanded. "If you want to master your anger, you must learn to ignore it."

Rathus boggled at him. "Wha? Master, that's crazy! This ain't an analogy anymore! If we just sit here, your whole hut's gonna burn down! It ain't gonna go away just cause we're ignoring it!"

One of the shelves behind Rathus collapsed, sending burning books falling to the ground, sending up a cloud of ashes. He jumped back from it, choking and coughing from the ashes.

Master Savage opened his eyes. "Hmm... More wisdom, is it? But I thought you said that ignoring it was the answer."

Rathus nodded in a panic, watching as the flames billowed higher. "Yeah, yep. I did say that Master. I get it. I was wrong. I'm an idiot and a rascal and lack respect, and you're the wisest Sensei in all the land. Can we do somethin' about the fire?"

Master Savage smiled, and gave a small shrug, closing his eyes with a tilt of his head. "Your words, not mine." He stood to his feet, and spread his arms out, taking a deep breath before Speaking.

"FIRE"

As he invoked the True Name of the fire, he held out his hand. The flames began to swim through the air, leaping off of the furniture and condensing into a spinning ball above the palm of his left hand. "We cannot simply ignore our anger," he explained, "No more than we can ignore away our house burning down around us. The anger does not care if we give it attention. It will exist all the same, and grow. You can no more suppress it than you can beat a fire to death."

Rathus stared at him in stunned silence, and decided not to mention the fact that you could smother a fire with your feet or a jacket, just in case it might cause him to set the house back on fire.

"Trying to smother your anger is a useless endeavor, and a counter-productive one to boot. Anger, like fire, is power. It can be destructive, and consuming, but it is one of the many aspects of Passion. This Passion is present in all of Humanity, but runs hottest in the Dwarves, who founded our noble art."

He spun his hand around the ball of fire, keeping it in the same position while rolling it across palm, fingertips, and the back of the hand, in a party trick that would have been way more impressive if Rathus didn't already know that the fireball's position was controlled entirely mentally, and would have remained in place no matter what his Master did with his hand.

"To try to smother your anger is to try to smother your Passion. To try to silence a part of your soul. We must not IGNORE the anger. We must CONTROL it."

Master Savage focused, and the fireball shifted and expanded, into a fiery axe.

"We must master it, and harness it, Anger let loose is destructive, but the Passion it represents can drive you to greatness, if you can learn to channel it, to focus it, to hone it to a razor's edge."

Rathus looked around the damaged hut. The shelves were singed and collapsing. Half of the books were ruined, and the pot of Master Savage's unique Caveman Blend had thankfully been put out of its misery. The only thing untouched was the display case of collectible figurines, which appeared to be Overlaid with some kind of fireproofing, as it was completely undamaged, save for a thin layer of soot from its burning neighbors.

"So..." Rathus began, "You're sayin' I should learn ta... harness my anger in a fight?"

Master Savage lifted his hand and spun the fire around him, twisting it into a ribbon that looped and swirled around his head.

"More than just a fight. It is useful in many things in life. Anger is a stubborn beast, and with a trained mind, you can easily turn frustration into resolve, and redouble your efforts. Anger can inspire, it can draw forth the creativity from within you. I expect you've already entertained a few ways to get back at the other student, haven't you?"

Rathus flushed, looking away. "M-maybe," he admitted. He'd already come up with several ideas, although most of them were pure fantasy, and one of them was infeasible unless he could find a giant snake somewhere.

"That font can be applied in many productive ways, if you can master the destructive nature of your anger."

Master Savage leaned forwards, picking his tea up from the coffee table to sip it. He quirked his eyebrow at the taste, wondering for a moment if 'wood ash' might make a good eighth secret herb or spice. He held up his free hand as he delivered the crux of his lesson.

"Do not let your rage consume you. Do not try to ignore it, either. Master it. Control it and use the fire as fuel for your journey."

Rathus looked down at his ash-covered hands.

"I... I understand your lesson, Master," he said quietly. "I think." He looked around the room, surveying the damage. "But... did ya need to burn your hut down t'teach it? What are you going to do now?"

Master Savage chuckled to himself as he drew a scroll out of his robe's long sleeves. "Ah, child," he said with a wise-as-fuck sigh. He unrolled the scroll, revealing it to be a Fire Insurance policy, insuring his hut for several hundred Dosh worth of damages.

"I have so many more lessons to teach."

Rathus opened his eyes. Every bone in his body ached, but... he didn't seem to be paralyzed. His Vow could have healed him of such an injury, but unless somebody were to activate it in full, it would still take a few weeks to recover from a broken spine. The Gun Knight turned his head, ignoring the shrieks of pain it sent rocketing all the way down to his tailbone. Regis had tossed him unceremoniously into the corner of the ring, and was currently bowing to the audience, as flowers were hurled into the ring.

Rathus turned his head again. Musashi was going toe-to-toe against the last two Dancers, his shirtless (why??) back spotted with a number of welts and bruises. Rathus grunted, and started to rise to his feet. Regis stopped mid-bow, turning his head to peer over his shoulder. Rathus gave him a limp wave, clutching his stomach with his other hand as he wobbled upright.

The Master of Ceremonies turned to face him again. "Ah, I was wondering if you were still alive. To be honest, I hadn't expected you to break so easily."

Rathus felt the anger flicker back to life in his stomach. He shrugged at the Dwarf. "Y'didn't hit that hard," he slurred. "But I gotta finish this quick. Can't let Musashi finish up his side'a the fight first."

Regis chuckled, his eyes shifting and glowing molten once more as he began to Manifest. "Oh, I'll be happy to accommodate you. This fight will certainly finish quickly. Perhaps not in the way you wish it to, however."

Rathus took a deep breath, drawing upon the spark of anger in his stomach. He felt the heat spread throughout his arms, changing from a burning, sinking feeling into a heat that suffused his being.

Regis did the same thing, except he literally caught fire, as he finished Manifesting.

"Don't think that I don't recognize this for what it is, Ser Rathus," Regis noted casually. "A heroic last stand, coming back from the brink of death, right? It's a tried and true formula, but believe me when I tell you I've seen it fall flat before."

"I know," Rathus replied quietly. "I've been in wars, y'know. Gun Knight."

Regis shrugged. "Just take my words into consideration. I doubt your so-called 'school' could teach you a proper Turnabout. It would be a shame for you to wind up like all the rest of your... peers."

The flame within Rathus surged, spreading across his limbs. He stood a bit straighter, moved a bit faster. The pain hadn't subsided, but the steady thumping of his heart pushed him forward, letting him ignore it. Rathus stepped forward, taking one step, then another, then picking up pace as he moved back into the fight. Regis held his arms wide, allowing Rathus the first blow.

"I'll be mindful of your condition," Regis informed him. "I'll give you the first hit, and a fair rematch. May the best man win, hmm?"

Rathus focused his weight and shifted, throwing a solid uppercut that lifted Regis from the ground and sent him flying back to the corner. The Dwarf slammed against the turnbuckles, head snapping back with the impact. He shook his head, looking to Rathus in genuine surprise.

"Don't worry," Rathus replied, shaking out his fingers, "he will."

Regis's eyes narrowed, and he smiled, pushing himself off of the ropes and back to his feet as the fire around his head blazed.

"Now that's more like it!" he growled, advancing towards the Gun Knight.

********

Musashi was starting to get tired. Battles of attrition weren't his cup of tea. If something was worth doing, it was worth doing in the flashiest, most decisive way possible. He looked over to the last dancer he had defeated, who was giving him the stink-eye, trapped within the jaws of a giant stone lion he had found backstage. That was the sort of thing he was talking about. Decisive. He looked to the two remaining dancers, sighing to himself. How could he finish this match in a way that was satisfying?

He glanced over at Rathus, who had stood back up. A surge of relief went through him. It'd hit pretty hard to watch his friend get devastated by that flashy finishing move that Musashi desperately wanted to learn. He was glad that Rathus was alright, and more importantly, very glad that he didn't have to try to fight Regis in hand-to-hand combat.

If it weren't for that amulet, Musashi could beat him in a no-holds-barred fight no contest, but a ring match like that? Legendary Gun Knight or not, Musashi suffered no delusions about his martial arts prowess. He turned as one of the Dancers lunged for him and counter-attacked, jumping into the air and stepping off her raised leg before somersaulting three times in midair to land behind her. He half-turned, blocking two wild swings before ducking under a sweeping high kick.

The Battle Dancing had seemed pretty neat initially, but Musashi was seeing how the limitations on moves and the need to stay on-beat made his opponents... somewhat predictable. Probably it was just because the Can-Can was a line dance. He was glad that the orchestra handlers hadn't decided to change it up, at least. He glanced over at the orchestra pit, where the dancer he had thrown in was busy bashing a flautist's head into a large bass drum. He was glad she was having fun.

Musashi jumped another low kick, reaching out to grab the dancer's leg as it spun around in another high kick. He lifted her from the ground, swinging her like a club to slam her into the last dancer. The impact rattled his teeth as the two ballerinas stumbled backwards, working to untangle themselves from each other.

It took a moment for them to figure out which skirts belonged to which dancer, and Musashi took the time to think. That Screaming Club move was... not so hot. He couldn't finish the fight with something that lame. Even if technically he hadn't hit them, it wasn't a good look. And he needed something more to finish this out in the right way. Something...

He stared out the audience, and saw a tall, bald man blowing on a bowl of soup. Instantly, the gears in Musashi's head began turning. Yes... he knew exactly how he'd end it.

*****

Regis staggered back, nose bleeding, and left arm hanging limp at his side. He was forced to admit that, maybe, just maybe, he had said some things he shouldn't have. It wasn't the fault of the House of the Rising Sun if the teachers were unForged non-Dwarves, and therefore, inferior. He was sure that it was perfectly fine, for an imitator's dojo. But... one thing he had definitely been wrong about: they apparently knew exactly how to properly pull off a Turnabout.

He ducked a drop-kick from Rathus, stepping backwards as the Gun Knight fell onto his back. Regis reached out to seize his opponent by the legs, but the legs were pulled out of reach as Rathus drew them to his stomach, rolling back and lifting his lower body such that he was resting on his shoulderblades alone. Regis wondered if he was trying to pin himself, moments before the Gun Knight caught him in the chest with a vicious, full-body mule kick.

The Dwarf was launched skywards, threatening to hurtle out of the ring. Down below, Rathus continued his movement, hopping to his feet and dashing for the corner of the ring. He leaped clear from the ring's floor to the top of the post, then launched off, beyond the confines of the Ring. He shot through the air, landing on the vertical surface of the girder that supported the light fixtures, wall-running up it one, two strides, before launching off and back towards the stage.

Regis's eyes widened as the Gun Knight caught him in midair, dropping the pair headfirst back to the stage. Regis wriggled, trying to shove Rathus's head lower, that it might bear the brunt of the impact. The Gun Knight didn't bother fighting back, and instead waited until the last minute before shoving Regis away, the momentum carrying Rathus outside the ring entirely.

Regis acted quickly, working to right himself. He almost made it, slamming with a rough impact onto his knees. Pain shot up his legs, and he suspected he'd broken one of the bones in his shin. That was fine, he had two anyways. He looked up in time to see Rathus hurtle towards him at a sharp horizontal. The Gun Knight had aimed himself out of the ring, then caught the top rope as he fell, yanking on it to curve his momentum inwards. He hit the Dwarf like a ton of bricks that had taken boxing lessons.

The Harem Master wheezed, the wind knocked out of him for once, and was sent slamming into the far ropes, which stretched to their limit. Rathus watched him as his momentum slowed. The Gun Knight cracked his neck and unbuttoned the top button of his dress shirt, flapping the collar to cool off. The ropes snapped back to place, sending Regis hurtling towards his assailant. The Gun Knight was ready, and caught him as he passed, dropping back into an absolutely devastating suplex that sent a crack racing straight through the center of the ring.

Regis growled, extricating his head from where it had embedded in the mat. "There's that Gun Knight power I was waiting for," he growled. "But still lacking in finesse."

"I've got your finesse right here," Rathus retorted, standing atop the corner post.

The Dwarf wiped dry blood away from his nose and stared at the Gun Knight with a mocking smile. "Do you, now? Well, I'm waiting. Why don't you show me something I haven't seen before. Give me one of your Master's worthless Named Moves, if you're so eager to prove yourself."

Rathus stared down (more than usual) at the Dwarf and laughed triumphantly. "My Master's playbook HAS no worthless moves, Regis. Prepare yourself!"

He leapt down at the Dwarf, pulling out an elbow drop to soften him up. Regis deflected the blow with a backhand, then countered with a punch to Rathus's side. The Gun Knight took the blow, grabbing Regis under the arm instead, and sweeping his legs out from under him with a kick. The Harem Master slammed onto his back, and Rathus followed up with a knee-drop, landing forcefully on Regis's stomach.

Rathus backed away quickly as Regis tried to retaliate, leaving the Dwarf to stagger back to his feet. His movements were finally starting to slow. Rathus grinned a smile, feeling immense satisfaction as Regis lunged towards him. Rathus danced out of his way, spinning past the reaching arms to slam an elbow into the back of his head and send his opponent sprawling towards the ropes.

Regis panted, and the flames on his head began to flicker, as he was slowly becoming worn out. Rathus leaped up, clutching both hands together and raising them over his head to deliver a double axe handle to the top of Regis's head, slamming both fists down as he landed. The Dwarf staggered back, and Rathus hauled him up by the arm and pants, hurling him across the stage. Time to end this.

Rathus ran in the direction he'd thrown Regis, hopping to land with both feet on the Dwarf's back. He pushed off, jumping up to place a foot against the top of the post. Without pausing, Rathus pushed himself back off, moonsaulting towards his fallen opponent. He took a deep breath and activated the Named Move as he flew.

""

He began to glow with an awesome power, and slammed his knees into the back of Regis's head. The Dwarf groaned, his face pressed into a face-shaped crater in the ring's surface. He slapped one palm against the mat, and then another, before pushing up, extricating his face from the wood. Scraps of fabric and foam were tangled in his beard, while splinters dug into his face. Still laying prone, he managed to twist his face to growl defiantly at the Gun Knight. His eyes flashed, and began to glow with molten fury once more.

"Oh no you don't," Rathus declared, grabbing the Dwarf by the ankles and dragging him backwards across the stage. He moved to the center of the ring, carefully stepping around the various exploded and shattered boards. "I'm not gonna let you get the chance!" He twisted at the waist, swinging Regis and lifting him from the ground. Power began to crackle around the Gun Knight as he picked up speed, spinning in place with greater and greater force.

"Here's something direct from the House of the Rising Sun to you! A little something brewed up by a REAL Puroreso practitioner." Rathus heaved back, feeling the power flow through him as he lifted the Dwarf higher into the air, his surroundings blurring around him as he began to spin like a top, and then even faster. The cracked wood below him began to smoke from the friction of his boots. Rathus focused his Intent, and drew upon the Named Move:

"RISING SUN SPECIAL TECHNIQUE: !"

The colors blurred into lines around him as he spun even faster. Regis, the only thing that didn't blur in his vision, strained himself, reaching with one clawed hand. His hair and beard were starting to ignite, but the flames were being wicked out by the wind as soon as they started to flare up. His hands reached threateningly towards Rathus, but the raw centrifugal force slammed them back, held helplessly above the Dwarf's head as he was spun on the horizontal.

"It's curtains for you!" The Gun Knight roared, releasing the Dwarf and sending him streaking across the stage. Regis slammed into the metal girders that held the light fixture and curtains, then tore through it with barely any resistance, tearing Dwarf-sized chunks out of the metal framework. He plunged into the darkness, disappearing offstage. The audience roared with applause, and Rathus turned to look out over the crowd.

They were cheering for him. Well, a part of him recognized that they had been cheering just as hard when they'd thought Regis had won. Most likely they were only invested in the violence. But still! He put that out of mind, basking in the adoration of the audience. A Gun Knight's job was generally thankless, so this was... a new experience. He could kind of see why Musashi was... well, the way he was. The positive feedback was almost druglike.

The Devil —having been spoken of— appeared. Musashi hopped up to the side of the ring, ducking under the ropes as he came to stand next to Rathus. The pair of battered, bruised Gun Knights surveyed each other. Musashi was shirtless and was covered in dust, cuts, and bruises, while Rathus had made a pretty big mess of his dress shirt. It looked like it had gotten into a one-sided fight with a woodchipper, setting stunning fashion trends with accents of blood, dirt and wood chips. The protective Overlay had long since been shattered, and it was now no more than a ragged piece of cloth.

Rathus looked over his friend and sighed. "Where's your shirt this time?"

Musashi grinned, shaking his head. "Oh, somebody else is wearing it." He looked up towards the rafters behind him, where the stage crew was trying to free the three dancers that were still hanging from the lights.

"We..." Rathus began, tearing his attention from the audience with great effort, "...should probably go catch our man."

Musashi, who was busy blowing kisses to the patrons, scoffed and turned to roll his eyes at his by-the-books compatriot. "You really need to learn to relax a little, Rathus. We can spare a minute or two to work the crowd."

"Sorry," Rathus replied drily. "I reckon I'm just a bit high-strung after that death-defying, high-stakes fight and all."

Musashi nodded as if he wasn't listening, although Rathus knew him well enough to know that wasn't the case.

"Funny," he replied absently, "That's the sort of thing I usually do to unwind."

That drew a chuckle from Rathus, but didn't stop him from glancing impatiently at the darkness backstage. He didn't like the chance of leaving Regis to his own devices back there, and he told Musashi so.

The younger Gun Knight sighed, grabbing a pair of panties from where they had been thrown on stage. He casually produced a pen from his pocket and signed the lingerie, before tossing it back out into the crowd.

"If Regis is even conscious... for that matter, if he's even still alive, I doubt he's in much shape to be moving quickly. They might have a few fancy props back there, but it's not like he's about to bring out anything we need to be worried about."

As if on cue, a loud slamming sound rocked the stage from behind them. A hush fell over the crowd, like a horde of children who'd just witnessed a beloved mascot lose his head, only to reveal a second, more hideous drunken head below it. The duo turned to find themselves staring up at the smiling face of Professor Wardenclyffe, as the giant iron golem-suit slowly trundled onto stage. It came to a halt, facing the pair, before one of the shoulder pads slid back. After a moment's delay, a machine-gun turret popped out of the opening and turned to point directly at the Gun Knights.

"You see?" Musashi smiled, patting Rathus on the back. "Nothing to worry about."

******

Ruth relaxed, sagging back into her chair as she dropped her pen. The writing implement rolled across her table, the tip still smoking slightly.

"That... was one of the best fights I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing," she declared. On-stage below, Musashi had just dispatched the two remaining dancers, in a display so fantastic, so heart-stoppingly over-the-top and astounding that Ruth worried that some of the falsehoods she'd written into her account of the fight would be more believable.

"Maybe in my top twenty," Zetsurin replied, no less impressed with the performance, but drawing from a considerably larger pool of events to compare it to. "I'd be more impressed with Rathus's finisher if he hadn't ruined part of my stage."

"Hm?" Ruth asked, "Oh. Yes, um, Rathus certainly did well in his fight too, didn't he? He was wrestling Regis, right?"

Zetsurin smirked at the princess. "You weren't watching him at all, were you?"

"Of-of course I was!" Ruth lied, closing her book as if she expected Zetsurin to search it for contradictory evidence. "He did some... some excellent wrestling. Very engaging."

The Matron laughed to herself, shaking her head. "Well, you won't hear any criticism from me. I've seen much worse infatuations, trust me."

"Besides," she said, moving to the dining table. One of her Legal aides sat there, industriously amending and proofreading a Contract. The man was so nondescript, that all I'll tell you is that he had glasses. Zetsurin settled in behind him to look at what he was writing. "You've really saved my ass here. With the amount you were willing to sign on, we can afford to close until the Astral Well is back online, if it comes to that."

She smiled up at the princess. "It's as if a weight has been lifted from my chest. I really, truly, can't thank you enough for this, Your Highness. "

Ruth flushed, embarrassed by the sudden heartfelt display of emotion. "O-of course. It is the duty of a princess to make sure that her subjects are taken care of. I can see how much heart has gone into this place. And your vision of the future is quite admirable. You've certainly done a..." she glanced back to the stage, "Um, a service to the crown."

The legal aide told Zetsurin that the contract was done, and just had to be ratified by an Imperial Sovereign. Zetsurin nodded.

"I'll get this mailed to..." she frowned for a moment, then closed her eyes for the barest of seconds. "Actually, princess, didn't you say that you were a Sovereign? Is that true?"

Ruth nodded, rising from her seat and smoothing out her dress. She joined Zetsurin at the table, pulling off the glove of her right hand.

"Yes, I am. My father let me take the test."

The princess picked up the Contract and began reading through it. The terms looked much the same as what she'd agreed to. A staggering sum, paid out of the royal treasury as an Arts and Culture grant. Ruth pressed her thumb to a marked box, and the Law within the Contract registered her seal, emblazoning the royal crest onto the vellum as she pulled her thumb away.

"Impressive, at your age." Zetsurin remarked. Ruth shrugged off her praise, flipping to the next section of the Contract and sealing it with her thumb.

"Honestly, I don't see what all the fuss is about. The test wasn't particularly hard, and the trial period simply had me doing the same sort of things I would do in the normal course of my studies."

"You're being modest," Zetsurin suggested. "Most Nobles fail the test, and more never even bother to take it. Passing puts you in the top 24% of all Nobility."

"Yes, but have you met most of the Nobility?"

"Point taken."

Ruth looked over the next page of the contract and handed it back to the legal aide. "You'll want to remove or move this 'or', lest it change the meaning of the clause entirely."

The aide looked through the suggested paragraph then handed the Contract to Zetsurin, who looked it over and passed it back with a nod. He set to work revising the page.

"I mostly took the test it for the novelty of it. I am fifth in line for the throne, after all, so I doubt there's any risk of me actually needing to use the powers it affords me. I doubt I'll have the occasion to ratify any laws, or pass down any sentences, or anything other such dealings."

Zetsurin spread her teeth in a sly grin. "Personally, I'd be happy enough just being able to legally command troops."

Ruth looked warily over at Zetsurin. didn't quite share the ex-adventurer's enthusiasm. "I... suppose there's that, but I would need troops to command, first. It is not as if I can simply boss around any Soldier I see. The Empire has not yet deigned to put any troops under my command." She reached out and accepted the corrected Contract from the legal aide and read it over, before pressing her thumb to it. "Not that I've asked them to, mind you."

She flipped to the last page and marked it as well. The Contract shimmered, a pearlescent light gliding across the vellum as the Contract within was ratified. The princess handed it to Madam Seiryoku, who held it up with adoration, as if it were a newborn puppy, or a beautiful baby, or both.

"Thank you, princess. You've saved me from a future of killing three to six direwolves and collecting twenty bear asses on a daily basis. And the rest of my girls from unemployment."

Zetsurin clapped her hands together twice, and the door opened, an attendant pushing a cart entered into the room. The cart had a variety of canapes, and a bucket of ice with a bottle of champagne tucked into it.

"I was worried about my courtesans, if we had to close. Many of them don't manage their savings well. They might have been forced to sell their bodies to get by."

Ruth furrowed her brow. "Don't they—"

A loud thud interrupted her thoughts, and then another. She looked at Zetsurin in alarm, and the ex-adventurer rushed out to the balcony. Ruth followed behind her, peering out at the stage.

Professor Wardenclyffe's moving statue had made its encore, and was currently staring down the Gun Knights. Despite the big, friendly smile permanently fixed on the statue's face, Ruth got the impression it had less than friendly intentions for the pair. As if to confirm her thoughts, a voice boomed out with laughter, amplified by a Script to fill the entire room.

"Well, well, well," Regis gloated, his voice echoing across the ballroom. "It has come to this. I was trying to be civil, you know. A Puroreso match, like gentlemen. I could have finished you off while you were down, but I felt that avoiding bloodshed was the prudent thing to do."

The statue moved in a slow, jerky fashion, first lifting one arm, then straightening it, then closing the fingers on the fist, then extending the index finger out, to eventually point accusingly at Rathus.

"But... that time has passed. I know I've little hope of getting away from you on foot. So why not take a gamble, eh?"

Zetsurin's face contorted into a mask of fury at his words.

"There's no way..." she muttered angrily. Ruth turned to look at her, curious. "There's no way that this fight isn't going to trash the stage beyond repair.

The ex-adventurer hopped onto the railing again, snatching her speargun from the chair where she'd set it. She looked down at the construct, falling into her Battle Trance, then hesitated. She looked back over at the princess.

"I know that your agreement was largely contingent on letting Musashi fight, but..."

Ruth shook her head. "I got everything that I needed. Go. Just... be careful. You're still injured."

Zetsurin scoffed gently, patting her ample chest. "I'll be fine, Your Highness." She lifted her head to gesture to the attendant. "Erika. Please be sure that Princess Greer gets the Ultra Deluxe Warbucks Package."

Ruth blinked in confusion, looking over to Erika, who merely bowed in response. "Ultra Deluxe...?"

"Anything you'd like, Your Highness. The highest level of comfort and luxury we can provide. Anything in the building is yours, should you will it. It's the least we can do."

Ruth thought back to the past week. She'd spent yesterday in a relatively nice Inn, but besides that, she'd seen more dirty roads and humble peasant hovels than she could reasonably stomach. The idea of getting the royal treatment again, so to speak, was enough to make her salivate.

"A-anything?" she asked.

Zetsurin looked her up and down, then shot her a lecherous grin, misreading the situation entirely. "Of course, Your Highness. Fine dining, fine wining, and all the dicks you can suck."

Ruth turned a bright crimson from head to toe. "T-that's—!"

"Don't worry, princess," Zetsurin laughed, ignoring her as she fell into a crouch. "I don't judge."

The ex-adventurer shot out into the air, away from the hurried protestations of the Imperial Sovereign behind her.

*****

Rathus and Musashi ducked behind the wrestling ring as machine-gun fire tore the wood to shreds. Musashi was leaning casually against the stage, while Rathus retrieved his jacket and belt back from Somewhere Convenient and was busy suiting back up. Musashi sipped from a small vial of healing potion, then held it out to Rathus, as if they were sharing a beer

"SO," Musashi shouted conversationally, "DO YOU HAVE ANY PARTICULAR PLAN HERE?"

Rathus ducked a piece of lumber and took the potion, taking a swig. He handed it back, feeling his body slowly knitting itself back together. A few sips wouldn't fix all his issues, but it'd at least get him a bit closer to being back in fighting shape.

"SINCE WHEN DO YOU CARE IF I HAVE A PLAN?"

Musashi shrugged, tilting his head to one side as a bullet ripped through the air it had previously occupied. "I MOSTLY ASK TO BE POLITE. I HAVE A PLAN MYSELF, BUT I SOMEHOW FEEL YOU WON'T CARE FOR IT."

"DOES IT INVOLVE R—"

"IT INVOLVES ROCKETS, YES."

Rathus sighed, looking around the corner of the stage.

"THAT MIGHT BE THE GO-TO, UNLESS WE GET SOME KINDA DIVINE INTERVENTION."

As if in response to his statement, a figure emerged from the darkness of the backstage area. Rathus stared in confusion, blinking the dust from his eyes. For a moment, he thought he was seeing double, until he realized that one of the two Professor Wardenclyffes was holding an umbrella, and the other was 12 feet tall, made of iron, and shooting a machine gun from its shoulder.

The elderly Orc professor casually speed-walked over to the pair of Knights, crouching behind the stage with them.

"MY APOLOGIES," he shouted politely, "I TRIED MY BEST TO STOP HIM, BUT THEN I REALIZED THAT I REALLY WANTED TO SEE IT FIGHT."

"YOU SHOULD GET OUT OF HERE!" Rathus shout-shouted, waving his hand in the general direction of 'not being shot to shit with bullets'. "IT'S NOT SAFE!"

Professor Wardenclyffe scoffed, tapping his prodigious noggin before jerking his thumb up at his umbrella. "NEVER YOU FEAR, YOUNG CHAP. I'VE GOT MY PATENT-PENDING 'WARDENCLYFFE BULLET UMBRELLA', TO DEFLECT THE WORST RAINS OF BULLETS."

Musashi raised an eyebrow, looking up at the relatively mundane-looking umbrella. "DOES THAT ACTUALLY WORK?" he asked, potentially impressed.

"OH YES," Wardenclyffe responded, beaming a proud, fang-filled smile. "I WAS ONLY HIT BY SIX BULLETS WHEN I WALKED OVER TO YOU."

Rathus glanced at the bloodstains spotting the Professor's jacket. "I THINK YOU MIGHT NEED MEDICAL ATTENTION," he suggested. He glanced over to Musashi to see if there was any potion left, but between the pair the entire vial had already been used up.

"NONSENSE!" Professor Wardenclyffe snorted, "I'M THE PICTURE OF MENTAL HEALTH. MY MIND IS AS WATER-TIGHT AS A BEAR TRAP."

Rathus opened and closed his mouth, unsure of what to say in response to that. The Professor leaned in anyways, clapping both of the Gun Knights on one shoulder as he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial shout.

"NOW. HOW ARE YOU LADS PLANNING ON TAKING DOWN MY BATTLE BODY?"

Musashi reached down to his Holdster, pulling out a Rocket Lance. "SHOOT IT WITH ROCKETS UNTIL IT'S DEAD," he declared. Professor Wardenclyffe's eyes lit up with delight.

"HA! NOW THAT'S THE KIND OF FORWARD-THINKING I LIKE TO SEE FROM THE EMPEROR'S FINEST!"

"UNLESS," Rathus interjected, "YOU KNOW SOME KINDA WEAKNESS THAT WE CAN USE."

"OH, YES," Wardenclyffe replied with a nod. "I BUILD ALL OF MY DEVICES WITH A WEAK SPOT, IN CASE THEY DECIDE TO RISE UP AGAINST THEIR MASTER." The professor thought back to the tragic events that had culminated in his having to drop his automatic clothes-washer into a pit of molten metal. Never again.

Rathus heaved a sigh of relief, cinching his belt tight. He checked his Holdster and was relieved to see it hadn't experienced any interference from its brief stay in Somewhere Convenient. "ALRIGHT," he asked, "WHAT'S THE WEAKNESS?"

Wardenclyffe smiled at him, tickled by his own stroke of genius. "KILL THE PILOT."

"OK." Rathus said.

"BUT YOU'RE IN LUCK!" Wardenclyffe said cheerfully, "IT'S CURRENTLY IN 'DISPLAY MODE', NOT 'COMBAT MODE'. THAT SHOULD MAKE YOUR JOB QUITE A BIT EASIER!"

"HOW WILL WE KNOW IF IT GOES INTO COMBAT MODE?" Musashi asked, popping up from below the stage to fire his Rocket Lance. The rocket erupted with a gout of flame and flew forwards, striking the construct in the chest in a great explosion.

The battle body stumbled back from the blow, machine gun fire spraying wildly up into the rafters. Thankfully, the dancers had since been retrieved, and the only casualties were a few of the lights, and a lone stagehand, but don't worry because he was a huge dick and probably deserved it. The machine gun fire stopped, giving the Gun Knights a blessed reprieve from the sound.

The golem suit staggered forward a bit, as if controlled by somebody who either wasn't familiar with, or possibly could not reach the controls properly. The iron head turned to face Musashi. The Gun Knight tossed aside the depleted, still-smoking firing tube of the rocket and reached down to his Holdster, pulling out another one.

The battle body stared at him, face wide and smiling. Suddenly, with hiss of released air, the intricately-carved iron eyebrows shot out several inches from the face, each one held on the end of a piston. With another hiss, and a quiet grinding sound, the eyebrows rotated slowly, before slamming back into place, changing the statue's expression from a friendly, jovial one, to a defiant, mocking smile that dripped with pure malice and contempt.

"Oh no!" Professor Wardenclyffe exclaimed happily, "It's entered COMBAT MODE!"

At this pronouncement, every inch of the Golem Suit's body erupted outwards to reveal hidden weapons.

"A thing of true beauty," Professor Wardenclyffe cooed. The construct lifted one leg, crushing several guns that were poking out of the gaps in its knee joint. It took one earth-shaking step forwards, crushing all of the dozen or so gun barrels that were poking out of the bottom of its feet.

"1,578 separate guns. 8 flamethrowers. 128 micro-rockets. 2 macro-rockets. 5 rocks. 20 Star Magic projectiles. 3 different ejectable energy axes."

"Don't you think that's a bit excessive?" Rathus asked. "I love guns as much as the next guy, but if you've got that many, how are ya even going to store enough ammo for them all?"

Professor Wardenclyffe's eyes flashed. "There's plenty of storage in the central cavity! It also doubles as a protective layer for the pilot. Think of it like one of those ball pits at a Makka's. Except bullets."

"Evocative image," Rathus noted. "But ya know, if it attacks like that, it's bound to hit the audience one way or another."

Musashi fired another Rocket Lance, blasting off the machine-gun as it turned back towards him. He tossed the firing tube at the golem as it took a step, rolling the tube under the battle body's foot as it planted it on the stage. Unfortunately for him, rather than trip the construct, the pipe was instead crushed underfoot like a soda can.

"I think we're going to need to hit it with something harder," Musashi replied. "Ah, doesn't this take you back, Rathus?"

"To which time?" The older Gun Knight asked, hovering his hand over his Holdster. He mentally sorted through the guns within, Recalling his personal armory to try to find the best fit for the situation. "D'you mean the time with the Dracula, or the time with the bone mech? Or didja mean the self-battering ram?"

Musashi paused, blinking in surprise. "Hm. I meant the sharkbot, actually. We seem to run into golems a lot, don't we?"

"I try not to think about it too hard," Rathus admitted, drawing out his Gun That Shoots Cold. He held the makeshift weapon up, gesturing to Musashi with it. He'd recovered it from a bandit a few months back, and it had all the signs of a home-made endeavor, with none of the charm. An old pistol somewhere had been stripped of its handle and base, with a Star Magic wand unceremoniously bound to the top with steel wire. A poorly-scrawled Script was welded to the side, set into a copper plate.

Rathus had claimed it, and seeing as it definitely was not a stock model, had been tasked with naming it in his report. He hadn't bothered to Name it in full, as it hardly seemed worth it. But, despite its shoddy appearance, he'd been surprisingly pleased with the results it tended to bring about.

"Ah, wonderful," Musashi said, looking over at his comrade's weapon. "Shall I hang it on the fridge?"

"I didn't make it myself," Rathus countered, slightly defensive. "It shoots a cone of cold. That construct's iron, not steel. I figure a solid shot or two with this should make it a lot more brittle for yer rockets."

"Hm, perhaps that—"

Musashi was interrupted by Zetsurin landing on his shoulders from mid-air. She had her spear slung across her back, and was holding a large bucket in each hand. She reached ahead of herself and dropped the buckets onto the edge of the broken, bullet-torn wrestling ring.

"Sorry to cut in," she announced, holding up her hands in front of her while Musashi needlessly grabbed her ankles to steady her. He had no idea why she'd chosen to land on his shoulders, but he just rolled with it because he was a cool guy like that. Zetsurin's eyes flicked at the various weapons jutting from the golem's frame as it slowly stepped forward once more. She hesitated, perturbed by the strange lack of a cloud of bullets that shredded everything in the surroundings to a fine mist.

"Is it... waiting for something?" she asked Wardenclyffe.

The Orc inventor shook his head. "Oh, he's probably just having trouble figuring out the controls. I set it up in goofy stance."

Zetsurin wasn't sure what Wardenclyffe had meant by that, but knew better than to ask. She'd gotten the gist of it anyways.

"Right then," she said, holding her hands out, palms down. She moved one hand over each bucket, splaying her fingers as she drew a deep breath.

"WATER" she Spoke, and the water in the buckets surged out in thick, viscous blobs, moving sluggishly.

She raised her hands up with the gentle grace of a conductor, then crossed her wrists with a sharp chop. The water began to thin into a ribbon, spinning around her in two overlapping arcs. The entirety of each bucket compressed into a thin, flat ring that orbited the Merrow woman with increasing speed. She raised her hands to her face, and heard the discordant, ominous chorus of 1,530 guns all priming at once.

She held her hands up and sighted the golem, framing it in a rough triangle formed by the thumb and forefinger of each hand. She shoved her arms forward, thrusting towards the battle body, and the water around her responded in kind. The ribbons blasted ahead of her, in two massive slashes that crossed right below the golem's neck. The water flew past the golem, losing coherence as it went, to splash harmlessly across the stage.

Zetsurin picked up her buckets and hopped off of Musashi's shoulders, stacking one bucket neatly into the other. She glanced down at the Rocket Lance in Musashi's hand. "Don't bother," she cautioned him. "It's already dead." She raised her hand into the air and snapped her fingers once, just for the style of it.

The golem fell apart, head and arms removed and falling from the torso with the ear-rending screech of metal on metal. Professor Wardenclyffe stared at his creation's undoing, eyes wide with despair.

"NO!" he cried, falling to his knees. "MY BEAUTIFUL CREATION!"

He stared accusingly at Zetsurin, eyes welling with tears. He held his hands up to his face, his fingers shaking with grief. "YOU CUT IT IN HALF! DON'T YOU KNOW HOW BADLY I WANTED TO DO THAT?"

Rathus ignored the tragedy that had just occurred. He wasn't about to let Regis sneak off to pull some other scheme. He hopped onto the stage, running across and past the fallen ropes, which had been decimated by bullet fire. He leaped off the stage and onto the golem's chest, clutching to it like a squirrel thrown at a tree.

He ran his hands along the front of the chest until he found the seam, then dug into it with both hands. Straining, he pulled the panels of the golem's chest apart inch by inch. The metal shrieked as it bent, far more slowly than he would have liked. If his Vow had been activated, he could have torn it apart like balsa wood, but he could still manage with his base strength. He heaved to one side, revealing the inside of the cockpit. A pile of bullets poured out, spilling onto the ground. Rathus kicked them aside and leveled his gun, pointing it at the terrified stagehand inside.

The Gun Knight looked at the pile of bullets which came up to the young man's waist. He gestured downwards with his gun.

"Is Regis hiding under there?"

The stagehand shook his head emphatically, hands above his head in a fearful surrender. "N-no sir!" He exclaimed, "He went running for the docks out back. Honest!"

Rathus grunted in annoyance and jumped off the golem, signalling to Musashi as he and Zetsurin approached.

"We've been played," he informed them. "This was just a distraction. Regis is heading for the docks." He ran backstage, followed close behind by Musashi. Zetsurin pulled ahead of him, wincing a bit as she rubbed at her chest where she'd been shot.

"Back door is over this way," she said, guiding them to the fastest route that would lead out of the bordello.

"Are you sure he wasn't hiding in there?" Musashi asked Rathus as they ran. "That announcement of his..."

"He used the stage's sound system," Zetsurin explained, hopping over a rack of spears that had been used in Magical Margaret's show. "He was backstage the whole time."

Zetsurin turned a corner and swung her spear off her back, jabbing forward to knock open a steel door, which opened into a private dock on the lake. Night had fallen in full, and the lights from the buildings around the shoreline danced on the water's surface, lighting up the nearest parts before fading into inky blackness on the far side of the lake.

The dock extended out into the lake, enough space for a few small boats. One of the berths was occupied by a modest yacht, while the other was empty. A rope was still tied to one of the piers, hastily cut a foot or two from the mooring spot. Rathus peered out over the lake, and spotted a small rowboat in the distance, helmed by a lone Dwarf.

"There," he pointed, tucking his Gun That Shoots Cold back into his Holdster, switching it out for a rifle. Zetsurin growled and reached into her Kimono, pulling a long strip of gossamer fabric from where it had been wrapped around her shoulders. The Merrow woman ran one hand along the width of the fabric strip, drawing it wider with a touch of her fingers like some kind of crazy seamstress magic trick. The fabric expanded and unfolded into a hooded shawl, her Skin, which she threw over her shoulders and drew tight.

Instantly, the translucent fabric expanded to cover the length of her body, shimmering in the lights from the bordello. She took a running leap into the water, Manifesting as soon as she submerged, taking the form of a broadbill and speeding away towards the boat.

Rathus and Musashi, unable to make such a transformation, stood awkwardly on the docks. Rathus took a shot at the Dwarf, but was unsurprised to see his shot curve around its target, the power of the Amulet he had stolen still working its magic. With a loud whoosh of flame, Musashi loosed another Rocket Lance, sending it hurtling out towards the boat. This, too, was deflected, and sent into the trees on the far side of the lake, where it erupted in a violent conflagration.

Rathus stared at the cloud of smoke in alarm. It was too dark on that side of the lake to see what, exactly, the rocket had hit. "Musashi..."

"Relax," he replied, chuckling nervously. "I doubt anybody lives on that side of the lake. It's probably just trees."

Rathus frowned. "Still. Better to avoid any more collateral damage. No sense in shooting more'a those things off if he's just gonna deflect them with his amulet."

The Gun Knight wondered how long it would take to catch up to the Dwarf. Zetsurin was making good pace, he assumed, but he had no idea what counted as 'fast' for a fish. To be honest, Regis was floundering a bit. Maybe it had to do with his injuries, or maybe it was more a factor of how much he hated boats, but he had gotten a bit of a headstart from the fight with the giant Wardenclyffe statue, and he hadn't managed to reach the other side of the lake.

Actually... why was he trying to get to the other side of the lake, anyways? If he was just trying to get away, wouldn't it have made more sense to just take the boat over to another dock? There were hundreds of places in town a Dwarf could hide, and nobody would think twice if he were to leave town. Maybe—

Rathus's train of thought was derailed suddenly, as if somebody had put a comically large banana peel on the tracks.

"Musashi," he asked quietly. "What the hell are you doing?"

Musashi looked up at Rathus, arms held to the side to maintain balance as he wobbled on top of the cone of his Rocket Lance. He had propped a crate under the front half of the tube, so that it was aiming skyward. Musashi had both feet tight together, perched on the rocket's cone.

"Well, I thought about what you said," he explained. Rathus remained silent. He was awaiting the rest of the logic that somehow connected his statement to the current events. Surely, there had to be more.

Musashi scratched the side of his face as he looked down, deep in thought. Finally, he shook his head, hopping off the rocket lance.

"No... this is stupid."

Rathus heaved a small sigh of relief. He didn't have any desire to get run out of town, and that definitely seemed like the sort of thing that—

Musashi fired the rocket out over the lake, aiming high into the air. Immediately, he dropped the firing tube and lifted his left arm, shooting the zipRat after the rocket. The hook fixed to the end, and the line reeled out, before snapping taut and yanking the Gun Knight into the sky. As Rathus watched, Musashi triggered the reel of the device, and was drawn in to the rocket, rocking with momentum to land on top of the munition in a surfer's pose.

"LET'S SEE HIM DEFLECT THIS!" He shouted, pulling out another rocket lance, and then another. The Gun Knight aimed down at the boat far below him, and let loose with both rockets, throwing the tubes aside to continue to pull more from his Holdster.

Down below, the powerful field of Regis's stolen Amulet was successful in protecting him, in a sense. It dutifully did its job, deflecting the rocket from its target. Directly into the surface of the water to the side of the boat. The submerged explosion rocked the boat, plashing copious amounts of water into it and sending Regis stumbling . The surface of the lake around the boat erupted into a war-zone, as explosions shook the small dinghy wildly. Regis crouched and covered his head, doing his best to avoid falling from the boat.

As the last rocket shot towards Regis, a sudden sphere of green light appeared around the Dwarf, before shattering violently. The rocket was deflected, but imperfectly. The Protection from Bullets spell sent it spiraling into the water a foot or two from the boat, close enough for the explosion to severely damage its side. The Amulet was out of Mana. Musashi crowed with laughter, pulling out two more rockets.

"HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW?!" he asked (rhetorically), firing another pair of rockets down at the Dwarf. Regis stood, and from across the lake, Rathus was able to see his eyes and hair light up, as he Manifested once more. The Dwarf, steadying himself on an oar, held up one hand towards the impending munitions, and Spoke.

"FIRE"

The jets of flame propelling the rockets sputtered and twisted suddenly, veering bizarrely to the side as they obeyed his command. The rockets curved away from him as they approached, guided by the fire spewing forth behind them. The rockets gently swept across the surface of the lake, taking a wide approach as they rerouted back to their source, homing in on Musashi.

"Ah." the Gun Knight said, before he was engulfed in the joint explosion of three Rocket Lances.

Regis chuckled to himself, atop his slowly-sinking boat. He looked at the massive smoke-cloud, triumphantly. "Perhaps you've learned a lesson, here," he murmured, still in the villain-cliche zone from acting the Heel in his wrestling match. He was about to turn and figure out how well he could row half a boat, when Musashi's body fell from the debris, bruised, bloody, smoking, and holding a rifle in one hand.

"Oh no," Regis said, before a bullet ripped into the center of his stomach. The force of the impact (along with his surprise) sent him stumbling backwards, causing his ship to give up the ghost entirely and capsize onto him.

Musashi, falling from the sky, managed to pose defiantly with the last of his strength, before unconsciousness took him. He careened towards the water, rifle falling from his grip. At the last moment, a broadbill erupted from the water, leaping towards the falling Gun Knight. A gossamer sheet passed over it, and as it swept away, Zetsurin Seiryoku was in its place, catching the Gun Knight and splashing back into the water. The rifle fell in, unattended, and sank to the bottom of the lake, its duty done. We will never forget you, rifle. Sleep well, sweet prince.

Zetsurin swam back to the docks, much more gracefully than Rathus would have expected from somebody hauling an unconscious person behind them.

She splashed up to the side of the pier, reaching a hand up. Rathus helped her up onto the dock, pulling her out of the water far enough for him to take Musashi from off her hands. He seized the Gun Knight by the belt and hauled him up, depositing him onto the wood planks. Cold lake water poured out from under his clothes, dripping from his face. Zetsurin erupted from the water, landing on the dock beside the pair.

Musashi coughed weakly, opening his eyes the barest amount to look up at Rathus. "R-Rathus," he murmured. "My... my face...?"

"You're just as ugly as ya were this morning," Rathus replied.

"Oh," Musashi croaked, relief flooding his face. "Thank God." The Gun Knight passed out once more.

*******

An attendant came into the room, pushing a cart laden with several wide-brimmed coupe glasses, and a variety of liqueurs on ice. A second attendant followed in behind, and they immediately set to work constructing a champagne tower on the table, grouping the glasses tightly together and stacking them into a pyramid three layers high. As one aligned the cups, another quickly and exactly poured a few different liqueurs into each cup, changing the type and quantities a bit for each glass.

It was one of the special techniques Regis had instilled into the workers of the Ocean's Motion. The cups were arranged just so, with just the right amount of liqueur at the bottoms of each cup, so that one could pour Frostwine, or another clear drink, into the top cup alone. The alcohol would spill over the sides, into the next layer, where it would mix with the colored liqueurs within, before spilling down into the next layer, transforming the crystal pyramid into a stunning gradient of colors.

Ruth watched the tower being constructed with one half-lidded eye. She was draped comfortably in a cushioned chair, her arms held limply out to the sides, while two handsome Hosts expertly manicured her fingers. The princess tilted her head to one side, and another Host fed her a grape from the vine, dangling it over her head and letting her pick one with her teeth. The princess savored the sweet taste of the fruit, and the even sweeter taste of luxury, melting into the chair like a handful of ice cream.

It had been too long, since she'd allowed herself to be pampered. Even discounting the terrible experience of traveling without a proper stagecoach, it had been months since she'd been treated as a princess should. Baron Durgen had been immediately disinterested with her and —if she had to wager a guess— even annoyed by her. He'd had her sent to the Dungeon. Yes, in a way, she had been thrilled with playing the storybook role of a damsel in distress, but the fact still remained that it had impacted her standard of living.

The princess withdrew her hand and gestured to one of the attendants, who added another scoop of chocolate ice cream to her currently-being-constructed sundae. She nodded gracefully, and then leaned back as the attendant grabbed the container of chocolate shavings. One of the hosts placed cucumber slices on her eyes. The Natural Law inherent in the vegetable did its work, cooling and freshening her face, which was probably really good for her skin because of some bullshit health reason.

Suddenly, the door burst open. Ruth jerked upright, flinging the cucumbers into the air. One of the hosts deftly snatched them before they fell, setting them on a small silver tray. Rathus and Zetsurin burst into the room, carrying Musashi behind them. He was still shirtless, and his perfect body was besmirched by all manner of bruises, mangled wounds, and the raw red flesh of a recent burn. Ruth stood to her feet, hurrying over to gently powerslide beneath Musashi's head as he was set down. She placed her hand upon his brow with expert precision, attending to a wounded champion exactly as she'd learned in her studies.

"Musashi!" she cried out, heart pounding in her chest. "What's happened to him?"

"He got in an argument with some rockets," Rathus explained. He grinned to himself, but his merriment dimmed when he saw the princess's expression. "He'll be fine," he assured her. "He's been through way worse than this. He's just unconscious."

Ruth stared down at his unconscious face, and began to blush. She looked furtively up at Rathus and Zetsurin.

"D-do you think he'd wake up if I were t-to um... That is, being a... a princess and all that entails, do you think if I were to k-kiss him, he would—?"

"That'd probably do it, yes," Musashi suggested, groaning.

The princess yelped in surprise, jerking back and causing the Gun Knight's head to impact the unforgiving, luxuriously soft carpet of the floor. He grunted in pain.

"I-I'm sorry!" Ruth said, face pale from the guilt of having callously torn away her lap pillow from the injured knight. "I... I can heal you, can't I? If I were to invoke your Vow, then the self-healing should mend you in no time at all. Rathus explained it to me."

"No!" Musashi replied suddenly, sitting up with a jerk. He winced and lay back down, forced into calmness by the screaming pain of his injuries. "I mean, that won't be necessary, your highness. I just need some healing potions. I'll be better in no time at all."

Zetsurin turned to one of the attendants, who was staring in shock at the most excitement he'd seen since last Tuesday. She glared at him until he was properly shamed into a correct customer service mindset. He threw her a crisp salute, as she jerked her head towards the door.

"Healing potions. Quickly."

The attendant saluted again and hurried out the door. Rathus slumped down to the ground next to Musashi, rubbing at the small of his back, which was still pretty sore from Regis's finishing move. On the floor, Musashi nodded once to him, as if to say 'sup'. Rathus gave him the nod back, as you do.

"When you were... swimming back with me," Musashi breathed to Zetsurin, speaking as if every word took a great deal of effort. "I thought I saw Regis come out of the lake. We should—"

"I can go," Rathus interrupted him. "If you go running around right after healing a serious injury with a potion, it might foul up the healing."

Zetsurin pointedly looked away, examining the champagne tower with great interest.

Musashi chuckled. "I suppose I will take you up on that offer, Rathus. As much as I wish to stomp around in the woods in the dark, hunting for a murderous Dwarf, I'll have to leave it to you."

Rathus stood to his feet, and noticed Ruth's whole setup as if for the first time. A muzzled harpist played enchanting woodland melodies in one of the corners, while three Hosts casually posed behind a throne-like recliner, feeding each other grapes. He glanced from the champagne tower to the massive ice cream sundae on the table, then looked to Ruth, raising an eyebrow. The princess, still kneeling on the ground, sat up straight, face imperious, defying the Knight to tell her she didn't deserve it.

Instead, Rathus tore his gaze away and directed his questions to Zetsurin instead. "Do y'mind if Ruth stays here while I go look?"

Zetsurin beamed, nodding to the princess assuredly. "Absolutely. Her Highness is welcome to stay for as long as she wants. It's the least we can do, when she's given us a gift so great."

That statement had all kinds of worrying interpretations, but Rathus didn't have time to get into it. He'd just trust that Ruth would be fine for now. He had a Dwarf to catch, again. He was starting to get tired of this chase.

*******

The woods across from the lake were still and quiet, broken only by the hooting of owls, the quiet rush of leaves in the wind, and the occasional ear-piercing screech of a screamer frog. Rathus walked along the lakeside, pausing to pick up one of the screeching amphibians and gently hurl it into the lake. With his surroundings now blessedly silent, he continued along the muddy beach. He had donned his Unglasses, and was viewing the world through the brightened view they provided. The color was a bit muted, but... ah.

He moved forward and picked up the object he'd spotted. A feather-duster, mired in the mud near the water. Feather-dusters weren't native to this area, so he had a sneaking suspicion as to how this one had arrived here. He was intensely irritated at the Rasputin-like resilience of this Dwarf, but his ire was at least calmed somewhat by the fact that he'd at least found something Regis couldn't do properly: die.

The Gun Knight took his Unglasses off, pitching his vision back into darkness, but a darkness that was at least not monochrome. He crouched down, and spotted some splatterings of blood, leading into the woods. The Gun Knight drew a shotgun and gave chase, stalking the trail left by the wounded Harem Master.

It didn't take long for Rathus to catch up to the end of the trail, and by the time he was done with Regis, there was nothing left but a bloody smear around the clearing. Rathus moved over to a recently-felled stump and sat down. There wasn't much left of Regis, by all appearances, but in this case it had been like that when Rathus got there.

The Gun Knight looked around the area. This was not a natural clearing. There were a few subtle hints, such as the splintered and broken tree trunks that were scattered about the edge of the treeline, and the massive, gouging clawmarks in earth and wood. He looked again to the center of the clearing. Blood and shreds of finely-woven silk scattered this way and that. And, most damningly, the dismembered leg of a male Dwarf, wearing the torn leg of a pair of suitpants.

Rathus had seen that leg before, at great speed and painfully close. It would seem that Regis had stumbled his way to freedom, only to run into a monster of some kind. The Gun Knight looked down at a track in the mud. A massive, clawed paw-print the size of a dinner plate. Some kind of wolf-monster, but not one that he recognized. It was too large even for a Direwolf. Perhaps it was a Diredirewolf, but he thought that was unlikely. Diredirewolves had been thought extinct for the last 15 years.

The Gun Knight wished he had brought his cigarettes with him. That hadn't seemed the sort of thing for a Knight to bring to a formal gathering, so he'd left them at the inn, along with his better armor, and the rest of his potions and tools. He made a mental note to himself that he had been right to always wear his Combat Raiment.

He stood and brushed his hands off on his pants, the dirt sticking to them. Looks like their Overlays had also been disrupted. He'd need to requisition a new Dress Raiment from Western Command at some point. Rathus gave one last look at the dismembered leg of the Dwarf. At least Regis was dealt with. He wished he'd been able to arrest him properly, to find out why he had murdered Crumpet, but he supposed he'd settle for dead as well.

The Gun Knight began the slow walk back to town. Regis... was dead, wasn't he? It was a hard thing to consider any alternatives to. Either Regis was dead, or he had stumbled out of the lake after being beaten half to death and shot, then he'd met a giant wolf, wrestled it into submission, tamed it, and was riding it away somewhere.

Rathus grimaced. Yeah. Actually, there was a good chance of that, wasn't there? He trudged back through the mud, adding a mental note to his itinerary. Tomorrow, he'd look into this wolf. Even if the ex-Harem Master was dead, he shouldn't let something that dangerous stalk around this close to a town.

*****

The night closed out, and Rathus was back in his comfortable, easy-wearing Combat Raiment. Of course, he'd taken the coat and breastplate off, but had them close at hand should the need arise. He had slept only a few nights ago, but he felt that after that ordeal, a good night's rest would definitely be the ticket.

Ruth was writing diligently, copying the hastily-scrawled text from her journal into more neat handwriting, in a separate tome.

"Tonight was amazing, Rathus. Possibly the best night of my life, I might say."

Rathus grunted, shifting the ice pack on his back.

"Besides the food and the shows..." Ruth's expression soured as she recalled the Dozing Lord Wyllem show, "Well, most of the shows, anyhow."

She blotted her page and turned it, flipping her journal to the next set of chaotic symbols. "Even discounting all of that, I got to see Musashi fight, in person! And he was... I was talking to him. Really, truly, talking to him. He even ate my pie."

Ruth blinked and then blushed at her entendre as it doubled without her realizing. She chuckled, a low, lecherous laugh that didn't suit her at all.

"And then, of course, after all that business was said and done, I finally received the treatment I deserve. Well-earned, after the adventures we've been on, wouldn't you say?"

Rathus wondered whether it could even be considered adventures, plural, but held his tongue. Instead, he addressed the thing he'd avoided earlier.

"Yeah, that was, uh, quite a spread, yer highness. If you don't mind me asking, how much of your money did'ya wind up spending?"

Ruth looked up at the Knight, expression guilty, as if she had been caught stealing a cookie out of the cookie jar, or thousands of Dosh out of a royal treasury.

"Ah," she replied. "About that..."

She was saved from a potentially awkward conversation by the bell. That is to say, by a sudden ringing that emanated from Rathus's backpack. The Gun Knight looked over to his bag from where it sat near his desk. He walked over to it and rummaged around, before pulling out his Shell Phone.

"Moshi moshi, Rathus desu," he replied, into the opening. He listened to the response, quiet, only giving an affirmative "yeah" and "uh-huh" and occasionally a "no". Ruth went back to her work, but stopped when she heard the Gun Knight say, "Yeah, let me check if she's awake."

The princess stared up, as Rathus nodded (pointlessly) to the phone, then handed it out to her, hand covering the opening. He gave the princess a stony look, like somebody who is hanging out at a friend's house, sitting awkwardly and petting a cat while two other people get in a heated argument which you have no stake in.

"It's your dad," he whispered.

Princess Ruth Greer, Imperial Sovereign, fifth princess of Dennis, stared down at the Echo Conch, and began to sweat.