The organizers were once again gathered to discuss Ichkadeshtu when Haol dropped a bomb: “He's not the only one. You’ve all been focusing on him, so you haven’t noticed, but all the factions are doing it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Take, for example, the land soldiers: They spar when matched up against each other, competing just hard enough to determine who’s the better fighter. But if their bout is with someone from another faction, they expend themselves recklessly, holding nothing back. They’ve also conceded when faced with their leaders, which means that none of the captains has fought a single fight.”

“Ah,” Tegen said. “The land soldiers know they won’t win the tournament, and forcing the other factions to fight harder improves the odds for one of their captains to take the prize.”

As the implications sank in, it became clear to me why the land soldiers had entered so many of their people into the tournament. I’d assumed it was a gesture of support, or the captains thought the tournament would be a good learning opportunity for their people. But, well, that turned out to be naïve, didn’t it?

Although those reasons could still be valid, in addition to them wanting to win and being willing to game the system. And the same was true for Crunei’s Garden and Aslishtei too, for that matter. They also registered people for the tournament who didn’t have a chance of winning.

I shook my head. It didn’t matter where you went, or even what world you were in, people would find a way to min-max the odds of their success.

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“The primary goal appears to be to exhaust their opponents, but the alchemists are seeing more injuries than expected—nothing like what Ichkadeshtu did, but it’s obvious that some aren’t holding back as much as they should.”

“Nothing crippling?” Mumu asked.

Haol shook his head. “That’s only been Ichkadeshtu so far.”

“Next year,” I said. “We’ll need to be more explicit about the rules. Ikfael had to intercede in his last fight.”

Mumu nodded. “Agreed. What the others are doing, however, is allowed, and I don’t see how we can dissuade them. The tournament is open to anyone who wants to enter—to give them a chance at Ikfael’s Boon.”

“I’m going to make the case to her to exclude the Healer’s Lodge in the future. Their behavior warrants it, and I don’t think she’ll disagree.” I scratched my head, thinking. “We should also consider referees for every bout to make sure people don’t go too far. I don’t know who we’d recruit, though, unless they were also masked.”

Uncle Kila had been listening to the discussion, jotting down notes, and I saw him nod at the idea. Given how well his family had been handling the tournament’s logistics so far, I felt I could trust them to make it happen.

###

Ichkadeshtu’s opponent in the third round was another land soldier. The poor man’s name was Clood, and the expression on his face made him look like he faced the gallows. He chose the spear for his weapon, and then once the bout began, he did everything in his power to keep the unarmed Ichkadeshtu at bay.

At first glance, his actions seemed cowardly, but the longer he fought, the better he looked. His handling of the weapon wasn’t as technically good as Mumu’s, but his tactical decision making from moment to moment was excellent.

Whenever Ichkadeshtu slid past a thrust to close the distance, Clood repositioned the spear and used it like a staff to bat him away. In fact, every part of the spear was put to work to create openings and then close them again—luring his opponent in and pushing him out to force him toward the boundary and out of the ring.

Except, Ichkadeshtu always managed to stay in, either by slipping past the attacks or by taking the hits, the latter of which Clood punished mercilessly by casting the soldier equivalent of the Ram’s Head spell.

Whatever Ichkadeshtu used to reinforce his body, it didn’t hold in those moments, and the meaty thumps were accompanied by the sound of breaking ribs. Yet, he never stopped moving, and all it took was a moment’s breath for his deformed chest to fill out again.

The frustration in Clood’s eyes was shared by many others in the crowd, and the disappointment only increased when it became obvious the land soldier was out of qi. Over time, his steps became heavier, and sweat poured down his face. Ichkadeshtu, on the other hand, appeared winded but fine.

At the end, Clood simply took a step back, saw that there was nothing more to gain, and said, “I concede.”

Some in the audience made dismissive remarks, but I spotted the land soldiers among them nodding at his decision. In their eyes, he’d made the right call, and I agreed. If nothing else, Clood frustrated the healers’ plan to disrupt the tournament, which annoyed Ichkadeshtu from the look of things—he stomped off to register the win.

Meanwhile, Clood leaned on his spear and accepted the congratulations of his team. For good reason too, he’d fought beautifully and come out unscathed. Honestly, I felt like I learned a lot from the bout, and I revised my opinion of Clood’s spear.

The amazing thing was that his talents were good but unexceptional.

Clood of Arvooren (Human)

Talents: Stalwart, Thoughtful in a Pinch, Well-Trained

It proved that talents weren’t everything. They helped tremendously—I’d be lying if I said otherwise—but people could excel without them. That was a good reminder, since I’d noticed more than once my own collection of talents inflating my ego.

###

Lunch was duck stew with a vinegary green sauce; I scarfed the bowl down more quickly than it deserved. The field had winnowed—there were only thirty fighters left in the competition—and my help was needed to refresh the rings before the next round started.

As I laid down new lines of sand and dog piss, I couldn’t help thinking that the next set of bouts should make for an amazing show, no matter what Ichkadeshtu would try to do. The news was out about how he’d been frustrated. People knew that if they couldn’t win against him, they could just tax his resources, then concede.

Assuming they were willing to, of course. The tournament’s big hitters all looked determined to win—each had claimed a section of the plaza nearby for themselves and their people, and they sat listening intently to reports on their opponents’ battles so far.

I would’ve loved to wander between the groups to network and maybe eavesdrop on their conversations, but people expected the tournament’s sponsor to ‘establish the rings.’ The responsibility was supposedly an honor, which was passed onto me, since no one thought a spirit of the land should do the work.

When all the rings had been re-lined, I went to get Ikfael, so that she could bless them anew. I’d worked up a sweat despite the cold and was thinking about a quick breather before running to see where my help was needed next. So far, I hadn’t spotted anyone in hiding, and the various factions were sticking to themselves, even Ichkadeshtu’s team.

Glancing over, I saw that he’d managed to eat several bowls of stew, along with a platter of assorted roasted vegetables and meats his team had acquired from the festival market. That regeneration of his didn’t come free then; he had to pay for it, at least partially with food. The rest was likely... body power? I hadn’t scented any qi or mana at the times he’d healed himself.

I would’ve thought he’d try to hide the fact from his opponent, unless he was supremely confident in his abilities... or... or... I was overthinking things. The other competitors might already know or suspect how his talents worked even if I didn’t. Magic worked along certain principles, after all. So did talents, and both operated within the same System, following the World Spirit’s rules.

While my Talent Scout didn’t cost anything, it was reasonable to assume that something as resource intensive as regeneration would, in which case those resources would need to be replaced. The people of this world would treat that understanding as common knowledge.

As far I knew, only Soul Marks broke the rules. Or, more accurately, they affected how the rules were applied.

I planned to ask Ikfael later to confirm my reasoning, but my gut told me that I was probably right, and Yuki agreed too. They were also in a position where common sense wasn’t, and they were learning all this stuff alongside me.

My mind had gone wandering again, and Yuki gave me a gentle squeeze to let me know it was all right—Ikfael was just finishing up. So, I followed her back to the pavilion where Uncle Kila’s crew had hovered nearby. They’d take care of putting the piss and handcart full of sand away.

###

I was called away from the fourth-round bouts, because someone came to beg Ikfael for the Healing Water spell. I’d been prepared to watch Ichkadeshtu fight one of the land soldier captains—me along with practically everyone else since it promised to be a doozy of a battle—when Teila came running to let me know I was needed at the pavilion.

That was where I found three teenagers with bags over their heads. The eye holes looked like they’d been poked out with sharp sticks, and the vibe spoke of cheap scarecrow costumes. If it weren’t for the earnest desparation of their spirits, I would’ve written them off as pranksters.

During the exchange, only one spoke to represent the others. They were siblings; that was obvious from their names and the way their spirits mingled, and the speaker appeared to be the oldest among them.

The youngsters only had an eltaak and change between them, which is why he offered himself up as a slave in exchange for the other two learning the spell. And Ikfael considered it too, as Knight Otter adopted her thinking pose, hand under chin.

Meanwhile, I shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. My stance on slavery wasn’t a secret—not in the Glen and not in Voorhei—so she knew my preferences, but it wasn’t my decision, was it?

“I decline this exchange,” Knight Otter eventually signed. “My home is busy, and another body wouldn’t help. However, if you sell yourself to this one—” She gestured toward me. “You can then use the money earned to exchange for the spell. He can put you to work at his family’s farm in Voorhei.”

At first the teenagers had slumped in disappointment while I’d sighed in relief, but they’d turned to examine me as she’d continued, and I stared at her in wide-eyed horror. There was no way I’d be buying a slave. Absolutely not.

And Ikfael knew that, didn’t she? Which meant she had something else in mind. I mean, I could buy the kid and then set him free, but that would still put me in the position of participating in the practice. Or I could just give them the money as a gift, essentially becoming their zasha, their benefactor.

Why go to such lengths though? All Ikfael had to do was ask, and I would’ve said yes. Unless this was a test of the teenagers’ resolve? Or... or... to increase the stakes of the exchange.

My Ikfael still hadn’t recovered from saving my life. Her spirit was only about half as bright as before, and that was after all the exchanges she’d made since then. She was fighting to restore herself, I realized, and the bigger the deal, the more meaningful the offers, and the larger the number of people involved, the brighter her spirit glowed afterward.

So, I kept my mouth shut, and let the teenagers murmur amongst themselves—let them stew over the decision. Outside, the crowd roared and hollered at the bouts I was missing, but it might as well have been a different world. Inside the pavilion, all the attention was on three teens deciding their fates.

In the end, Akleis Akleisson agreed to sell himself to me in exchange for his siblings learning the Healing Water spell. I had to ask how much his life was worth, and the answer was that farmers were generally valued at just under an antaak, but that he was young and willing to work hard—

At which point, I stopped him and pledged an antaak. I didn’t actually have the money, since I was broke again, but Ikfael knew I’d be good for it. The kid offered to register himself as my slave first, but I was having none of that. He’d make the exchange first, and then deal with the consequences.

So, the teenagers did, and then they couldn’t believe it when I let Akleis go. That I didn’t want anything further from him and them. They began to sob, which had to be uncomfortable in those pouch-masks of theirs, but it seemed they had a story—a hard luck one.

They were peasants, sure, but if two of the siblings had access to mana magic, their family shouldn’t have been in such dire financial straits. Farmer magic was just as valuable as any other, maybe even more so.

It was easy to imagine someone from their village trying to take advantage, and the kids doing everything they could to find their own path. And the eldest among them was willing to sell his life to do it.

Yeah, I was broke and really couldn’t afford this level of generosity, not until the tournament paid off the lodge’s debt, but the stunned looks in kids’ eyes... it was worth every taak.

###

Ichkadeshtu had won his match. When I asked about it, Mumu shook her head and said, “The battle was fierce, but the victor never in question.”

The fifth round had fifteen competitors, so one of them was randomly selected for a free win, which ended up being Ichkadeshtu, and I couldn’t figure out if that was the universe being fair or unfair. It gave me the chance to see the other fighters in action.

Aslishtei drew a dawn hunter from Albei named Shiakotei.

The fight started with him immediately disappearing into Camouflage, but Aslishtei brought out Little Red. With the summons in play, she knew exactly where the hunter was. Then, she called her cutter hawks into the fight, and every alarm in my head went off. She’d effectively brought a couple dozen knives to a club fight, but the hawks drove Shiakotei to the edge of the ring without diving at him.

I held myself back from interfering, because I’d been told that some of the abilities and spells we’d see were going to be unavoidably damaging. They had to be allowed, or else the tournament wouldn’t be a true test of the fighters’ mettle.

Aslishtei summoned her giant snake next, and the combination with the hawks stymied Shirakotei. He apparently didn’t have access to mana magic, so the lodge’s spells affecting multiple enemies were out of reach. Still, he excelled at the spear, and once he switched from Camouflage to Dog’s Agility, he avoided both the hawks and snake. He whittled away at them, but none of his targets cared how much they were injured. They fought relentlessly at the behest of their summoner.

Then, for the first time, I saw Aslishtei cast a spell on herself—a speed one—and she rocketed forward, the cutter hawks and snake seamlessly making room for her to kick Shirakotei and break his balance. She took a short step to re-balance, then she caught his left arm with a hoop, twisting it around to keep him off balance. At which point, he could no longer defend himself from the snake. It began the process of wrapping him up, and he conceded.

Aslishetei wasn’t just a spellcaster. Although her martial arts skills weren’t as good as the others I’d seen, they were effective enough to get the job done against Shirakotei.

After the bout, I realized that I had put her in a box—one based on preconceived notions of mages from my previous life. Just because someone focused their path on spell craft, didn’t mean they were automatically squishy. I’d known that intellectually, but she helped bring the point home.

I looked around to see if anyone else was fighting and ran over to catch the tail end of a match between Sondo and a member of Crunei’s Garden named Omtu. Both were breathing hard as the wooden swords they wielded clacked and slid against each other. Omtu weapon was bigger and weightier, and he had a massive advantage in reach, but Sondo somehow kept up. He was slippery in a way that went beyond skill.

I reminded myself of his talents—

Sondo the Captain of the Gates (Human)

Talents: Let’s Get Physical, Body Talk, Handles You Right

—but nope, their names were of no obvious help in understanding what was happening under the hood.

Omtu was very much on the offensive—his sword dove at Sondo, his fists lashed out, and his kicks swept low—but Sondo stayed just ahead, deflecting only as much as necessary to conserve his strength and stamina. Then, when it seemed he was out of space to dance out of the way of getting swatted, Sondo’s sword threaded between Omtu’s arm and weapon. He hooked the elbow, then using his sword as a lever, he tossed the doblec forward into a tumble and right out of the ring.

I stopped to consider if I’d seen that right. Sondo had manhandled an unwilling dolbec, and he’d made it look smooth, like Omtu’s trajectory had been oiled in advance.

Fascinating-interesting-curious. The bouts got my imagination going as I considered how the variety of talents, skills, and magic were embodied by the combatants and how they came into conflict. I also couldn’t help my curiosity—wondering how I’d do against them.

Each would be a puzzle, I thought. A stuttering mess of trying things until I figured a way forward. But this wasn’t a game with endless opportunities to fail and restart until I learned the necessary moves over time. The tournament gave every competitor only one shot to move to the next round. And, maybe more importantly, they would be improving right along with me.

The key would be learning faster than everyone else.

###

The sixth round had eight competitors. Ichkadeshtu matched against Aslishtei, and for once, he picked a weapon—a spear.

The bout started promising enough with Aslishtei summoning her hawks and snake in quick succession. Just like in the fight with Shirakotei, they kept her opponent from rushing her. Then, she brought out the flesh-eating butterflies, and, not just me, but everyone in the audience shuddered at seeing those black and green mottled wings. Surely, the butterflies were a step too far, but they only hovered in front of her as an additional shield.

Ichkadeshtu frowned, there was a sweeping sense of mana and qi combining, and his spear multiplied—too many to count as they thrust through the cutter hawks encircling him. It must’ve been the soldier equivalent of my lodge’s Thousand Spears spell, although unlike Mumu’s version that looked like a thorny bramble, his was orderly, regimented, piercing down from the sky to pin the birds to the ground.

As the birds fell from the air and the snake was skewered, Ichkadeshtu was already moving, flying at Aslishtei with his spear extended. He went right through the butterflies, dust and all. So, Aslishtei fought defensively to keep him under the butterflies’ dust, and I watched in horror as it ate at Ichkadeshtu’s face and sections of bone and cartilage became exposed.

He didn’t cry foul, even though the pain must’ve been unimaginable. Instead, he fought zealously, battering Aslishtei’s hoops out of the way to strike at her, and eventually, summarily shove her out of the ring. Then, almost as if to spite her, he stood among the butterflies, glaring, until she could pick herself back up and call them back.

Without a word, the skeleton-faced Ichkadeshtu turned and left. The crowd scrambled to get out of his way, and even as he walked, I saw the flesh and skin regrowing. Gods-damn, but he possessed a powerful combination of talents.

###

The crowds had grown thicker over the course of the day. The roars from the tournament’s spectators had drawn others, and by the time the semi-finals were ready to start, it was impossible to easily go from one ring to the next.

At the far side were Bruta and Wusta, the two leaders of Crunei’s Garden facing off against each other, and at my end, Ichkadeshtu would be fighting Sondo. I kept getting jostled as the spectators maneuvered for better views, but the fighters only traded measuring gazes. They had yet to bow to each other.

For this bout, Ichkadeshtu had chosen a pair of short wooden clubs, while Sondo had picked a macuahuitl of all things, except the blades spiked along the edges of the three-foot club were made of wood instead of steel or the traditional obsidian.

Sondo gestured to a land soldier in the crowd with it, and with a visible gulp, she said, “Let Barakas witness the strength of our arms, the determination in our hearts. We will fight this day and every day, undaunted.”

The fighters immediately began to circle, their feet shifting under them, ready to react to any provocation. Like magnets, the two slowly drew each other, spiraling toward the center of the ring.

They crashed together suddenly— Ichkadeshtu’s clubs whizzing as Sondo bent around them. Then the macuahuitl swept low to strike at Ichkadeshtu’s forward knee, and the healer’s soldier took the blow, turning it into a roll, and then leaping up to strike at Sondo’s back. Only for the captain to glide out of the way. Twisting, his macuahuitl came down.

Ichkadeshtu turned to take the blow on his shoulder instead of his head, breaking the collarbone, but he didn’t stop. He grabbed hold of the weapon—despite the broken bone—and used his free club to smash Sondo’s elbow.

The air thumped with the sound of a Ram’s Head, and with a pained grunt, Sondo let go of the macuahuitl. His elbow bent wrong, and his dislocated arm extended past where it should.

Sondo backed off, and Ichkadeshtu let him. They’d traded only five moves, and the fight was effectively over, unless Sondo had a trick hidden away that we hadn’t seen yet. He was the last land soldier in the tournament, so if they wanted the prize, he’d have to be the one to get it.

Sondo started circling again—searching, calculating—but it didn’t look like he’d have any way to hurt Ichkadeshtu, and there’d be no way to leverage a ring out with only one arm. I smelled the scent of Nature’s Spring, but the spell was too slow to heal the elbow in time. Worse yet, if used poorly, the broken bones would heal wrong.

“That’s enough,” a voice said from the audience, stopping Sondo mid-step.

People looked for the speaker, but it wasn’t anyone obvious. The words seemed to have come out of the air. That it was Knight Ithia speaking was clear to me and a few others in the audience too—certainly all the land soldiers recognized her voice.

They all bowed, including Sondo, and they took it in stride that their land knight had a way to observe and communicate like this. And an order was apparently an order, because Sondo conceded the bout. Afterward, he fought to mask the pain and keep it from his face, but it showed in his spirit—the pain and his terrible dismay from failing his land knight.

In the fight, Sondo had gone for a crippling blow first, then a knockout. He’d committed a hundred percent to both attacks, no doubt wanting to avoid a drawn-out confrontation with an opponent able to regenerate. His goal must’ve been a ring out. Nothing else would work on Ichkadeshtu.

Damn and damn some more. With this win, it meant that the healers had made it to the final. It’d be up to whoever won the bout between Wusta and Bruta to keep them from Ikfael’s Boon.

I squirmed through the crowd with Dog’s Agility to see if the other bout was still ongoing. The people around me must’ve had the same thought, and it felt like swimming through a wave of people heading in that direction.

Dolbecs surrounded the ring, and I was able to find a spot under a couple of them. What I saw, however, were Wusta and Bruta staring impassively at each other. They each had live steel in their hands, with another dolbec standing angrily between them.

Bleith Wustasdotter (Human, Dolbec)

Talents: Steadfast, Logistalogical, Busy Buddy

Her voice was stern as she spoke: “This is not the place. This is not an excuse to settle old grudges, no matter how opportune you think the timing. You are our family’s leaders, but I speak for the rest when I say we reject this duel.”

I’d been in a hurry to get to the ring, so I hadn’t noticed the tension singing in the dolbec spirits around me. The members of Crunei’s Garden held their breaths, as they waited for... what? Their leaders to fight to the death? Permanent injury?

Both Wusta and Bruta were dusk, so I couldn’t see deeply into their spirits, and their body language gave nothing away either. They were pillars of stone as they stood there, weapons at the ready.

If they fought like this, we’d have to disqualify them, and Ichkadeshtu would win the tournament by default. That was unacceptable, completely unacceptable.

“Recall our purpose here,” Bleith said, turning her gaze from Wusta to Bruta and back. “Our family's path is greater than the sum of your grievances. We refuse to let you drag us into the darkness of your rage. Decide here and now what you will do, but it will not be true battle.”

“You dare forbid it,” Bruta said, his voice soft like he’d smothered it with a hundred blankets.

“I dare,” Bleith said, “and would take it up with you at home, where we may duel in private.”

Wusta spoke, his voice grave, “You cannot delay us forever, my daughter.”

“I will not let you split the family,” she said, her voice just as solemn. “Even if it means I have to kill you myself.”

Okay, I thought, maybe this is bigger than the tournament. Real lives were at stake, because, from what I’d seen of Bleith’s spirit, she’d meant every word. We should just disqualify them both before they can start. I hated the idea, but spiting the Healer’s Lodge wasn’t worth people losing their lives. I spotted Mumu and Haol about halfway around the ring, and I wove my way around the spectators to get to them.

Haol’s hand clenched and unclenched, while Mumu bit her lower lip in thought.

Haol saw me and signed, “Who won?”

“Ichkadeshtu,” I said.

They both grimaced at the news, then Mumu signed, “What do you think?”

As I considered what to say, I felt gratified-honored-blessed to have a friend and lodge master willing to trust an eight-year-old for advice. I’d proven myself to her, and it showed in moments like this.

“We have to stop the fight,” I said.

“But—” Haol began.

“I know. I don’t like it either, but whatever this is—” I gestured to the ring. “It’s not what Ikfael would want.”

Which was true, no matter how I felt about the Healer’s Lodge. I’d just have to accept their win. A part of me was unwilling to do that—hated it in my bones—but when Mumu nodded to signal her agreement, I still stepped into the ring to go stand beside Bleith.

I clapped twice to formalize the occasion and introduced myself to the newcomers in the audience: “I am Eight, keeper of Honored Ikfael’s shrine. I’ve come to tell the combatants Wusta and Bruta to desist. Rage doesn’t serve the land, and neither does spite. Choose a different path or else be disqualified.”

The moment drew out, but neither Bleith nor I spoke again. The matter was with Wusta and Bruta now. They needed to decide what happened next. The crowd waited with us; most were curious at how events would unfold, but there were a few who looked forward to seeing blood spill. Fortunately, they kept quiet, silenced by the glares of those from Crunei’s Garden among them.

Bruta broke the silence. “Must I always concede? You cannot expect it every time.” Then he stowed his halberd on his shoulder and walked out of the ring.

He'd backed down, and we’d have someone to fight Ichkadeshtu, after all. I exhaled in a rush and nearly went limp in relief. Bleith nodded at me, a thankful acknowledgement in the gesture, before running after Bruta.

As for Wusta, he continued to stand in place for a good while before he too put away his weapon and walked out of the ring, toward the organizer’s tent to register his win.

We had our final match then: Ichkadeshtu the Wall, soldier-sworn to the Healer’s Lodge, versus Wusta the Horror of Crunei.