I walked the void to the sport fields, since I was about to get plenty of warm-up practice as it was. I was leaning against the wall outside the locker room for the fencing team when she walked up.

  "Hey, Natalie!" Thumper yelled.

  "Hey Thumper," I said, mustering a smile. "I have been looking forward to this for hours."

  Sepecca Kuritan, known to most by the sound of her strong leading foot, looked at me skeptically. "Really? What do you need?"

  "A friend," i said with utter truthfulness. "You're the first friend I made here, after all."

  "Bad day?"

  "Been a pretty tough one," I said. It was the tone of voice to let her know that on every level except the physical I was taking a long drag off a cigarette.

  "Well, at least now you get to get out on the pitch and take out all that frustration."

  "That'd be nice. I'm probably just going to get my ass kicked again," I admitted.

  She stared at me. "Why?"

  "It's a rough sport," I pointed out. Real life camogie is tightly regulated. The game devs thought that it's just hockey. They also thought we were allowed to wear shorts. On the balance I prefer their version.

  "And, what, you just let them kick your ass?"

  I shrugged helplessly. "It won't help anything to hurt anyone else."

  "Of course it will!" she blew up. "Fighting back when you're attacked is always the right answer!"

  "Yeah but-"

  She grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me in, locked eyes with me. "You've had a shit day. Holding it in just makes it worse. Sport is a release. Now take all that anger and vent that. Take that field and beat some kid like a rug, got it? Promise me you're gonna whallop someone until you feel better."

  I started to roll my eyes. "I think that'd take-"

  "Shut up," she said. "I can tell that you need this. Now promise me."

  "I shouldn't-"

  "You need this. Promise me."

  I'm not short. Or skinny. I'm taller than average and I've got good muscle on me. But up close with that look in her eyes, Thumper did not look big, she looked vast.

  "I promise."

  "Good. Now go send someone to the healers, and check in with me after study hall, yeah?"

  I held that injunction in my mind as I got dressed. I'm gonna send someone off-field for healing today. I gestured for essence of steel, and channeled it into myself. I put my clothes in for safekeeping, and conjured cotton to whip up some safe, comfortable, and above all supportive undergarments, something appropriate for full-speed sports. Then I got on the jersey, shorts, socks and shoes, and headed out. The class of girls ran out all straggled out in a line, and the coach sorted us as we arrived, consulting her clipboard.

  "Harigold, passing drills, midfield. If you've got any decent handling skills I'll be trying you out in that position."

  There were already several hurlers practicing their passing. Catch, toss, tap. You grab the sliotar as it comes for you, lob it up just enough for the pass, and smack with the hurley and send it to the next hurler in line. Tight, controlled movements, tossing too high or far risks the opponent intercepting or capturing the sliotar. We arranged in a zigzag, sending one sliotar back and forth down from one side of the double-line to the other, and then back.

  And of course, Egnul was next to me in the line. I saw her scooting, and I saw her checking the distance in her periphery, and I saw her smirk as she readied the swing. And i swung my elbow back to catch it.

  CRAKK

  Ash wood splintered and the bas was broken off the handle and in two parts, spinning away to skid across the grass. My elbow throbbed, there was gong to be a bruise, but everyone was staring at me and the girl who had just broken her hurley on me.

  "Dammit Egnul!" the coach was yelling. "What happened now?!"

  "Uh, bad equipment," the bigger girl said, staring at me. I glared back, defiant.

  "Well get a new one 'n quit wasting time!"

  Egnul dashed off to replace her hurley. I took both spots in the zigzag until she got back, keeping the sequence going to by taking double-duty in the practice line. She came hustling back, sweating already, and as she huffed past me I overextended on my serve, whipping around to tag her across the shoulder, throwing her back. Her shout was pained and muffled, but one of the girls that saw her go down screamed much louder, enough to get the coach's attention.

  "Egnul! Harigold! What the hell is happening now!"

  A tattletale with vibrant blonde hair was jabbing her finger towards me. "She hit her, coach! I saw everything!" she looked so gleeful to have a part in this.

  "I'm okay," Egnul said, rolling over and pulling herself to hands and knees. She shook her head, trying to clear it.

  I'm gonna send someone to the healer today.

  "Let me help you," I said to her and stepped closer, putting out one hand as if to prop her up. And then I put my foot down on the broken bas of the snapped hurley, and wouldn't you know it I slipped when it skidded out from under my foot. I lost my balance and fell against Egnul, throwing my elbow into the back of her shoulder, steel-hard and steel-strong. Everyone was staring straight at me when it happened, and they winced at the sickening crunch of my elbow breaking her collarbone. She went down screaming, her legs kicking vainly against the turf.

  Thumper was right. God that felt good. Destroying cave monsters had nothing on this.

  The coach was yelling and several hurlers were backpedaling away from me, others scooting forward to grab Egnul and help her out. Two pairs of hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me back away from the screaming player, and I let them set me back ten feet before I shrugged them off. They re-grabbed me, apparently not content to be shrugged off, and with a bit more annoyance I thrashed again, shoving them both back several feet.

  My sorcerous powers have a lot more oomph than they used to. Instead of "as strong as a somewhat fit teenager", my channeled steel brought me closer to "as strong as a professional athlete".

  "Harigold! Stand down! Wimley get over here and talk to me. Framkis, Byfen, get Egnul to the healer, dammit!"

  There was a lot to do in the aftermath. When the coach called me over to answer to her, she was fuming. She was actually a lot more pissed off than I had expected. "What's the big idea Harigold? You've got some explaining to do," the coach said. An ominous wind blew out of nowhere and ruffled her short-cropped hair.

  "Uh," I said, which did not explain anything.

  "Vendetta?" she prompted. Oh. She heard about that.

  I cringed. "Okay, So, um, I spent the last three years in prison-"

  "For mass murder?" she prompted.

  "Technically it's multiple murder, it was ruled a spree killing and not a massacre but no not really not even that! I was exonerated for those on the grounds of a legal vendetta. I was actually only in jail because of, uh, a whole lot of contempt of court."

  "I'm not a lawyer and I don't care about the technicalities," she said. "I'm your camogie coach. You've got a criminal background and you're on the record for five dozen homicides and you weren't going to tell me? I had to hear about it from the other girls? Were you ever going to say anything? I've got a mass murderer on my team for the first time in years and you were gonna hold that back?"

  "Huh?" This wasn't sounding right.

  She threw her arms up, her clipboard's pages crackling. "I can't believe it. This is a contact sport. Intimidation is a valuable commodity, Harigold. Their coach is going to try to assign you triple coverage, and the players aren't going to want to get within twenty feet of you. If you can break their nerve, that's a hole in their defensive line wide enough to pick a net-corner, and by gods that is what we're going to do!"

  See this conversation took a much different direction than I'd pictured. Having a dangerous madwoman on the team, a spree killer recently released from prison... seems to be an asset to fictional camogie.

  Well that's good to know. I should take Thumper's advice more often.

  I sauntered back into the dining hall with the curious sensation of knowing that someone's got your back if you lose your temper. It's a curious thing but I'm getting used to it fast- if I shout, or push people around, or even start smacking them or even injuring people... I won't actually get in trouble. I'm rich, powerful, and I'm paid up with the right people. I'm an asset to the sports program, and some of the deans are invested in me now that the science classes are showing potential for weapons development.

  Maybe it lends me a little extra swagger. I am starting to learn that I can throw my weight around a bit.

  Elica raised an eyebrow and threw a smug leer my way. "Girl. Did you win a fight, or get laid? You are glowing, so how good is camogie really?"

  "You're terrible," I told her, setting down my tray. Thinly-sliced duck breast, crackle-roasted skin with a heavy dusting of seasonings- twice-baked baby potatoes and steamed carrots swimming in butter. Some dinner rolls to the side, a big glass of milk, and another of fruit juice. I was working up big appetites these days. "And I did win a fight, thanks for noticing."

  Larianne ran her fingernails back and forth over the tabletop, testing their edges. "Noticing? Hard not to, that woman was screaming her head off all the way to the healer's. Anyone on the ranges or garden sports could hear her, screaming about how she was going to pay you back."

  I paused with a forkful of duck that deserved my full attention. "Really? Does she have a learning disability? Why is it that every time I give someone a thorough beatdown they always want to scream for a rematch? What does it take to earn a reputation as 'that girl you just don't mess with if you know what's good for you'? That's the reputation I really need."

  Larianne startled me by speaking again, twice in one conversation and twice in a row. "Well, as soon as word gets out about Brumn Hardted and Tagk Frannem, I'm sure that'll help."

  "Who are they?" I asked, and took the bite.

  Elica answered for her, and stared at me in disbelief. "Those boys? The oafs, cretins, whatever you called them? The Buttonhook Boys?"

  "Byeview," I corrected. Oh, right, I did threaten to mutilate their lips with a buttonhook to shut them up.

  "Right those," Elica said with a negligent wave of her hand. "They disappeared later that day. They only got found this morning, more or less."

  [ Quest Checkpoint Complete: Eye For An Eye For An Eye For An Eye. 10 XP. Advancement : The Ruthless ]

  Vancy spoke up, looking concerned. "Really? Was it more or was it less?"

  "Definitely less," Elica said with a salacious wicked smile. "There was nothing left of them larger tha- Natalie are you all right?"

  "Um," I said. "Sorry, what? Those guys I yelled at are dead now?"

  Elica restrained herself, deciding to say more with less. "The very most charitable way to describe their condition is extremely dead. It seems someone was pursuing the optimal balance of swift inescapable demise and slow torturous suffering."

  This was such a good dinner. I could smell how tasty it was. But the first bite of duck in my mouth was already vile, and I was unable to swallow. I lifted a napkin, took it from my mouth and folded it away to the side. "Well, that's... truly horrifying," I said, staring down at the food I could not possibly enjoy now. "Does anyone know what happened? Like who did it and why?..."

  I glanced over at Vancy. She looked almost as ill as I felt. These were jerks and pests and oafs, but they were classmates at the school!

  Elica twirled her finger through her hair, leaning on one elbow as she relished her role as Queen of Everyone Else's Business. "So, as it turns out, Lady Harigold, the secretary mentioned to the office staff that she overheard the guardsman investigator that was collecting information mention that you had initially been their prime suspect, but that was dismissed almost instantly because your alibi was rock-solid, being verified by Rabert Frantlin and several members of Nhullit house of unimpeachable character. In fact, your alibi covered every possible time and place that could have been part of the killing, even times that I know personally that you were nowhere near Rabert Frantlin."

  Oh. He falsified an alibi to keep me from suspicion. Before I ever knew I was under suspicion. Before anyone knew I was under suspicion. He had an alibi ready to go for me, in advance. And now I understood what The Ruthless brings to the equation, beyond the Assassin or the Huntress. When The Ruthless makes a kill, he'll make an example out of them.

  "Shit," I said. How far was I down his romance track? This was the first time I had gotten an XP notification, so probably not too far?... But if someone has that many connections, and is willing to execute so much over-the-top violence, then maybe it's best to not be anywhere near him at all.

  Um. Unless he feels like I owe him for taking care of those jerks for me. In which case... I probably do not want to be in his debt for that. I bet that his feelings about debts owed is really close to Quarl Billiams, the Assassin.

  I took a breath, and centered myself. Okay. "Say Elica," I started, sounding too innocent by half. "If those jerks were so rude to me, I'm sure they had other enemies as well. They really were quite crass, weren't they? I would expect, really, that the more refined and highbrow someone is, the more likely they are to have some animosity for those buffoons."

  Elica glanced from me to Lachel Freckentop, the Dutiful Princess. She glanced back at me with a wink. "I'll see what I can do," she promised.

  Study hall is really just a reprisal of Homeroom, same people in the same order. Usually it was a lot more subdued- people were more low-energy, it was right after dinner and a long day of classes and training. It was where most people completed homework that was assigned that day or projects that were upcoming, or catching up with reading. It was usually just a quiet hour of real studying and/or napping, because I was not the only one here with limited stamina.

  But it gave me another chance to chat with Quarl Billiams.

  "Only speaking hypothetically," he said carefully, "if it had been the work of any trained and affiliated assassin, the protocol would be to make it look like an accident if possible. A fatal allergic reaction, an accidental fall, an undisclosed medical condition, shrapnel from an exploding billiard ball-"

  "Wait what?"

  "Cheap billiard balls can spontaneously explode on impact; this has been a big boon for ... certain professionals," he said, restraining himself. That sentence had started out with a frank, almost boasting tone, and then he realized he had almost admitted something verbally and corrected himself. "Anyway, if you want someone made an example of, you talk to someone else entirely. It's a different skillset and a different temperament. Just because someone might be willing to take a life does not mean they'd necessarily be willing to wade in the blood afterwards. Honestly, to do ... that much damage? ...To a human body? You'd need specialized equipment. Not the kind of thing you can carry through a window or smuggle in with the groceries. Hypothetically, based on my supposition and the knowledge gleaned from works of fiction gathered freely in the normal channels."

  "Of course," I said, nodding along. "Hmm. Let me try a related but adjacent question: if one of these entirely hypothetical specialized professionals were to want someone... made an example of... who would they call about it?"

  He chuckled wryly. "Ah, that's funny for reasons that are hard to explain. Well, it is a situation that is unlikely to ever come up in any realistic way. See, the people that do that kind of work are actually the ones who are most likely to hire the hypothetical specialized professionals, not the other way around. Most calls for specialized professionals are made by a certain kind of businessman, if you take my meaning. And those businessmen are more likely to do the 'example' work, and contract out the 'look like an accident' work. So for someone in a 'look like an accident' sort of business to need an example made of someone, is actually a very neat inversion of the normal methods."

  Or, to put it in more plain language: Gangsters hire assassins, not the other way around. If you want someone ground into dog-food, you call a gangster not a well-tuned executioner.

  I nodded. "Now, this is certainly an interesting and entirely academic conversation about hypothetical situations. But in that same vein: if a third party had problems with businessmen, would professionals be able to help with that?"

  He leaned back, and ran a hand over his slicked-back hair. "I don't want to say 'no' too fast," he said, measuring out his words more carefully than usual. "But, the cost would be inordinate. Not to get too deep into it, you see, but hiring that sort of person in that sort of work is going to be extremely expensive. You would need to offer up enough recompense to offset the ruined business relationship. A big enough payday to sacrifice a prosperous and settled continuing payday. If the professional in this example took action against the businessmen in this example, it would need to be something more important than all the work and all the paychecks that the businessmen would have to offer through the future."

  "Oh," I said. I see. "So, that would be a lot, yeah. But what if it did not endanger those business relationships, if it was just.. secret from the rest of the businessmen?"

  "Nothing's that secret," Quarl assured me. "The businessmen and the professionals are too cross-pollinated. Too many longstanding relationships, someone would know and would say something, the secret would be out in a hurry. The professionals in this hypothetical situation may be able to keep themselves from being infiltrated by spies from the law, but they will never be able to get rid of informants working for those businesses."

  "That makes sense," I said. "I guess all the problems in the world come down to two types: the kind you can't solve by hiring a specialist to remove the problem, and the kind that get resolved quickly."

  He laughed at that, and told me he would include that in his next letter home.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Great. The assassins think I'm hilarious.