Earl of the West

  Earl Rave hurled his wine goblet against the stone wall of his private arena box, crimson splattering like blood across the carved reliefs.

  Below, the Outlier walked calmly back toward the waiting area, unhurried, unbothered, and still very much alive.

  If the bastard had just finished off those other mages, everything would have resolved itself. A clean disqualification. A neat end. But no, something had stayed the man's hand. The Outlier had turned, hesitated, then reined himself in. Rave still didn’t understand why, but the reason hardly mattered now. What was done was done.

  The three?hour intermission had begun.

  He snapped his fingers, summoning his manservant.

  “Take a letter to the city’s Guildmaster,” he ordered, voice sharp enough to cut. “If he thinks he’ll be drawing lots without my hand on the scale, then he clearly doesn’t understand the situation.”

  The servant bowed and hurried off.

  The Earl waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  Thirty minutes crawled by, each one stoking his irritation. He paced the length of his viewing box, boots clicking against polished stone, jaw tightening with every passing moment. How long did it take to deliver a simple message? How long for a response?! How dare the Guildmaster keep him waiting?

  When the door finally creaked open, his manservant slipped inside, flushed and breathless.

  “Well?” Rave snapped.

  “My lord… the Guildmaster requests your presence. Immediately. He awaits you in his stadium office.”

  Rave’s annoyance evaporated, replaced by a slow, predatory smile.

  Good. The man finally understands his place., was probably just preparing refreshments and staff for one of my station.

  He straightened his coat, smoothed his hair, and strode after his servant with renewed confidence. Every step toward the Guildmaster’s office fed his anticipation. He imagined the Guildmaster’s face when he presented his demands. He imagined the Outlier’s expression when the new rules were announced. He imagined the humiliation, the fear, the inevitability of it all.

  By the time they reached the office doors, he was practically glowing with satisfaction.

  The servant opened the door.

  Rave stepped inside and froze.

  The Guildmaster was there, yes… but standing off to the side in deference to the man seated behind the desk.

  Seated in the Guildmaster’s chair, legs crossed, posture regal and relaxed, was a man Rave had not expected to see.

  Antonious.

  Firstborn son of his brother and Duke of the East and West.

  His brother’s heir and Rave’s direct superior in the Hierarchy.

  The young noble regarded him with cool, assessing eyes, fingers steepled beneath his chin.

  “Uncle,” Antonious said, voice smooth as polished steel. “Do come in. We have much to discuss.”

  The Earl’s smile faltered. Just a little as he tried to piece together what was going on. His nephew directed him to a seat directly across from him, and with a bow, he took it.

  Antonious didn’t speak at first. He simply watched Rave settle into the chair, the silence stretching long enough to become uncomfortable. Only when the Earl’s hands tightened on his knees did the young noble finally incline his head.

  “Guildmaster Aaron,” he began, voice calm and measured, “along with the Guildmasters of the other cities, has petitioned the Emperor directly. They requested imperial mediation should you…” his gaze sharpened, “attempt to interfere in the System’s Anchor Tournament again.”

  Rave opened his mouth, outrage already rising.

  Antonious lifted a single finger.

  Not a gesture.

  Not a threat.

  Just a raised finger.

  And Rave’s voice died in his throat.

  The young heir reached into his coat and withdrew a sealed letter, the wax stamped with the unmistakable crest of the emperor. He set it on the desk between them with deliberate care.

  He tapped the letter. “My father sent me in his stead,” Antonious said, tone still smooth but now carrying the weight of command. “As your direct superior, he told me it was my responsibility to reign you in and further explained to me what you have already agreed to. So, allow me to be perfectly clear.”

  He leaned forward slightly. “You have no standing here anymore to order anyone. And nothing left to offer my father or me to continue to let you interfere further.”

  Rave swallowed.

  “I am going to tell you something that you know but seem to have forgotten, Uncle. This tournament,” Antonious continued, “is a sacred event. Our most promising young fighters participate, and the System itself sanctions it, sending its own champions to compete periodically, to grow, to strengthen the realms. It brings economic prosperity to this nation. It eases tensions between the great cities. It replaces war with competition.”

  His eyes narrowed.

  “All of this, you already know. Yet you still interfered. On the pretext that your boy Jox was killed.” A faint curl of disdain touched his lips. “We both know he was a fool you cared nothing for.”

  Rave stiffened, but Antonious didn’t give him the chance to respond.

  “There will be no more meddling” he said, voice dropping to a quiet, lethal register. “From what Guildmaster Aaron has told me, the bracket is already in disarray. Someone will have to fight an extra match simply to restore the proper structure, because of your tampering.”

  He let that hang in the air.

  “Truly embarrassing,” Antonious murmured. “For a man of your rank to involve himself so deeply… all to repay a slight from someone designated by the System itself to save worlds.”

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  The room felt smaller.

  Hotter.

  Rave’s throat worked, but no words came.

  Antonious simply watched him, expression unreadable, as if waiting to see whether the Earl would dig himself deeper, or finally understand the depth of the hole he’d already made.

  Rave swallowed hard, throat tight, but he forced his expression into something calm. Controlled. Respectful.

  Inside, though. He was on fire with hatred at the situation, but in his rage a thought crossed his mind. A moment of clarity of what he could offer, and he knew he had a piece yet to play that could flip the board.

  A way out. One his nephew could not ignore.

  “You say I have nothing of interest to the Emperor or to yourself,” Rave murmured, voice smoothing as he leaned back. “That is simply not true, nephew.”

  Antonious’s eyes narrowed a fraction.

  “My brother always liked to wager when we were boys, and I wonder if you have the same streak in you,” Rave continued.

  “And what,” Antonious asked, tone cool, “would you wager, my dear uncle?”

  Rave let the moment breathe. Let the tension coil. Then:

  “My title.”

  Antonious blinked.

  Rave pressed on, savoring the shift in the air. “You have a second son, do you not? One who will not inherit the Duchy. But a Countship in your lands. What if he could be an Earl in new lands instead? That is what I offer in return for one last favor.”

  Antonious’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt.

  “What if,” Rave said, voice low but gaining confidence, “you allow me to… correct the bracket. Just a touch. Let Shane face the Outlier, with Shenmu’s fighters by his side, assisting him in an extra round. If Shane wins, then I have had my revenge, and I will move on, and all is forgotten, even the deal I made with my brother.”

  He spread his hands.

  “But if the Outlier wins? You gain my title. My lands. Everything I possess.”

  Silence.

  Antonious stared at him, stunned. When Antonious finally spoke, his voice was quiet.

  “I have more honor than that,” he said. “I will not put the Outlier through such a contrived trial simply to indulge your spite.”

  Before Rave could respond, Guildmaster Aaron cleared his throat.

  “If I may, Your Majesty… a word?”

  Antonious gave a curt nod.

  Aaron stepped close and activated a shimmering barrier, soundless, translucent, cutting Rave out of the conversation entirely. He could see their lips move, see Antonious’s expression shift from irritation to consideration… but not a single word reached him.

  The barrier dissolved.

  Aaron stepped back into place.

  Antonious exhaled slowly. “Your terms,” he said, “are not acceptable.”

  Rave’s stomach dropped…“However,” Antonious continued, “if you intend to combine Shane with Shenmu’s fighters, then the Outlier will be permitted to add his beast companion.”

  Rave blinked.

  Antonious went on, “The creature is under level fifty, and it can be argued that the Outlier is a tamer who simply has not needed to rely on it yet.”

  Rave could barely contain his delight. This was better than he’d hoped. A weak beast added to the mix, and he would get to see the Riven’s face when it died.

  But before he could speak, Antonious raised a hand.

  “I will consult with the champion and my father first before I agree to anything. They both must accept these terms. If either refuses, the bracket will be randomized, as was our plan before this meeting.”

  Rave frowned. “And what makes you think the Outlier will agree to this?”

  Antonious’s expression hardened. “Several things. But I suspect the fact that he wishes to punish the men who harmed his friends will sway him. As well as you losing your station my dear uncle, might be enough to sway the man.”

  He pointed to the corner of the room.

  “You will stand there. Silent. I will allow you to observe when I ask him whether these terms are acceptable. Before I bother my father, I will see if he will even accept these terms first.”

  Rave moved to the corner, stiff but obedient. It was the best outcome he could have hoped for.

  Antonious turned to the Guildmaster.

  “Guildmaster Aaron,” he said, “please summon the Outlier.”

  Riven

  The doors to the waiting room were repaired, and Lawson was gone as well as all his friends. They had been taken to other waiting areas since they all could face one another in the next round. Only Tucker was left with him now.

  Jason found me just as Tucker finished pacing another anxious circle around the repaired waiting room. The doors still smelled faintly of fresh magic, the stone warm where the runes had sealed the damage.

  “Riven,” Jason called, stepping inside. “Come with me. There are some people who’d like to talk with you.”

  I blinked. “Who?”

  He hesitated just long enough to make my stomach tighten. “The Duke Antonious. The Guildmaster as well.”

  Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Fair warning, the Earl will be there too. Listening.”

  I grimaced. “Am I in trouble or something?”

  Jason shook his head. “Not that I know of. Now come on.”

  That didn’t make me feel any better.

  I exchanged a look with Tucker, who gave a low rumble of concern. I scratched behind his ear, more for my comfort than his, and followed Jason out of the room.

  The walk was short, but every step made my confusion worse. Why would a Duke want to talk to me? Why would the Guildmaster be involved? And why in the hell would they let Earl Rave anywhere near the conversation?

  Nothing about this felt normal.

  Jason led us down a wide corridor. The air was cooler here, the stone was polished to a mirror sheen. Two armored guards stood at attention beside a pair of massive double doors. They pushed them open as we approached.

  Light spilled out, bright, warm, and far too official for my liking.

  Jason gestured. “Inside.”

  Tucker padded in beside me, tail low, muscles tense.

  I stepped through the doorway… and immediately felt the weight of every gaze in the room settle on me.

  Antonious rose as I entered, and the movement drew my eyes immediately. The man looked… put together. Not just noble?born, but polished. Early thirties, sharp jaw, dark hair tied back neatly, clothes tailored with the kind of precision that said he didn’t just represent power, he was power.

  I gave Guildmaster Aaron a respectful nod, then let my gaze flick toward the corner.

  Earl Rave stood there, stiff as a board, watching me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. His eyes were doing enough talking for him.

  Antonious stepped around the desk, hands clasped behind his back.

  “Riven,” he said, voice smooth and controlled, “I apologize that we don’t have time to get to know one another before I jump into this. We are on a clock, after all.”

  I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though my pulse had picked up. “Fair enough. I’m curious why I’m here in the first place.”

  He nodded once. “Very well,” Antonious said. “I’ll be equally direct.”

  He gestured toward the desk, toward the papers and the sealed letter resting there. “Your presence is required because of my uncle.” He didn’t bother looking at Rave.” Has proposed a wager. One that affects the structure of the tournament, your next match, and the integrity of the bracket.”

  I leaned forward in my chair. “Go on.”

  Antonious continued, tone steady and diplomatic but edged with steel. “The Earl wishes to… correct the bracket. His interference earlier caused significant disruption. To repair it, an additional match must be fought. He proposes that this match be between you and Shane, with Shenmu’s fighters assisting Shane.”

  I blinked. “So… a five?on?one, that’s one hell of a correction.”

  “Agreed,” Antonious admitted. “However…you would be permitted to add your beast companion to your side. Tucker is well under level seventy-five, and it is within the rules if we view you as a tamer competing with their bonded creature.” I looked over at Aaron and felt my lips twitch. Aaron had a twinkle in his eye; he knew all about Tucker and what his Talents could do. He definitely had a hand in this offer. It seemed I wasn't the one being put together but the Earl.

  Tucker gave a soft chuff beside me, as if he understood he’d just been drafted.

  Antonious continued, “If you win, the Earl forfeits his title and all holdings to the crown. If you lose… he considers his vendetta settled.”

  I stared at him, trying to process the insanity of it all. “And you’re asking me if I’ll accept this?”

  “Yes,” Antonious said. “Because I will not force this on you. If you refuse, the bracket will be randomized.”

  He paused, studying me with a seriousness that made the room feel smaller.

  “But I suspect,” he added quietly, “that the chance to punish the men who harmed your friends may influence your decision.”

  He was right. I wanted to fight those guys. I turned to Tucker. “You in?”

  Tucker met my eyes without hesitation. “Chu was my friend too. I want to help you kick their asses. I want you to accept.”

  A slow grin pulled at my mouth. “Okay, buddy.”

  I looked back at Antonious. “I accept.”

  The Duke inclined his head, a slight smile of his own playing at his lips. “Very well.”

  Then he turned his attention toward the corner of the room.

  “Uncle,” Antonious said, voice returning to that cool, aristocratic steel, “you may leave us. I wish to speak with the Outlier alone. I will inform you once the Emperor has accepted the terms.”

  Rave straightened, smugness radiating off him like heat. He gave me one last look, the kind of look a man gives a problem he thinks he’s already solved and strode out of the room.

  The door shut behind him with a heavy thunk.

  And the second it did?

  I couldn’t help it.

  I grinned like a maniac.

  Aaron burst into laughter, the kind that came from deep in the chest, and even Antonious let a small grin slip through.

  The Duke studied me for a moment, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Is his talent truly that powerful?”

  I shrugged, still grinning. “I believe you’re about to see for yourself, Duke Antonious.”

  His grin widened just a fraction.

  “If it’s cool with you,” I added, “I’d like to go prepare for my upcoming match.”

  “Of course,” he said.

  I stood, giving Aaron a respectful nod. “Guildmaster.”

  He nodded back, still smiling.

  Then I turned to Antonious. “Duke.”

  He returned the nod with a quiet, approving one of his own.

  Tucker and I stepped out, and the door closed behind us with a soft, final click.