The Grand Tournament

by Ivan Kal

  He left his room and made his way down the stairs. Hearing noise coming out of the room directly beneath his, which belonged to Lucius and Karissa, he concluded that by the sound of it he did not want to stay around and listen.

  Hurriedly, he reached the main floor and walked into the hall itself. There he saw staff arraigning tables and preparing for the feast that was to be held this evening. All high-leveled and otherwise important ascended would be invited, of course, but not all could fit inside the hall—those who wouldn’t be able to get inside would be outside on the benches and tables in the clearings, and more tables and benches would be brought out of storage so that everyone could participate. Already Morgan could smell the bountiful smells coming from the kitchen. He knew that by now every kitchen in the Guild Hold would resemble more a battle zone as cooks worked to get everything ready. As he walked through the hall and the staff noticed him, they nodded politely at him, but there was no bows or groveling, as Morgan had forbidden it long ago. Those who worked in the Guild Hold could call him simply by his name, instead of his Guild Master rank—only the Sky Guard and the new ascended who were not yet allowed up in the Guild Hold called him Guild Master.

  As soon as Morgan left the hall and stepped outside, his senses screamed at him. He jumped to the side just as a massive shape dropped down from the roof of the building, and Morgan relaxed as he recognized him.

  “Rann! Where have you been, boy?” Morgan said as the manticore guardian of the Guild Hall pushed his head at Morgan’s chest. The manticore was even bigger now than it had been. More the size of a large polar bear than a lion, his long horns had a bit more of a curve to them now than they’d had before. This was of course because as their Guild Hold leveled, so did its guardian. Rann was now almost level twenty himself. “Did you keep hidden in order to surprise me later?”

  Morgan scratched the mane next to the manticore’s ear and heard it purr, which sounded more like a deep growl that made his entire body vibrate. After a few minutes of giving the big cat some attention, Morgan pulled his hand and stepped back.

  “Sorry, buddy, I have things to do. I promise I will come play with you later,” Morgan told him.

  The manticore whined but it didn’t press his head against Morgan again; instead, it turned and stalked around the hall, probably going back to its usual place on the roof.

  Morgan walked down the stairs, nodding to the guards. He noticed their pendants and remembered that he still carried a similar one.

  Pulling it out of his shirt, he took a look at it.

  Boon of the Blood Drinker (Rare) LVL 20

  It had been a gift—or a reward—from Azil, the ascended ruler of the small town of Heddos to the south of the valley. When Morgan had gotten it, he had been quite happy with it as it seemed like it would help him a lot. The pendant could store energy from every monster that died in Morgan’s vicinity, and once full it would give him a single stat point—all up to the time when he became a higher level than the pendant, and then its absorbing quality would drop significantly. Still, he had kept it on even though he’d gotten only two stat points from it since he had reached level twenty. The truth was, however, that the pendant had never been intended for him. It had been a gift for his guild.

  Morgan had given it to his head blacksmith, and Titus, their head enchanter, for them to replicate. It had taken them a while, but they had managed it. Now every Sky Guard had the same pendant. They received theirs the moment they ascended, and carried with them always. It might not seem like much for an individual, but a free stat every once in a while added up. Morgan himself had gotten only six extra points from it, but across their entire guild they had gained hundreds. It served to make their people just a bit stronger, and for that Morgan was thankful. Now, seeing it, Morgan realized that in fact almost all of his gear was very outdated, as he carried gear that was all around or sub level twenty.

  If they were going to go and participate in this tournament, they were going to need better gear. Much better gear. Morgan frowned, and then turned toward the forges. He quickly reached them and entered, the heat hitting him in the face almost the moment he stepped inside. The cavern was segmented into six parts, each a separate forge operated by a head blacksmith and their apprentices—but the one he headed to was in the center, which was also the largest.

  Once he reached it he paused at the entrance and waited. The apprentices noticed him and waved, but didn’t disturb their master as he worked. Morgan waited patiently. A few minutes later, Artos paused in his hammering and quenched a piece of metal. Just then, one of the apprentices ran over and whispered in his ear, causing Artos to turn and look at Morgan before breaking out into a wide smile.

  He gave the throngs to his apprentice and the man continued the work while Artos made his way to Morgan. He extended his hand and Morgan happily shook his hand even though the man was covered in soot and grime. The blacksmith grinned.

  “I wondered when you were going to come pay me a visit. It doesn’t take you long every time you come back,” Artos said in a deep voice.

  Morgan couldn’t help but return the man’s grin. He liked the short man quite a lot; he had been one of the first to decide to follow him and become ascended. His smithing skill had helped Skyreach immeasurably.

  “Yes. Sorry to bother you, but I need to talk with you,” Morgan said in a low voice.

  Artos’s eyebrow quirked up and he looked around, realizing that whatever Morgan wanted to say should remain private. He gestured and led Morgan to a small office in the back of his forge. The long table was covered in schematics and pieces of metal ore, but Morgan didn’t pay much attention to it. Once Artos closed the door, his expression turned curious.

  “What is it?” Artos asked.

  “The team has made a decision that I don’t want widely known, not yet. There is a tournament, held by two of the Great Guilds. They are going to be giving out rewards for those who make a good showing there, but they will also be choosing a team to join theirs in climbing of the Tower.”

  Artos whistled at that. “The Tower? That is big stuff.”

  Morgan nodded seriously. “It is. Since we are going to be participating, I want us to make the best possible showing. We will be representing our guild, and this is the first time that we will be putting ourselves in full view of the other guilds. Because of that, I think we will be needing some new gear. All five of us.”

  Artos was nodding as Morgan was talking, his expression thoughtful. “Yes, of course. I have been making some plans for a while now, based on what I know about Sky Force’s needs, but there hasn’t ever been a time for me to really sink my teeth into it. I must also warn you that we don’t have enough high-quality resources, not enough for full sets of gear for all of you.”

  Morgan nodded his understanding. He had anticipated that. All the highest quality resources they had went into upgrading their infrastructure—buildings, the hall, and other things that they needed for growth. “We have brought another load of loot from Irus. I will let Ves know that you may have your pick, get whatever you need. But tell me, you said that you already had some plans?”

  Artos turned around and went to one of the shelves at the back of the room. There, he rummaged through rolled pieces of paper, looking at the strange symbols on them Morgan didn’t understand, then hummed and dropped to his knees before opening a drawer and finding five rolls bound together. He pulled them out and then quickly cleared his table before putting them on it.

  Morgan walked closer as Artos took one of the rolls and unfurled it across the table, using the metal pieces to hold it open. Morgan looked down and saw designs for gear; this one obviously meant for him since it also included a bow.

  Morgan raised an eyebrow at that and Artos sighed. “I didn’t have the chance to update it. I had started making it when you still used a bow. Adjustments are needed.”

  From what Morgan could see, it looked like a good set of gear, but he could already see where he could improve upon Art
os’s design—not in make, of course, but there were things that Morgan needed that Artos hadn’t considered.

  “It’s good, but it will need a lot of adjustments. We should take a few hours to talk it over.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Artos acknowledged.

  “We should probably get the others in on it, too. They should have some input into their gear as well.”

  “How long do I have?” Artos asked.

  Morgan grimaced. “Two months,” he answered.

  Artos cursed. “That’s not much time, not if you want high quality and high level gear. I will need to stop working on other projects… I’ll need to get the other smiths to pick up my orders for the guild.”

  “I’ll make sure Karissa knows. If there are any delays, they won’t be a problem.”

  “Well then, I guess I will be extremely busy for a while,” Artos said.

  Morgan clasped the man on the shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. “I’m sure you will be up to the challenge.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Several days later Morgan was on a horse riding through a forest, on his way to the town of Heddos. Why the hell am I doing this? he wondered not for the first time in the last few days. A day after the feast he had set of out from Skyreach and toward Heddos, on his way to meet with Azil, his teacher—or tormentor, depending on the day. The feast had gone quite well. Morgan and the others had spent some time walking out in the courtyard among the other ascended outside, sitting down with them, drinking and eating. They were celebrating his team’s silver ranking, after all; but afterward he and the rest had moved back inside and had a serious talk with Karissa and Titus, letting them know about the tournament and their intent to participate. A long night of planning and discussing the best way forward followed, at the end of which it had been decided that they needed every advantage if they were to join the tournament. This of course meant that the others had decided that Morgan needed to go back to Azil for another lesson.

  What kind of friends push someone to go and be tortured!? Morgan knew that he was being a bit melodramatic, but Azil’s training did seem like torture most of the time. Sure, it had helped Morgan a lot, but it also made him want to puke his guts out, so it canceled itself out in his mind.

  Azil was a high-level ascended. Morgan didn’t know what his level was, but he was sure that it was probably around forty at least. For some reason, the man had grown tired of the guilds, and had decided to retire in a small backwater town. In return for him protecting the town, they let him live there and didn’t associate with any guilds. Morgan had first went to Heddos with Clara and Ves, hoping to add the town to their guild and have them help against the goblin horde. Instead, Morgan ended up dueling Azil and winning, but gaining really nothing but a pendant and a promise that they would talk more if his guild survived the horde. After the defeat of the goblin king, Morgan went back and spoke with Azil. They came to an agreement by which his town would trade with his guild—but they still didn’t want to join, nor did Azil.

  Then, in a fit of stupidity, Morgan had asked Azil to teach him.

  In his defense, Azil had genuinely impressed Morgan. There was no doubt that the man was powerful, and not just because of his level. For some reason the man had agreed, asking only that Morgan take the training seriously and that he followed Azil’s every order. After had come the most grueling training that Morgan had ever experienced. Azil didn’t teach him any new abilities or skills, nor did he give advice on how Morgan should develop his existing abilities or skills—instead, he simply demanded that Morgan train up what he already had. He made Morgan use his abilities in ways that he never tried to before, even when it was impossible. He seemed to relish in the fact that Morgan was stupid enough to spend an entire day trying something that couldn’t be done, only to then at the end announce that Morgan had learned a valuable lesson: he now knew what couldn’t be done. From time to time his crazy requests bore fruit, which Morgan begrudgingly had to give him credit for. Forcing Morgan to do crazy things had made him very familiar with nearly every detail of his abilities and skills.

  Still, he could already see another such “lesson” in his near future as he saw Heddos’s walls in the distance.

  “Crap, here I go again,” Morgan whispered under his breath as he kicked the horse forward.

  * * *

  Morgan entered the town and made his way through the tight streets. The people here didn’t recognize him, not like they would have in any other town, but they could still tell that he was an ascended. The people of Heddos generally didn’t like interacting with ascended—other than their own—so they stepped out of his way and ignored him. That was fine with Morgan, so he made his way to a small hill surrounded by houses. On it was a single house surrounded by a shrubbery fence.

  Morgan entered and made his way to the house. Just as he was about to knock, however, he heard a noise coming in from behind the building. He stepped back from the porch and headed back. There he found Azil chopping firewood. The man still looked the same, of course; Azil looked to be in his twenties, with silver hair and eyes that shone emerald. He looked mostly human, but now Morgan knew that not all of his ancestors were human. His mother had been half-Nel, whatever that was, which gave him a pale complexion and a lithe constitution. Still, there was no denying his strength, and there was just that kind of a feeling around him—he commanded the space around himself completely. Morgan felt like that if he asked, his surrounding would bend to his will to obey. It was an eerie sensation.

  “Ah,” Azil spoke as he chopped another piece of wood, his back remaining turned to Morgan before he could speak and announce himself. “My wayward student returns. What new thing did you learn in the time since we last spoke?”

  Morgan swallowed hard. Every time Azil and he met, the man asked the same question. It was one of his assignments to Morgan—that every time he came back, he should tell Azil one new thing that he had learned. It could be anything, only needing to be something new.

  “I’ve learned that swarm spider queens don’t like smoke or fire,” Morgan said.

  Azil turned his emerald eyes to Morgan. “This is something that you read and then confirmed. Try again.”

  Morgan grimaced, but he did speak again. “I’ve learned that swarm spider queens can feel pain.”

  Azil’s eyes narrowed, looking at Morgan, studying him. Suddenly, the man nodded and returned to chopping wood. “Yes,” he said with his back turned once again. “The manuals all teach you how to kill monsters and beasts, but they do not tell you that those beasts care for their young, that they feel pain when they are murdered.”

  Morgan didn’t respond. He had known this already, had learned it when he realized that goblins weren’t just monsters, but people who chose to be monsters. Seeing a monster that was so unlike him show some kind of emotion was different. The swarm spiders were true monsters—he hadn’t seen sapience in their eyes. He saw intelligence, true, but they would not hesitate to kill anything that stood in their way, anything that threatened their nests.

  “But still, knowing this should not change your feelings toward them. Most of them are real monsters, a threat not just to the many races of the world, but to other monsters and beasts as well,” Azil said. “The world is filled with many such examples of monsters and beasts just doing what they were born to do. There is no good or evil in this; it simply is. This is a good thing to know.”

  Morgan nodded at the man’s back. He was sure that Azil could see—or if not actually see, then perceive—Morgan’s understanding.

  “So why have you come back? I believe the last time you came you swore that there would be no next time.”

  Morgan closed his eyes and bit down the sarcastic remark, as those kind of words did not help with Azil. “I was tired then. I appreciate all you have done for me.”

  Azil turned around and showed Morgan that he didn’t believe him.

  Morgan took a deep breath. “I am serious. I do know you have he
lped me a lot.”

  Azil kept his eyes on Morgan for another moment, then nodded and turned back to chopping wood. “So why have you come again? I sense there is a specific reason this time.”

  “My team and I are going to be participating in a tournament held by two Great Guilds. Those who prove themselves will join their teams in climbing the Tower. I want to be as prepared as possible.”

  Azil’s axe cut through a piece of firewood and then cut into the stump. “You wish to climb the Tower?” he asked slowly.

  “That has always been my ultimate goal,” Morgan said.

  Azil turned and looked at Morgan, letting his axe rest in the stump. “Has it been, really?”

  Morgan opened his mouth to speak, but realized that it wasn’t really the whole truth, and Azil requested only the truth. “No… My goal is to get stronger. The Tower just seems like a logical next step.”

  Azil tilted his head. “You are nowhere near strong enough for the Tower. If you were to enter it as you are now, you would be dead inside a week.”

  “Have you ever been to the Tower?” Morgan asked, now becoming interested. Azil rarely talked about his past, and even less about his accomplishments.

  “I have. It is not a place that ordinary people can survive. It requires something out of you—no, it demands it of you. And with every floor that demand gets stronger, heavier.”