Harding gave his regards to the Eights before leaving Black Barrow. He returned with the Garnets to their city estate and thanked them for their hospitality. Though in truth he had been a hostage, he felt no need to bring it up. Despite the undesirable start of the experience, how it ended far surpassed his expectations. He made plans with Jarred to meet later in the week before returning to the temple. It seemed strange to think of a NPC as a friend and yet he did.

Adjusting to the temple was difficult. The temple life was too quiet, both alien and familiar. It was comforting to feel safe but agitating to feel stagnant. Brother Rent had not returned and the class had moved on without him and neared its completion.

Harding was not sure what to do with another voidseed. Yet Yhavat had orchestrated the trade for a purpose. Either he was meant to have another or he had been used for some larger game and it had nothing to do with him. Probably both.

He put in among his things and mediated, focusing on the alien bits of energy still in his spirit body after the root fight. He swept energy through himself and into his crypt contained voidseed, over and over. Slowly, over the course of an entire evening, he strained it all out as the crypt-void combination seemed to collect the dross.

Brother Roberts sat down with him the day after he had returned and attempted to assess the situation. He ran Harding through a number of tests, from simple observed meditation to complex spirit manipulation. At the end Brother Roberts gave him his opinion, “You’re further than the class now, there is no point for you to be with them. You’ve made remarkable leaps in some areas, have had little growth in a couple and have adopted unorthodox methodology for a few.”

They were quiet a moment.

“Still, I would not hesitate to move you to the rank of Initiate in the temple with those who stay after the class. In a few of those tests, you were better than some of the brothers. Is that something you want, to stay with the temple? I know you’ve been training with the Guard association and have been a guest with nobles. Your robes have certainly seen… excited wear.”

“I would like to stay, to become an Initiate and be an acolyte to Brother Rent when he returns. He instructed me to wait and meditate, but to be ready to travel. I think I need more help from the Guard association than the temple for the moment.”

Brother Roberts smiled at him and nodded, “That sounds like a well thought out plan. I hope it works well. When I’m not teaching, please engage me with your questions on spirit.” Brother Roberts patted him on the shoulder and stood up slowly. “The temple initiation ceremony will be this Saturday evening, please attend if possible.”

Having settled on a course with the temple, Harding headed out to visit Master Bradon. In Harding’s mind, this would be the most difficult thing to rebalance. He had been sent on a day job and never returned nor sent a message for more than a week.

He must think I quit.

He walked through the side gate and entered the training yard. Master Bradon was taking a class through exercises with the spear. Harding longed to join in, but other than a quick acknowledgement, Master Bradon ignored him and focused on his class. Harding sat and watched as the class went on for nearly an hour.

“Ok, gentlemen. Break for lunch. Be back here in two hours and we will work on defense with the spear. I went easy on you last week, this week you’ll make up for it.” As the class filed out, Master Bradon waved Harding over to his office and sat in his chair. He sat there a moment with his eyes closed, then looked up at Harding. “Don’t get old,” he counseled.

“I’m not sure I have a choice in that, sir.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, before staring into Harding’s eyes. “So, tell me.”

“Uh, that job was a shitshow. I ended up in the woods with a half dead soldier, burning a fire to keep some kind of nightmare at bay. Then soldiers showed up and ‘escorted’ me to a ‘strongly encouraged retreat’ where I’ve spent the last week dealing with the ramifications of it. I didn’t even get paid.”

Master Bradon laughed, hands on knees, bent over in his chair. “Damned if Rent can’t pick them. I figured something went wrong when I didn’t see you and the pay was never entered. But hostage over the fallout of a lordling’s adventure, you’ve got the luck.”

Harding shook his head. “Learned some alchemical healing, improved my spirit magic, got beat to shit and died twice. There's some other stuff in there too, but it seems pretty silly compared to, you know, dying.”

"Look son, eventually, you figure out there are three kinds of contracts. The best and majority are the quiet ones where your greatest challenge is fighting boredom. Then there are the eventful ones, you go, something happens, you move on. Most of it is still quiet, but that little burst makes it different. Those aren't common, but they're common enough that they're why you get hired. Then there are the utterly insane ones. They're incredibly rare, but they do happen."

Master Bradon learned back in his chair and fished out a sandwich from his desk. "Mind if I eat while we talk?"

"No, go ahead, I don't want to use up your lunch."

Master Bradon took a bite, chewed, then raised an eyebrow and took a drink of something Harding suspected was tea. "Once had a contract, me and someone that I used to know, to guard a single wagon. Wagon was a trader run by two miserable merchants, can't even remember their cursed names. The kind of folk you keep your distance from and don't speak to or of. One night we were in the darkness, watching, eating, and those two fools were arguing, hotly. Was the kind of boring contract where the people are so terrible you just want it over."

He took another bite, chewed and washed it down.

"We hear a rustle, gurgles, we run into camp. The one merchant is stabbing the other in the lung, guy pulls his own dagger and rams it up under the guys jaw into his brain. Dead instantly. First guy gurgles blood, keels over, dies quick enough."

He took a couple of bites of his sandwich, letting the situation sink in before continuing.

"Here we are, two hired guards. Middle of the journey, both merchants dead with a cart laden with goods. So we dragged that to the destination and went before a magistrate. He ruled we failed the contract, no pay. However, he also said that the cart was then legal salvage and we rightfully owned it minus taxes. So we failed our contact and made about twenty times what we were going to."

"That is crazy."

Master Bradon raised his eyebrows and grinned, "Whole world is crazy, just a matter of if you catch them with their masks off."

After a few more bites he looked to Harding, the last bit of sandwich dangling in his fingers and said, "Tell me your plans then." Before Harding could answer, he popped the remaining bite in his mouth and listened while he chewed.

"I want to go back to training with you, like Brother Rent planned. I need to learn to fight, I felt so useless in all that it made me sick. Just spend all day learning from you. Spend my nights on magic or, occasionally, with friends. Until whenever Brother Rent shows up and takes me on as Acolyte. Which is pretty much the original plan, I just understand more where I'm at and where I need to be?"

Master Bradon smiled, "Very good. I got this class for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, show up early and I'll get you started so you can work all day."

"It's good to know what you lack," he added. "People, they see that gap between where they are and where they need to be, and they either get motivated or they give up. Realizing their gain is where it's tough. Sometimes their goals aren't obtainable, but often they just can't stomach what it will take to get there."

He scratched the side of his nose and made it plain to Harding. "They want to be the best and they won't be. You don't become the best worrying about others, you focus on being the best you and the rest happens. You won't be the best fighter, there are way too many people with incredible natural talent who get discovered young, trained exceptionally, and have more experience because of it. It's what they're built to do, it's fate. That's what fate is, just the optimal path that you're likely to fall into. Your path isn't as a fighter, but that doesn't mean you can't or shouldn't learn to be more than competent. Be the best? No. Be your best? Yes. Sounds like you're willing to pay the price and have some grasp of what that price is, with that we can get you well on your way to being your best."

They chatted briefly and then Harding thanked Master Bradon and headed back to the temple, stopping in Old Market to pick up a couple broadsheets and a new pair of socks. His money was dwindling and he needed a way to generate more.

A couple weeks in and he still hadn't been paid a single coin.

Once back to the temple, he read through the broadsheets. Four of the queen’s advisors were still missing and she had initiated the procedure to name her own replacements. If the broadsheet’s article was correct, the Queen’s advisors were usually required to be named by the other advisors; however if a quorum was not present, she could initiate proceedings on her own. Harding was pretty sure he’d solved that mystery.

A textile factory in Breshem had burned. The second industrial fire in the last two weeks. Piracy was notably up, which made sense to Harding. Get a bunch of new people with no way to make money and then give them a little time to get some weapons and boats. A rise in piracy and banditry was to be expected. The worst of it was to the east in the duchies of Damon and Eastrun. Eastrun itself had a section of coast that was officially called Pealing Shallows, but was already commonly referred to as the Pirate Coast.

I wonder how that played into the Garnet's push to raid.

There were a handful of estate sales and auctions, the ones that stood out to Harding were the heirless widow of the kingdoms retired hero general turned historian, a mill industry baron who Harding believed was the neighbor to the Garnet city estate, and a tinkerer who was celebrated for his innovation in firearms. But, Harding had no money.

Beyond the usual gossip, parties, and mass recruitment for various trades, Harding did find one other interesting bit. The Empire was pushing its other kingdoms to stay with the Imperial coin. Gregory had told him the Ayr kingdom had dropped the Imperial. The currency conflict was empire wide and fierce. No real reasons were given either way, but Harding thought it had to do with larger economic policy.

Doesn’t it always?

Harding took in dinner with his old classmates. They caught him up on the various happenings at the temple while he’d been away. The most notable being the absence of Alina, who had left the temple permanently. They were unsure if she just quit the temple or gave up on Life entirely. Their conversation was lively and good natured, but it felt different to Harding. Here were people he knew and reasonably liked, but not until being with them did he discover how much he had changed.

They wanted to know where he'd been and what he'd been doing. He couldn't tell and he couldn't tell them that, so he talked about making a new friend and staying at their place while spending the days meditating. Ed thought he was lucky. Sabina wanted to know if he was cute. Ed thought maybe it was a she. Randal knew some, but stayed out of it.

Yes, Harding assured them, he would graduate and go through temple initiation with them. Inside though, he didn't feel like he belonged anymore. He wondered if he ever had. Harding understood a little more that fate wasn't a destination, it was a path to be traveled and he was ready to move on.

After a night of meditation, he went back to Master Bradon to learn. Instead of attack drills, he learned more footwork, which he practiced mostly unsupervised as Master Bradon taught other classes throughout the day. Eventually a progress check happened while Harding was taking a break. "I don't get it," he griped to the instructor, "You get these new recruits, they come in, you drill spear for two sessions and then they leave. I just squat, shuffle and the like day after day."

A corner of the instructor's mouth ticked up. "They are learning what they came to learn, they are not learning what I could teach," he pointed out. "Learning to evade leads to learning to read when to evade. When you can do that, you then can learn to counter. Knowing these things allows you to exploit the weaknesses of others."

Harding knew he was right but he didn't like it. The whole experience in Black Barrow had taught him he could adapt, but it had also been brutal in highlighting his deficiencies. He sighed. Master Bradon spoke the truth, "You came to me to learn to fight, not to hold an issued spear and stand at a gate." Most of his students were beginning guards or escorts.

That was not Harding's fate.

"That's true," Harding reluctantly allowed. Still he really wanted to feel like he was making some sort of tangible progress. "Is there a weapon I should get to prepare for learning?"

The weapons master's response was edged, "No. You are the weapon. To focus on one weapon at this point is failure. Besides, we have practice weapons for training. Later, you will be ready to focus more."

Harding was about to question when he was cut off, by Master Bradon holding up a six inch long, quarter inch wide dowel. "Any weapon you want, I will beat you with this. Is this magic? No, it is a tool for rope."

Humbled, Harding went back to work until early evening. He gave Master Bradon his goodbyes, was told to come the next morning, and then limped home with his leg muscles twitching. After cleaning up, he met up with Randal. "You're going tonight, right," Harding confirmed. With Alexci fighting tonight, Harding had already assumed he would.

Randall gave a sheepish look and admitted, "Yeah, but I was waiting until supper is served here. Free is free. After that I'm going out, you want to come with."

"Randal, do you trust me?"

"This is where you ask me something weird and creepy right?"

Harding sighed, "Just come with me now, we will get plenty of free food, ok?"

Randal, not known for skipping a free meal, hesitated but ultimately gave in. It was the clearest sign of trust Harding could expect. The two walked south from the hill, until Harding turned into the bridge to the Green Hills.

"The Grinder isn't this way..."

"Yeah. I know. You know what the Eights were up to last week, right?"

"Sorta, but I'm not supposed to… and you do?" He paused, his mouth opened in mid-realization. "Oh, when you…"

"We are going to walk across this bridge, turn around and walk back. And for doing that we will get a suite out of it. My legs are still wobbly from training, I'm not walking this extra distance for no reason."

Randal had no argument against that. Arriving at the House Garnet estate, they were greeted by a familiar guard. "Woah, Stoltz, what are you doing out front? Thought you were a big deal," quipped Harding.

"I am, that's why I'm out here for the public to see," he laughed. "Also, tradition. You get a new seed, you take a watch at the gate to remind you of your roots." He then added in a fake whisper, "and to impress upon these louts the rewards of excellent service."

Randal just watched this exchange, staring at Harding like he was an alien.

"Who's your friend?"

"Classmate and my contact with the Eights."

"Very well, the young Master has been excited all day." Stoltz gave the other guard a faux glare, "Well? Open the gates, man."

Through the open gates, Harding led Randal into the gardens. Randal eyed the place and smirked, "So this is where you were staying while I was cramped in a temple cell?"

"Only like half the time, also, be nice to the sister," Harding warned as he waved at Jarred who sat on a veranda with Jasika. Both had dressed far too nice for the Grinder. Noble expectations, money and social ineptitude was a hell of a combination.

Jasika wore a crimson dress, elegant but subdued. It only whispered about excessive money instead of screaming about it. Jarred, however, was dressed in multiple shades of gray leather and white silk, somewhere between a formal sparring session and the Queen's Own ball. One was ready for a gala and the other the fencing club. Harding rolled his eyes but smiled. They were what they were.

The Garnet children came down and met them. Harding gave the formal introductions and made it a point to praise the Garnet hospitality.

"A carriage, or shall we walk," asked Jarred.

"The lady's preference, though low profile may be better."

"Ride," declared Jasika.

Quickly after they were seated and had begun to roll Jasika spoke, "I understand this is a diplomatic exercise, and that he told me I should go, but why the choice of an evening coffee instead of supper?"

Randal choked and Harding covered for him, giving a concerned look over his friend. "My Lady, the Grinder is a large complex which is the joint project of three large guilds, one of which is the Eights. They will be serving food in a large, private opera box with important people from the guild, including their trade and craft organizations. Coffee is the front business and thus a bit of a code."

Jasika gave a little nod, satisfied that it was one of those fashionably understated events, and settled to stare out the window. By carriage, the Grinder was only a couple minutes travel and soon they stepped out into the street. People milled about the front. The sun still hung just above the buildings and the river air wasn't too foul today. The emblazoned carriage and obvious noble dress caught more than a few eyes. It couldn't be helped. The budding alliance would eventually be known. Jarred hopped out to help his sister down. Harding and Randal exited after. They were met at the front entrance by Howie, who bowed and held a door open.

"Greetings Howard, it is quite agreeable to see you again so soon," Jasika informed him. Though she was stiff in delivery, Randal threw a questioning look at Harding. Harding just shook his head.

"Lady Jasika, always a stunning beauty," Howie humbly offered. Jarred groaned quietly at the unabashed flattery, but Harding thought Jasika blushed a little.

The party went into the building and the Garnets eyed the massive open space fill of vendors. The smell of coffee was nearly overwhelming, a presiding aroma over the active sales. Agnes was waiting for them, looking like she'd just come from the warcamp.

Maybe she's been logged out?

"My Lord and Lady, so wonderful to see you here in our hospitality. Harding. Randal. Please follow me, Aleister and the others will join us when they can. Event nights are always busy."

Agnes and Howie led them up a flight of stairs into a carpeted hallway. The overall styling went from repurposed industrial decay to opera house decor immediately. The party was led down the corridor, passing a few doors that had private guards before coming to their destination.

Within they found themselves in a room open to the event floor. At the open end were several rows of tiered seating. At the back of the room were several hotplates resting on a sideboard counter. Two couches ran along the sides, looking very much like budget elegance selections. The whole upper floor felt a little like a small casino, but with more traditional aesthetics and less busy carpet.

Stolen novel; please report.

More like a small arena.

"Very nice," commented Harding in his understanding of the design reference. He was given the impression that the Garnets were unfamiliar with this style of room, but their social training allowed them no more than a pause before they swept in with seeming comfort.

"Howie, you coming," asked Harding.

"I'm the guard tonight," he said with a grimace.

"Why? Agnes, the Garnets have a relationship with Howie and they have people in trade negotiations with his people. I doubt any security is needed outside, especially considering the people inside."

Agnes looked at him like he was messing everything up. Harding was getting used to the look.

"Ask Jasika," Harding suggested, ignoring Howie's attempt at interjecting.

Everyone looked to Jasika. Agnes clearly didn't know that she was not the impartial arbiter of decorum in this as she acquiesced without protestation. "I find Howard quite pleasant company," Jasika confirmed, before peering over the ledge to the arena floor below. "What type of entertainment is this?"

"You didn't tell her," exclaimed Agnes incredulously.

Harding motioned to Jarred, Jarred returned the gesture. Neither wanted the blame. When it was clear the effort was a draw, Jarred took responsibility. "Yhavat told her to come, he didn't seem to think more was needed," offered Jarred in defense. "Besides, I have never been here either."

"But she's…" Agnes started before realizing that she didn't want to complete that sentence.

"You've seen her covered in gore," Jarred pointed out.

Harding added, "And burn the flesh off a godling."

"What," exclaimed Randal. Which only got him the attention of the frustrated Agnes.

"And why is he here, he's just a recruit," she exasperated.

Randal joined already?

"My dear Agnes," Aleister said from the door, "You're a tactical maven and my most respected officer, but you've been outmaneuvered by a kid in a robe and an immortal… whatever the hell that was."

"Sir!" she complained, the first use of an honorific Harding could recall her ever using towards Aleister.

"Tactical retreat to the wine rack, soldier," Aleister ordered playfully. "And, ah, bring me one too?"

"I got food and a barmaid coming,” Aliester announced. “We've got wines, coffee, flavored waters and a selection of hors d'oeuvres. Ask the server for anything specific. There is still about twenty minutes until the fights start."

"Thank you for this impressive hospitality. We will have to return the favor," Jarred assured. Jasika just smiled, then looked back over the railing. The arena below being clearly more interesting to her.

A group of men and women entered a minute later. Introductions were made as they included various trade officers, the head of training development, a buyer in weapons procurement, two alchemical research members and more. The box became crowded, even with many of the same people filtering out again. House Garnet was present and the Eights were trying to impress. Jasika retreated as Jarred engaged. Harding filled two mugs with coffee, indicated that Randal should follow and went down into the corner of the booth where Jasika was huddled.

"Coffee," he offered, as though he were declaring a truce. He extended a mug on a saucer with a small thimble of cream on the side. She accepted it dutifully, wearing the most polite version of the don't-you-dare-sit-next-to-me face she knew.

Harding sat next to her.

Randal sat next to him and the trio shared an awkward silence. Eventually Harding told no one,

"I love new people and trading for new things, but the formal contact stuff is mind numbing to me."

Jasika tested the temperature of her coffee, focusing on that instead of him.

"Still, I suppose I should go see how Jarred is doing," he sighed. "Lady Jasika, if you have questions about the fights, Randal is your man. He comes to every fight, knows the fighters, and even socializes with them afterwards."

She looked at Randal, then at Harding, "Fights?"

Harding blinked, not knowing how she still had not keened onto the event. It could be construed as a circus of sorts, as it was essentially just a flat rectangle of packed earth. The event master was getting ready at the side of the arena. The crowd hum increased in anticipation.

Harding spoke gently, "That is what the Grinder is Maid Jasika, half coffee shop and half pit fights."

"They don't actually die," clarified Randal hurriedly.

"Actually they do, but they got this device under the floor, it's kind of like what Yhavat did apparently, but in artifact form. When they aren't doing shows, it's how the big guilds train. No holding back blows, full lethal intent training. I believe the Queen has the only other device in the kingdom? Ask Randal, I'm going to check on your brother."

Harding got up. "You’d better give me heads up before your sister fights," he added sternly as he slid past Randal.

Randal quirked an eyebrow with a squint, "You didn't hear, did you. She gave up her seed, she's fighting the unseeded events again. So she'll be early."

"Let me know," Harding reiterated.

As Harding walked away he heard Jasika ask, "Your sister fights here?" Harding smiled. He'd landed the hook.

************

It was several weeks before Brother Rent came back to town. There was no warning. Harding was sitting in the Solar garden one afternoon, meditating on the nature of spirit and attempting to coax it to respond again when an unnoticed Rent spoke, "You figure all this out yet?"

Harding opened his eyes and Brother Rent was sitting beside him in the same pose. Harding rolled his eyes. "I was trying to commune with Abathala because I thought you were lost."

"All I've lost is my innocence… and my staff."

"You've lost at least a dozen staves."

"Ah, but they were all mine, so they are but one staff in concept."

"Lost your mind too."

"I may have lost your gift…"

"You're remarkably capable at gifts."

"How far through the book are you?"

Harding reached into his Heart gate, pulled out the crypt and lightly swiped it with the spirit extended from his palm. He opened it with a simple mental command instead of the complex manipulations thought to be required. Inside was the original voidseed, its walls nearly coated with the muted ash gray flake of the stained corruption.

Rent covered his surprise with humor, "I may have subverted too hard, don't know my own strength and all that. What have you done?"

"Long story, I might tell you were I properly incentivized."

Rent laughed.

"I've created a monster."

Harding paused, then asked in a serious tone, "Have you ever had it speak to you?"

Rent responded with confusion, "Had what speak to me?"

"It. Spirit. Magic. Whatever it really is."

"Ah. I see. No. There are a few writings that suggest such, but they're widely dismissed as waking dreams. Sometimes, when you're deep in meditation you can hear things, feel things…" he trailed off. The hesitation was unusual for the brash monk. "Some say they've even held dialogues, but that is treading next to madness. It's most likely your inner self speaking back to you.”

Harding itched the side of his nose and considered that it had been his imagination. "I suppose that's plausible. Didn't seem like it, but I can't say I know. Still, it opened the crypt for me."

"Perhaps it was just an intuitive use?"

"It led to doing weird things too."

"Like what?"

Harding remained silent for the moment. Rent was being serious enough it was starting to concern Harding. He wasn't sure what was heretical. Rent seemed to enjoy flouting those rules, yet the man was still a monk. Something was bothering him though. Harding started, "I pushed my spirit through a monster's spirit body and disconnected its spirit from its body.”

"Hmm."

"Also, manipulated its gate powers while I was in there. It was weird? The thing had powers without seeds."

"Maybe I should become your acolyte..."

Old Rent was back.

Relieved, Harding retorted, "Definitely not without your first training from pictograms only half-visible on an ancient amphora unearthed in the land of the dead that depicts how to reach the fourth ideal."

Serious Rent returned, quiet and sharp, "Where did you hear that, the Fourth Ideal?"

Well, shit.

"Uh, same place I gave a vampiric carrot a spirit enema. Which I'll tell you about once you give me the gift and make me your acolyte officially. Then, we get out of this stuffy temple."

Rent snorted.

"But, you can stop and eat Rodney's garden first. You have responsibilities after all."

A slow smile grew on Rent's face, "This may work out after all.”

************

Later that evening, Brother Rent and he had finished both the paperwork for the temple and dinner for themselves. Both bland, as always. How there was paperwork not only baffled Harding, but disturbed him on a fundamental level. Filling out forms in a game.

Randal came and sat down with a bowl and some bread. "Hey Brother Rent, are you staying awhile?"

"Actually, I wanted to find you to talk about that," interjected Harding. Harding explained to Randal the change. Although he had talked about wanting to do it for awhile, it had always been more of a thing in the future.

"But we will be back through regularly, right," Harding asked.

"Irregularly, but yes. I tend to take different paths, but this is one of the few temples I always try to stop for a couple of days," explained Rent. Harding smiled at Randal and ignored his inner unease at the change.

If Randal was disappointed, he hid it well. "You're coming to the Grinder tonight then, right?"

"I'd like to, do you want to come with Brother Rent?"

"What is the Grinder?"

"It's a coffee shop run by the largest guilds." Harding paused, "And a combat arena."

Brother Rent bared a predatory grin. "The same guilds that are putting on a tournament in four months?"

Harding straightened as Randal squinted at the monk, "You've heard about that?"

"It is the talk of the town…"

"It isn't being announced until tonight."

"Well I'm sure I heard it somewhere," he dismissed with a wave of his hand.

Rent added slyly, "I love a good show and maybe we could pick up some work as godseed tuners or as spirit medics."

"We are going to circle back to this 'spirit medic' bit," promised Harding with a pointed look, "but what if I told you I was on a first name basis with one of the hosting guilds' leadership?"

"When do we leave for the show," asked Brother Rent, excitement apparent.

Harding pushed away from the table. "We should go soon then, I owe the Garnets a goodbye. Perhaps they'll want to come this evening."

"The House Garnet of Eastrun?"

"You've missed a lot while you were lost."

Randal snorted, then tried to cover it up, "You got lost, a traveling monk?"

Brother Rent’s eyes narrowed as he glared at them, "You've both been talking to Rodney haven't you."

Time moved on and so did they.

They went to the Garnet Estate so Harding could say goodbye and ended up talking the duke, Jarred and Jasika into going to the Grinder with them. At the Grinder they were invited into Aleister's suite, where he was already entertaining as a guest Sir Geoffrey, Knight Commander of the Castle Guard. As the overseer of the Queen's soulnet artifact, they had common operating issues and research goals.

The Event Master came out to the middle of the arena, dressed in five shades of green, and addressed the crowd. "Ladies and Gentlemen, Curious and Connoisseur, Savage and Sophisticant, please allow me the delight of informing you that our fight formats have been updated to the exciting competitive standards of the upcoming glorious tournament.”

Cheers.

“Individual fighter classes will now be either natural or open. Natural fighters must harrowingly face their opponents without the aid of magic or alchemy. Open fighters are allowed any aid that was brought upon the sand before the fight, including those brought by others.”

The monoseeded are going to get crushed, but Archons will be challenged further.

“Fights will continue as an elimination tournament, either in solo or group brackets. Due to the complexity of the group fights, we will be posting a team schedule starting Monday. Teams will not have set nights, so be sure to check the schedule to follow your favorite teams.”

They're starting permanent fight teams.

“And with that, let me introduce to you this evening's natural fighters…"

The group watched casually as they chatted. Quickly, the topic turned to the tournament.

"Sir Geoffrey, will the Guard be sending fighters to the tournament. Rumor has it, under your excellent tutelage, the Queen, Bless the Crown, has some of the best fighters in the kingdom, even when not including the Queen's Own."

"We are considering it. I would like to field a team, but our first priority is our duty to the Crown. Should Her Highness attend though, we think we would have the numbers."

“We, too, are investigating if we will be sponsoring fighters from our ranks. However, after some recent losses, our current duty roster is too thin to allow a team. Perhaps, if enough awaken in time though," explained the duke.

Awaken?

"Mom would be incredible in the individual event," interjected Jarred.

"Yes, son, she would," warmly allowed his father. "But ability alone does not dictate whether someone fights. She is excited to attend, but has no interest in participating."

Sir Geoffrey pointed out, “Duke Garnet, you are commonly known as a very skilled combatant. One might even say even feared by the majority of the court. Will you be fighting?"

The duke let out a long exhale. Holding his hands out empty, he excused, "It would be exhilarating, but it would not be appropriate." He didn't sound unhappy though to Harding.

“I have not yet decided if my children will be allowed, but the position it could force my men or even other houses' men into is unbecoming of a conscientious Lord," proclaimed the duke. "I'm sure it's different for a guild or association, but my men are sworn to me through death. Many have died for me. As their lord, how could I cross blades in competition or stand in their way to advance for my own amusement?"

Sir Geoffrey nodded in understanding, Aleister watched below, submerged in his own thoughts. Harding felt a bit of disappointment, he had seen the duke fight monsters and was pretty sure he would be a formidable opponent to any individual.

A few fights into the night's events, Albert Kirk and Runild joined them. "Heard you were up here, wanted to pay my respects," Albert bowed to the duke. "Your recent investments are really coming together. "

Runild countered, "Pfft, he heard there was hot food up here and wanted to eat. His hunger was making him really bitchy."

They sat in the back after piling up their plates. Runild hadn't been kidding, Al had served up a heaping platter for himself. No one else seemed to pay attention to them though. Jasika, Jarred and Randal huddled together to talk fights, powers and strategies. On the other side Duke Garnet engaged with Sir Geoffrey and Aleister on stately business and guild functions. Brother Rent and Harding existed in the gap between. Occasionally Albert or Runild would insert themselves into their conversation, but mostly they just ate and cheered the fights.

Harding thought about the culture of the Eights, where these two could just come up and pillage the appetizers in front of high ranking guests. While some might see it as low discipline, Harding knew Aleister was entirely results driven. They were team leads and acting questionably improper, yet there was a core to them that was hard and the rest was just let go.

They were a family.

When Alexci fought, the group didn't talk. It wasn't just for Randal’s sake. Alexci had built a reputation in the guild. She gathered a certain following in both her fight progress and her social engineering. She didn't move like Runild, but she was fast. She didn't have massive strength like Agnes, but she overpowered or used leverage against many opponents. But her most striking feature was her brutal aggression and unpredictable methods. She'd try anything and would often succeed. She just kept coming; fast.

In the arena square and the public square.

This fight Alexci fought a heavily armored opponent who stood behind a large kite shield. Instead of depending on his defense though, he came at her in a reckless all out attack. His faith was in armor allowing his effort to be entirely in his attack. She defended, readily falling back. Her retreat was alien.

Then at the moment her first counter hit his shield, she let her attack carry her physically into his shield. She let go of her sword and grasped the edges of his shield. Twisting away from his lunge and falling backward to her knees as she added to his momentum. The culmination was an awkward throw.

He landed hard.

She jumped on him and brought both fists against the back of his head. She used his shock not to get in more blows, but to draw his own stiletto from his hip. She rammed it ruthlessly into the side of his neck. Viciously, she did it over and over until it was quite clear he was dead.

She rolled him over and arranged him on his back, shield on chest on top of his crossed arms as preparing him to be interred. Then she thrust his sword in the sand above his head like a grave marker. Percival came over to her and told the cheering crowd "She ruined another perfectly good knight."

They roared.

She slapped Percival on the ass with the flat of her sword that she had just picked up. Playing for the crowd, he pantomimed anguish and grabbed his ass with one hand while putting the back of his other hand to his forehead. The crowd lost it. In less than thirty seconds she'd savagely killed a larger, heavily armored aggressor, put on a small show with his corpse and was now in a slapstick routine with Percival.

"Your sister has everything an event needs, Randal. We have multiple new fighters a week here just to fight her," praised Aleister.

"She certainly loves the show," agreed Randal.

"What's with Alexci being unseeded again," Harding asked.

"Uh," Randal hesitated. "That's her story. I shouldn't talk about it." Jasika and Aleister both eyed Randal, though Harding thought it might be for different reasons.

Down below, they were clearing the sand while two fighters stood at the edge talking to Percival.

Harding took the time and announced, "I wanted you all to know that I've become Brother Rent's acolyte. Some of you already knew, or at least knew it was my plan." People congratulated Harding. Harding gave thanks and moved on, "We will be leaving the city soon, tomorrow morning maybe?"

"Mmm," mumbled Brother Rent, well in the process of draining another ale. "In the morning, hangover and Okkor be willing."

"Tomorrow afternoon," Harding amended.

"Will you be gone long," asked Jarred, though all of the Garnets watched him.

"My understanding is we will be circling through the Empire, but that we will be back through a few times," answered Harding.

Brother Rent had gone for more ale, but called over, "Probably be through Eastrun in a couple months, once Harding can survive the road."

The duke nodded.

"I'm going to have a little care package sent over," declared Albert.

Aleister picked up the idea and added, "A bit from Agnes and I, too."

They both looked at Runild expectantly. Feeling their intent, she looked up from her plate of chicken with her mouth full, "Whafp."

"I'm sure Runild will have something to add," Aleister assured him.

"I appreciate it guys. No need, but I certainly appreciate it. I'll miss all of you. However, I should see you soon in a month or two and if not, we might be going to the tournament? How hard will it be to get tickets, Aleister?"

Aleister laughed, "Basic entry will be free, though they're charging a lot for camping. I'm sure vendor prices will be insane. However, I'll get you an All Access pass. It'll get you everywhere but the Nobles section. For that, you'd need a House sponsor."

"And we will gladly have you both as guests," affirmed the duke. "We should have the actual passes by the time you come through Eastrun. Just stop there and someone at the holding can provide them if we are not in residence."

Brother Rent inserted himself, "We would be filled with gratitude. Young Harding here should be ready to act as a fully competent seed setter by then. Should your house have any work, he would be grateful for the opportunity to practice." Harding was suspicious of Rent's gracious manner and decided it was entirely motivated by the prospect of fully comped vending.

"It is good to train those that seek to master, it is how society aids in the development of their skill," Sir Geoffrey opened. "Should you happen to pass by the castle in such need, please present yourself. While we do have a few setters, they have many other duties and would be generous in offering up opportunities for you to work. Especially since they are responsible for the Watch as well."

Rent smiled, amused by the prospect and assured him such opportunities would be sought. Hatching felt like a commodity, one Rent was happily trading away for favors.

"What about the rangers," Harding asked, more than a little sarcastically.

Purposefully oblivious, Sir Geoffrey clarified, "They fall under command of the military and, as such, have access to their services."

The rest of the night went smoothly. The end events were Grand Melees and those were highly entertaining. They were also in a tournament format, a last man standing chaos of all participating guilders in that class in the arena at once. Afterwards, they all went down to the fighters lounge. Even Sir Geoffrey was included. There they mingled, drank and paid compliments to the athletes. Harding took the opportunity to bid a temporary farewell to Alexci, who seemed a little sullen that he would be leaving again.

Or, maybe, I'm imagining it.

"I must train though," he asserted using logic she couldn't argue. He admitted, "I'm not where I want to be in skill. Hopefully, once trained, I'll be very capable enough to join my friends instead of just following them."

She was sincere when she instructed him, "Don't waste any opportunity. That's all we get. I probably train too much," she admitted somberly before snapping back. "But someone has to teach these finks some humility. It's a costly task, but not so difficult."

As the group chortled Harding felt like he had seen behind her mask for just a moment. Everyone saw her good-natured aggression, a charging warrior who was the life of the party. But everything demands its balance.

Everything has a cost.