The firmament was above; and the little lights were suspended in a sea of lavender and perennials. Limbo’s eternal night didn’t slacken on its air: a cold whisper up the nose. And observing it, a man would lament in his mistakes; a poet would draw inspiration for a line, and combined, he will tell a new truth under heaven, to be comprehended by others, if he wish it so. The meaning would transfer better than any word, fist, Juva or oration.

An evening passed in the real world, soon matching in ambience. The man who stood below heaven had a smirk plastered on, as if he were born with it and it was absolute. Black ink summoned from nowhere with an invisible artist at the pen marred his smooth skin: abstract shapes, crescents so wide and sharp an executioner would blush, jagged lines and crop circles invaded like it was a rush for fertile land. Who was to say was the bigger casualty? That or his eyes, which once held an enchanting brown retreated and, died for a color too foreign for any genetics to claim. Reddish and Orange. Despite pushing out the old, these two hues still battled for becoming the dominant eye color.

He exhaled. Underdeveloped, yet still the boy’s body was head-and-shoulders above even the hardest worked farmer in the land. Any warrior worthy to call themselves such, knew immediately that the figure before them, was a taut bowstring at the ready—like blood and war was an element of his marrow. If inspected with Spiritual Sense, they’d be in for a shock: his energy was so chaotic that it looked as though it had a mind of its own. An impossible task to ask someone to control—hinderance at best, dangerous to both friend and foe at worst.

And, yet… the statue stood. Energy chaotic, and it mattered nothing to him. He broke out of his hibernation and gave a glance to each of the Cardinal Four; who towered over him no different than a God of creation. The way he looked at them bothered Seri. She couldn’t explain it. The Grisla before was shocked initially but mellowed out into sincere respect; forced or otherwise. But this one… Avarice, he looked at them as though they were just waiting to be his. No reverence or dislike, as though the idea was too abstract for him to define. They were possessions to be his.

If she can see it, then…. It was likely even the humblest of their group was struggling to contain himself.

She managed to bait him back to Limbo; and if she had to say, effortlessly: waving a manual he’s not to get until he’s ready pulled him in easier than it does getting him to listen. Seri had to admit, it was strange seeing this… “hidden” aspect of her charge’s personality. But it did make sense. He nearly died being greedy in the Northern Wilderness and later, came out a barely above a broken toy gambling with Ji Nan.

It gave her a time to reflect. If this was only one aspect of Grisla Orlith, a pure trait without a filter, what would the rest of his impulses look like…? She shuddered at the thought. But that’s not important. We need to reign him in. Now.

 Avarice looked around, sneering. “Cheap trick.”

“Know me well, woman.”

 She snorted. “The fool I know would have something clever to say.”

 He gave her a point by nodding. But the humor was nonexistent for him.

 “Also,” Seri said, fists balling, “you’re going to pay first. And he’ll get his later. Have you forgotten me, Grisla—I mean, Avarice?”

 His eyes softened somewhat; as any man named Grisla would, and it bothered her to think of him as a part of him. “He hasn’t. I haven’t. We haven’t,” said Avarice. “However, I am Grisla Orlith—now and forever.”

 She rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say. Tell me…where is he?!”

 “Even I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Matters not. He failed. Easily, to add.”

 “…You’re lying.”

 “There’s no gain to my collection to do so. I am not my siblings. You know this.” He frankly said.

Avarice rolled his neck. A hand combed through his hair, and he took a sudden sigh. “I cannot hope to win against the Cardinal Four. Suicide would be a better idea. But,” his eyes pulled up, and Avarice’s defining trait shined in his eyes brighter than the hottest summer day. “I’ll be back, and when I do—there’ll be four muzzles in my hand to do with.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

The four’s expressions, at an instant, twisted.

 “Unashamed whelp!”

 “If she didn’t care for you, your soul would be eaten by this Tortoise for that!”

 “…The arrogance; unparalleled.”

 “I’d help if it meant I could keep the leash.”

The three shot a death glare at White Tiger. He pretended like it’d never happened, though. A lighthearted comment; not so much for someone like her who knows him. White Tiger’s jovial nature was a mask for the most bloodthirsty of The Four—something that, only though maintained self-control kept the Four from automatically killing each other with the Sage’s absence. Their tenuous relationship could spark a new heaven-shaking war in Limbo in a breath; with a comment taken too seriously, a slight gone too far. That was her worst fear.

With no one to act as intermediary—she knew that a tragedy is not an if, but when. Grisla is not the person they need, certainly not if she had to be honest. But he’s something. A temp that could do wonders for buying time. Another reason why he needs to be alive. Why Avarice needs to leave.

A breath later and Avarice was groveling on the floor, a vomit of blood below. Eyes near the brink of running free from his skull; he hadn’t shied in the slightest at his precarious predicament—all it took was a last-second change of heart, and he with Grisla would perish. But, no matter what, he stared defiance. And she noticed.

It wasn’t a defiance out of childish spite, or defiance from ignorance, no. Instead, it was defiance because he was defiant, something that was instilled in him before he was Grisla Orlith, the Untalented; or Grisla ‘Avarice’ Orlith. That was a part of him much like how Avarice is.

With that realized—she had an idea, sort of.

 “Masters, may you release this filthy cur? I have something to tell him.”

 “I thought we agreed to the plan,” Azure Dragon said.

 “…I have a better idea,” Seri said. The Four exchanged glances and shrugged, and Avarice got to his feet; monstrous pressure lifted.

Avarice, beneath everyone’s eyes, started for the portal again.

 “And where do you think you’re going?”

 “To find more for my envy, naturally.” He said as if it was obvious.

The beasts sent her the most puzzled looks. White Tiger trusts her enough to let her make her own decisions, as she had done for the majority of Grisla’s training, but even he wasn’t sure of what was cooking in her thoughts. But with his, and the other’s silence, she acknowledged their trust of her. Sure trust that she herself didn’t need to do much to earn. Another mystery just near her. A promise to someone. Incomplete memories, what are they hiding?

But that was something for another time. Her gift of speed delivered her in the way of Avarice. “Beating me won’t force him to return. He is gone.” He said.

 “Maybe, but I bet you can try to force him out.”

 “And… why would I do that?”

 “Because, it’ll be part of the deal if you lose.”

 “Deal?”

 “You and me.”

 “Fair competition…?” He snorted. “Not likely.”

 “Don’t worry, I’ll taper off my Juva to match your own.”

 “You can offer nothing. I already own you, woman.”

Seri’s lips twisted. Smile, Smile! I was begging for my masters not to kill him, at this rate I might. “Oh? But I can. There’s the Four Divine Beasts behind me; and I’m the Herald. In fact, they’ll submit to you if honor forced them. Honor on the terms given, and they will follow.”

 “I… am not a pet to be bargained with!” Vermillion Bird shot. The others shared the sentiment with just a glance, but they abstained from a comment. In the end, the bird flapped her wings in ire; the wind buffeting their faces.

 Ignoring the outburst, she continued, “If I win, you’ll give him back. If you do, then we offer you unconditional loyalty.”

It was a gamble. He could refuse—and then what? The only resort they have will be the original plan they came up with. But it was a stopgap until they figured out a real solution. A twisted finger hope for his agreement.

Whatever Avarice was thinking, it didn’t include her. Or the Cardinal Four. Hand on chin; his writhing tattoos didn’t signal much of what was going on underneath, either. After a moment that was neither long nor short, he blinked. “Agreed. But…” Avarice started, he transitioned from a leisured predator, to a bloodstained warrior in all but a blink: lowered knees, stabled balance; fists primed to fire like pistons. “…It will be a disaster for you.”

She raised a brow. Long ago, Grisla’s stance was textbook Grittus Style, based on the principles of ‘Earth shakes; Heaven quakes’; an opinion could say that some of his popularity during his Chosen days, specifically among the older generation, were because he was part of the younger generation with a faithful adherence to their clan’s techniques. An ideal candidate to carry on their clan’s teachings someday.

And now… it’s been almost a year. Seri remembers part of his trouble back when first learning ‘Steps of the Alpha’, had reason lying in his clan’s stiff movement. For him, back then trying to use both competently was like looking left and right simultaneously. Rigidity battling the White Tiger’s bursts of agility. That was the biggest point her original estimate for his progress was based on. But he did it—learned the technique in a month as he said he would.

Avarice showed the evolution of Grisla’s progress. Strangely enough, the big showboat of his progress will conclude being put under her thumb again.

Seri sneered. Hmph! Thinks he can take me on, then? She too, lowered into a stance: arms raised, fists balled. “If I make you cry, who’s the one doing it: you, or Grisla?”

 He didn’t answer. Her mind may’ve been playing a trick on her, but she swore that Avarice’s lips moved.

 “…So, shall we begin?”

 “Yes.”