Chapter: 22

"Feels just so wrong being out of armor."

"Freeing, though, ain't it?" Rick said.

"I guess in a way, but it also makes me feel vulnerable. Only idiots walk around without armor and at least a blade on them," Len said. He took off his scabbard from his belt, tapping his thumb against the blade.

He set it down and looked around his room. Lydia had headed off in the morning for the arena.

Len held out his arms, normal clothes, reinforced boots and his working blade on his belt.

“Passable,” Rick said and turned, his clothes worn and patched from their travels.

“You think Lydia is going to win?”

“She’s my sister after all,” Rick said.

Len chuckled as they headed out.

***

Len and Rick found their seats around the midway point of the arena, facing the spectator box it held. The Isendia spectator box was on the other side.

"What the hell is she playing at?" Rick muttered as they navigated through the crowd to get to their seats.

They watched and waited, feeling eyes upon them. Rick glanced upward, noticing someone speaking into the ear of another man. In Tyrus's ear, Rick's uncle's eyes were locked on not Len, but Rick beside him.

"Ah, shit," Len thought to himself. He could see the man's recognition flash through his eyes, the way his jaw clenched and a vein started to throb on his forehead. He turned his head, ripping his eyes away from Rick, and barked something to the messenger. They snapped upright, firing off a salute before hurrying away.

"So, welcome one and all to the finals of the Isendia Annual Tournament!" the announcer barked out. People shifted forward, drawing their attention to the arena. Len checked both edges of the aisle they were seated in. Getting out was going to be difficult, if not impossible.

Rick raised his eyes, watching the arena. "Your uncle knows," Len whispered. Rick's eyes snapped to his, then over to the spectator box. He clenched his teeth so hard Len could swear that they creaked.

"Whatever. Not even he can stop me from watching Lydia."

"On the right, we have Quillen!" The crowd erupted into cheers as the gate opened, revealing a man wearing an all-too-familiar set of armor. The thick-set man walked out with a smirk on his face, his helmet underneath his arm. The cheers dulled as gossip and rumors spread in its space.

"That emblem... what's that emblem?" one spectator asked.

Rick knew it only too well. The Hunter's Guild.

"Here, you should look over to Rick. I never knew who won the last fight," Rick said, his eyes affixed upon the challenger.

"The challenger? Why would they be here?" Len asked.

"The Isendia family is one of the largest mercenary groups in all of Plentia. What better way to show off your strength than to beat them at their own damn tournament?" Rick shook his head.

So Quillian smacked his chest and saluted one of the spectator boxes. In a flurry of movement, men and women within stood up, removing their cloaks and revealing their own emblazoned jackets with the crest of the Hunter's Guild upon their breast. Movement stirred within the Isendia spectator box and among all of the other boxes held by noble families and various training facilities.

Len focused his eyes upon Quillen. There was something familiar about him, just on the edges of memory.

"He's got mana," Rick hissed through his teeth.

“So does Lydia, he only feels like level four or five, Lydia reached level seven right?” Len said.

“Yes, but with her being stronger, they’re going to pay attention to something like that,” Rick said.

"And on the other side, we have Isendia's own Blackthorn," the announcer continued, pushing onwards. The other gate opened to cheers as Lydia stepped out. The cheers only doubled as she was revealed. She didn't hide her face or hair anymore, standing proud and defiantly in the face of Quillen.

The other man frowned, then started chuckling, pulling on his helmet. Len could read his lips from this distance. ‘Looks like I'll finally get a taste of Isendia blood. Wonder if it's as weak as all of the others.’

Quillen pulled his halberd out of the soft sand, shaking it free and clean, before leveling it in Lydia's direction. Len glanced up to the Isendia spectator box. People were talking throughout, behind hands, while Tyrus's eyes held a murderous rage, directed towards his niece upon the arena sands.

Lydia turned to face the box, raising her sword parallel to the ground and touching it to her forehead. A swordsman's salute.

"For the Isendia family," she yelled. The cheers doubled throughout the arena. Lydia twirled her sword and turned to face Quillen.

"Let the Isendia annual competitions final begin," the announcer said as a gong rang out. Both fighters shot forward, throwing up sand underneath their feet.

"Hunter's bureau fighter with a halberd," Rick snapped his fingers. "Isn't that Velas?"

Len's eyes widened as the memory snapped into place. Velas was one of the Hunter Guild's finest trackers. He was the one sent after Hunters who had abandoned their posts or turned their back on the bureau. Many called him the blood dog, since he didn't care which way his sword went as long as it earned him coin.

Even after the Hunter's Bureau fell, he turned into one of the greatest bounty hunters. It was said when the blood hound was on your trail, there was no escaping it. That was until he tried chasing down the scarred sovereign.

His halberd shot out, stabbing and slicing as Lydia deflected his attacks with her blades. His confident grin faded, his teeth no longer visible through his helmet as he fought with increasing intensity.

Rick grunted, his eyes not moving from the fight. The crowd's voices rose as Lydia slashed at Velas's throat. He jumped to the side, dragging his halberd across to try and bisect her. Lydia hit the ground, flipping over the halberd, using it as a fulcrum, and sent a kick at his head.

Velas pushed off the ground, jumping backwards, turning his head to the side to avoid the sand that came with her foot.

Lydia touched down on the ground, digging in her toes and leaping forward. He danced with his halberd as she closed in with her swords, driving him back further and further as he tried to turn so as not to push himself up against the wall.

His halberd darted forward, aiming for her throat, pulling her sword with it. Lydia let go of her sword, dropping to the ground and jumping forward to attack his knees.

He spun himself to the side, landing on his foot, slashing out with his halberd at her follow-up attack, gaining himself space to plant the other foot.

He used his halberd as a spear, jabbing as she used her single sword to deflect the worst attacks and bounce and twist her body to try and avoid the slashes.

"One point, Quillian," the announcer yelled as Lydia missed her timing, a hit striking her as she staggered backwards.

"If that hadn't been enchanted or her body tempered, that would have probably broken her ribs. Gonna bruise anyway,” Rick said.

Quillien, or rather Velas, must have thought the same thing as Lydia twisted with the hit instead of recoiling and launched her counter-attack. Getting a slash on his leg, he whipped his halberd around, raising the sand around him.

She jumped out of the way lest she be battered to the side. He came at her with his jabs as she lost space and room to move in.

Her hand shot forward, grabbing the shaft of the halberd, dragging herself forward. She snapped out a kick at his head. Velas' helmet rang out as sand was blown up around him from the power of the kick.

He released his halberd, dropping his shoulder to roll, rising himself up to his knee and hand, shaking his head to try and clear it, only to find his own halberd underneath his neck. His teeth were gritted in a snarl as cheers erupted throughout the arena.

Len's heart settled in his chest.

"Blackthorn, no, Lydia Isendia is the champion of this year's annual competition," the announcer yelled, barely able to get his voice over the cheers of the crowd.

Lydia drew away the halberd from Velas' neck, stabbing the butt into the sand as she raised her sword into the air in triumph. The crowd ate it up. Movement in the spectator box grabbed Len's attention as Tyrus shoved himself to his feet and stormed out of the box. The other members of the family quickly rose to follow him.

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A messenger arrived next to the announcers.

Guards stepped out onto the arena grounds, indicating for Lydia to go with them. Rick and Len had stood with the rest of the crowd as she won the fight.

Rick gave her a small nod as she walked off towards them. The guards closed around her, escorting her through the gate.

Velas threw his gloves down as he reached his own gate, casting a glare in Lydia's direction.

"Looks like we have our own problems," Len said, looking down either side of the aisle. Guards of the main family stood on either side, waiting for them. Rick rolled back his shoulders and threaded his way down the aisle. Len followed him.

"Your father demands your presence at the main hall," one of the guards said, his hand resting on a baton at his waist. His body language spoke of one who wished to use their power but held back. There were five other guards with him, all with that cold look of displeasure.

"Lead on," Rick said. The guards led them away from the stand, people chattering to one another about what they had seen.

"Please try something, cousin," the guard's commander said. "We know plenty of ways to make it hurt without anyone seeing anything."

Rick didn't even slow his steps. His hand moved subtly. As he flexed his fingers, Len started circulating mana through his body.

Rick only started moving his hands that way if he was about to build something or fight.

***

Rick suppressed the rage threatening to bubble out of his chest as they marched through the city. People moved out of the way of the guards, glancing over with interest. To Rick, it felt more like they were being paraded through the streets like criminals or curiosities. The guards took every large road possible on their way to the main hall.

The hall was a moniker for the original keep the Isendia family had come to own. Stout four-meter walls enclosed the simple flat keep with four raised towers. The building had been modernized in recent years, adding in paintings and decorations where there had been simple hard stone before.

"Lipstick on a pig," Rick muttered under his breath.

"Got something to say there?" his cousin growled, pulling his baton halfway out of his scabbard. Rick looked at the boy, then turned his gaze away. It wasn't him he was angry with, though he had had to kill people for less in order to retain his reputation. Strength was everything in the apocalypse.

Guards opened the doors into the main hall. Four large pillars held up the roof. The hearth in the back had been cleaned up and painted, a dais placed in front of it. Tyrus sat upon it, his advisors on lower platforms to either side. Grandma was off in the back corner, looking as feeble as ever.

Members of the family were along either side with their hangers-on. Those of the main family wore fine clothes, silks, and jewelry, while those of the other families pandered to them or hid in the shadows as much as possible.

"It is my victory, Uncle. I won. Upholding the Isendian name against the Hunter's Bureau and all," Lydia said.

"Silence!" Tyrus bellowed, smashing his fist into the armrest of his chair. "You dared to defy me. You are no fighter. You're no soldier. You're a brat that has no understanding of her position in this family, of loyalty. Your parents would be ashamed."

Lydia threw her head to the side as if she had been slapped. Rick's rage and anger had transformed over the years, going from a murderous, hot, burning desire in his chest to something colder, more refined, as sharp and as honed as the blades he made.

"Ah and you would know that would you? Were you the last to speak to them before they died?" Rick's voice boomed through the hall, all conversations coming to a halt.

"You dare, boy," Tyrus growled, shuddering in his seat. "You have done nothing for this family but take, take, and take. You're an ungrateful cur that couldn't learn the way of the sword, couldn't learn the way of nobility. You are nothing but an eyesore to me. I banish you from these lands."

Rick slipped his hands into his pockets, the anger dissipating from him. This man didn't deserve his anger. He was just a little man with some power in his small little world. How many little men had be met like this? How many had he killed? And they had at least amounted to something, unlike this weak man with his family, eating him up from the inside, oblivious to the poison all around him. A laugh bubbled out of his throat.

"Ah, now it's just official," he said, causing confused frowns to appear on the faces around him. "You abandoned Lydia and me long ago, uncle. Probably killed our parents, poisoned grandma. Trying to make it official now is all. Just can't stand the sight of us, can you? Do we remind you of the sister you murdered too much? Who did you get to kill them? I see no way you could kill them.” Rick gestured at the sad man in front of him.

Rick glanced over to his grandmother, and there was something in her eyes. He shrugged. They'd find another place to build a city, another group that was willing to help. They might get some of the crafters and fighters to go with them. But it wasn't that much of a loss.

"Come on, Lydia," he called out, turning for the door.

"I banish you, Rickholm Jorvenus Isendia. I strip you of your name and your titles. I strip you of your blood and your rights," Tyrus said.

"Fitting that someone corrupting the Isendia family does it, don't you think?" Rick chuckled as he continued walking. “Come on, Lydia. We’ll find another place to start afresh. Some where the blood isn’t tainted.”

"I did not banish you, Lydia. For you, we have a use. The merchant Petrov has agreed to your hand in marriage, so at least some good will come of you," Tyrus said.

Rick paused his steps, raising his head to look at Len. He wasn't cold. He wasn't hot. He was numb. For he'd played this dance so many times before, the understanding that this wouldn’t end until there was another death added to his tally.

Rick's footsteps scraped to a stop. "What was it that you always said, uncle? If you want to challenge me, scrounge up your honor and duel me? You started saying that when I was ten.

“I Rick, challenge you Tyrus Isendia to a duel. Will any officiate?” Rick’s eyes scraped through those in the room.

He frowned as his uncle Andreas’s steps rang on the stone. His eyes were hollow as he looked between Tyrus and Rick. His eyes stopped on Rick checking him over.

“Are you sure?”

“What are you doing, Andreas?” Tyrus hissed.

Andreas was the strongest blade master other than Rick’s father, he’d been kept next to Tyrus ever since Rick’s parent’s died.

“Yes,” Rick said. He’d cut his way through Andreas if he needed to.

Andreas took off his glove, surprising Rick.

If he is officiating, he can’t participate.

“I Andreas officiate this fight.”

Tyrus grabbed the hilt of his sword. He wore full armor while Rick had a dagger, tunic and pants.

“When my glove hits the ground, you may begin.” There was a tired monotony to Andreas’s voice.

He released it to the ground.

Tyrus started to draw his sword before it touched.

Rick felt the stone shudder, then shatter and break under his foot as the world moved in slow motion.

Two steps. That's how many it took Rick to reach his uncle. He stopped right in front of him, pushing the sword back into its scabbard with his forefinger. Tyrus had only been able to draw it out a few centimeters.

He rested his finger on the base of the sword's hilt. Tyrus tried to pull it out, jerking against Rick's sole finger.

His eyes widened, his face turning into a frown, confused as to what was happening.

"You won't be needing that," Rick said, and pushed. The scabbard and sword ripped off of Tyrus's belt, making him stagger to the side. The scabbard peeled apart as it and the sword were driven halfway into the flagstone covered ground.

"What?" Tyrus said, looking from the sword in the ground to Rick.

"Might makes right, doesn't it, you fucking bastard?" Rick punched Tyrus in his breastplate, shattering his armor and hurtling him through the throne he'd sat on. The impact cracked the wall behind him, driving the breath from his lungs as he dropped to the ground. Silence reigned in the main hall.

Rick's eyes snapped to his grandma, the muscles in his jaw working. This had all been part of her manipulation, he was sure of it. His eyes landed on Andreas, blinking as if he had just woken up.

"Announce it," Rick's voice came out in a growl.

Rick started walking towards Andreas.

Tyrus pushed his way out of the chair remains, scrabbling onto the dias.

“Rick is—"

“Guards, he's going to kill me!” Tyrus yelled as he got breath back in his lungs. The guards started moving towards Rick as doors around the main hall opened.

Other guards shot out, those that Rick and Len had been training. The guards that had been closing in on Rick were kicked or punched to the side.

"It seems that this family has fallen too far," Grandma's voice rang through the hall, silencing all voices and stopping all movement. "Rick… Rickholm Jervainus Isendia wins. He is no longer banished, he is elevated to the position of Patriarch, to Lord and Knight Isendia."

Knew it was a play.

All eyes were fixed on her as she stalked over to the front dais. Everett moved up behind her.

She looked down at Tyrus, wheezing with his broken ribs and armor. "You are no Isendia."

She tore her gaze away, leveling it to those around the room. "You have used this family's name for ill gains, to push down others for your personal wealth. There shall be an accounting."

Someone screamed out. Rick looked over as a butler next to a lady stabbed her through the back. Other servants and members around the hall finished off members of the family. Rick glanced over at his grandmother.

Several people dropped to their knees with bloody hands.

"His life is yours." She looked at Rick and gestured at Tyrus.

"Wait! What do you mean? Mother! What…? I did nothing wrong," Tyrus said.

"This is your problem... I'm not here to clean up anyone else's mess," Rick said.

Carolyn extended her hand towards Everett, he passed her his dagger.

"I had hoped for better, Tyrus," she confessed, her voice heavy with disappointment. "I knew you were a cruel man, like us, but I had hoped that with time, with seeing how things worked, you'd change. I wasn't there for you when you needed it, but there can't be any mercy for what you've done."

"Mother, I'll be good," Tyrus pleaded. "I'll do whatever you want. I know all of the contacts you need to restart the Iscendia mercenaries. We've made so much gold. All of the noble families know of us. We've risen higher than ever before. Even the king and queen know our names in casual conversation."

His words tumbled out in a desperate rush, like a man on his hands and knees begging his mother.

"Your own greed blinded you to the needs of others," she accused.

Tyrus pulled a dagger from his armor and lunged. "Die, you bitch!”

Carolyn smacked his hand away and pulled him in. She looped her hand underneath his shoulders and drove her own blade up through his ribs and into his heart. It was a final, deathly embrace. She held him still by the back of his neck as his dagger clattered on the dias, a wheeze escaping his lips.

"No more, Tyrus," she whispered. Her words echoed through the hall as she drew the blade back out. He staggered and then dropped to the ground.

Carolyn Isendia's dress was stained with blood as she held her dagger to the side, dripping her son's lifeblood upon the flagstones. Her eyes scanned the family members around her. Half a dozen bodies were already cooling upon the stone.

She stilled.

Must be the first kill she’s had since the system came into effect. It would collate all of the kills she’d done in the past, maybe past experiences with bladed weapons to push up that skill.

Successive waves of power tore through the room as she leveled up repeatedly.

Everett stepped up, unobtrusively holding the back of her dress so she wouldn’t fall.

She raised her head, her power condensing and returning to her.

Rick turned and walked towards the doors of the great hall. “Lets get out of here. Lydia? Len?”

He could feel the frustration of his grandma building, he’d heard of her plots and plans before. She was known as a viper to those that were against her.

He would not allow himself to be drawn into these games.

“You can keep the title, Carolyn. I’m just Rick.” He pushed the doors open at the end of the hall into the day.

“Lets go get a beer, we’ve got your win to celebrate.” Rick grinned at Lydia. She was looking pale from all that happened.

Probably the first time she’s seen death up that close. Len and he were veterans of it now. They’d guide her through it.

"Is Tenebrook still here?" Rick asked.

"Of course he is. Why would he ever leave?" Lydia frowned. "He might not practice physical treatments, but his apothecary remedies are some of the best in the city. Main family is pissed off that he doesn’t come into their service."

“You think that this Tenebrook could make us potions?” Len asked.

“If anyone could its him.” Rick said. “Can you give me your notes on alchemy?”

“Sure, if we can get an alchemist started now, that’s going to speed up the rate we build up cultivators and give us a huge advantage.” Len brought his messenger bag around, pulling out pages. “There aren’t many naturally mana enhanced ingredients out there yet. We’ll need to make a growing house. Keep any seeds that come with the ingredients, or keep three of them back so I can get them growing.”

“Can do, farmer Len, sir,” Rick said flippantly.