Distractions — Maribelle

Joseph was thrilled when Kevin told him he was going to start training seriously for the tournament, so now the three of us are in the Valbeck family’s dueling room. It’s a warded underground bunker with smooth stone walls, weapon racks, and practice targets.

“So what exactly makes this tournament so dangerous?” I ask.

Joseph looks at me with a frown.

“At the end of every match, if the loser is still alive, the crowd will boo or cheer. If they boo, the victor is expected to kill the loser. If you don’t make an impressive showing, you die,” he says.

“So Kevin just has to learn how to impress a crowd?”

“Essentially, yes. The crowd may still cheer for someone weak if he fights bravely and doesn’t make a fool of himself.”

“Then Kevin, making your magic stronger isn’t the top priority. We need to de-wimp you first.”

“Uh, how do you plan on doing that, exactly?” Kevin asks.

“Spar with me. Pretend I’m your opponent in the tournament,” I say

“I’ll go get a healer,” Joseph says.

“No need. I can heal people,” I say.

“How? The right of healing is incompatible with the right of entropomancy,” Joseph says.

“Like this.”

I grab my index finger and bend it backwards, producing a crunching noise and some pain. I place my damaged hand on the floor, and the finger snaps back into place as cracks form in the stone.

“What on earth? You moved the damage? How is that possible?” Joseph asks, eyes wide.

“I can transfer damage through touch. It’s just an assimilated manifestation,” I say.

“What? You’ve already assimilated one of your manifestations? Most gold grade adventurers haven’t even done that!” Joseph exclaims.

“A friend taught me that the road to true power is built on a strong foundation. That’s why I assimilated my first manifestation before forging a new one, and I plan to do it again.”

“That’s a very unusual approach,” he says, scratching his head.

“I’m sorry, can someone explain what it means to assimilate a manifestation?” Kevin asks.

Joseph nods.

“As you know, Manifestations are powerful abilities obtained by shaping a part of your spirit into a vivid mental image. Do this well enough, and the image can manifest as reality.”

“Yeah,” Kevin says.

“Well, after using a manifestation, there is a period of time in which you can’t use the power a second time, and it has to recharge. It’s called the cooldown time. More powerful manifestations generally have longer cooldown times, but it’s not set in stone. The more you practice a manifestation, the shorter the cooldown time becomes.”

“Dad, I know that already,” Kevin says.

“So, what do you think happens when the cooldown time reaches zero?”

“Uh, you can use it as much as you want?”

“Yes, but it’s more than that. The manifestation becomes more versatile, and becomes an ingrained aspect of your magic rather than a separate ability that needs to be specifically activated. I’m not completely clear on the details myself. I’ve never done it.”

I decide to enlighten them a bit.

“The important thing is that the manifestations that are possible to forge are limited by the kind of magic that already comes naturally to you. Assimilating a manifestation makes it possible to forge even more powerful manifestations. That’s why I do it.”

“You’re sacrificing short term power for long term growth,” Kevin says.

I nod.

“You’re a little frightening, you know that?” He says.

“That’s why you’re going to spar me. Hopefully I’m scarier than whoever you’ll face in the tournament.”

I smile sweetly. He gulps.

“I want to see this,” Joseph says, chuckling to himself.

I walk over to a weapon rack, pulling out a longsword. I’m not quite ready to reveal that the flower in my hair stores a divine artifact.

“Arm yourself, son,” Joseph says.

Kevin walks to the weapon rack and chooses a poleax. He wants to keep me at a distance.

“Do you have any rights or manifestations, Kevin?”

“No.”

“Why not? Isn’t your family super rich? I thought you could pay for them.”

Joseph clears his throat.

“In Salsvale, the Arvali family controls all the enchanters capable of granting rights and awakenings. Awakenings are granted to children of noble families on their tenth birthdays, but rights have to be earned. If you place well in the royal tournament or perform well academically in the academy, you will be granted a right of your choosing.”

“Huh, ok,” I say.

“How did you not know that?” Kevin asks.

“It’s not important. Anyway, let’s fight.”

“Oh, right. Yes. I’m ready.”

He raises his poleax and I charge towards him.

I snap my fingers, shattering the bones in his legs with my entropomancy. As he’s collapsing, I hack my sword into his shoulder, cutting a twenty centimeter gash into his body. I kick him in the chest and send him tumbling across the floor.

He screams in pain, crying and bleeding on the ground.

I slowly walk over to him and then I stomp on his chest. I suck the damage out of him through my foot, moving it up one leg, down the other, and into the ground. A spiderweb of cracks forms in the floor around us. He screams in pain as the wounds in his body burrow through his flesh on their way to my foot.

I can’t blame him for screaming here. This ability is great, but it required some hellish pain tolerance training before I could actually use it. I know his pain.

I point my sword at his throat, still standing on his chest.

“Joseph, does he live?”

“He dies. Most people wouldn’t have noticed that you broke his legs with your magic. It looked like he just kneeled while you were charging him.”

I slit his throat with my sword, letting him bleed for a couple seconds before stepping on his neck to move the wound through my legs and into the ground.

After I step off of him, he rolls over and cries into the cracked floor.

“I can’t do this,” he says.

“You can always run away like Damien,” I say.

He keeps crying.

“I think you were too rough with him,” Joseph says.

“Yeah, maybe. I wanted him to realize what he was dealing with though. Standing up to someone powerful doesn’t carry the same weight unless you know what they can do to you.”

“Kevin, are you giving up already?” Joseph asks.

Kevin takes a minute to calm down. He slowly stands up on shaky legs, taking deep breaths.

“Pick up your poleax,” I tell him.

He winces. He knows what’s coming.

“I won’t use my entropomancy to attack you this time. We’ll just fight physically.”

He nods, picking up his weapon off the floor. He points it at me, his gaze determined.

I walk towards him slowly, my sword raised. He hollers out a battlecry and swings his poleax in a sideways swipe. I go underneath, sweeping his legs out from under him with a spinning kick.

He falls, and I stab him in the stomach. He rolls away, clutching the bleeding wound with one hand, looking up with with scared eyes. I put my sword over my shoulder and glare at him.

He stands up, aiming his poleax with his bloody hand. He grits his teeth and charges at me. I sidestep his attack and impale him through the chest, taking care to miss his heart. When I withdraw my sword, he collapses on the ground, mewling in pain.

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He doesn’t seem to be getting back up. Once again, I step on him to transfer his wounds into the stone floor.

I step back a couple paces. He lies on the ground gasping for breath, his eyes red, his face coated in sweat, his clothes stained with blood.

“How am I supposed to fight you when you just destroy me in seconds?” He complains.

“Let me show you something,” I say.

I stand in the middle of the heavily cracked floor, letting out a pulse of entropomancy that shatters it even more. Then, I pull the damage in the floor into my flesh. The cracks flow towards me, swimming up my legs, becoming cuts, broken bones, and bruises throughout my body. Soon the floor is pristine, and I look like a walking corpse, my blood soaking my robes.

“It’s more than enough damage to kill you twice, so why can I still stand?” I ask.

“Because you’re immune to pain?” He guesses.

“I’m not.”

“Because you didn’t let the damage flow into your vital organs?”

“Nope.”

“Then how?”

“My spirit is unbroken. I choose to stand, so I stand.”

I walk towards him on my broken legs, and look down.

“Your problem, Kevin, is that your spirit breaks too easily. That's why you fall.”

He nods.

‘Divine Retribution.’

The wounds in my body exit my flesh, becoming black lightning. I wave my hand, sending the raging storm of destruction into one of the practice targets across the room. It becomes dust.

“I figured you wouldn’t want me to leave your floor such a mess,” I say to Joseph.

The man looks pale for some reason.

“Anyway, let’s fight again, Kevin. This time, don’t fall so easily.”

He stands up again on wobbly legs. I point my sword at him. He steels himself.

Kevin charges at me, stabbing with the spear of his poleax. I deflect his attack, spinning past him. I slash into his back, cutting a deep gash from his shoulder to his hip. He screams from the pain, collapsing down to the ground.

I slowly walk around to stand in front of him.

“Is that it?” I ask.

He looks at my feet, groaning in agony.

“I can’t do it, Maribelle. I’m sorry. This is too much for me,” he says.

I feel his aura weaken noticeably. Something just broke inside him.

Crap. Did I screw up? He’s not responding to this training like I did. When Bez did this to me, my tenacity skyrocketed. The difference is clear. I refused to break, but he didn’t.

Did Bez just do it better, or did I have something he doesn’t? I think the fact that I was so determined to save Ferris back then helped a lot. I had something to fight for. Kevin is just trying to avoid suffering. He doesn’t have a goal, and maybe he doesn’t need one. He just wants peace, like Mom.

He is weak, undeniably. He’s weak to the core, and a coward, but that doesn’t mean he deserves to die.

He shouldn’t have to fight.

I sit down on the floor next to him, placing my hand on his back. I pull out his wound and transfer it to the floor.

“I’m sorry. I pushed too hard.”

He bites his lip, looking down.

“Come here,” I say.

I pull him into a hug. He tenses up.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

His body relaxes, and he starts sobbing into my chest.

“Maribelle, don’t let him disgrace himself like this. He must participate in the tournament! Are you offering to marry into our family to fight in his place?”

“No, Joseph. This tournament makes me sick. People shouldn’t be forced into death matches.”

“Too bad. That’s the way things are.”

“Not anymore. I’m stopping it.”

“Stop spouting nonsense. Such a thing is not within your power.”

“Would the royal tournament still happen if I destroyed the arena on the day of the event? What if I kidnapped every single participant? What if I dethroned the Arvali family and took over as queen of Salsvale?”

“You’ve gone mad.”

“Those are extreme measures, and probably unnecessary. I’m sure there’s a more subtle way. Any ideas?”

“I will not contribute to this lunacy.”

“Why not? Your son’s life is at stake.”

“Because one does not defy the Arvali.”

“Joseph, grow some balls.”

“You insolent bitch! You have no idea how foolish you are! The Arvali have power beyond anything you can imagine!”

“I sincerely doubt that,” I say.

I release Kevin from his hug and stand up. I summon my sword and hold it out in front of me.

Joseph’s eyes go wide as he looks at the blade. He cringes slightly as the divine nature of Bezvillia’s handwriting burns his mind, a symptom of his mortal folly, as Bez would say.

“I’ve met two gods. One of them tried to kill me and failed. The other one trained me for two years, teaching me things that the white pantheon would smite you just for knowing.”

He gapes at me, but doesn’t understand. Maybe I should give him a little demonstration.

“You will kneel.”

He winces as our spirits clash. Either he kneels, or something breaks. Such is the divine voice.

He drops to his knees before he realizes what’s happening. He’s more than strong enough to resist it, but it’s the sort of thing that catches you off-guard the first time.

I let out a breath. I admit that was a little reckless of me. It would have fucked me up a bit if he had stayed standing. At least I made my point.

Also, I get to gloat now.

“Good. You know your place,” I say.

Joseph looks up at me with terror in his eyes. I clearly went a bit overboard, but I don’t care. My sword goes back into my flower and I cross my arms.

“So, are you going to help me sabotage this tournament or not?”

He looks at his son, the tension in his body slowly melting. Eventually, he looks back at me.

“I’ll help, but please tell me, just who are you exactly?”

“Maribelle Ellis, the woman who will surpass the calamity.”

“The calamity? Is that… Do you refer to the dragon that destroyed Elania?”

He seems shocked by my ambition despite his grave misunderstanding.

“No. The calamity is what the gods call the most powerful being to ever exist.”

He gives me a blank stare.

“So, yeah. I’m not afraid of the Arvali.”

Joseph frowns.

“The Arvali might not be gods, but they’re still beyond you, as you are now. No matter how great your ambition is, your aura is weaker than even mine. They could crush you.”

“Then I’ll get stronger.”

“How about you meet them first, to see what you’re up against. There is a party in a few days that all the noble families will attend. I’ll introduce you to Theonius, and you’ll see the king.”

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea.”

“In the meantime, we can think about ways to sabotage the tournament that won’t involve anyone knowing we did it. It won’t be easy, though.”

Kevin snorts to clear his sinuses, wiping off his face. He stands up.

“I want to keep training. If you two get hurt trying to stop the tournament, it will be because of me. I don’t want that. At the very least, I should be able to help.”

I smile at him. Maybe now he’ll have something to fight for.

“Sure, of course I’ll keep training you,” I say.

“Maybe you could make it a little less painful though?” He requests.

Ugh. Now I remember why he annoyed me so much. He’s like that wounded squirrel Mom and I rehabilitated, a creature surviving on sympathy alone. Maybe one day he’ll stop being a wimp. A girl can dream, right?

“How about you train with Joseph for a while. Come back to my training when you’re ready.”

He nods, a guilty look forming on his face with the realization that he’s been demoted. Joseph looks at his son and purses his lips. Does he want to talk to him about something? Maybe I should give them a little space.

“I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. I’m going to go think about ways to stop the tournament while I take a walk around the city,” I say.

I step out of the training room, making my way back to my quarters. The maids fret over me when they see that I’m covered in blood, but I eventually convince them to calm down. I tell them I’m going out for a walk, and after I get cleaned up, they change me into a frilly white dress that they insist suits me. To be fair, it is kind of cute. Still, I keep my two remaining teleportation talismans strapped to my thigh, like always. It’s best to be prepared.

I step out of the Valbeck mansion and I walk towards a colosseum that can be seen towering in the distance, the likely site of this royal tournament thing. When I get close, the scale of it baffles me. The walls of stone tower above, every surface engraved with intricate carvings. There are open gates through which people can enter, no guards manning them. Apparently the arena is a public place.

I go inside. A stairway leads up to the stands. When I come out into the light, I gasp. Endless rows of stone benches are arranged in a massive circle around a huge pit of sand. It’s so big. The arena can probably fit a significant fraction of the population of the city. There is a sparse smattering of people sitting in the stands, people like me who are visiting the arena just to look at it, despite the absence of any events.

Although I’ve already decided to ruin the show, a small part of me wants to see the grand battles that no doubt take place here. A bigger part of me wants to stand on those sands, fighting against a worthy opponent. It would be exhilarating. Sadly, the terrain would put me at a disadvantage. It’s much harder to push damage into sand than solid stone.

“Are you new in town, miss?”

A handsome boy is smiling at me. He’s maybe a year or two older than me, with dark curly hair and brown eyes. His clothes are of a decent make, but worn down from use. He’s twirling a pen between his fingers, and he has a sketchpad on his lap which exhibits a partially completed drawing of the colosseum.

“How could you tell?” I ask.

“You’re gawking at the arena like a country girl, but you certainly don’t look like one. Where are you from?”

I sit down beside him, dusting off the stone bench so as not to dirty my dress.

“I am a country girl, actually. I’m from Lika village in the southern mountains.”

“Huh, how did you get rich? Asking for a friend.”

I smile, biting my lip as my whimsy battles my prudence, the latter not standing a chance.

“I fooled the Valbeck family into thinking I’m a noblewoman, so now they’re hosting me in their mansion for the summer.”

He laughs, clearly thinking I’m joking.

“Huh, why didn’t I think of that? Could have been living in luxury years ago.”

He chuckles a bit as he goes back to his sketch. The depiction is beautiful, but not perfectly realistic. Certain features are slightly exaggerated to better convey the majesty of the sight. I’m a bit impressed.

“You’re a good artist.”

“Tell that to my father.”

“He doesn’t approve?”

“It can’t make a living, not unless I get a contract with a patron. It’ll probably never happen.”

I watch him draw. There’s a quiet joy hiding in the irreversible strokes of his instrument, not quite drowned out by the bitter air released by his words. I brush my hair out of my eyes.

“I’ll be your patron. Draw me.”

I toss him a rusty silver coin. He catches it, examines it, and gives me look of displeasure.

“Such a gracious and charitable lady you are,” he says dryly.

“If you’re not gonna draw me, I want my coin back.”

“Wow, you really do act like a country girl. No offense.”

“None taken.”

He eyes me suspiciously for a moment, pressing the tip of his pen against his lips.

“Fine, I’ll draw you, but I get to keep the picture.”

Did he really just say that? How bold! I’m definitely not blushing. Nope.

“Okay.”

He flips the page of his sketchbook and I sit down across from him. He starts sketching me, beginning with a vague outline in light stokes, then slowly adding in detail. In his drawing, my figure is exaggerated a bit, making me look a little older. My face is drawn in an expression of flustered surprise, something which is definitely an embellishment on his part. I’m starting to regret letting him keep this, but I’m bound to my word. Stupid divine voice.

To avoid thinking about the way he’s drawing me, and what he plans to do with this drawing he’s so intent on keeping, I start some conversation.

“What’s your opinion of the royal tournament?”

“Savage blood sport, representing the worst of mankind. Also, very fun to watch.”

“It’ll be cancelled this year.”

He looks up from his drawing of me, raising his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Yup, too inhumane.”

He snorts, going back to his work.

“You’re fucking with me. You had me fooled for a moment there.”

I shrug. He’ll see.

“All done. Want to take a look?”

He flips his sketch pad around so I can look at myself right-side up. I look less dangerous, and much cuter, than I imagine myself. My blushing face makes me seem like some kind of helpless doe falling in love at first sight. Also, my dress is not that short. Why did I pay for this?

I clear my throat.

“Well, it’s all yours,” I say.

“That was the deal,” he says.

“Yes it was.”

“I’ll be sure to get your money’s worth, appreciating it.”

“I hope you do. Enjoy it as much as you want.”

“I certainly will.”

“I bet.”

He grins at me, blatant amusement on his face. So shameless. He’s lucky I don’t pop his head.

“See you around,” I say.

“Wait, what’s your name?” He asks.

“Give me my drawing, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“No deal.”

I hum indifferently, and turn around to walk away. He chuckles like the ass he is, and I make my way out of the arena. Wait. Wasn’t I supposed to be thinking about how to stop the tournament? My walk was meant to clear my head, but somehow it did the opposite! This stupid city is too full of distractions.