Before the barrier blocking their voices fell Leon informed the others of the winner’s information.

“Level One, Arcane Trickster. Uncommon Class, his aggregate level is eleven.”

The other honoured trained their gaze on the unexpected winner, Leon breaking the tension as the silence stretched on, noting Octavia’s furrowed brow.

“Cheer up. We all guessed wrong princess, no need to sulk, at least we weren’t betting anything valuable on this round. Any takers for fancy pants here?”

Finlay spoke up, his decision swift.

“I had my heart set on the mage, not this boyo. I cannae see how a buncha flying knives workin’ against the beasts I’ve been cuttin’ open. Count me out!”

Octavia recovered from another embarrassment at Leon’s hands, delivering her verdict.

“The barbarian has the right of it- ask yourself, what need has an exalted mage of my calibre for a bumbling fool, reliant on a single cheap trick? None, I answer- I cede any claim over the wastrel.”

Their merchandise chose that moment to pipe up.

“You guys know I can hear you, right?”

The white-robed alien rose from its meditation, its tone of a deeper anger than Leon had believed possible for the being to express.

Chilled, distilled fury.

“Silence maggot. You will speak to the honoured only when spoken to. Speak out of turn again and this lowly one will tear your blaspheming tongue from your heretical mouth.”

Bowing to the group, as was becoming routine, the servant spoke, nothing faux in its reverence this time.

“This lowly one begs mercy honoured ones- the fool knows not the lines he crosses. The blame lies with this one.”

Continuing to act as leader of their group, Leon waved the alien off, awaiting the next in order of strength to give her opinion, the girl in question too busy fiddling with the hem of her robe to notice the pointed looks the others shot her way.

Clearing his throat brought her back down to earth, the teen rattling off an answer that revealed how little attention she’d paid to the fight.

“Don’t want him.”

John recognised it was his turn, giving a measured opinion.

“Tough call. I’d have preferred a proper warrior. This man doesn’t strike me as one. Tricky weapon to defend against. More of a threat than an asset.”

Rising from his seat, Leon glared down at the unfortunate winner. He’d expected more conflict- who knew the first winner would wind up being so undesirable?

Leon knew why things had shaken out this way. The weaker members risked a surprise attack chopping their heads off once they returned, while the stronger ones didn’t want a gimmicky fighter like him on their team.

Time to ask the man to sell himself then.

Leon strode to the edge of the crater and met the trickster’s eyes, getting a proper look at their winner.

Long black hair, a ruggedly average appearance discernible under a layer of grime and blood. Young, not yet a man, but definitely not a boy. Clean-shaven, which struck Leon as a point of note- most men he’d encountered in the Tutorial lacked either the time or motivation to groom themselves.

For all the smugness he’d displayed during the fighting, the knife slinger wisely showed none now, the threat of mutilation keeping him in line.

Projecting as much indifference into his voice as he could, Leon gave the drowning man a lifeline.

“Seems we’re at an impasse fresh meat. My colleagues think you’re more trouble than you’re worth. Difference between me and them? I don’t mind a little trouble. Introduce yourself, sell me on you. Hundred words or less. Make them count, since I’ll be counting them.”

Drawing a breath, the half-mage, half-warrior, spoke.

“Name’s William, turned eighteen last month. Guy running my instance was a slave driver, had me tracking high-level beasts for him to kill. Picked up a few tricks on mana manipulation thanks to a book he left lying at his ass. Earned my Class with what I learnt. Wave of dinos killed everyone else today. Climbed a tree and hid. I don’t know what you people want or what your deal is- I’ll stay out of your way if you take me with you. I’m trying to survive, just like everyone else.”

Succinct, with just enough ambiguity to sow seeds of doubt in Leon’s mind- he’d drill down on that hunch. He’d kept within the word limit, a point in his favour, proving he could obey commands.

He wasn’t buying the winner’s story- too easy, too convenient for Leon to believe. Time to dig a little and see what he could turn up.

“William, William, William. Don’t lie to me, William, there’s more to your little story. You’re hiding something from me. Spit it out.”

The full force of Leon’s bloodline exploded out of the cage of his soul, wrapping around the man, an involuntary shudder passing through all who felt it. The other honoured no exception.

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The blood-drenched aura covered the crater, a slumbering beast rising to wakefulness. Fresh prey dropped in its den, its hunger ravenous.

William spat out his answer, anger clear to see on his features, his once respectful tone now hard as he recounted his story.

“The guy seemed nice at the start. Made sure we all knew how to use the weapons we picked, had us collect food, water and firewood. Next thing we know, he goes racing off, yelling about a water blob. Comes back decked in armour, shiny new shield in hand. Tells us he’s in charge now- do what he says or else. Six men died that night, just me and two women left by the time the fighting finished.”

William paused, removing his armour to reveal a grisly scar. Leon couldn’t read the letters carved into the boy’s chest. Retracting his aura, he waited for him to continue.

“I didn’t fight back- so he spared me. Took his knife and scratched ‘Coward’ into my chest. Forced the women to hold me down while he sliced me up. He used me as bait, sent me out unarmed to find dinosaurs for him to kill. Said the women were his property. He wouldn’t let them fight or level up, claimed he didn’t want them ‘losing their purity’. Wouldn’t let me stay camped near his nice house, so on the third day after I’d hoarded some food, I ran.

Ran right into a dungeon, looted my knives, a book on mana manipulation and this armour. Killed him while he was choking a woman. Saying that running only meant he would have to punish her harder. He’d already killed one of them and the one in his hands was already dead when I cut his throat.

I cut it slow, slow enough to give myself time to savour it. Put me back there again and I’d make the same choice- he was a horrid man who got a little power and thought it made him better than everyone else. He deserved death. Been running and hiding since then, but I can’t win against the bigger dinos. The boxes offered me a way out- so I took it. You happy now?”

Leon eyed the man with new appreciation.

William proved himself worthy of Leon’s attention with his story.

Having a scout could prove useful- someone to walk ahead of him, clearing the weaklings and leaving the actual threats to him. That wasn’t what primarily interested him.

The steel in his voice. William truly felt no remorse for the murder he’d committed. He’d begun internalising the most important lesson of all.

Might makes right.

So long as you were stronger, your morality became the standard the weak would adhere to, your influence limited only by the strength of your fist and the lines you refused to cross.

William was a man who would not hesitate to cross certain lines- someone Leon could use.

He’d also given Leon a lesson. The man he’d killed was an uncomfortable parallel to himself. A man who’d lorded power over the weak instead of mostly leaving them be. A path Leon could have taken in another life.

He shared William’s disgust for the man- one who actively prevented the weak from pursuing power was worthy of death in Leon’s eyes.

A stark reminder of why there were lines in the sand.

Smiling down at the man, Leon resolved to claim him.

“Happier than I expected to be. You’re weaker than I am, useless in the fights I throw myself into- but we share a belief. Some deserve a slow death. I claim you, William. Upon our return, you will serve as my scout. Try not to disappoint me.”

A flash of light followed Leon’s words, the Arcane Trickster appearing in a seat behind Leon, one noticeably less grand, with no cushions.

The alien continued to meditate as he announced the development.

“The honoured one’s claim stands. The next round begins in ten minutes.”

Taking his seat, Leon appraised the other honoured, judging their reactions.

Finlay’s blank face would have fooled Leon. His hunched shoulders betrayed him- fear. Leon had experienced a Swordfiend aura- like having a knife pressed against your throat, one that spoke in a demon’s tongue, telling you how it would enjoy tearing out your heart.

An experience like that left a mark.

Octavia and John appeared more intrigued than scared, the former having discarded her fan, eyes meeting Leon’s as he took the few steps back to his seat, that recognition he’d seen earlier flaring in her hazel pools, stronger this time, a connection now formed in her mind that had only been half made last time.

John seemed more interested in observing Leon, eyes flicking to the crimson sword on his back and the inscription on his chest. Evaluating his gear more closely after feeling his power.

The necromancer remained a fidgety, nervous creature, lost in her own little world.

Reclaiming his seat, scooping out the last of the popcorn and stowing the bowl, Leon sought to smooth any waves he’d made.

“One down, forty-four to go! Wish I’d been the one down there- looks like good fighting.”

Octavia twisted in her seat, now facing Leon head-on, a soft smile slightly pulling up the corners of her lips, no longer blocking herself off, she pointed at Leon as she spoke, her words and their delivery chilling Leon’s blood to ice.

“Swordsman. Control yourself. Allowing your fiendish blood to dominate your rational thought is the mark of a boor.”

Leon’s mind kicked into overdrive, a dawning realisation taking hold.

She knew.

Somehow, this mage knew he had a bloodline.

Not just that he had one, but she knew it influenced him and impaired his rationale should he give in to his lust for battle.

It could have been a coincidence, an unknowingly poor choice of words on her part.

Leon doubted that.

The words she chose, the way she stressed the word blood as she spoke, the recognition in her eye when she looked at him- she knew him somehow, knew exactly what buttons she was pushing.

His instincts demanded that he draw steel and either rip the answers from her by force or nip this threat in the bud.

He refrained.

This was still the Tutorial- a place to learn, to refine his skillset for the Myriad Worlds. He’d already resolved to try harder with his social skills- his first attempt already having borne fruit.

Going from an alliance of convenience to a potential blackmail situation- a challenge, one he welcomed.

This required a different sort of fight, a delicate back and forth, verbal skirmishes through which both sides felt each other out while not exposing their weaknesses.

A war of words.

Octavia Caesar.

Not her real name, an obvious pseudonym. Implied a level of caution and natural distrust.

Powerful, attractive and easily flustered.

How much of that personality was an act? Leon couldn’t say.

Any strings he could pull? None, his read of her was still shallow.

Worst-case scenario. The exposure of his bloodline. Catastrophic. He’d forever have a target on his back, powerful beings eternally seeking to extract his blood to empower themselves.

To be avoided at all costs.

What did this woman want?

Power?

She already had power, too simplistic a motive.

Servitude?

He would rather break than bend. Better to die free than live as a slave. If she knew him, she’d know he’d never bow.

Servitude of a more amorous nature?

Flattering and unlikely in equal measure. There were easier targets among the commoners than among the honoured. She wouldn’t have needed to blackmail him for that.

Dragging his train of thought back on track, Leon decided on a strategy.

Since he couldn’t figure her out, he’d feign ignorance and throw her off her game.

Giving a smirk in response, grin pulled wide enough to show his teeth, the swordsman prepared to get slapped, dropping his gaze, letting his eyes wander downward as he answered, lingering just long enough to ensure the implication was obvious to her.

“Better a boor than a bore princess. Hard not to get fired up with all I’ve seen today. For you though, I’ll keep my blood locked up good and tight- promise.”