The blood manipulator sparked the first bidding war.
Leon and Finlay stayed out of the conflict, Leon distrusting anyone who could manipulate blood, a whispered vague warning to Finlay keeping the man from competing for the mage.
The teenage necromancer and John bargained back and forth, neither willing to back down in the face of such a powerful-sounding Class, with the claim eventually going to the necromancer after she offered a temporary boon to the man, achieved with one of her skills.
One she would grant only for a claim on the mage.
The procedure involved the necromancer drilling holes into his bones. Her mana injected within, to enhance both the bone’s durabilities and allow them to re-attach themselves should he have any cut from his body.
They completed the deal soon after, and with reassurance from their friend that the procedure would not breach any rules, the hunter willingly submitted to the girl’s ministrations.
Daggers of mana drilled into the man, the patient unable to even scream thanks to the block of wood in his mouth, a measure to prevent John from either biting down on or swallowing his own tongue.
For such an invasive procedure it was over quickly, the hunter quickly wiping tears from his face, the necromancer making a swift return to her seat.
Leon wasn’t about to let her off the hook so easily.
“Hey kid- how long does that little buff last?”
Having only crossed halfway back, the girl froze at Leon’s question.
“One month. I can’t do it again on the same person for another month after it runs out, or their bones break.”
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth in dismay, Leon dismissed the necromancer.
“Makes sense. Can’t get anything worth having for free. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll pass on trying it out.”
Scurrying off with considerably more haste than she’d used before his question, she left Leon to ruminate.
Barely an hour into his ‘less murder’ resolution and he’d killed ninety-nine people.
It wasn’t guilt or even regret Leon felt. Something shallower, more callous. A feeling improper to espouse around polite company.
Apathy.
They’d all arrived in that arena, their fate the product of their failure to keep pace.
Leon killed them, but they were bound for death regardless. At least he’d made it quick for them, a small mercy.
It had been hot-blooded murder, not cold-blooded murder.
Framing it that way quashed the softer, tender parts of Leon.
The parts that felt revulsion when he ripped a man’s throat out with his bare hands, when he punched through a ribcage and when he demanded people beg for their lives.
Strange that he felt no better for all his rationalising, every death reminding him of how he’d arrived here- he’d been powerful enough to help others, yet he’d walked alone and while he’d been rewarded, solitude chafed fiercely.
Shifting focus away from uncomfortable thoughts, Leon looked at the mage, evaluating her performance.
Octavia had proven her mettle- she’d come from the same mould as him. A person who could cut off their mercy, their compassion and do what was required of them, no matter how gruesome things got.
Hopefully, things wouldn’t come to blows between them.
While a few flaming whips wouldn’t be enough to secure her the win if they fought, though he wasn’t arrogant enough to believe he’d seen the depths of her power.
Leaning in to speak to the fire mage once more, Leon made sure she knew that.
“You held back.”
A statement, not a question. They both knew her power far exceeded what she’d shown. Hazel eyes met blue, a knowing glance shared between the two strongest. Respect for each other’s power, if not the person. An acknowledgement that they would fight their battle later, words had in private at the first opportunity. A temporary ceasefire brokered between them in seconds.
“So did you.”
With her answer given, Leon relaxed.
Whatever her game, she’d chosen to play it long.
He could work with that.
The pieces began moving into place in his head- knowledge she shouldn’t have had, a Class leagues above her peers and mastery unbefitting one so fresh to their power.
Their next conversation would be his chance to unsettle her.
Rounds passed him by in flashes. No one else opted to test the participants themselves, continuing along with simplistic battle royales. The swordsman’s mind wandered, the break from the endless struggle soothing his frayed nerves.
He hadn’t even realised how stressed he’d been, beneath the thrill of the kill, the constant threat of death leaving scars on his psyche. Had he kept ploughing on, he’d have snapped eventually, sooner rather than later.
Looking to his side, he noticed Octavia had yet to level a single claim. He similarly began holding back. Her intentions became apparent as John and the necromancer filled their quotas and were teleported back to their instances before they could even say their goodbyes.
Leon hoped he’d left a good enough impression- if either made it back to Earth, they would serve as acceptable allies.
Finlay’s claims similarly neared capacity, the giant hitting a lucky streak, able to claim mages from each new branch of magic revealed as the winners slaughtered their opposition, a host of elemental mages at his back, a single slot left open.
Leon picked only two from among the winners.
Bethany, Level Five, Dual Wielder, Common Class.
The woman had cut through her opposition with a pair of arming swords, the flowing style she used of interest to Leon. He’d claimed her to use as a sparring partner, a way to refine and develop his swordsmanship.
Mikael, Level Seven, Brawler, Common Class.
The man fought with desperate guile, using whatever came to hand whether that be a broken arrow, a looted blade or a fistful of sand. That sort of resourcefulness in battle spoke of the struggle the man must have gone through to survive.
He’d also noted their lack of an aggregate level- remembering Zerasos’ comment that Leon’s own feat of starting with a Common Class was one worthy of commendation, Leon made sure these two talents who skipped the Starter Classes wound up at his side.
They had potential.
Stolen story; please report.
Whether they would prove useful remained to be seen.
The last mage went to Finlay, the giant delaying his claim to offer a proper goodbye.
“Well, laddie- this is it for me. If we never meet again, you take care of yourself, alright?”
“Been a pleasure Finlay- before you leave, a word.”
Motioning the man closer, Leon left him with a small favour. One that cost him nothing yet had the potential for great returns.
“When you return, consult with your mentor on the [Gaian Fury] bloodline. Consider this a small favour, from one warrior to another.”
Nodding, Finlay claimed his final mage, vanishing.
Leon wouldn’t have done that yesterday- he’d have demanded an exchange, a recompense of some sort. The events of the day shifted his perspective, a phrase Zerasos had used coming to mind.
A willing tool is more pliable.
Octavia spoke up the second Finlay vanished, the mage having passed the time with a book she refused to let Leon peek at.
“I suppose you want answers then, fiendish swordsman?”
He’d been wrong again- she wanted the issue put to bed here and now. She kept throwing him for loops, subverting his expectations.
“Kind of? Specifically, I want an answer to this question. How many loops?”
That unsettled her, the way her eyelashes fluttered as she blinked giving her away, that tell of confusion spoiling her otherwise schooled countenance.
“Excuse you? Whatever do you mean by that?”
Her reaction sealed the deal.
He’d found a weak point.
Time to press it.
“Now you’re disappointing me, princess! I thought we were past playing coy. I’ll spell it out if I have to. How many times have you repeated the events of the Tutorial?”
Stage one. Denial.
“I know not what you refer to.”
“What did you do to ferret the information out of me? Did you fuck me or torture me? Suppose it doesn’t really matter, first chance you get this loop’s over. If you want to manipulate the next loop’s Leon, then keep your mouth shut and feign an attraction to him. He’ll be like putty in your hands.”
Stage two. Anger.
“Cease at once. You know not the lines you cross.”
“Is it like a triggered ability or does it activate on death? Do you always start from the same day or are there checkpoints? Do you even have control over it?”
Stage three. Bargaining.
“Name a price for your silence and this can still be resolved amicably swordsman.”
“I’d hate it- having to do shit all over again. If I wasn’t committed to a path, then maybe I’d see the appeal, but for me, it’s swordsmanship or bust, so resetting days to try things out would get boring real quick.”
Stage four. Depression.
She kept her silence as Leon continued his rambling.
“Plus, you’d need to remember so much stuff- why even bother past a certain point, y’know?”
Stage five. Acceptance.
“Fine, let us dispense with pretence.
The System forbids the broadcasts from filming any selections- aside from the Cromidian and the winners you have claimed; we are alone. The Cromidian is bound to serve the System for aeons longer than either of us could live, compelled to keep silent on any secrets he learns and able to establish a privacy bubble. A suitable Oath keeper.
The Cromidian has isolated your three wards since they arrived, a barrier preventing them from eavesdropping. They are a non-factor in this.
I will share my secrets, should you share yours in turn.
First, we swear an Oath, one bound in blood.”
The Cromidian affirmed his willingness to act as a witness. Leon happy to finally have a gender he could assign the creature, dropping its reverent attitude for one more informal one.
“You should not do this lightly. I will serve, as ever, and take whatever I hear to my grave, but you will explain the consequences.”
Octavia nodded, before explaining, taking Leon’s silence as an invitation.
“You and I swear on our souls, promising to never harm each other, with one bound to the System bearing witness, mixing our blood to seal the Oath. An Oath made this way cannot be broken- once made, any attempt on either of our parts to share the other’s secrets would be impossible as that constitutes harm. Any attempt to break the oath results in death, complete obliteration of the soul.
You are within your rights to refuse this, to share your conjecture about me in plainer terms with the universe at large. Should you do so? I will share what I know of you swordsman, dooming us both to a short and painful life in exile. They would hunt us like dogs and we would die like dogs. I prefer we avoid this mutually assured destruction. The choice is yours- sign the Oath or sign your death warrant.”
Leon fought off the familiar urge to draw his blade. He’d clearly underestimated the gravity of this situation, yet there was a victory here, to be snatched from defeat’s jaws, silver linings to this grey cloud.
Being unable to hurt the mage was a serious restriction. Her danger level could only grow as things continued, the oath protecting only Leon from harm.
His family and his friends were fair game.
Another warning from Zerasos flashed in his mind- that soul magic was dangerous.
Leon considered these negatives and weighed them against the positives.
Knowledge of matters within and without the Tutorial.
A potential ally, a competent one, unable to betray him.
The main contributing factor, one he would never admit to.
A fear that had been festering throughout the day, brought to the forefront by the reflective mood he’d been in.
It started with a horrid yet realistic assumption he’d been suppressing- that his family and friends were already dead.
Either spirited off to a Tutorial instance or killed in the chaos that would have followed the System’s arrival on Earth.
Leon would return to Earth, with no one there to welcome him back.
He’d grieve them, of course, but he’d move on. From there, he’d begun to wonder- who would take their place?
Who would he have in his life?
Leon knew the answer.
No one and nothing, only the pursuit of power.
Climbing to the peak of power would always be his goal, and he’d never compromise on becoming the strongest swordsman- not for anyone.
Climbing alone though?
Enduring solitude on his journey, making only alliances of convenience, forever poised to betray his fair-weather friends as benefits dictated.
That scared him- the idea that one day he’d be reduced to an unfeeling machine, a shell of a man, a monster wearing human skin.
Alone, no one to share his victories with. To laugh with, to rely on without constantly doubting their motives.
How easily such things were forgotten in the face of death, his distance from the daily struggle and the acquaintances he’d met at the selection granting him some sorely needed perspective.
He would always face his battles alone; that didn’t mean he had to face life alone.
How foolish he’d been, how childish and immature. So concerned with chasing strength that he’d closed himself off, convinced others would only drag him down.
He’d penned a self-fulfilling prophecy.
The Pygmalion effect- his low expectations of others leading to lower performance, forming lower expectations.
A loop of negative reinforcement.
No more. He’d break that cycle here and now. He’d run from people and their problems, since dealing with others was hard for him. It didn’t come naturally the way the sword did- all the more reason to embrace the challenge.
No doubt, this would be Leon’s toughest one yet. Forming relationships with other people rather than using them for his own gain.
Trusting Octavia, trusting this woman not to violate his trust, would be the first step on this arduous path.
His bloodline rebelled, dredging thoughts from deeper within his psyche; a Swordfiend faced the world alone, their only friend the blade at their side.
The path he proposed?
Weakness and cowardice rearing their misbegotten heads, fear masquerading as maturity.
Instead of entertaining this bullshit, just cut the haughty bitch down.
Fuck the consequences.
Channelling the experience of resisting a foreign version of his bloodline within his dream, Leon turned the tables.
This time he took it a step further, beating the selfish instincts of his blood down and reminding himself in no uncertain terms- Leon Knox bowed to no one, not even himself.
He'd decided to change his behaviour and so he would, regardless of any influences.
Rising from his seat, he declared his intentions.
“I’ll do it.”
She clearly hadn’t expected that answer, concern warring with shock as she stood.
“You really aren’t him. He would have sooner forsaken the sword than agreed to an Oath. Come, the sooner this is done, the better I’ll feel.”
A smaller isolating bubble covered the two honoured, their witness standing between them, mage and swordsman facing each other, standing at the crossroads of destiny.
Producing a small knife from her storage ring, Octavia cut open her palm, offering the blade to Leon.
He did the same, the pain minor compared to what he had endured so far.
The woman spoke, mana infusing her voice.
“I invoke the sacred Oath and request you bear witness.”
Leon felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise- whatever Octavia had done, she’d attracted the attention of something.
A being, great and unknowable, observed them.
Leon felt this notion worm its way into his head, sure he hadn’t thought it.
An ancient stone bowl formed in the ground beneath them, Octavia reciting the next line, the woman clearly having memorised the words for the Oath.
“I swear on my soul to never bring harm to Leon Knox. May the world bear witness and obliterate my soul should I betray him. May the Oath be sealed.”
Extending her hand over the basin, Leon understood what was required of him.
“I swear on my soul to never bring harm to Octavia Caesar. May the world bear witness and obliterate my soul should I betray her. May the Oath be sealed.”
Hands clasped, their blood intertwining and splashing into the basin. The unseen observer and basin vanished as the drop splashed against the stone, the Oath sealed.
Still within the bubble, Octavia spoke only after a minute had passed.
“Ladies first is so outdated- please share whatever secret has you so riled up. I guarantee my own is far more shocking.”
Leon took a breath, gathering his thoughts.
“Alright, full disclosure then. I’m one of the only surviving Swordfiends, a clan named after a bloodline that grants absolute mastery of swordsmanship. My grandfather escaped the extinction of the clan, taking his wife and unborn child to uninitialized space, to Earth. One other Swordfiend I know of escaped the slaughter- my great-uncle, a man named Sha, who invaded my dreams to explain all this to me in a really roundabout way.
Didn’t you know all this already? Why else would you have mentioned fiendish blood? I mean, as a dog whistle it worked, gave me a scare, but it was blatant as all hell.”
The way the blood drained from her face let Leon know that, no, Octavia hadn’t known all that.