Conceal didn't hide Zibo’s footsteps or his scent, but it quieted his breathing and blurred his outline. He had his spear. He had his shield. He knew from experience that neither would be enough when you got swarmed, but he could take on three.
Probably.
He crouched behind the shield, a small round thing not large enough to cover more than his torso, and gripped the spear tight in his sweaty hand. The next seconds would decide his fate.
One step forward, another. Creeping ever nearer.
The goblins hissed and screeched to each other, heads darting up, tilting, ears twitched.
Zibo lunged. The goblin nearest him spun at the sound, but it was just a moment too slow. His spear ran it through, and it twitched and snarled.
Its friends hissed and ran over to grab it and pull it free, but the spear had been built intentionally to prevent this sort of rescue from being successful. They tore their friend free of the spear, but the damage caused when ripped free was worse than what it'd done going in. The goblin flopped to the ground, already dead, even if it would take it a few moments to stop twitching.
Zibo took advantage of the distraction to run up and smack the second on the head with his shield, buying himself enough time to rush at the third with the spear.
But in the chaos, he lost control of Conceal. Instead of following him, the spell slipped off and remained behind, a blurred patch of nothing hovering where he'd been crouching, and the dazed goblin wasn't so out of it to be oblivious to someone attacking its friend right next to it.
With a hiss and screech, it dug its poison claws deep into Zibo's leg. He screamed, even as his attack succeeded in spearing the third goblin, and toppled sideways. He pulled his legs in, curled up beneath his shield, breathing hard.
He wasn't a frontline fighter. Never was meant to be alone. He was support, supplementary.
He'd been important.
Or so they'd told him.
Right up until they left him behind.
The goblin's venom burned through him. He dropped the spear, thankful its tip guard prevented the goblin from pulling itself forward or back without killing itself in the process. He tried to draw out his dagger, but his vision was going blurry and his grip was too slick. He saw the dead goblin's card—a full card, for once—hovering over its dead body, but its angry fellow was too close.
Zibo wanted that card, needed it...
Something landed heavily on his shield, and he cringed back. Claws appeared at the edge, then the goblin's face peeked over, its shoulders hunched as it grinned evilly.
Zibo's body betrayed him, strength disappearing. He'd pushed himself so far, but he had nothing left. Fear paralyzed him, dread numbed him, and he simply stared up at his death with his chest tight and tears blurring his vision.
I don’t want to die! It wasn't supposed to end like this!
They'd promised him a better life, not a miserable death alone, betrayed, abandoned...
The goblin raised a claw and slashed down at Zibo's face. He flinched back, evading enough that its burning claws dragged across his cheek rather than through his eye, but that was the best he could manage.
Fire blazed across that whole side of his face, numbing and searing at once, the flesh feeling bloated and unreal.
I don’t want to die…
"Hya!"
Zibo flinched at the sound so close, but instead of heralding his death, the weight of the goblin's crouched form disappeared from atop him, leaving him free to breathe. Its poison still raged through his body, still tore at him as strongly as the power of his unappeased deck, but not for long.
"You seem to be in need of healing," said a cheerful male voice, while a nearby female continued to make overly-loud fighting noises with the goblin. "I might be able to help you there."
Zibo blinked, and through his tears, he saw a young man wearing the most incredible collection of relic items he'd ever seen. A cloak finer than anything he’d ever seen before, and an obvious spatial pouch, bigger than Zibo had ever seen, on the young man’s hip.
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Zibo’s eyes widened involuntarily. This must be a prince from Euriste 1. There'd been rumors they were going to start sending their nobility through the tower, but to see one in person in their instance?
"I also have other cards available, if healing isn't what you're after." And the man spread out a handful of seven different cards, each glowing dull gray.
Proper cards, not the brown of monster cards.
It was all Zibo could do to hold himself back from snatching them then and there. They were right within reach... but this prince would never let him get away with such a brazen action even if he were to try.
"Please... I'll give you anything"
"Anything? That makes it easy." The man grinned and held out a parchment. "Sign here, and you can have your pick of my available cards. With your blood, but that should be easy to come by."
Zibo was way too far past caring. He ran a finger across his burning face and scrawled his name across the page. His vision was too blurred to read it, and he was in too much pain to care.
He wasn't exaggerating with his offer of 'anything'. It truly didn't bother him to give away anything and everything right now. He needed his life more than any freedom, and to not only live but live with a proper full deck and no more fear of loss and abandonment, able to be his own person without relying on anyone else?
No, there was nothing he wouldn't consider worth trading.
"Perfect! I'm assuming you'll want the healing card. What others?"
Zibo nodded and reached out. The card felt like peace and hope even just to hold it, and when he slid it into his deck, he felt immediate synergy. Refreshment latched onto it, a perfect match, and the fabled notification appeared, one he’d never have expected to see.
Upgrade available: 1/10
“I don’t suppose you have nine more of those?” he asked, voice raspy, intensely aware of how close to death he was, but unable to pass up a chance like this, regardless of his agony.
The man laughed, surprised. “As a matter of fact, I do. Wasn’t expecting to sell out on the first customer of the day, but our contract is very inclusive.”
He held out the stack, nine more identical cards, and the moment Zibo touched them, they all dissolved into his desperate heart.
Upgrade in progress. Please wait.
Light flashed around him, gray giving way to green as the impossible happened.
He’d just ascended. At the same time, the inner pressure intensified until it drowned out the merely physical pain of the injuries across his body.
But that hardly mattered.
Uncommon!
Never had he dared to hope for such a miracle, not without another fifty years of working toward it tirelessly.
He laughed aloud, though it came out half strangled by blood and just shy of a scream.
“Manifest,” he gasped, and green light appeared in his hand. He ignored the gray class card, eyes only for the new core of his frantic heart.
Remedy (Uncommon)
He activated it, and immediately he felt the poisons recede and his wounds bubbled and twisted—not painfully, but not comfortable either. It only went on for a minute, then his body calmed and stilled as his injuries finished healing over. He blinked and sat up, running a hand across the torn leather of his leg armor, the flawless skin beneath.
Then he looked up at his rescuer, who sat back on his heels watching, his hand still holding the other six gray cards.
“You better?” he asked. “Ready to finalize our agreement?”
Zibo swallowed and nodded. He wasn’t sure exactly what he’d agreed to, he’d been in no condition to read, but the four empty spaces in his deck burned intensely enough he didn’t care.
He barely glanced over the options before picking four of them to take. He hesitated only a moment, meeting the foreign prince’s crimson eyes in a silent question.
“They’re yours, bought fair and square. Go ahead.”
Zibo pressed the whole set to his chest, and they fell into place with a feeling of rightness so intense he nearly passed out on the spot. It’d been so long since he’d felt anything but the temporary relief of lessened strain, to have it fully washed away felt alien, almost euphoric.
“Thank you,” he whispered, and clung to the hand of his glorious savior. “Thank you. I can never repay you for this. You have no idea…” And then he was weeping, the tension and fear of the past week dissolved and poured out, leaving him light and unburdened for the first time he could remember.
“No need to thank me. You’ll be repaying me for quite a while yet. Contract, remember?”
Zibo nodded. It felt wrong to even ask, but… “What is it you need from me?”
“Nothing specific. We’ve recently established a gradual-repayment loan style operation, since I can afford to cover the up-front costs myself, and that makes it easier on your end.” He pulled out the contract again—Zibo couldn’t see from where, it was just there without warning—and held it up. “Simple as it comes.”
Zibo read it over, then again, confused. “That’s it?”
“That’s it,” the foreign prince confirmed. “No sneaky loopholes, just a very clear caveat.”
“You get half of any experience I earn from here until the cost of any cards I take from you is repaid, with one percent annual interest, and if I die before repaying it, you claim possession of my ‘soul’.”
“Still not sure what we can do with those, but Ivy set a precedent, and no one’s complained yet. Worst case, I’m out a few thousand years of lifespan, but I’m sure it’ll all even out in the end.”
Zibo just stared at the man. He felt dizzy and buoyant, unsure if he was about to topple off a precipice or simply float away.
“Do you have questions?”
“The terms on this don’t say anything about limiting the cards to any number or quality, only that they’re for my personal deck.”
“True.”
“How many copies of those other cards do you have?”
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