The tournament was finally at hand. With the rest of the rules being sent over by the northerners, the three warring factions had settled on the exact time it was going to start.

They had decided to depart and arrive at the selected grounds in separate groups to encourage the idea that there were already cracks in their unity. An arrival altogether would give too much of an impression of cohesion, one that would make their opponents far too wary.

So, Kalvia had declared herself fully prepared, roping along Amalyse and Rieren to get going.

They used the Dawn Cloud. Rieren could expand her Domain Summons into a bigger transport to carry more people, though that corresponded to a decrease in its speed. With three people aboard, it was no longer fast enough to be used in combat. As a means of transport, however, it more than sufficed.

“When am I going to be warm again?” Kalvia asked no one in particular.

With the seasons turning to winter, they had all bundled up in coats and gloves for the journey. Amalyse had even procured a hat from somewhere. Rieren considered the broad brim and tall, pointed end a little too ridiculous, but her friend was enjoying having it on, so who was she to judge?

“You are a cultivator, Your Majesty,” Rieren said. “You could generate your own warmth.”

“Well, every time I try to draw you closer, you refuse my advances.”

“I did not mean that sort of heat-generation.”

“Well, the less fun way is if any of us can generate fires. I don’t suppose either of you have fire Aspect with you, do you?”

“I do not.”

“I do,” Amalyse said. “Unfortunately.”

Kalvia perked up, ignoring the end of Amalyse’s statement. “Excellent! As your Empress, I bid you maintain a warm little flame in the middle so we can all warm up.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

Amalyse summoned a little fireball. She tried to hold it in the middle of their little group. Batcat, enchanted by the sudden fire, leaped out of Rieren’s lap to approach the flickering flames. But before it could get close or any of them get an iota of warmth, the rushing wind snatched away the flames and it sputtered out.

“Oh, my apologies,” Amalyse said, sounding not at all apologetic.

“No matter.” Kalvia chattered her teeth for effect. “We’ll be arriving soon.”

Soon turned out to be a few hours away. While Rieren wasn’t initially bothered by the bitter wind, she did end up looking forward to the end of their journey.

“There,” Amalyse said, pointing out over the cloud’s edge. “I see the encampments.”

The exact location of the tournament was just outside a small town called Brecile, located in a marshland and surrounded by a large forest. It was at the edge of this forest that the tournament’s first round would occur. Every faction was to array themselves around the forest’s perimeter. All the teams from the Shatterlands were arriving at its southeastern corner.

Rieren bid the Dawn Cloud to land at the open ground just within their encampment’s grounds. Their arrival drew some attention, as expected, and she had to once again shutter the spikes of paranoia that arose at being spotted by so many strangers at once.

When was this frustrating feeling of an unreasonable need to hide going to leave her alone for good?

“Welcome, welcome!”

The voice that greeted them took Rieren by surprise. Instead of the guards, who were roughly pushed aside, it was a portly man with a bushy moustache who greeted them. A man Rieren had seen before.

“Lord Kerolast,” she said. “I am surprised to see you here.”

Kerolast Stannerig smiled at her. “Why yes, hello there, Rieren Vallorne. A pleasant meeting, indeed.” His eyes darted past her to her companions. “And Lady Arraihos too, what a nice surprise. And last but from the least—” At that, Kerolast bowed. “Welcome to our humble little encampment, Your Majesty. We will do our utmost to be worthy of your grace.”

“So long as I have a safe place to stay while this tournament lasts, I will be happy,” Kalvia said. “Although, some privacy and other basic amenities would be nice as well.”

Amalyse stared at her. “You were just ordering me to summon fires for your warmth, Majesty.”

“Oh, and make sure Lady Arraihos here gets the best space you can find.”

Kerolast bowed even lower. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Amalyse didn’t look exactly mollified, but they moved on. A little tour of the camp revealed that it was set up quite professionally with every part in its proper location. There were spaces set aside for the guards, a cooking area for anyone seeking food, latrines for mortal needs, residential tents set farther out and in their own little mini encampments.

“You’ve done an excellent job, Lord Kerolast,” Kalvia said once the tour was over.

“Oh, please Your Majesty, it was nothing.” Kerolast didn’t flush but his moustache did bristle in pleasure. “I am merely doing the bare minimum I was capable of on such short notice.”

“So adept in such a short time. I’ve always wondered why you never bother to stay in Falstrom for long. You could do well there.”

“Oh, I care little for the goings-on in Falstrom. My talents are much better suited here. Everything in Falstrom goes over my head.”

“Is that right?” Rieren asked. “You seemed quite… chummy with Lord Mercion, when we first met. In fact—”

“Oh!” Kerolast laughed loudly. “Mercion and I are merely old friends. Please, come with me!” He hurried away, bustling along without looking back. “We must tour your residences.”

Rieren, Amalyse, and Kalvia exchanged odd looks before following their guide.

The residential tents were small and sparse. Nothing like the extravagance Kalvia liked to pull out from her storage ring. Even Her Royal Majesty’s tent held little more than a bunk, a storage chest, and a rudimentary rug. Rieren’s and Amalyse’s could only claim a bed.

That wasn’t an issue, of course. For one, Rieren was certain Kalvia had her “necessities” packed away in her storage ring. For another, through the System Shop and the generous loan of Credits they had acquired from the Shatterlands, they could get almost anything they might want themselves.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

The next few hours were spent listening to Kerolast about his attempts to ferret out the rest of the competition. Apparently, the northerners had at least five teams with them, possibly more, while the imperial clan were sending six. The numbers were unlikely to be accurate, however.

After all, the first round of the tournament was going to be an elimination round to reduce the initial number of participants to an acceptable range.

One that could be arranged into personal bouts.

Kerolast had also learned that the forest wasn’t exactly as it appeared. He suspected there would be traps and other hidden oddities. Hopefully, it would be outlined by the actual competition organizers before the tournament officially began.

Eventually, the rest of the Shatterlands contingents began arriving. Oromin arrived first, after Rieren’s group of course, and he had Mercion and Silomene in his company.

“Silomene,” Rieren said with no small amount of surprise. “Are you participating as well. And…” Her eyes turned to Mercion. “Lord Mercion as well?”

Silomene smiled tightly. “It would seem we are.”

Mercion was currently being fussed over by Kerolast, so he didn’t get to answer Rieren’s question. That was fine. Rieren would just have to keep a proper watch over him. They hadn’t done anything to remove the Gravemark Puppeteer’s influence, so it was simply quite likely that he still had some vestiges of the corruption.

“What are you thinking?” Kalvia was hissing at Oromin. “You do realize the threat he might possess?”

“I apologize, Your Majesty,” Oromin said. He did look troubled, as though he had been afraid of this specific scenario occurring as soon as he arrived. “My other companion got injured while trying to advance to the next realm, so we had to find a quick substitute. Lord Mercion was adamant at being given an opportunity to prove himself.”

“Prove himself disastrous for all of us, you mean.”

Silomene walked over and raised both hands in a pleading gesture. “Please, give us a chance, Your Majesty. Clanmistress Avathene has already taken precautions and we will make sure nothing untoward occurs. We all just… want what’s best for everyone, after all.”

Kalvia grunted with dissatisfaction but didn’t argue further. It probably helped that Silomene was a pretty woman, not a sharp-faced, widows-peaked gruff man like Oromin.

Rieren did catch Mercion looking like he wanted to address the matter of his participation personally, but one sharp look from Silomene made him subside. It was probably better for him to draw as little attention as possible.

More of them came in time. There was the group of cultivators who had helped Rieren defend the Shatterlands over multiple battles—the large, boulder-using man, the woman with the green robes and greener flames, and the man with the permanently pinched expression who summoned the giant monkey.

They exchanged pleasant greetings. Rieren smiled at them. There was a certain pleasure at being treated like a contemporary, even though she was significantly younger than them in this timeline.

She had already attained their respect over the course of the battles they had fought. Recent events had only raised her in their esteem.

It was nice to see that Rieren commanded respect in some eyes.

The last two teams were comprised of unknowns.

One was a team of older cultivators sent by the “rebels” who wouldn’t officially align with the Archnoble clans under Avathene. They were a mix of Ordorian and Stannerig cultivators, the youngest of those who had participated in the former Archnobles’ coup attempt.

The other was a team of young cultivators, around Rieren’s own age, sent from the Shadowed Breeze Sect. They looked a little unsure of themselves, but they carried themselves well enough for their Sect to be proud of them.

Rieren didn’t see much of either of them. The groups were civil in public but kept mostly to themselves.

Lastly, Avathene and the other dignitaries arrived. They would be forming the judging panel contingent from the eastern coalition. Where Avathene had looked harried and tired back at the capital, she looked rather refreshed and well-rested now. It wouldn’t do to give any signs of weakness here among their enemies.

The Clanmistress addressed them all with a short speech at one point. “Greetings, participants. You have all been chosen to take part in the Trials of Ascendance. One way or another, you all will represent the Shatterlands to the rest of the world from here on out.

“I know you will comport yourselves accordingly. You have already made me proud. I will hold you no longer. All I remind you is to give your utmost in the trails ahead of you, my champions. Go forth and claim what is your right!”

A brief speech, but a rousing and memorable one all the same. Rieren knew she wouldn’t be the only one who would remember the Clanmistress’s words.

Rieren had been wondering if she ought to take some time to talk with her fellow participants. It would be better for all involved if they went into the tournament as friendly competitors, if not full allies—an impossibility since they would be competing against each other. Kalvia and Amalyse were attempting to form bonds as well.

But any such intentions were cut short by the arrival of the competition official.

The tall man with dark brown hair hanging all the way to his ankles gathered all of the participants to set down the rules and mark the tournament’s official beginning.

“Gather around, my dears,” he said. His voice had an unctuous undertone that set Rieren’s senses on edge. This man took great pleasure in his job, of that there was no doubt. “And listen close. You are about to learn what you need to accomplish and how you must do so.”

In the end, the main competition didn’t turn out to be anything overly complicated, just as they had been promised. Each team was given a single token that they had to carry past the forest. However, it was a race. The conceit was that only a certain number of the first teams to submit their tokens at the designated spots would be allowed to progress further into the competition.

“How many?” Avathene asked.

The tall man smiled widely. “The competitors are not to be told. Though, all the judges will be given the information at the judging panel.”

“What judges?” Kalvia asked. “If we are to carry this token to a certain point, what is there to judge?”

“And how?” one of the rebel representatives asked. “Will the judges be accompanying us on our travel through the forest?”

The man turned his unpleasant smile to the competitors. “Nothing so fanciful. But that is for the judges to know, not the competitors. Does anyone have questions regarding your assigned task?”

“Yes.” Rieren stepped forward. “What exactly is this token?”

It seemed impossible but the question made the official’s smile widen even further. At this rate, his face was going to split in two. “That is a piece of a runic formation. Every piece that is gathered will raise a barrier around the main tournament grounds higher and higher. Eventually, after enough tokens are gathered, the barrier will be complete.”

“Barring anyone else from entering the tournament grounds, effectively eliminating anyone who remains outside, yes?”

“Correct.”

A devious mechanism. Rieren had to give the northerners credit for coming up with it. She wondered if they alone had, or if they had conspired with the imperial court about it. Either way, they had to have chosen this form of competition because it would benefit their side one way or another.

“What about the actual forest?” Oromin asked. “What can we expect to encounter in there?”

“Why, nothing but your fellow competitors, of course.”

“So you aren’t setting up any additional hazards for us? No traps, no obstacles we must overcome? Nothing to… spice up the competition?”

“Your imagination is quite active. Something to take it into consideration, perhaps…”

Several of them glared at Oromin for giving the official the idea in the first place. Rieren wasn’t convinced, though, and neither were Oromin and a few others. It was more likely the official was admitting to the presence of unforeseen traps and obstacles through Oromin’s question.

“If there are no further questions.” The tournament official stood up. “Then I will take my leave.”

“You haven’t said anything about the rules of engagement,” one of the Shadowed Breeze disciples said.

“Oh, there isn’t much to say. Anything goes. Getting to the designated locations with your token is all that matters. How you do that is entirely up to you and your teammates. But remember, you only need one teammate to submit the token for the entire team to qualify.”

“What if we submit more than one token?” the green-robed woman asked.

“One person submitting one or more tokens will only qualify one team—their team, specifically.”

He left the implication unsaid. If one person’s submission was only good for one team’s qualification, that meant they could prevent other teams from qualifying by taking their tokens and submitting it themselves. A troubling thought.

The man smiled at them unctuously for some moments longer, but there were no further questions. Nodding and wishing them good fortune, the official unceremoniously departed.

Rieren looked down at the unassuming token. It looked no more than a piece of masonry broken off some construction. She squeezed it. It felt durable. Well, it needed to be.

With the official’s admission that nothing was out of bounds in the tournament, this little token was going to have a rough go of it.