Chapter One Hundred Sixty-Four: ‘Assess and have forethought...’

Hector never managed to learn his name, as apparently this Hun’Kui didn’t speak Mohssian like Eleyo did, and Hector had to struggle through trying to speak Hunese at Garovel’s instruction.

Eventually, the Hun’Kui man appeared to understand what was going on, at which point, Hector was more than prepared to be attacked, but the man surrendered immediately, instead.

That was how Hector passed the first round.

In the second chamber, he found Mr. Sheridan, already rifling through the treasure scattered around it. The man didn’t seem to have any idea what was going on, and Hector ended up explaining the situation to him, too.

“Fighting?” said Mr. Sheridan. “You fought someone before coming here?”

“Well, not technically, but sort of.” That brought a question to Hector’s mind. “But wait. Does that mean you didn’t fight someone?”

“Sure didn’t. Just been siftin’ through the goods here, tryin’ not to worry too much about how the hell I’m gonna get outta this place.”

Hector didn’t want to doubt the man, but he hadn’t known him very long at all and so had to wonder if that was really true. ‘Think he’s lying?’ he asked Garovel.

‘If he IS lying, he’s doing it pretty well,’ said Garovel. ‘If we assume that Malast forced everyone else into this tournament along with us, then that means there are eleven combatants total--unless Malast himself is participating, which would be weird. And since eleven is an uneven number, it’s very possible that Mr. Sheridan here was the odd man out and got a free pass for the first round.’

‘Hmm.’

Mr. Sheridan seemed to be having a hard time pulling his eyes away from the treasure. “Agh, if only this damn suit had more than one pocket! Talk about a design flaw!”

Hector could hardly blame him for being so preoccupied with it. As far as distractions went, it was maybe the best Hector had ever seen. He’d wanted to examine the hoard in the last room, but he’d been too concerned about a fight breaking out. He hadn’t wanted to underestimate any of the Hun’Kui, not while they had weapons that could hurt Garovel.

‘Well, you just keep an eye on him,’ said Garovel, ‘and I’ll look over the treasure! Man, what a great plan!’

Hector frowned but didn’t look away from Mr. Sheridan. It was unfair but also probably the most sensible thing to do. He wouldn’t even know what he was looking at, really, aside from just a bunch of really expensive shit.

That golden glimmer was really itching at his peripheral vision, though.

Dammit.

Mr. Sheridan was digging through another pile, scooping coins and gems out of his way as if they were dirt.

Hector persevered. He spared a few quick glances around the chamber as well, wanting to make sure treasure wasn’t distracting them from anything else that might’ve otherwise been obvious.

But no. It was just more rocks and lava.

Garovel was being suspiciously quiet, so Hector decided to prod him for some answers.

‘Where do you think all this treasure came from?’ said Hector.

‘Seyos, presumably.’

‘Okay, but I mean, where did he get it all?’

‘Good question, especially because a lot of those stuff does not appear to be from the Undercrust.’

Hector’s gaze hardened. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Sure am. Which means Seyos, or someone else, has been to the surface. And fairly recently, too, from the looks of it. This thing here is the Egg of Prosperity.’

Hector chanced a look at where the reaper was pointing and, indeed, saw a gold-and-silver egg inlaid with red gemstones.

‘This friggin’ thing is probably worth a cool mil all by itself,’ said Garovel. ‘Maybe more.’

‘Holy shit. In troas?’

‘Mmhmm. But yeah, I heard about it going missing from Yena Maria around two hundred years ago, which is not nearly as long as the Hun’Sho have been in Himmekel.’

‘Hmm.’

‘And I’d just like to point out that this almost certainly means I’m right about Torveis having been to the surface, too. God of Fire, my ass.’

‘Why would Torveis lie about all that?’ said Hector.

‘Maybe because the Hun’Sho have been stealing our shit,’ said Garovel. ‘Look at this fucking place. There’s probably enough treasure in all these rooms to buy a country.’

‘They didn’t seem like they cared much about money.’

‘They didn’t seem like they cared much about ANYTHING. Which makes me think they were hiding what they cared about.’

‘Hmm, but what would they even need all this treasure for? They’ve just been sitting in Himmekel for a thousand years, right?’

‘Well, if I had to guess, I’d say they’re hoarding treasure in order to fund some sort of great revival of their people. In that sense, maybe Torveis wasn’t lying. Maybe “Avar’s return” is to be interpreted more metaphorically.’

‘Didn’t sound like he was being metaphorical...’

‘Maybe he believes in it literally, despite it nonetheless being intended to be taken metaphorically.’

‘Wouldn’t that mean he wasn’t lying to us?’

‘Not about Avar, maybe, but still about how he was able to recognize a bird. That was horseshit, for sure.’

‘You seem really determined to not like the Hun’Sho.’

‘I’m an untrusting bastard like that.’

Hector had to bob his head a little at that. ‘Maybe we both are.’

‘Good, then. So you agree that the Hun’Sho are suspicious as hell.’

‘I don’t know. I still want to like the Hun’Sho, kinda. I mean, they can’t all be bad, right? They’re still individuals, same as us.’

‘Yeah, yeah, fine. If you wanna be all non-racist about it.’

Hector just breathed a quiet laugh.

‘Holy crappity!’ the reaper suddenly exclaimed, making Hector turn briefly to look at him. ‘I do believe I’m looking at the Shifting Spear of Logante! Hector, come pick this thing up!’

He hesitated but kept Mr. Sheridan within line of sight as he moved toward Garovel.

The Intarian man seemed to be preoccupied with coins now, despite having disregarded them earlier. He was holding them directly up to the visor of his suit and squinting, probably trying to read whatever was engraved on them.

Hector saw the “spear” that Garovel was pointing at. He plucked it out of a silvery pile and discovered it to be far shorter than he’d expected. It was barely bigger than a flashlight, though the blade had an admirable golden sheen to it.

‘It’s, uh... kinda small, isn’t it?’ said Hector.

‘Say, “Grokoh.”’

‘Excuse me?’

‘“Grokoh.” Say it aloud. Right now.’

“Uh... G-Grokoh.”

The spear immediately extended to five times its size, though Hector noticed its weight had barely changed at all.

“...Huh,” was all he had to say.

‘Now say, “Sworok,”’ said Garovel.

“Sworok.”

The spear changed shape entirely, and in the blink of an eye, Hector was holding a sword instead.

‘Pretty neat, eh?’

‘Yeah, sure, but... ah... Garovel, this seems kinda useless.’

‘What? It’s not--’ The reaper paused. ‘It’s, uh...’

‘...Can it do anything else?’

‘Sure. It can transform into all sorts of different melee weapons.’

‘...That’s great, Garovel. Real helpful.’

‘Shut up, it’s cool! I’m sure the designer just didn’t intend for it to be wielded by a materialization user!’

‘Is it, like, super durable or something like Haqq’s shield?’ said Hector.

‘...Not particularly, no,’ said Garovel. ‘But when it breaks, it, uh... it reforms to its... original shape...’

Hector felt a little bad, but he couldn’t say he was impressed. ‘Hmm.’

‘It has ardor in it, though. So that could be helpful, right?’

‘...Helpful, how exactly?’

‘Well, that means it can be used to hit reapers ‘n stuff.’

‘I can just use my soul for that, Garovel.’

‘Ah. Well. Maybe it would make a good gift for Lynnette.’

Hector’s expression soured somewhat from behind his helmet. There the reaper went again, trying to play the Lynn card. ‘I’m pretty sure that shadow already allows her to do all this shit, too, more or less.’

‘Yeah, okay, but. Maybe she’d just... like it? As a present?’

Somehow, Hector kinda doubted that. ‘...Can we sell it?’

‘Hector, this thing was a national treasure of Calthos, once upon a time.’

‘So... their government would pay a lot for it, then?’

‘No! It needs to be either used by someone or put in a museum!’

‘That’s pretty lame...’

‘Agh.’

‘I feel like I’m in a video game,’ said Hector.

‘What?’

‘I feel like I just opened a treasure chest or something and found a really cool weapon that I’m completely the wrong class for.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, right now,’ said Garovel.

‘Really? None?’

‘I’m three thousand years old, and I have no hands! Why the hell would I know anything about video games?!’

‘Alright, geez. You sound pretty upset about it.’

‘Maybe I am. Maybe ever since I first learned about them, I’ve thought video games sounded like they could be really goddamn fun. And maybe I’m a little bitter about that.’

‘Eh... it’s probably for the best,’ said Hector. ‘For some reason, I feel like if reapers could play video games, you’d all get addicted and then just never stop.’

‘Oh, you mean because we exist in a state of purgatorial hell, and because video games might provide us a blissful escape from it?’

‘Uh... I meant more because you never sleep and because you’re always complaining about boredom, but, ah, that answer works, too, I guess...’

‘I’ve given the matter some thought before.’

‘I can tell. And it kinda sounds like you DO know a lot about video games, actually.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Mm.’

‘But I do know what we’re going to be doing as soon as you and I are able to use pan-forma without killing ourselves.’

‘That sounds... agh, alright, whatever. Can we focus on what’s important right now? Find us something really good in all of this, Garovel.’

‘I haven’t stopped looking. But man, I can’t believe you don’t like the Shifting Spear of Logante.’

‘Why does that name sound familiar, by the way?’

‘Oh, maybe because we were just talking about it back in Babbadelo.’

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

‘We were?’

‘Well, us reapers were.’

Hector tried to recall but was struggling to.

‘It’s a famous weapon,’ said Garovel. ‘Once wielded by the great hero, Logante.’

Hector was unfamiliar with the name. ‘What made him a hero?’

‘He prevented a civil war and brought peace to Calthos some 1300 years ago.’

‘Okay, well, that’s pretty cool. What happened to him?’

‘Last I heard, this spear was in the belly of a particularly nasty worm, so...’

‘Logante got eaten?’

‘Probably, yeah.’

‘Wow... what a happy ending...’

‘It’s probably not the most fucked up piece of history lying around down here.’

‘Great...’

‘Oh hey. Speaking of...’ Garovel motioned to a small piece of black cloth poking out of a closed trunk. ‘I wonder if that’s... hmm.’

Hector didn’t bother asking for clarification and decided to just open the trunk straight away. It stuck on something, but with a bit more effort, he yanked the lid free.

Something long and metal came flipping out and smacked against his chest hard enough to embed itself in his breastplate.

Surprised but unharmed, Hector grabbed the apparent handle and pulled the object out to examine it.

It was a flanged mace, he realized. He recognized the design, more or less, from his research. It was fairly small and certainly shinier than the pictures he’d seen on the internet, but it felt pretty hefty in his hand, and the bulbous head looked like it would hurt to get hit with. The head had four vertical rivets, each one perpendicular to the next, and the thick spike at the tip had no doubt been what caused it to get stuck in his armor the way it had.

Hector wanted to ask Garovel about it, but the reaper was quite obviously more interested in the black cloth from before.

‘Oh my goodness,’ said Garovel slowly. ‘I was right. It’s the Scarf of Amordiin.’

‘“Amoor-deen?”’

‘Haven’t heard of him before?’

Hector shook his head.

‘Hooboy, well. Where to begin...?’ Garovel fell quiet, perhaps gathering his thoughts.

Hector removed the Scarf and closed the trunk again in order to sit on the lid. He was abruptly feeling as though he should get comfortable for what he suspected was going to be yet another history lesson. His hands were already quite full of items to examine, anyway, between the spear, scarf, and mace.

‘Okay, well, it’s not exactly a happy tale,’ said Garovel.

‘I figured as much.’

‘You want the full version or just the highlights?’

‘Highlights, please.’

‘Full version, it is, then.’

‘Fuck you,’ said Hector, though he did laugh.

‘So Amordiin was this young guy who really wanted to make a name for himself, okay? And he got it into his head that he could accomplish this by rescuing a princess. Problem was, he couldn’t actually find any princesses who were in need of rescuing.’

‘That WOULD make the plan more difficult...’

‘Yeah, so, can you guess what he did?’

‘Uh... come up with a new plan?’

‘Aha. No. He kidnapped the crown princess of Vantalay.’

‘Oh. That’s, um... hmm.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’m guessing that didn’t work out too well for him,’ said Hector.

‘Actually, it worked out incredibly well,’ said Garovel.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Yep. Amordiin was able to successfully disguise himself as his own “villain.” And then he staged a “rescue” of the princess while she was nearby, so she was able to hear but not see what was going on. So he saved her from himself and became a hero, praised by all.’

‘...I don’t know if I believe you, Garovel.’

‘I’m telling you, it’s true. It was a whole big thing among us reapers for a while, because there weren’t many servants around in Vantalay at the time. Certainly not any interventionist types. We were just there, exercising our neutrality, ferrying souls, and watching this horse’s ass take over the kingdom. It was amazing to witness. Like a soap opera long before television was invented.’

‘Wait, he TOOK OVER the kingdom?’

‘Oh yeah. You didn’t think the story was done, did you? Once he became a hero, that was just the first step. He steadily increased his fame, doing all kinds of ridiculous and unsavory shit, until eventually, he ascended to the throne himself and became its new king.’

Hector eyed the black cloth in his hand. ‘How does the scarf fit into all this?’

‘He was always wearing that, no matter what he was doing. Even in the bath, he didn’t take it off.’

Hector wasn’t sure he wanted to keep holding it all of a sudden. ‘Ew.’

‘Oh, it’s fine. This was seven hundred years ago. Or eight. Or five. I’m fuzzy on the timeline, but the point is, he considered this scarf to be very valuable. And who knows? Maybe it’ll help us mimic his success.’

‘I don’t know if I want be like that guy, Garovel...’

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong. He was a piece of shit. I’m not saying you should consider him a role model.’

‘Hmm. Was he a bad king?’

‘That’s debatable. As with pretty much any ruler, he did some good things and some bad things. And during his reign of thirty or so years, Vantalay was peaceful.’

‘I’m sensing a “but” on the way...’

‘But... as he got older, he became rather ruthless and enacted a few policies that his subjects didn’t agree with. He was ultimately overthrown and beheaded in front of his family.’

‘Holy fuck.’

‘Yeah, it was pretty awful.’

‘Do you know any stories that DON’T end in gruesome death?’

Garovel tilted his head upward as he thought about it. And kept thinking about it.

‘Garovel?’

‘Yeah, no, they pretty much all end in gruesome death. The only ones that don’t--well. They haven’t finished yet.’

‘Wow, that’s... great, Garovel. Real comforting.’

‘What do you want from me? I’m a reaper of death, not a children’s author.’

Hector decided to try and get the conversation back on track. ‘You still haven’t explained what makes the scarf so special.’

‘Oh, that? I dunno.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me, Garovel? What was the point of telling me that whole story, then?’

‘There needed to be a point?’

‘Agh...’

‘Learning about history is a point unto itself,’ said Garovel.

‘Learning about history? Or explaining about history?’

‘What’re you tryin’ to say?’

Hector exhaled and shook his head. They were getting sidetracked again. ‘You really can’t tell me anything useful about this scarf?’

‘Well, okay, so Amordiin had a lot of “interesting” items like this--items which I suspect gave him extraordinary aid in various ways. He seemed to acquire more as he gained fame, supposedly from a “witch” or “coven of witches,” depending on who you ask. As far as I know, he also had a mask, a dagger, a hat, and a couple rings, but--’

‘You’re still not telling me anything about the scarf, Garovel.’

‘Would you quit being so impatient?! Just let me finish!’

Hector wanted to talk back some more, but he held his tongue.

‘Amordiin had his scarf and mask from the beginning, meaning they were likely the most instrumental in his rise to power. So while we may not know what this item is capable of specifically, we know that it helped him sneak into a castle full of soldiers and kidnap the most well-protected woman in the land.’

‘Hmm.’ Hector wished he could touch the scarf with his bare hands, but his armor was in the way. It did seem incredibly light, though, even for a piece of cloth. Almost like a feather, fluttering and trying to catch the breeze at even the slightest of Hector’s movements.

‘Why don’t you try putting it on?’ said Garovel.

‘You sure it’s safe?’

‘Absolutely not, but when has that ever stopped us?’

A horrifically good point, Hector supposed. He set his two weapons down and stood up.

He’d never actually worn a scarf before, though. He decided to just open up a hole in his armor and wrap it around his torso like a stomach warmer, trying not to cringe too badly at the searing pain of the Undercrust’s heat before closing the hole back up.

He waited, focusing his mind away from the pain and more or less succeeding, though maybe not as well as he would’ve liked.

He kept waiting.

And kept waiting.

‘...I’m not feeling anything special,’ said Hector.

‘Is it touching your skin?’

‘Yeah.’ He had made sure to tuck a bit of it up and under his shirt.

‘Well, shit. Maybe you’re wearing it wrong?’

He definitely was, but he didn’t see what difference it made.

‘Trying wearing it over your armor, instead,’ said Garovel.

Hector’s mouth flattened in his helmet. ‘Wouldn’t that be bad in a fight? My opponent could just yank it and throw me off balance or something.’

‘Look, I dunno, just try it, okay? You don’t have to wear it that way forever. And besides, it’ll look cooler.’

Hector sighed but did as he was bid, enduring more pain in order to remove the scarf and subsequently wrap it around his neck. It was quite long, probably meant to be worn by someone taller, and he didn’t want too much bulk around his neck, so he forewent any extra loops and let it drape over his back instead.

Still, Hector didn’t feel any different, until he remembered to make sure the scarf was touching his skin. He nestled it in between his helmet and his breastplate, wincing against more burning pain from the heated iron around his own fingers.

But even that didn’t--

Wait.

No.

Something was different. Very different. But he couldn’t quite tell how just yet because of the pain still being there. It was making it much more difficult to focus, and he still had to keep renewing his armor, as well.

That was three things, all wanting attention from him simultaneously. The armor, the pain, and this still undefined sensation.

Stubbornly, perhaps, he didn’t want to ask Garovel to numb his pain. He wanted to compartmentalize it in his own head, cordon it off with nothing but his own ability to concentrate. He’d already been treating his armor this way while he’d been carrying on conversations with Garovel and everyone else, so why couldn’t he extend it a step further?

It was difficult. He felt his armor waver as his concentration did, and traces of heat started leaking in, adding a fresh dose of pain to the still lingering quantity.

He just had to think about three things at once. Or rather, he had to not think about them. That seemed to be the real trick of it, he’d come to realize back in Himmekel. It wasn’t about trying to divide his attention between them. It was about treating each thing as if it didn’t necessarily need his attention. Just letting it exist there in his head. Like a growing plant. It didn’t require constant attention. Just every now and then. Attention was like water. The idea could take root in the soil of his mind on its own, if he would just allow it to.

That was his theory, at least.

It wasn’t panning out very well for him, though. Physical pain was a different kind of demanding, as far as attention was concerned, and Hector couldn’t figure out how to just let it sit there in his head like the other two things--not before all of his concentration began crumbling around him.

He staggered forward a couple steps and hunched over.

Time to admit failure, he knew.

“Okay,” he muttered between groans and strained breaths, “please numb my pain, Garovel.”

‘You have to make an opening in your armor for me.’

He growled and annihilated one of his pauldrons. Relief arrived a second later, spreading instantly from the reaper’s grip on his shoulder.

Hector took a haggard breath and sat back down on the trunk. “I guess three is too many...” He wondered if that number was a hard limit, or if he might be able to eventually overcome it with more training.

‘Three?’ said Garovel.

‘Oh, uh. It’s just, ah... well, I’ll tell you later.’ He hadn’t really been explaining the details of his training to Garovel, lately. The reaper probably thought he’d just been meditating normally and working on materialization. This probably wasn’t the time or the place to go into it, though, he felt.

‘Are you okay?’ said Garovel. ‘Did the scarf do something?’

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ said Hector. ‘But I don’t know if it--ah. Just. Gimme a second. I have to concentrate.’

‘Alright...’

Hector refocused. He fixed his armor first, then tried to understand what this new sensation was. Whatever it was, it made everything around him feel different. It was almost like being underwater. Or in a windstorm, maybe.

Yeah. That was it.

Air.

He could feel air breaking against him, almost as if he were standing at the top of a skyscraper, being buffeted by wind. Or maybe... maybe it was more like he was the skyscraper. Because the wind, even as strongly as he could feel it, didn’t cause him to flinch or move at all.

Where was it coming from, this wind? It wasn’t making any sound.

He stood up again to look around.

Whoa.

He felt the entire chamber shift. Like a somehow stationary earthquake.

But no. That wasn’t right, he realized. The room hadn’t shifted. It had just become clear to him. The room itself had. He could practically see it now, the entire space that filled the room.

It was the air again. Specifically, the air’s movement. He could sense it, the flowing lines of it.

What a strange room. Entirely encapsulated in rock and a couple pools of magma. There was nowhere for the air to escape to, but it was still being slowly and perpetually pushed upward, probably by heat. And when it reached the ceiling, it had to stop and be pushed aside by the air below it, which created a new kind of air current around the walls of the chamber. A cyclical flow.

Hector took a step, and the air became even clearer to him. Crisper in his mind.

The scarf. It was behind him, but he could see its movements because of the air, too. In fact, that was where the movement was clearest, he realized.

He was beginning to get the picture.

‘I think... ah...’ How to explain? Hector took a deep breath and noticed that he could sense that, too, escaping through the crevices in his helmet.

Holy crap, this was all a little overwhelming.

‘You think what?’ said Garovel.

‘Ah... I think this scarf is like a... a kind of “air pressure sensor” or something.’

‘Air pressure sensor?’ the reaper echoed. ‘You can sense air pressure now?’

‘I... guess so? Or, uh... maybe that’s not quite right. I can sense “airflow,” I think.’

‘Hmm. Interesting.’

Hector tried taking another step, and indeed, his sense of the whole room became clearer again.

Oh, wait, but it was also getting slowly duller again, too. Each passing second, his sense of the air in the room weakened slightly.

Why? Because of his own movement?

He lifted a hand.

Yep. Mystery solved.

‘Seems like I can sense the movement of the air best when I myself am moving,’ said Hector. ‘It’s like a... a domino effect or something.’

‘Domino effect?’

‘Yeah,’ said Hector. ‘Like, um... when I move, it makes the air move a little, which then makes it even easier for me to sense it, I guess?’

‘Oh, I get what you mean. You make the air move, and then that air pushes against more air--to a lesser degree, of course--but you’re saying you can still sense it, even at that lesser degree? Like air dominoes, is what you were trying to say?’

‘Er, yeah... I think.’

‘That was a weird analogy, Hector.’

‘Wha--how would you describe it, then?’

‘Oh, as “waves,” maybe? Y’know, the way a normal person would conceptualize it?’

‘I... ah... hmm.’

‘Your movement causes air to move away from you in waves, and the scarf allows you to sense those waves, no?’

As Hector thought about that, it did seem to make more sense than dominoes.

Well, shit.

‘It’s okay,’ said Garovel. ‘I’m beginning to see a pattern with you and weird descriptions of things, though.’

Hector tilted his head. ‘What’re you talking about? I don’t, ah... do I?’

The reaper chortled. ‘Do you remember that time you described Lynn’s purple shadow as “death-taffy?”’

He did. ‘Hey. That was... that was accurate, wasn’t it?’

‘I never said your descriptions were inaccurate. Just weird.’

‘Hmph.’

‘Anyway, what else is the movement of the air telling you?’ said Garovel.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well. I guess what I’m really wondering is if the airflow is allowing you to sense the locations of objects around you.’

‘Oh. Yeah, it is. Like, uh... I can see where Mr. Sheridan is right now, even though I’m not looking at him.’

‘Aha, excellent. Alright, I’m watching him. Tell me what he’s doing.’

Hector focused on what the lines were telling him. ‘He’s crouched down and examining something.’

‘Good. Maybe with this--’

‘It’s a box in his hands. He’s struggling to open it. Doesn’t seem like he’s having much luck. It needs a key. There’s some kind of cut stone inside, standing on a little tripod or something.’

‘Whoa, whoa. You can sense THAT much detail?’

‘Er, yeah...’

‘You can even sense what’s INSIDE the box?’

‘Yeah. Because it’s not, uh... vacuum sealed or whatever? I can sense air flowing through it.’

The reaper paused, perhaps thinking. ‘How quickly is the air in the box moving? Can you tell?’

‘Uh... seems pretty slow, I guess. The air around the ceiling and walls is a lot faster, by comparison.’

‘Holy shit, Hector. Do you have any idea how useful this could be?’

He was beginning to.

‘Well, that clinches it. You have to keep that scarf on forever now. It’ll be your new fashion statement from now on.’

Hector exhaled a laugh and walked the few short steps back to the trunk in order to pick up the other two items he’d put down earlier.

‘This certainly explains how Amordiin was able to kidnap the princess of Vantalay without being detected,’ said Garovel. ‘He could sense where all the guards were and stay out of their line of sight.’

‘If he’d had a reaper looking out for him, he could’ve done that without the scarf.’

‘Heh. True. But still, the Scarf of Amordiin is perfect for you. In fact, I’d even go so far as to say it’s an ideal tool for any materialization user.’

Hector could see what he meant. This thing increased his spatial awareness by leaps and bounds. He was already getting a few ideas about how he might be able to put that to use. He eyed the Shifting Spear of Logante another time, still in its sword form. ‘Well, one out of two isn’t bad, I guess. How do I make this thing small again?’

‘Say “Shrokoh.”’

“Shrokoh.”

The sword compressed in an instant and became a quaint little spear again. Hector pressed it against his breastplate and remolded his armor around it, creating an inner pocket for it to comfortably nestle within.

‘Oh, so you’re gonna take the Spear, after all, eh?’

‘Might as well,’ said Hector. ‘It’s pretty light. And I was thinking Mr. Easton might be able to get some good use out of it. Maybe. He seemed like more of a gun guy, though, so I don’t know.’

‘What’s that other item you’ve got there?’ said Garovel. ‘Another weapon? Let me have a closer look.’

Hector held the flanged mace up for the reaper’s inspection. ‘Well?’

‘Curious... I don’t sense any ardor in it. It doesn’t seem particularly special. But at the same time... I don’t know. It’s almost like it’s too normal.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It’s hard to describe. It feels like... there’s nothing special about it but maybe there’s supposed to be. Like it’s empty, somehow. Is it hollow inside?’

Hector raised it up and down, checking its weight again. ‘No way. If anything, it’s heavier than it looks.’

‘I’m not sure how else to explain it, then.’

‘Hmm. You sure you don’t recognize it?’

‘Nope.’

‘So it doesn’t have a cool name or anything, then?’

‘Maybe it does, but I don’t know it. We could name it ourselves, if you like.’

Hector’s shoulders slumped a little. ‘Eh, it’s not the same...’

Abruptly, Hector sensed Mr. Sheridan approaching but didn’t turn to face the man.

‘Heads up,’ said Garovel.

‘I know,’ said Hector, keeping his eyes forward.

Mr. Sheridan’s steps were abnormally slow. Measured. Careful. As if he didn’t want Hector to hear him coming, perhaps.

Hector didn’t want to believe that. He wanted to believe Mr. Sheridan was every bit as friendly and trustworthy as he’d thus far acted. But Hector also wanted to get a measure of the man’s true character. So he didn’t turn around.

And then he sensed Mr. Sheridan reach for one of the guns in his bag.

‘Hector,’ said Garovel.

‘I know,’ he repeated.

There seemed to be a pile of coins and stones in Mr. Sheridan’s bag now, but the man’s hand indeed wrapped around the grip of a pistol. He didn’t pull it out yet, though.

Still, Hector wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the man was worried that Hector would betray him for the sake of the tournament and was therefore preparing to defend himself at a moment’s notice.

But after a couple more steps, when Mr. Sheridan began lifting the weapon up to point it at Hector’s back, that was as far as the young Lord Goffe’s courtesy extended.

Hector bricked the pistol in iron, encasing Mr. Sheridan’s hand along with it.

“Oh--what?! Ah--hey!”

Hector finally turned to look at him.

Mr. Sheridan stopped flailing when he noticed Hector’s stare. “Aha... I, ah...”

Hector didn’t say anything. He wanted to hear what the man was going to say for himself.

“Ah... eh... I’m sorry, Lord Darksteel. Please don’t kill me.”

Hector sighed. “Why were you about to attack me?”

“Oh, um, well, y’know, you guys’re pretty hardy, ‘n I knew you wouldn’t actually die, so I just thought, maybe, ah... ooh, I’m really very sorry.”

“You want to win this tournament and become a god?” said Hector.

“I... I thought it might be nice, yes. But I see now the error of--”

“You weren’t worried that your next opponent might just kill you in an instant?”

“Oh, well, I-I suppose I figured that if I could eliminate you, then the others would be smooth sailing by comparison.”

“That doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“Heh, please don’t kill me.”

“I’m not gonna--” Hector stopped himself. Obviously, he wasn’t going to kill him. But it could be a problem if Mr. Sheridan became genuinely convinced of that. He recalled the only rule of this tournament as Malast had described it. Victory was achieved when the opponent died or surrendered. “Mr. Sheridan... do you admit defeat?”

“Oh! Yes, of course! I happily surrender!”

Well, that was one less thing to worry about, at least. When the distortion in his vision began to arrive, he made sure to annihilate the iron around Mr. Sheridan’s hand and weapon.

The next room was noticeably larger than the last two, almost on par with the one that they’d found Malast in.

That was not Malast standing in front of him now, though.

That was Seyos.