Matabar

Book II. Chapter 54 - Catching Up

“I wish to make it clear at the outset that in this article, I do not intend to speculate upon consciousness and its nature. I do not even wish to speculate on the theory currently popular in scholarly circles that nurtures the thought that the phenomenon of thought itself is not inherent to the brain, and that the organ does not generate consciousness, but merely perceives it. Where does it come from, then? Again, recall how I began this article. Here, I shall speak not of consciousness in its complex, tangled, and at times contradictory philosophical sense, but the mind itself. I shall discuss the biochemistry of a single isolated organ of the organism in particular, and of the organism in general.

But first, permit me a brief digression into the past. Work on the creation of spells capable of influencing the mind of the affected has been conducted ever since the times when Star Magic had only just crossed the threshold of our continent.

The capabilities of the Witch’s Gaze, which is inherent to the Speakers and their Grand Magisters—or as they call them, the Aean’Hane—have always fascinated human mages.

The ability to penetrate the hidden corners of another’s soul with a mere glance? To suppress their will? To control another’s body, even? To ferret out even the most terrible secrets locked behind seven seals? Naturally, such powers could not be overlooked by our ancestors.

For long centuries, we attempted to develop something similar, and it cannot be said that the process proved entirely pointless. True, our predecessors failed to unravel the essence of the Witch’s Gaze or copy its complex properties, but their attempts led to the creation of artifacts—or, as they were called in antiquity, amulets—which offer decent protection against a weak Witch’s Gaze.

However, it is impossible to conduct a clear gradation of them distributed by intensity of impact. Back then, this was due to the limitations of scientific progress in those times, and these days, it’s due to the scarcity of those possessing this power and their even lesser desire to participate in experiments of any kind.

With this, I shall conclude the introduction to this article and move on to its essence.

The first thing we must clarify is that Star Magic which exerts influence on the mind does not relate to malefaction and, consequently, does not fall under the articles of the Al’Zafir Pact.

Why is this? Because malefaction implies the direct infliction of harm upon the organism. Exerting influence upon the mind does not always signify harm. Yes, this spawns very slippery ground fertile for speculation, but that is not the topic of this article.

For a while, there was even a desire to separate this branch of scientific knowledge into a distinct School—so popular did it become over a short period of time—but this never came to pass.

And for that, there is a whole series of reasons.

Firstly, if we accept as fact that the work of the nervous system depends on impulses of Ley accumulated by the organism, then it becomes evident that any spells influencing the mind primarily influence the Ley in the organism (as does, in theory, the Witch’s Gaze).

This theory is confirmed by the fact that if one uses a spell of this kind on an object which is subsequently placed in a space isolated from the Ley, the rate of decay of the spell’s influence coincides almost perfectly with the speed of the replacement of Ley-impulses in the organism with electrical ones.

What does this give us?

The second reason.

If we take into account that each organism possesses its own Ley-charge of varying power, then a more powerful charge will possess a natural barrier against a weaker one. This is also easily verified in practice, where a difference of even one Star is quite sufficient to render one immune to another’s attempts at mental magic.

In other words, a mage of two Stars is incapable of charming a mage of three Stars, and so on.

Yes, this creates a paradox where even a weak Speaker may attempt to penetrate the consciousness of a mage of three Stars and above, but the emphasis here must be placed precisely on the word ‘attempt.’ And usually, such attempts end quite lamentably for weak Speakers.

The third property which can be highlighted from the previous postulates is this: due to the direct influence on the internal Ley-structure of the object and, through it, the indirect exertion of impact on the nervous, sympathetic, hormonal, or any other regulatory systems of the organism, it stands to reason that mental magic cannot be applied by one subject to several objects simultaneously.

One might object here and argue that a lot of shields have components that allow them to influence the minds of several hypothetical attackers or people unfortunate enough to have wandered too close to a stationary shield meant to drive anyone without authorization away.

However, this is both a very costly and very crude application of mental magic and it relies on the stationary nature of these shields along with copious expenditure from Ley-generators. A person trying to emulate these effects would find it an insurmountable task, to put it lightly.

Thus, one can conclude that mental magic on a smaller scale is nothing more than a toy for young mages. A form of entertainment, a way to play harmless pranks, and nothing more. The might of the Witch’s Gaze, by virtue of it being unstudied, remains an unattainable riddle to us.

Perhaps, if it becomes possible to study the Gaze thoroughly one day, this will reshape mental Star Magic, making it a formidable weapon, but for now, this has not occurred.

The mental magic of today does not allow one to subordinate another’s will, because we do not know the physiological source of the formation of said will. It cannot, unless it is a stationary shield of high density that is constantly fed energy by heavy industrial generators, influence more than one object. It is extraordinarily vulnerable to vectors of time and distance, and its impact on the regulating systems of the organism is minimal.

I beg your pardon for my frivolity, but even in my time as a student of the Grand, these spells were often used as a means for increasing one’s libido or party tricks, nothing more.

There are, of course, examples of army usage, but after the Small War, better known to you, dear readers, as the Fatian Massacre, they are almost not applied in modern practice.

One might even say that mental magic exerted the greatest influence on Star Healing. Thanks to research in the field of influencing the mind, we learned how to include an analgesic effect in seals of healing. This is another paradox of Star Magic, in which all of its branches, sooner or later, end up closely intertwined with one another.

Again, forgive me for my frivolity.

And so, let us return to the initial topic. After almost a thousand years since Star Magic appeared on the western continent, and after over five centuries since the fall of the tyrants of Ectassus, we are still not capable of fully calling ourselves equal to the Aean’Hane, even though, at least in some areas of scientific cognition, we have long since left them behind.”

Ardi closed the old journal issue with a cover dedicated to the Al’Zafir Pact and malefaction magic. The article, which was simply titled: “Why Mental Magic is Not Prohibited by Law” and had been written by Magister Zid Cloverd in the same year Ardan was born, had fully revealed the reason to him.

Ardan, however, found himself troubled by something else.

How had he managed not to notice Colonel Kshtovsky’s spell? That was the question that gnawed at him the most. In what specific manner—even taking into account that Ardi had not expected anything of the sort—had the colonel managed to slip his influence past Ardan’s guard?

Surprisingly, the answer lay on the surface:

“...I will deactivate the external protective seals, so try not to cripple each other...”

Colonel Kshtovsky had not enchanted Ardi directly at all; he had simply altered the stationary shield of the training ground. And that was precisely why Major Dittmar had been certain that proving malicious intent would not be all that difficult.

Perhaps he was even right.

“This is how they could have erased the memories of the children in the monastery.” Ardan set aside the journal, which he had once sought out in the hope of stumbling upon a solution to the problem of all the Puppeteers’ agents having their minds melted if they said anything. “Prolonged exposure to a stationary shield that... could work thanks to that accumulator.”

He recalled the complex device that had harnessed lightning... Or maybe that was just what a complex bit of Star Engineering had made it seem like.

“So there was a shield after all,” Ard continued the thought. “But they turned it off as soon as they learned that I had come to the city.”

And if they’d managed to turn off the shield, that meant that, besides the documentation they’d passed to their liaison during the storm, they had surely transported the experimental prototypes as well. And while the documents—the most important ones, at least—could’ve fit into several satchels while the rest were simply destroyed, then the experimental prototypes were a different matter entirely. They had surely not been small.

One couldn’t just drag them away so easily.

And that, incidentally, was why they’d left those jars of formalin in the laboratory. And all those papers. It had been a failsafe in case something went wrong. Had things gone differently, Ardan and the Black House would’ve likely gotten tangled up in insignificant decorations and would’ve failed to immediately pick up the main trail.

And who possessed the ability to transport large-scale cargo out of Larand by land relatively unnoticed, at least in the sense that no extra questions would be asked?

“Listen, Ard, can you imagine the bad luck... Lev was riding here with his group last night, but they had the misfortune of running into a group of marshals on the road.”

“Damned lawmen... And I even asked the Guild before signing the contract if everything was all right with Mechislav.”

...

“He’s fine, Lev... But his habit of selling artifacts from beyond the Perimeter without going through the Guild… not so much. You see, Bakket and you were saying we should use his contacts on Sleepless Street. If we had, we’d be sitting in a marshal’s cage right now, too.”

“Coincidence, or yet another thread leading to Sleepless Street?” Ardi drawled thoughtfully and turned to the window. “And to the Hunters’ Guild…”

Judging from the young man’s gaze, one might have thought that he was seeking an answer on the other side of the glass. But the Metropolis answered him only with the descending grayness of a nascent autumn.

The first drops of endless rain, still somewhat timid but already possessing the persistence of a mistress who knows the value of her own beauty, were tapping against tin slopes, roofs, and lightning rods. They flowed down, falling onto the heads of passersby. And the people ran, covering themselves with newspapers or bags, acting as if they had forgotten that, in the Nameless Month, the city dressed itself in a glistening, wet attire.

Markov Canal was splashing within its granite banks, catching every touch of its celestial brother who so generously watered its longing relative. Cars shattered the mirror surfaces of puddles with their wheels, and trams hooted piercingly, seeing off the last remnants of warmth that had stayed too long as a guest.

Autumn had come to the capital.

And with it, the sound of heels echoed in the doorway.

“I nearly got soaked,” Tess folded her umbrella and placed it in the stand. She closed the door behind her, turned the heavy key, and, shedding her coat, walked into the kitchen.

For a few moments, they looked into each other’s eyes, after which Tess gave him a restrained, negative shake of her head.

“We’ve only been trying for three months,” the girl added hurriedly. “That doesn’t mean anything. And we’ve been living together for less than a year, so...”

“Yes, you’re right,” Ardan agreed immediately and, approaching his fiancée, embraced her tightly.

Tess reciprocated. Her heart was beating a little faster than usual. She was worried. And perhaps she even believed in what she was saying. Yes, they had indeed been trying and following all the doctors’ instructions that were widely known to the masses for only three months now. That was far less than the one-year term after which one could, with at least a bit of certainty, turn to the healers with a problem regarding... their fertility, but...

Something told Ardi that nothing would change in nine months. Or in sixteen, and twenty-four as well. This was a problem he would have to deal with. His instincts told him as much. And for some reason, however much he might have wished for that not to be the case, his instincts were rarely mistaken lately.

“How was your day?” Tess asked as she sat down at the kitchen table.

Usually, Ardi was restrained with his stories, sharing only those details that would not cause her unnecessary anxiety and would not risk him telling her too much about his work for the Black House. Right now, however, Ardan felt like he needed to steer the topic as far away as possible from the one issue that hung like a silent specter above their heads.

“Well, it was rather interesting, actually...”

Ardi began his tale, while outside the window, the autumn drizzle continued to engulf the street. It was dank, sticky and invariably gray, forcing the capital’s residents to recall the past summer with longing. And yet, while they’d been dodging the heat, hiding in the blessed shade of gardens and parks, they had yearned for the cool of spring, or perhaps even the frosts of winter.

“Ardan!” Tess threw up her hands and her eyes shone with green flame.

The girl rarely used his full name and usually resorted to it only when she was being absolutely serious.

“You’re a future officer of the Empire! What was that retired colonel thinking! What if someone had been hurt? What if you had been hurt?!”

She was speaking with sincere zeal, so Ardi decided not to point out that, technically, an active agent of the Black House was considered an officer regardless of their rank. This, among other reasons, was being used by the militarist wing of the Parliament as one of the pretexts for their reform of the “Table of Military Ranks and Titles.” Since it had been adopted three centuries ago, it was now grossly outdated and required an expansion and modernization of its composition. Ardi had heard about this from Edward, may the Eternal Angels accept him.

“Sooner or later, something was bound to happen anyway,” Ardi shrugged. “Let’s make dinner.”

Tess nodded and they went to the kitchen. From the small cabinets that hung above the narrow Ley-panel stove with three burners, they took a tin can of spruce seeds, and from the drawer set against the sink, they grabbed a bag of potatoes. One of these would be a side dish for Ardi, and the other for Tess.

And as the main course, they would have deer meat, as always. Thanks to the proximity of the Tsar’s Forest to the Metropolis, venison cost relatively little, and they both liked it.

“You mean because of that duel that happened between you and the Great Prince?” Tess asked as she turned on the water in the tap and laid the seeds out on some cheesecloth.

“Yes,” Ardi answered, pulling the bucket toward himself and arming himself with his (father’s) hunting knife. To some, the long, wide blade might have seemed unsuitable for peeling potatoes, but Ardi was already used to it. “Iolai is not one of those people who can just let a grudge go.”

Tess rinsed the seeds and, after pouring Lintelarian olive oil into a heavy skillet, placed it on a slow fire. It was a dead and mute sort of fire spawned by Ley-mechanisms.

“And what makes you think that this is connected with Iolai at all?”

Upon hearing the sudden question, Ardi almost cut himself with his knife. He looked at Tess, who was making sure that the skillet was sufficiently heated before placing rings of wild onion and crushed garlic into it, and then the seeds on top of that.

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“What do you mean?” Ardi asked.

“That you, dear, don’t know how the aristocracy behaves,” Tess, armed with a spatula, stirred the frying garnish while also checking if the meat placed next to the hot water had thawed. In their harmonious tandem, Tess always thawed the meat, and Ardan cooked it. That had somehow become the norm all by itself.

“My guess is that Colonel Kshtovsky, whose daughter, if I remember your stories correctly, married one of the Davos brothers, decided to help the Davos family rather than the Great Prince.”

Ardan frowned. He’d always suspected that, sooner or later, the Davos family would find a way to get even with the one who was likely responsible for the deaths of two of their three sons. And it didn’t even matter that both of them had surely done more harm than good to the family name.

“But why them?”

“Because petty aristocrats, if their position is important to them, always try to appear greater than they actually are... Oh, it’s thawed,” Tess moved the pot of boiling water away from the cut of meat and placed a board with the scarlet tenderloin before Ardan. “Over the past six months, rumors must have spread through the capital that there are two fewer Davos sons. They couldn’t help but start searching for the person responsible, and then it turned out that both cases are connected with you, dear. And the Great Prince... Ardi, I honestly don’t think that Iolai is capable of anything more than what he has already done to inconvenience us.”

Ardi was distracted from the potatoes again and looked at his fiancée.

“Have you received a letter from your father?”

Tess, leaving the garnish to fry on the low heat, went about setting the table.

“It’s nothing he couldn’t handle,” the red-haired baroness answered somewhat evasively. “If you think that my expulsion from the military academy and work in the atelier caused him less trouble at the time, then you are deeply mistaken.”

The aristocracy... Thanks to the letters of the Grand Princess Anastasia, he understood the life and morals of the high society of the Empire a little, but... Tess was right—this understanding was very indirect. And, moreover, it had been filtered by the perception of a girl, albeit an incredibly astute one. Even so, she was young and stuck in a gilded cage, doomed to live in the shadow of her status as heir to the Empire.

“Iolai will not resort to using the help of someone from the outside, because if he did, he would lose face in his own eyes,” Tess thought aloud, wiped a plate, and added, “And in the eyes of those who share his views. And there are quite a few of them.”

“And the newspapers?”

“What he did with the newspapers, dear,” Tess took the bowl of peeled potatoes from him, put the pot on the fire, and tossed them inside, “is just short of a military ruse. Such a move will only garner respect from those whom he is striving to impress.”

Ardan frowned even harder, which caused Tess to laugh harmlessly at his expression and give him a soft kiss on his forehead.

“It’s all very tangled, dear, and without understanding the life of the aristocracy, it might seem illogical, especially to you, but that is just how they live.”

Despite the fact that the Orman family was considered to be military aristocracy by default,they did not classify themselves as such and lived quite modestly. They were even quite down-to-earth. Therefore, when she used “they,” Tess did not sound bombastic or haughty.

“You should apologize to Eveless,” Tess added suddenly.

Ardi exhaled and, nodding, began to slice the tenderloin. The recipe he used to cook the venison medallions did not require tenderizing the meat. This allowed the meat to retain more juice after some shallow frying and a brief bit of baking in the oven.

“I intended to do so anyway, but I don’t think anything sensible will come of it.”

“But at least your conscience will calm down,” Tess approached him from behind and, embracing him, rested her head on his back.

Her voice trembled then. Just slightly. A human ear would not even have caught it, but Ardan was not human.

“Let’s not despair. We still have enough time to try. I understand that I am already past twenty, but... they say that medicine nowadays allows women to bear healthy children even after they turn twenty-five and, sometimes, even at thirty!”

“Of course,” Ardan assured her. “I’m not even worried about that, Tess. We will succeed.”

They continued to cook and chat about all sorts of meaningless things. Ardan hadn’t been lying when he’d said that he wasn’t worried about children. Obviously, like many mixed couples, they were having issues with this. But that meant only one thing—Ardi had a puzzle he had to solve. If there was a question, then there must also be an answer. And if that was the case, he would certainly find it. He’d not accept anything else.

“Also, please forgive me for not being able to attend your first match, Ardi.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Ardan waved it off. “I’ll be in a mask, and it’s only a qualifying round.”

***

“So, the Narikhman,” Milar exhaled a small cloud of cigarette smoke.

There were five of them standing on the balcony. Alexander Ursky, a man of few words as always, was there with his family, where he remained the only male. Alexander’s numerous daughters were currently with Milar’s children, and their wives, including Plamena, Din Arnson’s wife, were sitting in the living room. They were having their own kinds of conversations, ones incomprehensible to the male mind and filled with meanings hiding behind words and... Ardi didn’t understand people all that well in general, but at times, he could swear that he understood women even worse than that.

The only thing he appreciated about the rules of etiquette was that men’s and women’s after-dinner conversations were conducted separately. Such a rule had saved Ardi from awkward silence and confusion more than once or twice.

“And what’s happening on your front?” Milar turned to Alice.

Ah yes, Corporal Rovnev, the only woman in their department. Due to numerous reasons, Ardi often forgot about his colleague’s gender. She looked healthier lately. She no longer had dark bags under her eyes, and while she still had an unhealthy glint in her pupils, her cheeks were no longer sunken.

All throughout dinner, Alice, who had come alone, had diligently pretended that Ardan didn’t exist. A couple of times, Elvira—Milar’s wife—had made a remark to her about it, and Galina—Alexander’s wife—had looked at her disapprovingly once, but that was all. Alice had merely brushed it off, and Ardan... he understood her. And therefore, he did not force her to acknowledge him.

Tess, thank the Sleeping Spirits, had also treated Alice with understanding. She’d ignored the blatant display of disrespect, even if it had obviously pained her to do so.

“Sestrova is currently in a medically-induced slumber,” tapping the ash from her thin cigarette into a tin can screwed to the balcony railing, Alice looked somewhere off to... somewhere. A point in the distance, maybe. She did not take her eyes off the night veil thickening over the glittering capital. “We don’t have enough initial data to crawl into her brain. The Star-based smart-alecks are digging and trying something there, but for now, we have nothing. And you can stop asking about this until the New Year, because it’s unlikely that anything will change before then.”

“Understood,” Milar nodded humorlessly and turned to the two partners.

Alexander looked strict and monumental as always, but Din... Din, true to himself, had a silly smile on his face and had nearly stuck his face to the glass of the balcony door, watching in delight as Plamena played with the younger children.

“And you, gentlemen operatives?”

“We’ve detained a few small fries in Tend and Tendari,” Alexander reported while squinting disapprovingly at Din. “They really did hear that the body of a certain mutant has already been found and that someone is now trying to sell it to the illegal laboratories. Ard was correct, even about the bad things. That is the Narikhman’s territory, and you won’t get in without their permission.”

Alexander fell silent and demonstratively crossed his arms over his chest. Considering his taciturn nature, this gesture meant that for the next half an hour, he intended to rest from using his speech apparatus for its intended purpose.

“Do we have any idea what this key might be used for?” This time, the captain clearly addressed the question to Ardan.

“My guess will likely be the same as yours, Milar,” Ard spread his hands out. He was the only one of the five who did not smoke, and yet he smelled of tobacco just as much as they did.

“Fair,” the captain nodded.

“Or maybe it’s not about the key at all?” Din suddenly spoke up, distracted for a second from admiring his wife. “She fell from a dirigible and crashed into the Niewa, and then, for a couple of months at least, she was passed around by all sorts of petty thugs. The key would surely have gotten lost and-”

“And that is exactly why your documents say operative and not investigator, Din,” Milar cut him off. “If the Magister is right and it is about the key, then such things are not hidden on the body. They are hidden inside it.”

“Ah... Ooooh,” Din first coughed, then drawled thoughtfully.

“The Narikhman,” Milar repeated and, following Alice’s example, turned away to look at the city. “Eternal Angels... It’s all the same as galloping through different piles of foul manure. And now we even get to enjoy a running start before we leap into a cesspit.”

“Does the Black House have people there?” Ardi asked with hope in his voice.

In response, he received only meaningful silence. Ardan exhaled disappointedly.

“And this is in addition to the fact that our trap in Aversky’s house, may the Eternal Angels accept him, has caught absolutely no one thus far,” Milar took a last drag and, extinguishing his cigarette in the can, leaned his back against the railing. “It’s like we are running around in a labyrinth, gentlemen. From dead end to dead end. And I cannot say that I even see any light at the end of the tunnel... As for his grimoire and Driba’s staff, Magister, I won’t even ask you about them. You know I have a strict limit for how much bad news I can tolerate at once.”

Ardi, even if he’d been asked such a question, would not have been able to offer him anything. Unfamiliar ciphers were not something one could just sit down and solve in an evening. He had tried that once already, with Gleb Davos’ grimoire. In the end, after spending almost a week of his life on it, he’d set it aside for when he had more patience for it. And in the case of Driba, the situation was also complicated by the fact that this specific grimoire surely contained knowledge Ardi hadn’t even glimpsed yet. The cipher would be made all the more complex by the limitations of Ardan’s own cognition.

“My attempts to find something out about the charity dinners have also not yielded particularly large fruits so far,” Milar continued to grumble. “And so we have, except for Ard’s lead, nothing else we can pursue for now.”

“But how will we get to the Narikhman?” Din grabbed his trusty box of candy from his pocket and threw one into his mouth. “They can spot Cloaks a kilometer away.”

Milar only moved his eyebrows significantly.

“Let’s go drink some tea, gentlemen,” the captain didn’t answer the question. “It would be rude to keep them waiting.”

And the captain was the first to leave the balcony, while the others, including Ardi, saw their colleague off with very thoughtful gazes. None of them liked the pause that the captain had made there. Usually, such a pause led to ruined clothes, spilled blood, and, in some cases, to inhospitable hospital walls.

***

Ardi was shaking his soaked umbrella as he entered something that somewhat resembled the locker room at the Grand. It had the same wooden benches positioned along a line of tin lockers, whose locks and thin doors were more like a “moral necessity” rather than any reliable sort of protection against thieves.

After approaching locker number “12,” as was written on the documents that he’d received a couple of days ago, he opened the padlock with a small key. Inside, besides an impersonal leather mask with slits for his eyes, nose and mouth, there was also a uniform. It was somewhat reminiscent of the armor from the historical diagrams he’d seen in a textbook. It consisted of pants made from a coarse fabric, with a long undershirt meant to go over them, and on top of all that, he would need to wear a quilted, thick jacket with a diamond-shaped pattern and a thick “skirt” with a slit.

Somewhat surprised, Ardi noticed that the uniform was his size. Although, considering how many documents were required for registration as a participant in the Sponsored League of Magical Boxing, such a thing was not too shocking.

Ardi was already unbuttoning his jacket and vest when he heard the tramping of feet on the other side of the entrance to the locker room. And not a minute passed before six people entered the room. People, not men only. Five men and one woman, to be exact. She merely glanced at the frozen, slightly dumbfounded Ardan who’d stripped down to his underpants and calmly walked past him and disappeared behind a screen that had been set up on the far side of the locker room.

Only the five men remained. A relatively young gentleman of about twenty-three in a stiff suit and an equally-strict cloak with a high collar immediately separated himself from the group. His disarming smile and the almost childishly naive look in his eyes made Ardi wonder if this was perhaps a brother or cousin of Din Arnson.

“You must be Ard Egobar,” the stranger extended a hand and, noticing how Ardi was shifting his gaze from the man to the mask he’d been given and back again, immediately added, “Don’t worry, Mr. Cloak, we all sign very punishing non-disclosure agreements here, so your secrets won’t leak.”

Ardan kept his comments about this to himself. However, if one thought about it, the identity of a service member could indeed be hidden only from the spectators, but not from the other participants.

“Oh, I haven’t introduced myself, I’m Lucius Raft,” the man’s smile shone even brighter. “Yes, you understood correctly, Mr. Egobar, I have my first match with you.”

“Very... nice to meet you,” Ardi answered hesitantly and shook the fairly strong hand.

“Lucius!” one of the men barked indignantly as he fumbled around in his locker. “I asked you to return my Acid Rain modification schematics after you were done with them.”

“Sorry, Rakshad, I completely forgot,” and Lucius, almost skipping, walked away to talk to a man of about thirty who had already opened his grimoire.

“By the way, did you manage to refine the Sound Shot?” A short, thin, cross-eyed man asked his friend—a tall blond with two prosthetic fingers on his left hand.

“The third rune array in the stabilization contour still eludes me. I think I’ll have to schedule a consultation with a military engineer.”

“Ah, want me to share mine?”

“Is he the one who works with participants of the main bouts? He charges fifty percent more than the others!”

“But he does good work!”

“Gentlemen,” the man named Rakshad, who’d apparently gotten his schematics back, swept his gaze over those present. “I finally figured out Agatha’s complex shield! Want me to share what I’ve found?”

“Do you even need to ask!”

Ardan blinked in sheer bewilderment. He understood that these were most likely the other participants of the tournament he himself was in. And, judging by everything he’d seen so far, they knew each other well. That, by itself, was unsurprising. But what amazed the young man was the atmosphere that reigned here... Not one of friendliness, but... Ardi didn’t know the suitable word for it.

Crowding around Rakshad, all five of them passionately discussed schematics of their own and others’ magic, shared seals, and, almost interrupting each other in their eagerness, discussed what countermeasures could be undertaken against this or that spell. They did this despite the fact that all of them, in just a quarter of an hour, had to go out into the arena.

He’d assumed that they would be trying to hide their own developments from each other, not share them and openly argue over how best to defeat someone from their group.

“Not what you expected?”

Ardan turned around. He was still standing in nothing but his underpants, and Agatha Spree had already emerged from behind the partition. She was a mage of three Stars that Ardi would have to fight against next month.

“I was also a little surprised by the sportsmanship when I first arrived here.” She was about twenty-eight, with a ring on her finger, and she did not stand out with any sort of special beauty, but was pleasant to look at. She had a short neck, a slightly thick waist, and a strict bun of almost completely gray hair that was shamefully hiding the last few chestnut strands under the silver. “Don’t worry, newbie, I won’t let them hurt you.”

“Actually, Agatha,” Lucius tore himself away from the discussion on the Floating Slippery Shield (Ardi hadn’t even heard of such a modification before). “I have the first round with him now. And I desperately need to go further this year, so I will fight for every point!”

“As I already said… y-we won’t hurt him,” Agatha winked.

“What a bitch!”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, boys,” Agatha waved her grimoire and headed for the exit of the locker room. “I’ll go chat with my husband before the start. Is tonight still on?”

“Of course!” the men thundered in chorus.

“I’m glad to see that you look well-rested,” and she disappeared behind the door, leaving the half-naked Ard to stew in his utter confusion.

“Ah, right, you’re the new guy...” Lucius drawled and, returning to his locker, took a business card from a satchel. “Here. The whole league gathers in the evening. It’s a tradition. We celebrate the opening. Well, we are also there whenever we can manage it, especially on fifth days, if there are no fights scheduled. We rest, share ideas, and if anyone wants to—we can even train..”

Ardi somewhat awkwardly accepted the card with a grateful nod. “The Sword and Staff Club” was inscribed on the front. And on the back, there was an address: “TheNew City. Winged Street, house 83.”

“What do you open with, by the way?” Lucius asked suddenly, point-blank. “Ah, so you don’t think anything of it, I usually start with a complex shield. I don’t read quick seals very well, so I try to gain a couple of moments for further preparation that way.”

“And then you get hit in the forehead!” Someone behind them shouted. “How many times have I advised you to work out how to use a strictly passive shield instead in order to confuse your opponent?”

“By the Eternal Angels, go confuse yourself! Last time I tried that, Agatha nearly blew my leg off during training!”

“Well, you shouldn’t have been yawning when she was Resonating her entire combination,” Rakshad snorted.

“Look at you, smart guy… When you block her Resonance yourself, then you can teach me,” Lucius snapped back.

Rakshad raised his hands in surrender and returned to discussing seals with his... friends? Opponents?

“You expected something else, didn’t you?” Lucius, who was leaning his shoulder against the locker, looked at Ard with a slightly condescending smile. “We try to maintain, as John calls it, a healthy spirit of competition. We compete, sure, but more than that, we root for the development of the sport in general. The more participants and spectacular matches there are, the better it is for everyone. Of course, someone might start muddying the waters at times, but that is rare. There’s nothing personal here. Just sport. If someone comes up with something interesting, we share ideas after the match. Advise each other. The most interesting duels we even analyze later in the club together. But that’s when fours clash. Or fives. Yellow Stars and... Eternal Angels. Forgive me, Mr. Egobar, I’ve started babbling.”

Ardi caught himself and wrestled his Witch’s Gaze back under control.

“So what do you open with?” Lucius repeated his question. “Just warning you straight away, many newbies try to open with a combination with a false spell hidden inside it. That might work against others, but in the arena, it won’t pass muster, and I will take you apart immediately. In the interest of being sporting, I would advise you to come up with something else.”

Ardi blinked as he suddenly realized that this was exactly how he’d intended to begin their duel. He would’ve done the same thing he had against Eveless: started with an Ice Artillery and then followed it up with a modified Ice Cage.

“It’s just so easily blocked,” continued Lucius. “It might look like the most optimal start to someone not used to dueling, but it’s really not.”

“Come on, Lucius, none of the newbies ever listen,” Rakshad, having finished changing, pointed a hand at the blond. “Neil will back me up here. I told him the same thing last year, for his debut, and what was the result?”

The tall blond shyly scratched the back of his head.

“I thought you wanted to trick me.”

“There!” Rakshad nodded. “It is, after all, a tradition to warn the newbies, and then watch as their debut still ends in the first five seconds, with them unconscious on the sand.”

Lucius sighed and spread his arms out.

“I had to try,” he winked at Ard and returned to his locker. “Just want an interesting first match of the season... I dunno why I got lucky enough to get the newbie in the draw...”

“Did you want to go up against Agatha?”

“No!”

“There’s your answer, Lucius. Rejoice in the fact that you will be free quickly, and with three points in the bank to boot,” Rakshad turned to Ardan and smiled warmly. “No offense, Mr. Cloak. Even if you handle other mages quite well in your line of work, here... We, how do I say it, we are professionals at one-on-one duels. So listen to us and...” Rakshad waved his own warning off. “Whatever. Until they experience it themselves for the first time, no one believes anything anyway.”

“Uh-huh,” was all Ardan could squeeze out, and even then, he nearly stuttered.

The mages exchanged glances and, no longer paying much attention to Ardi, continued to discuss dueling. Some of the terms, like the words “open” and “Resonate,” Ardi understood, but the meaning of things like “flanking combination,” “the shield of the first, second and third layer,” and a multitude of others, he could only guess at.

Feeling a little stunned due to the quantity of new information and the shocking atmosphere he had never expected to encounter here, Ardi zoned out for a while.

He finally came to his senses only thanks to a prolonged ringing that was somewhat reminiscent of a fire siren.

“Oh, time for the arena,” Lucius, who wielded a staff that was about average in terms of cost (not fully made of Ertalain, but not wooden, either), said. “I can see that you, Mr. Egobar, spent money on a grimoire, and not your staff. Farsighted! You can choose a staff later, when you get your bearings on what’s what. If you want, we can suggest some folks who understand what you should get. For a bit of coin, they won’t be offended that you asked.”

It would probably have been easier for Ard if the beating of their hearts, their breathing, and the smell of these strange people had shown that they were actually sophisticated liars. But everything had turned out completely differently. They did not want to deceive him, nor confuse him, and everything they’d said had been absolutely sincere.

“Yes... thank you,” Ardi mumbled, still just as stunned as before.

“Well then, good luck to you and, please, don’t open with a simple combination,” Lucius wound up to pat Ardan on the back, but stopped himself, lowering his hand. “I spent an hour and a half getting here from Baliero. I want the season to start off with a fun match.”

And with that, they walked down the narrow corridor toward the arena waiting for them.