This fight was on the circur stage at the center of the arena. They both prepared by donning metal breastptes. Though this was just a practice match, the Gemstone Rapiers were real weapons. They could cut. They were sharp enough to pierce metal, though with more difficulty than flesh.

  Protection, no matter how ineffective, was necessary, and instead of fighting to disarm or suborn, they would fight to a single touch. Close to proper fencing than an outright brawl, an elegant fight for elegant gentlemen.

  Xander swung the bde gingerly. Using Gemstone Gear was instinctual — Archmund could see the bde spark to life, glowing pyrite gold, as his magic seeped into it.

  The two of them stood at the center and shook hands. All the pleasantries, of course. Xander didn’t seem to want to touch him any longer than he had to.

  “So why’d you accept?” Archmund asked.

  Xander furrowed his brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “You were very, very upset about the idea of receiving noble charity the st time we spoke.”

  He hadn’t been privy to his father’s conversations with each of the recipients. The only exception had been Mary. No one had refused, but Xander had the most reason to.

  “Is it charity to win a prize, Sir Granavale?” Xander said.

  “Usually not,” Archmund said. “But the value of this prize is immeasurable. And I wouldn’t have expected you to be okay with the lifetime of service to House Granavale.”

  Xander’s brow furrowed further. “I didn’t really pay attention to that. My father said that I should accept, so I did.”

  Oh boy. Xander’s choices, or rather ck thereof, was a ticking time bomb. Maybe helping him become a “Hero” was a way to get him out of the way non-lethally.

  “Besides, Mary likes the food, even if—”

  He cut himself off.

  “You’re nicer than she says you are,” he said warily.

  Was that his attempt at reconciliation? Archmund really wished he’d known all this before giving him a powerful magical artifact. He could probably still discreetly have it removed, except frankly even with this weapon, Xander was probably genuinely harmless to him.

  “Under my nice exterior I’m a total snake,” Archmund said dryly. “Do you need any guidance with the bde?”

  Xander frowned, then did a few experimental thrusts with it. They were slow and probing, but they were of the form Archmund recognized. The instinctual knowledge flowed to him readily.

  “Let’s just get on with this,” Xander said.

  They stood at opposite ends of the stage, facing each other.

  Originally, he’d expected this to be the only interesting fight in the tournament, as one of the few empowered by magic.

  When he’d pnned the tournament, he hadn’t expected to fight at all. Then, when he realized he didn’t have enough for easily computable brackets and jumped in, he’d expected his fights to be repetitive tedium. But he hadn’t realized how each of the nobles fought differently, and how there were two additional nuances to the magic of the world that he hadn’t considered in scope: whatever Gelias and Catherine had going on, which wasn’t obviously reted to Gems. Did this world have a unified magic system manifesting in different ways, or multiple different magic systems treated simirly for cultural reasons?

  He wasn’t tired; He had a great reserve of energy stored up in all of his other Gems — and in his Gemstone Rapier, which bled back into him.

  This fight was fundamentally unfair on so many levels: His nutrition was top notch, and he’d had training from Garth Avant, a retired former adventurer.

  And Xander was feeling the drain of the magic upon him, the Gemstone Rapier sapping his magic and his vitality as he held it in front of himself for the first time. One day, that would make him stronger. But not today.

  The Gemstone Rapiers pulsed rose-gold with their magic. The sun had fallen below the walls of the colosseum. At least an hour of daylight remained, yet in the arena the brightest lights shone from their golden bdes.

  Archmund held his Rapier up. He let enough of his magic flow into the weapon that he could feel his thoughts change as the magic returned to him, shaped by the crystallized thoughts of the noble dead. The arrogance of this peasant, to stand up against him and brandish a bde he’d been gifted.

  Right. There. Those kinds of thoughts. He eased back on the magic, forcing himself to calm down. He tilted the rapier forward at Xander, holding it in front of himself in a standard fencing pose. “On your guard!”

  Xander mimicked him, tilting his bde before himself.

  But he didn’t move.

  Despite his bravado from when they’d met in town, he was still just a silly kid, wasn’t he. He didn’t actually want to take a swing at a noble. He was brave, and bold, and maybe a little reckless, but he wasn’t suicidal.

  Archmund lunged forward, bde glinting, a basic move.

  Xander’s bde pulsed with numinous light. His bde twitched, smashing against Archmund’s with the sound of twinkling chimes, sending his bde spiraling off to the side.

  He recognized it: this was [Deflection], unconscious and untrained, yet effective. It was the most basic technique of the Gemstone Rapier, and as he’d suspected from his testing, anyone could use it.

  He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. It would’ve been bad, to say the least, if this match had ended in ten seconds with him drawing blood. Far better for Xander to look genuinely impressive.

  Archmund felt his fnk was exposed; Xander took the opportunity and lunged towards him.

  Archmund’s pulse quickened; his magic too flowed more freely into the bde. As Xander’s bde twirled towards his fnk, his bde whipped from side to center as if propelled by mind of its own. He met Xander’s thrust with his own [Deflection], sending the bde to the side.

  The bde sneered with him, its arrogance seeping into his heart, urging him to strike Xander down, which would defeat the whole point. Frankly he was having misgivings about creating social mobility by hand-picking people to receive magical super-soldier weapons, but you pyed with the hand you were dealt.

  As his magic flowed into the bde, his muscles sparked with the memory of offensive techniques as well as defensive ones. The darting of his eyes as he’d fought Beatrice. The vicious assault he’d channeled against Rory. The way Gelias’s bde had danced, and how he’d ducked and bobbed around it.

  He jabbed forward, stabbing and stabbing and stabbing with acrity.

  (In his back pocket, his Gemstone Tablet vibrated with a notification: [Skill Unlock! Deflection -> Flurry of Blows])

  Xander’s bde sparked with furious magic, darting to-and-fro like a hummingbird to intercept Archmund’s own.

  He could feel the magic sparking between the bdes when they met, his own essence bouncing and rejecting Xander’s flow even before Gem met Gem. From the outside, it must have looked like a well-practiced dance, like needles dancing underneath a strobe light, as their bdes cshed with impossible speed and finesse.

  When Archmund twitched, Xander’s eyes would dart back and forth, following the trajectory of the tip of his rapier, and he’d move his own sword to block or deflect, but Archmund could predict that and move his bde in turn, but then Xander would have dodged out of the way already, the well-practiced instincts of the metaphorical ghosts within the bde guiding him to safety.

  Fights between those of the Gem were much less a matter of physical conditioning or practice. They were a measure of the ability to use and channel powers originally held by those who had gone before you and left parts of themselves behind — of the resources that one’s circumstances gave them access to, and how one adapted to them.

  But they were also a measure of stamina and magical capacity.

  How well the living could execute the designs of the dead.

  They had been fighting for a very short time. Not even five minutes. Which, admittedly, was a long time for a sword fight, normally. This was, of course, an exhibition match, so a bit of dey and slowness was acceptable, desirable even. He didn’t feel tired at all.

  But Xander was breathing heavier, and beads of sweat were dense upon his brow. His undershirt, poking out from his borrowed breastpte, was soaked through with sweat.

  They had both defeated four opponents to end up here, the best performers in the tournament. Archmund’s had been objectively harder even, nobles with resources and training and special powers that tested his understanding of the world. And yet Xander was the one at his st breath.

  “How are you…” Xander panted, staring at Archmund with desperation, maybe even hunger. “Are nobles… really that much… better?”

  “I practiced,” Archmund said. “I practiced so that when this happened, I wouldn’t be at the risk of getting hurt.”

  It was a diplomatic answer. It was only partly true. He had practiced a lot, and he’d only had the opportunity to do because he was born rich and noble.

  “It’s just one blow, right?” Xander said. “One blow to win?”

  Archmund smiled, hoping he wasn’t looking too nasty when he did so. “Bring it.”

  “Graaaaaaaagh!”

  Xander charged at him, all nobility and finesse abandoned, filing his Gemstone Rapier wildly. Less like an elegant needle, more like a mad old man’s cane.

  And Archmund simply twisted his bde through the air — dancing, flitting, swirling, like a threaded needle looping around a seam — and Xander’s cttered to the ground.

  [Gemstone Rapier]

  [New Skill: Disarm]

  Xander raised his hand in surrender. He seemed drained, exhausted, like he would colpse. They both waited expectantly. both expected an announcement, but none came.

  Barst wasn’t looking at them.

  His father wasn’t looking at them.

  The crowd wasn’t looking at them.

  Weaponsmaster Garth Avant was, his eyes fixed on Archmund.

  Archmund’s eyes refocused on Garth.

  He was bloodied, with gashes on his face and dents in his armor. He was swaying, as if about to colpse. He held himself upright by leaning on his Gemstone Sword.

  “Monsters,” he rasped. “Monsters breaking out of the Dungeon. My men…”

  He fell to a knee. The referees rushed forward to catch him. Archmund betedly recalled that some of them had served under Garth, but they’d been redirected away from full on military duties because of their cks of interest.

  Archmund jumped off the stage and ran to him as well, but the throng of crowds made it impossible for him to get close.

  “They’re fallen. I was the only one who escaped.”

  He raised his eyes and met Archmund’s.

  “Save them.”