The Cyborg System-Chapter 68: Tourney of the Enduring Soul

This year’s contest had been labelled as the Tourney of the Enduring Soul. Each year, the name was an allusion to the grand prize, hinting but not quite describing its affinity, creating intrigue amongst the crowd who would speculate in the days leading up to the event.

This secret was kept firmly under wraps by les Chevaliers until the awards ceremony, with even the participants kept in the dark. This year’s prize suggested stamina enhancement, defence boosting, or perhaps a morale boosting aspect. It had even been heard among the locals that a unique second wind ability had been discovered, able to refill a user on the verge of death with a final stand. Such rumours were not uncommon, as the people’s imaginations ran wild.

However, the Knight of the Haunting Veil had found herself in the unusual position of finding out in advance what the blacksmith had been working on—a kind of compensation for bringing him many cores for the faction. She doubted she was the only one to find out by such means. The forger was a good workman, but a poor keeper of secrets. Spirit regeneration was certainly unique, and when a rarer affinity was found, it would be all the more tempting to spill the beans. Besides, there were few who would not find a weapon such as this a boon.

Along with her mace and shield work, the Knight of the Haunting Veil had spent many hours gaining some proficiency with the sword in the event she was to be awarded with the weapon. It was not completely new to her, and though the balance was different, the slashing movement was somewhat similar to the crushing one. Even proud Sir William, her training partner for several months now, had commented on her increasing proficiency with the weapon.

However, a stadium with over five thousand of her clan and their families was no occasion for simple proficiency. The mace and shield were the weapons she knew inside and out, and the ones she would need to fight at her best. Even her trademark veil, despite its utility as an aggro skill when fighting beasts, had to go. It was little use in a one-on-one fight where she would already be the target of her opponent’s ire. She’d been able to acquire a predator tier helmet in its place, with a speed affinity. It was not ideal, being inefficient to use other affinities compared to activating armour with a shared aspect. However, the effect was mildly passive and so this had won her over, being the best she could acquire on short notice. After all, items utilising the three core physical enhancement abilities were in high demand, even outside of their faction. Their availability would usually come in gluts and droughts, depending on what portals had opened recently.

The Knight of the Haunting Veil had had time to fit in one final training session before the event. Sir William had fought ruthlessly, as always, but she was happy with her ability to ration her hardening, saving a significant amount of essence compared to her former self.

For now, though, she needed sleep. Her body ached with the satisfying wear of heavy exertion. The draw of names would take place tomorrow. It was strange how much of her fate was left up to chance. She could go up against the number one seed in the very first round, or be handed easy opponents till the final. In the end though, things usually had a way of working themselves out. Only those in the top three would gain prizes from the event, but as far as she was concerned, anything less than first place was a loss.

*

The streets of Section 4 were crowded outside the arena, bodies jostling against each other in the streets. There were several street food stalls congregated outside, making use of the opportunity to earn a little money from the event. The smell of sizzling pigeon meat filled the air, and little cardboard pots of hot, buttery corn could be seen all around, covered in a variety of condiments. Despite the size of the queue, not everyone who desired had managed to acquire a ticket to the event. Distant family of prominent faction members would try their luck, acquiring the odd seat up in the nosebleeds section of the venue.

However, the event was first and foremost a faction affair, and though the result would inevitably reach the news, the battles themselves were not allowed to be filmed under any circumstances. There were even a number of scanning devices and transmission blockers to ensure no footage was gathered in secrecy. This did not stop those from waiting outside of the arena, listening to the results like an old-fashioned boxing match on the radio.

Still, the reasons for these precautions were well understood. No faction wanted to give away the relative strength of their hand for all to see. It was harder to plot against strength hidden out of sight. In many ways, this set up added to the ephemeral and urgent nature of the event. Even still, it was said that there would be spies among the crowd, reporting on anything prominent to the other great powers.

For many in Les Chevaliers, they were used to their personal fame being limited to stories spread among the clan, rather than any external recognition. Their names were known, but not their faces. This was part of their ethos. Only the Leader and the Council of Twelve were really known to the outside world. Only they went by their true names.

The Knight of the Haunting Veil was escorted with the other participants down the street by many loyal squires. The crowd screamed in a sort of drunken reverence, eager to bask in the aura of greatness. Walking amongst them stood the next knight to ascend to the national rank, soon to be revealed—the one who would fight the monsters and the demons; the one who would save their homes and villages.

Staring at the nervous young squire in front of her, she remembered her own early years in the clan, before being knighted, and long before gaining her name. It had been the greatest honour of her life to be bestowed the rank of a knight—or technically chevalier.

It was funny how, despite the many shifts from the clan’s origin, as it moved from a simple nation faction to one with members from all over the Western Alliance, even as the countries themselves had dissolved, the French language still clung to them despite everything. Even their standard, crossed swords on a black background, bore the words beneath: "Nous sommes les épées dans l’obscurité".

And yet, today, they fought in the light.

*

The long walkway into the stadium was dim, lit only by the glare off the sand of the arena at the end of the passageway. Looking at the knights huddled closely around her, it reminded her that she would be fighting some of them shortly. She didn’t recognise any, but that wasn’t unusual. Until she heard their names, she would have no idea of their strength or reputation, though their armour and weapons gave a good indication of their affinity. Some had dense armour like her own, others light, while others carried huge hammers or axes. There were a few that were difficult to place, perhaps coming from one of the more obscure fighting schools, but with at least half, she could hazard a good guess at their ability. Some even had tattoos linked to their school on display, giving away their affinity to any who cared to look. 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

Stepping out into the light, the roar of the arena surrounded them. All around her, the people were gathered in the stands, excited about the events about to take place. These were not just strangers, they were clansmen. She had none of her own family in the stands, what little remained of them. Perhaps that was for the best.

After being escorted to an area in the centre, the Knight of the Haunting Veil spotted the area where the leaders were sat. These were the true power of the faction, the ones capable of wiping out most smaller factions single-handedly. Certainly, their leader was an uncommon talent. Bred from the School of Brawn, his feats of strength were legendary. She spotted a few of the other national hunters she was aware of. The ones who had come to deal with any level 4 gates in her section. Gathering this many powerful faction members in one place was not a common sight.

Against her better judgement, a wave of excitement filled her.

The leader, Victor, stepped forward, and the crowd went silent. In a low voice that seemed to carry effortlessly, he addressed the crowds.

"For the sixteen of you gathered today to fight, I welcome you. I offer only a few words of advice on today’s tournament. Don’t look back on today and wonder, ’what if?’ Fight to the best of your abilities and find those new levels of skill you have yet to reach. Dig deep. Only then will you have what it takes to join the elites of our clan. And one last thing:

I wish you the best of luck."