A Pug's Journey (Cultivation Starts with Breathing)

The train rattled on, stopping at a few towns along the way. Each time, the brakes squealed and the doors opened, more people boarded. I caught the flash of bronze tags as more men and women climbed into the cars. By the ninth stop, I counted at least seven cities' worth of entrants scattered through the car. Thirty or forty tags, plus a few companions..

A few of them kept to themselves. But the majority shared a conversation with those who they knew.

Sarah was the first to break the quiet. She pulled a small bundle from under her seat and untied it. Dried apple slices. "Anyone hungry?" she asked, her tone light.

She offered one to Sali first.

"Thank you," Sali said, and nibbled it. She had only eaten a bit before dawn, too nervous to eat a proper breakfast.

Sarah passed the bundle across the aisle, giving to some acquaintances she knew from outside our city.

Then Sarah turned to me. She held out a slice between two fingers. "And you? Can your little friend have one?"

I sniffed. Not meat, but food was food. I wagged my tail once to be polite and leaned forward, careful not to nip her fingers. The slice was chewy and sweet. I ate it quickly and licked my chops.

Sarah's eyes warmed. "How adorable," she murmured.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

Sali and Sarah got into a casual conversation after that, pointing out bits of countryside through the window. Forest patches, hills stitched with stone walls. The rest of us stayed quiet.

At the next stop, more boarded. I spotted at least six more tags as they passed our compartment. One man carried a shield nearly as wide as the doorframe. Another limped, supported by someone who seemed to be his younger sister, but still bore his tag pinned proudly on his chest.

The car grew crowded. And the nets sagged with packs overhead. The sound of numerous boots scuffed on the floor.

The train rocked gently as the morning stretched on. Sunlight slid through the narrow windows, warming the compartment until it grew a little stuffy.

Laughter broke out here and there as groups of entrants compared notes about their qualifying fights. Some were even bragging about old stories.

The axeman and brawler sat quietly, and I had begun to doze when the spearman finally cleared his throat.

"Hey," he said. His voice was steady, carrying an easy earnestness. "Since we're all from Duramark, maybe we should do introductions. From what I've heard, the Guild's examinations sometimes allow for cooperation. There's no rule against lending each other a hand."

That drew a grunt from the axeman, which in his language might have seemed to mean agreement. The brawler only shrugged, which meant at least he didn't object.

Sarah gave an encouraging smile. Sali straightened up.

"I'll start," the spearman offered. He shifted in his seat, bracing a hand against the luggage rack to steady himself against the sway of the train. "Name's Mark. I'm handy with a spear." He tapped the long wrapped weapon leaning beside him. The thing was taller than he was by half a head. "I wasn't fortunate enough to receive a title. Just Mark is fine."

He smiled as if the lack of a title was something to be proud of. In adventuring circles, most adventurers loved their monikers, but Mark seemed content without one.

Sarah inclined her head. "Sarah Fairshield," she said, voice warm. "I specaliize in the sword. Some people call me 'Blade of the Riverlands,'" she added with the faintest roll of her eyes.

The brawler leaned forward, thick elbows resting on thicker knees. "Holt," he said, voice rough. And that was just it, no further introductions.

All eyes turned to the last man of the group. The axeman sat straighter, dark brows lowering slightly as he considered the request. Then he inclined his head. "Dain," he said in a low rumble. "I specialize in dual-axe combat, with shield defense. I received the Twin Axe Sentinel title from my town."

Finally, everyone turned to Sali. She stiffened, and her hand found my back. Her fingers curled lightly in my fur.

"I'm… Sali," she said softly. "I use daggers and a bow," she added, nodding toward the gear stowed overhead. "Everyone calls me the Elven Beasttamer, but I'm not really that accomplished. I was only able to make it through the qualifiers because of him."

She patted me on the head.

Mark shook his head right away. "Don't sell yourself short," he said. His tone was even, but his eyes were earnest. "Being able to enter the main qualifiers for the decade tournament is no small feat. And that little beast is part of your awakening, isn't it?"

They probably saw that humbleness as a quality.

Sali flushed, ducking her head. "Thank you," she murmured. I could tell she still felt out of place, since her success was basically a lie.

With introductions done, everyone seemed to relax a little better into their seats. Even Holt, who had said the least, leaned back like he was comfortable enough now to doze.

The rhythm of the train filled the pause. Steel clattering over rails, the low hiss of steam, the occasional whistle, and the conversations beyond our compartment.

Conversation picked up again after a time. This one turned naturally to what lay ahead. The examinations.

Sarah seemed to know the most, or at least she was willing to speak. "Ten years ago, at the last tournament," she said, "the first test we had was a marathon of sorts. It wasn't just an obstacle course, but traps and monster encounters all in one stretch. Everyone ran it alone. If you made it through within the set time, you passed."

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"I see," Holt rumbled without opening his eyes. "Only speed and strength counted?"

"Mostly," Sarah admitted. "They didn't forbid cooperation. If you wanted to run it side by side with another, that was allowed."

Dain's deep voice joined in. "I heard twenty years ago was different. Team challenge. Something about a dungeon."

"Yes," Sarah said. "The decade before last, they grouped entrants from different cities into fives. Each team was sent into a section of an abandoned mine. You only passed if your team escaped to the end with everyone alive."

Sarah gave a dry little smile. "Though, I heard there were a few betrayals. Rules forbid intentional killing, of course, but an accident in a dungeon isn't always easy to prove."

Sali's brows pinched. "That's awful," she said softly.

"It is," Sarah agreed, "but that's part of the test. They say the rules are there to keep things safe. Most respect them. But in a crowd that large, with so much at stake, there are always a few who step over the lines."

Mark shifted his weight, folding his arms against the window frame. "I've heard," he said, "that sometimes the test isn't combat at all. A book I've read said that thirty years back, they started with a written exam."

Holt placed his hands on his temples. I'd assume that he was the type who never bothered to pick up a book.

Sarah tapped her chin, thoughtful. "They like to keep people guessing. Could be anything, really."

I turned my head toward Sali. She was listening closely, eyes fixed on Sarah. Her fingers had found a strand of hair to twist.

That was a habit I've been trying to get her to stop when she got too nervous.

I bumped her knee with my paw. She blinked down at me, smiled faintly, and let go of her hair.

Now that the topic of conversation ended, the rails carried us on. Conversation constantly started and ended, sometimes with talk of weapons, matches, or stories that grew taller with every telling.

Sarah eventually nodded off, head resting against the window.

Sali opened the book we had bought in a rush before departure. The Nation of Cards. She flipped carefully through pages, her lips moving silently over the strange terms.

I kept my eyes open, watching people pass by on their way to the dining car or further compartments. Every one of them wore their bronze tag in plain view. The train looked less like a passenger car and more like a troop line, what with all the tags.

By early afternoon, judging by the light, the train jolted suddenly, slowing to a stop at a small outpost station. Just a platform of stone with a roof, no bigger than a barn. A dozen people waited. A few more tags flashed as they boarded and found space near the back.

The engine hissed, the whistle blew once, and the car lurched back into motion.

Sarah woke up, rubbing her eyes. Holt's booklet slipped from his knee and hit the floor. Sali closed her book and grabbed the railing by the window.

I stretched out and let myself doze on Sali's lap. The rhythm of the train and the heat of the sun did their work. I started to doze off.

Then a scream cut through the peace.

I was up in a heartbeat. The sound was high, sharp with fear. Shouts followed and the entire car was bustling with even more noise.

Sali bolted upright, nearly throwing me off her lap.

A group of passengers crowded around the end of the car. With pale faces and hands raised in alarm. I managed to hear a bit of what they were saying :

"Someone's hurt!"

"—She's not breathing!"

"Get a healer!"

"Someone get the guild staff here!"

My ears twitched at the chaos.

Sali quickly grabbed her bow case, half-standing so she wouldn't look like a target.

Sarah caught her shoulder, lightly pulling her. "Wait. Let's see first."

Mark frowned, serious now. "If it's a contestant dead, the Guild will need to intervene."

We moved as a group toward the noise at the front. Sarah and Dain went first, pushing through the knot of people. Sali stayed close behind them, clutching her bow case tight against her chest. I was on Sali's shoulder.

Eventually, we reached the vestibule between our car and the next. There, I saw her.

A young woman lay half slumped against the wall, her face tilted sideways. An older man in a cleric's shawl knelt beside her, hand glowing faintly as he pressed his fingers to her neck. After a few seconds, the cleric shook his head. Everyone could tell that there was no saving the woman.

Her armor was light leather, chest soaked dark with blood. A red cape hung in tatters. Her lips were blue, skin drained of any warmth. The wound across her throat was deep and ugly. The scent had hit my nose on the way here. And on her collar—still fastened, though stained dark—was her bronze tag. She was a tournament entrant. The crest of her city glimmered faintly beneath the gore.

Blood had started pooling across the floor

Sali's hands shot up to cover her mouth, eyes wide, shoulders trembling. Monsters she's killed and seen dead numerous times, but people? Just a quaint few.

The crowd behind us erupted with noise.

"What happened? Did someone die?"

"I only heard a scream, I didn't see anything."

"Everyone back!" the cleric barked. He pressed once more at her neck, but the glow flickered out. His voice dropped flat. "Yeah, there's no bringing her back. It was over in seconds."

The words landed heavy, silencing some but stoking others.

Sarah stepped forward, voice steady. "The train needs to be stopped. We have a murderer on board."

That word—murderer—spread like fire.

"Then all of us are suspects!" someone snapped.

"If a fight broke out, disqualification's automatic, they'll toss the whole car!" another shouted.

"You don't know that!"

"I saw a man running back after the scream!" a tall adventurer yelled, finger stabbing toward the rear. "It was him!"

"Don't point fingers without proof!" a woman shot back, her hand already on her sword. "That's exactly what the killer would want, chaos!"

Mark raised his voice, louder than I'd heard him yet. "Calm down! Panicking only helps whoever did this. "

Still, a pair of nervous adventurers had already unsheathed their weapons, blades pointed down but shaking.

Sali pressed against the wall, trying to shrink smaller.

"Put those down before someone else dies!" Sarah snapped, hand on her hilt.

"Don't tell me what to do!" the boy barked back, his voice breaking on the last word. His eyes darted toward the corpse again and he swallowed, knuckles white around his blade.

That was when I noticed it: the boy's tag was missing. I vaguely remembered that he was the one who was limping earlier.

Tags weren't just trophies. They were our proof of entry, the one thing tying us to our city's name.

I scanned the crowd. Many had their tags displayed clearly, bronze flashing as they argued.

My eyes landed on Holt and Dain. Holt's broad cloak had carried his tag earlier, pinned high. Now it was gone. Dain's tunic also showed nothing, the cloth wrinkled where a pin had once sat.

My ears twitched back. Both of these men were missing their tags? Impossible coincidence.

I whipped my head toward Sali. Relief hit when I saw her tag still fixed at her collar. Sarah's was at her belt. Mark's tag was still on his sleeve. Three of us accounted for. Two not.

Had Holt and Dain been robbed in the chaos? Or had they removed their tags themselves?

Either way, this meant that someone was moving through this compartment stealing tags, and even resorting to killing to do it.