Misadventures Incorporated

She tried desperately to piece me back together as he fled the scene. Empowered by newfound divinity and embroiled in the essence of eternity, she did her utmost to seal my wounds.

But I was too far gone.

The system had already declared that I had perished.

In fact, it had marked my end the moment his teeth sank into my neck. It was already a miracle that I'd struck him thereafter.

I tried to hang on, but knew it was futile. I was fading away.

No longer could I hear her voice or feel her touch. Even my vision was blurring, slowly turning to darkness as I became another part of the aether.

But then, suddenly, it all became clear again, albeit not as the burning mountain consumed by the lion's fangs. The dulled fall colours were vibrant as they were in spring, and all the homes were back in their places. Not even the people were missing, though they were no longer qilin.

With their flesh eaten by the tyrant, they were but naked souls—sentient resources to be repurposed.

And I was no different.

Just a wayward geist yet to fully depart the realm.

___

The next few days came and went in the blink of an eye and the birthday celebration was no exception. After their little shopping adventure, Claire and Sylvia had settled on a pair of matching ribbons, which they'd used to tie up each other's hair that morning. The accompanying party lasted nearly all day and came with two Arciel-made meals featuring plenty of fresh seafood. It was a private event with Rubia, Sylvia's mom, and Alfred's wand as the only non-Vel'khanese guests.

While she didn't allow her father to attend the party, Claire met up with him later in the evening so that they could share a couple drinks.

And then, the very next morning, the summer festival was upon them. To Claire's dismay, the Northern Brigade was obligated to attend the opening ceremony. And as such, she found herself underground, waiting beneath the colosseum for her turn to enter the stage.

Combatants from both sides were gathered together in a large large hall where they were free to converse and mingle. The subterranean area also served as one of the city's emergency shelters, in which the people could flee in times of war. It was so perfectly protected from the rest of the world that not even Claire could hear any sound from the arena lest she pumped her ears full of divinity.

Quickly glancing around the room, the lyrkress confirmed Cadria's picks. The delegation had long been informed of the people and the order that they would appear in, but she'd been sound asleep for any associated conversation. The only ones she knew had qualified were Gladora and the Silverthorn, and that was only because they'd bragged about it at the bar.

Claire'd been back there twice since her first visit. And both times, she found the two fighters present, drinking the night away and squabbling about the pettiest of things.

The familiarity, of course, went both ways. All it took was for the elf to look at her with his eyes glowing to instantly make the connection.

"I had a feeling I'd see you here," he said, as he crossed the room.

Claire tilted her head. "Are you talking to me?"

"No, I'm talking to the other person whose level shows up as a bunch of question marks," he said, with a grunt.

"You mean the king?" Claire pointed across the room. "He's all the way over there. I doubt you're going to be getting his attention from way back here."

Leutgar scrunched up his brow and gave her an exasperated look. "I don't know what you're trying, Celestia, but it clearly isn't going to work. You know I'm an elf, right?"

"Who's Celestia?" asked Sylvia.

"Beats me," said Claire.

"I'm not about to fall for that just because your voice sounds a little different," said the elf.

"Relax." Gladora kneeled next to the elf and threw an arm over his shoulder. She gave him a bit of a glare before flashing Claire a knowing smile. "Remember the rules."

"It's not exactly my fault when she makes it this obvious," said the elf, with a grumble. "Alright, fine. I guess we're going through the whole song and dance." He raised his arms and took a step back as he rolled his eyes. "I'm Leutgar."

"It's nice to meet you, Leutgar," said Claire.

"Oh, wait! It's you!" said Sylvia. "I remember you! You're the guy who kept tripping over everything and faceplanting instead of winning."

"Yeah, I still have no idea how I managed to make the cut," he said. "So just to be clear, you're not fighting, right?"

"Uhhh, I don't think so?" said Sylvia. "Ciel told me that I wasn't going to, but I wasn't actually a part of any of the important talks, so I dunno for sure."

"As per our agreement, you shall not be participating in the proxy war." Arciel joined the conversation with her arms half crossed and her fan against her chin. "Leutgar Silverthorn, Gladora the Bloodbreaker, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I do not believe we have had the opportunity to speak. I am Arciel Ve'khan, reigning queen of the eponymous nation."

"Hi, uhh…" the elf paused. "Sorry, what am I supposed to call you? Your Majesty? Queen Vel'khan? Lady Arciel?"

"Any of those shall suffice."

"Alright," he said. The man extended a hand and shook it while Claire swept her gaze across the room again. Leutgar had qualified as Cadria's second weakest representative. Assuming that Vel'khan abided by the same rule, he was probably going to be up against Chloe. In reality, he was probably a little closer to the top, but he'd been put further down the pole on account of his coincidental loss streak.

The Cadrian lineup had been published soon after it was chosen, and few had expected it to turn out the way that it had. All manner of Cadrians were left scratching their heads on account of the princess' exclusion. The most commonly accepted explanation was that the event's overseers had wanted to ensure that the event would be entertaining, and they'd only kept one of the two royals because both were inherently uncontestable. That claim in turn drove further conjecture about Claire and her abilities. The two most recent incidents—the ball and the failed assassination—had given most the impression that she had a powerful skill several times derived from the standard magic hand.

Building on its quirks, the people had specced out dozens of speculated kits, different specializations based on the spell's evident strength and speed. The invisibility was typically written off as her ultimate—there wasn't a single person who believed she was less than an aspect.

Claire smiled. It was a shame the finale was still two weeks away. She couldn't wait for the grand reveal.

There was a knock on the door right as she began to forge the speech that would accompany her advent. The soldier that entered the room cleared his throat and saluted as a dozen eyes fell upon him all at once.

"Thank you for waiting, everyone," he said. "The crew is expecting you on-stage in about five minutes."

Virillius nodded and stepped into the hall, with everyone else forming a loose mob behind him. They walked through a giant hallway and up a flight of stairs before they were finally greeted by the buzzing of the crowd.

From the special guest entrance, they could see the opening act progressing towards its climax. The living paintings darted across the stage, changing their forms a thousand times over. The sparkling glacial flowers turned into colourful fish that morphed into birds as they rose above the sea, and the billowing winds took on the form of the goddess that illuminated the world with her light. A dancing witch launched a spell from her wand and became the overcast sky so that the rain could flow back into the earth and douse the frogs hiding away within the forests' bounds.

So on and so forth, the scenes transformed as the bards sang out their hearts.

And then, finally, a vibrant explosion, a bang that flooded the arena and shook the seats that held the guests, drowning them in a wave of noise and colour before finally fading away.

A booming applause rang throughout the colosseum, a clapping that only grew silent as a centaurian noble lady, one Octavia Augustus, stepped out onto the stage.

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"Ladies and gentlemen, that was the Soprana Theatre Troop." Her mellow voice echoed throughout the arena, courtesy of the badge-shaped artifact affixed to her chest. "In the coming days, brave and gallant representatives from Cadria and Vel'khan will trade blows here in this very arena to testify for their causes and proclaim their nations just. And as the people of our respective lands, we shall bear witness and observe each fight through to its end. For as per the old laws, all shall be judged by way of violence." There was a moment of silence as Octavia scanned the crowd. "The rules are simple. When it is their turn to do battle, each soldier shall enter the ring. The first to surrender, become incapacitated, or perish is declared the loser. In any other age, on any other occasion, it would truly be the jaws of death that await our valiant volunteers. But for this felicitous event, Kryddar's King Ragnar has graced us with his presence. Those who fall before his gaze shall rise again to fight another day."

A pillar of light flooded the VIP box and highlighted the Kryddarian royal.

"Of course, it would not do for these powerful warriors to simply clash before the public eye. As is tradition, we shall offer each an opportunity to speak prior to their engagement. Those that would rather not talk of themselves will be introduced by the master of ceremonies." There was a lull in her speech and a change in the environment. Mana flooded from the terraformers and filled the space above the arena. The display that manifested showed a picture of her face, as well as an abbreviated status with her health, her mana, and a level for each of her classes. "With this event, we will also be demonstrating a brand new product that will soon be rolling out to colosseums around the nation," she said. "Its inventor, Master Canterbell, will elaborate on the specifics."

A shoddy straw man in a suit and a cane walked out of one of the other entrances. Like Octavia, it came with a display, though its window was smaller and more concise.

Rune-Laden Straw Puppet

A proxy crafted by a master artificer. Capable of speech and standard movement. Secretly sentient and screaming internally for the sweet release of death.

"Thank you, Miss Augustus," said the strawman. He slowly looked around the arena, taking in the many eyes upon him with what one could only imagine to be a brilliant smile. "Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, Cadrian and Vel'khanese alike. I, for those of you who do not already know me, am Canterbell of the Northern Land, and I have installed in this here arena, my newest creation. The display that all of you see above is the Reinterpretor of Diffused or Obfuscated Magic, or more accurately, its main vector of output. The REIDOM, as I have dubbed it, is a powerful artifact capable of analyzing any given entity within a specified area and accurately deriving its systematic status. It is, functionally, an evolution of the magical spectrometer, capable of providing far more information than simply the quantity and quality of a target's mana."

It was a ridiculous claim. The man was effectively saying that he'd invented a device effectively capable of accessing the system. In reality, its function was even more absurd. It was able to decompile the information it sapped from its surroundings and compute, in real time, the information that the system ought to have carried.

"The REIDOM has recently concluded all testing and validation, and will be deployed to every province shortly after the proxy war's conclusion. I will be simultaneously publishing a paper on its inner workings, available in all three of Valencia's libraries following the final battle. As usual, all issues encountered are to be reported to my workshop through mail.

The straw puppet saluted. And then, fresh out of magical energy, collapsed into a pile of dried grass that drifted away in the wind.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that was, again, Master Artificer Canterbell," said Octavia. "Now, let us join hands and welcome the brave soldiers who will be representing our nation." One of the event's organisers, a tiny cervitaur with a notepad, gestured for the Cadrians to step out onto the stage.

Led by Virillius, they advanced into the centre of the ring. The space beneath their feet became raised platforms, which spiraled into the air, raising them upon a stage for all to see.

"As per our earlier publication, Cadaria calls to the stage," A light fell upon the impoverished butler who wielded broken bows. "Sir Graham of the Old Marinus March, the unconventional archer who excels in close quarters." The light shifted to the next. "Leutgar Silverthorn, the elf who hails from the unfrozen desert. Gladora the Bloodbreaker, the glorious fighter renowned across the land. Marquis Stygius Ephesus, the aspect who hid his hand. Berius of the Vestudian Spear, who has descended from the secret school to prove his sect's might once more. Master Durham Vespran, commander of the royal guard and the princess' personal protector. And finally, the one who stands above. God-king Virillius Augustus, the man who is Cadria's power incarnate."

Though everyone in the arena had long known of the line-up, there were still some who reacted with shocked debate, perhaps having not believed the news.

"And challenging them are the aggressors from the Vel'khanese delegation." The foreign troops marched into the arena and were taken into the sky so that each stood face to face with their opponent. "Welcome, from the faraway land half taken by the sea, Pirate Queen Lana Penhorn, the terror of the Ryllian shore."

As with the Cadrians, their introductions were brief. After some debate, Arciel and Virillius had decided that the more detailed presentations were best saved for the days of their duels.

"Krail Greenwood, adventurer and self-described arrow mage. Chloe Grousett, a maid and assassin serving directly under the queen. Jules of Vel'orrun, a master of the most fundamental magical energies. Queen Arciel Vel'khan, the ruler who, with her very own wand, overthrew the false monarch who usurped the throne. Our very own Allegra Cedr, the former Grand Magus of Cadria. And finally, a fighter who has refused to give their name and identity, only the knowledge that it was they who killed Lord Pollux and destroyed the City of Progress."

She paused for a moment for the crowd to cheer, just as loudly as they had for the locals.

"In just two days, on the festival's third, these brave and legendary fighters will clash in this very ring and seal our nations' fate. Of course, today, there will still be a match, a faint preview of the battles to come." Two final fighters entered the arena. "To better exhibit the REIDOM device and its various functions, two fighters nearly chosen to be among the seven will demonstrate the format that this battle will take."

The arena shifted and morphed. The fourteen combatants were moved to the edge, where they were given a perfect view of the ring.

"I present to you, people of Cadria and Vel'khan, the rising star, the boy wonder who crafts as easily as he breathes and bestows life and magic upon his creations. I present to you the gladiator who has taken the arena by storm as Gladora's partner and apprentice. And I present to you a warrior with no losses yet under his record. Please welcome Priscian of Broken Time."

The boy's face appeared in the sky, along with a preview of his status.

Priscian

Health: 1085666 (100%)

Mana: 1536146 (100%)

Racial Class: Deathstinger Jetrabbit - Level 405

Primary Class: Forger of Silent Hallucinations - Level 719

Secondary Class: Gasping Titan of Od - Level 388

Tertiary Class: Midnight Assassin - Level 586

Notable Equipment: Emblem of the Everblazing Sun (Quality: 1801)

His ability scores were displayed alongside the abbreviated page as a graph. His wisdom bar was the longest by far, completely eclipsing any of the other values by a factor of ten.

"His opponent is one whose non-presence has been now questioned by all. He is the fastest cottontail in Cadria, the man whose legs embody the very concept that those who created the Royal Springblade had once envisioned. Having taken over for his father just several months prior, he is the Duke of the Second House and one of Valencia's three greatest guardians. He is the master of all merchants, the man who became an aspect for the sole purpose of serving his country. Please welcome Julius Antonius Evander!"

Again, his status was taken and shown upon the display.

Julius Antonius Evander

Health: 6358935 (100%)

Mana: 570331 (100%)

Racial Class: Aspect of Elastic Recoil - Level 1000

Primary Class: Royal Cadrian Springblade Grandmaster - Level 3019

Secondary Class: Magicborn Blade Phantom - Level 2800

Tertiary Class: Seven Star Sword Saint - Level 1527

Quaternary Class: Lightspeed Combat Surgeon - Level 1699

Quinary Class: Chef - Level 3

Notable Equipment: Sword of the Seventh Star (Quality: 5400), Orniferin Shell Armour (Quality:

4812), Ring of Oaths (Quality: 1562).

"Their levels are far from even. They stand so widely disparate that one might be tempted to call this battle's conclusion. But I assure you that they are not so dissimilar." She stepped between the men. "Priscian, Lord Evander, do either of you have anything to say? To each other or the audience?"

The half-cottontail, half-thorae shook his head, while his opponent readily stepped forth and took center stage.

"Thank you, Miss Augustus." Lord Evander eyed the crowd with a faint smile. "First, I would like to thank you all for attending this moment in history. Today marks not only the beginning of the summer festival, but the start of one of the most interesting events to have occurred in these past few hundred years." He briefly turned his eyes on Claire—the real Claire. "I ask for you all not to be conceited, to believe in not only the possibility but the real likelihood of loss. If there is one thing to be learned from Tornatus, it is that there is much strength to be found beyond our lands. And it is precisely to that end that House Evander will be recruiting skilled fighters throughout the festival. We wish to form a strike team, one that can look beyond Vel'khan and prepare for the possibility of enduring a conflict with the western alliance ahead."

He saluted the crowd and the king before taking his place in the arena.

Priscian, likewise, took his place and lowered his stance.

"Thank you, Lord Evander," said Octavia. "Now, I believe that we have spoken enough to bore you all to death."

Lifted by another one of the colosseum's pillars, she rose into the sky and stepped into the caster's corner. The rest of the arena shifted in the meantime, warping and twisting to life. The seats were pushed further away and the center of the ring expanded. The once-flat dirt became the undergrowth of a lush forest, filled with massive, twisting vines as thick as the fighters were tall. There was only a single tree, but it stood so tall that it defied the heavens and climbed up to the floating ducal houses. It was equal parts hollow and not, with halls and chambers where the more agile could bounce off the walls, and open space for those that could easily abuse their speed. A grand spectacle of a stage meant for a pair of mobile fighters.

With the tree in the way, the display was gone from the sky. Instead, it installed itself in the corner of each viewer's eye, minimizing into a tiny, box-like screen that could be extruded to give more detail.

And along with it were a thousand options. Different cameras, viewing angles, and perspectives, including the fighters' own.

There was even a replay function so that the casters could narrate and explain the different techniques and attacks that the competitors exploited.

It was the grand colosseum.

The Valencian colosseum.

The arena that stood at both the epitome of violence and the forefront of technology.

"The map chosen for this battle is one of the most popular for group combat." Octavia's voice rang throughout the stadium, bouncing off the wood as it echoed into the audience's ears. "It is one of the few whose size can accommodate Lord Evander's speed, and a place where entire battalions have clashed head-on. Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to The Great Tree's Grasp."