Street Cultivation 3: Chapter 3-4 (Patreon)

Here we go. ^-^

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Chapter 3: Last Call

As Rick biked back to the Refuge, he felt as though he was on the precipice of something. Twice in his life, he'd taken a risk and soon regretted it. Both of those times, he'd come out of the fires stronger, but he reminded himself that he wasn't protected by any force of destiny. He could easily have ended up crippled or ruined. Taking unnecessary risks was senseless.

Of course, given the level of competition he'd seen, there was a good chance that he wouldn't even qualify to participate in the Showdown. But if that was true, he'd want to know, rather than have it as an empty hope in his past. Uncle Alan had been a pit fighter once and always told stories of how he could have made it big if only he'd made slightly different choices...

That was about as grim a future as being crippled.

When Rick got back, he only had enough energy to do his usual exercises and a small amount of research online. His biggest concern was the exact characteristics of the Showdown, and though the internet wasn't always a reliable source of information for high end lucrim events, it was better than nothing. Everything he read suggested that it was cutthroat, but not literally - the events were too public for that. Many of the competitors became celebrities, with all the attention and endorsement deals that came with that.

Just looking over their profiles, Rick realized that that life held no appeal for him. Somehow it all made him even more tired than before and he collapsed into bed and slept dreamlessly.

The next morning, he woke unnaturally early again, but he felt refreshed. Rick scouted an unusual route, hoping to catch Delsin off guard, but couldn't find the old man. He also ran into nothing that required any work from him at all, every empty hour reminding him that he needed to make a decision.

When he took a break for lunch, Rick decided that he was being stupid by going it alone and got out his phone. He actually had two messages from Melissa that he'd missed while his phone had no service: an article about YLAA developments and an animated hamster smashing bricks with its head. Rick sent her back info about the Showdown and asked to chat, but she was busy.

His sister would get back to him soon enough, so after that he left a message with Uncle Frank. As usual, it was difficult to get a hold of their uncle. From the last time they'd spoken, several months ago, it seemed that his job was getting steadily more difficult and the trend was expected to continue for potentially several years.

There was no way of knowing when he'd be replying, then. Rick paced around his cabin for a while, considering his options. He wanted to go walking, but he'd quickly lose phone service, and he needed that to do more research.

Just when he was about to leave, Melissa texted "Don't make any terrible life choices without me!" Rick smiled and replied with "I'll save you some meth" before heading to the main office.

It was closed, since Adsila and Wemilat had left for lunch, but he had his own key. Using the better connection in the main office, Rick sat down and began to delve deeper into the research.

The reason the rumors were unclear seemed to be that the Showdown operated differently in different regions. There was a public sphere that seemed clear enough: competitors had patrons or sponsors and competed for prize purses in a wide variety of categories across the globe. But how exactly they connected to their sponsors and event rules varied widely. Events in the USA were corporate, but Europe had entirely different rules, the Siberian events were secretive, and the Nokan Showdowns had a reputation for ruthlessness.

More troublesome, he got the sense that there was a deeper sphere. It wasn't merely celebrity, there were greater players keeping score across the events. There he found only rumors, from reasonable-sounding speculation to full on conspiracy theory.

That was what bothered him. Many of the Showdown competitors were essentially just athletes, and some were wealthy enough to be their own brand. But those who worked for some other power... he wasn't sure what rules they played by, but he couldn't trust them. Perhaps the Showdown would be safer than the past events he'd encountered at the highest levels, but in the beginning he would be relying entirely on the mercy of institutions.

And he didn't trust institutions.

Just as Rick was getting frustrated, he heard the door. Adsila first locked herself out, realized he'd unlocked the door, then came in. She tossed her keys onto the counter and glanced at him. "Something go wrong?"

"Nah, just wanted to talk to you more about the Showdown." Rick put away his phone and got up to follow her into the back hall. "I'm not sure how much you know as a fan, but I've been trying to look up more."

"Oh, that interested you?" Adsila gave him a surprisingly broad smile. "I hoped it might. Yeah, I was really into the Showdown when I was younger and I still keep up with it."

"Do you know how success is measured? It isn't all just money, is it?"

"Oh, definitely not. Some factions even scorn the money side of it and make it all about honor."

"But you can't eat honor. How does it actually work?"

"I can't claim to to know all the details, but I can definitely do better than random people on the internet." Adsila moved to her office computer and began typing in book titles. "I got most of this information from these books, to be honest, so if you want to read them yourself, you won't really need me."

Rick stepped up beside her to look at the titles. "But I assume you can summarize? It might be time-sensitive."

"Oh, you're that interested?" Adsila glanced at him with a spark in her eyes. "I thought you might want to try it, since it seemed like your sort of event. The Showdown is one of the last areas where they don't really care about your qualifications, just merit. So for someone like... wait, sorry, is that dickish of me?"

"It's not a big deal. But you're delaying long enough you're making me wonder if you don't actually know."

"Sorry, no." She took a breath and refocused before speaking in her usual calm voice. "The ultimate goal of most people in the Showdown is to receive official recognition, which is added to a permanent card. If you finish an event in the top three, of course you get a seal to mark your victory. But every major power and institution is also capable of bestowing seals upon anyone who catches their eye. Get the right seals and you can open major doors for yourself."

"That sounds like a resume to me." Rick frowned at the thought, but Adsila just rolled her eyes.

"If you want to be utterly boring about it. I personally love the idea, because it makes for such great stories. For example, there was a huge Showdown event last generation where a bunch of disciples from the world powers were fighting each other. The projected winner of the melee was the disciple of the World Sculptor, but everyone else teamed up against him. Particularly the disciples of Tsar Chernobog, who eventually brought him down early on.

"In a normal event, that would just be bad luck and he'd get nothing. But Tsar Chernobog eliminated his own disciples for cowardice and bestowed his personal seal on the World Sculptor's disciple. Nobody really cared who won, all of the attention was on the crazy skills the disciple displayed holding off everyone else."

Listening in silence, Rick found himself strangely adrift. He knew the titles Adsila mentioned, but they were historical figures, not people he expected to actually get involved with real life. Even though he knew there were plenty of immortals still around, filling the top ether tiers of society, they were so far beyond him that he rarely gave them thought, any more than he thought about horse breeding, gold-plated toilets, or living on the moon.

"Oh, come on." Adsila regarded him sourly. "That didn't do anything for you? I think it's a nice story."

"I don't think I'm going to be getting a commendation from a world power any time soon." Rick gave her a weak smile and shook his head. "But I appreciate you explaining it to me. I imagine there are much less impressive seals that could still be useful for someone like me."

"Right, exactly. Of course, the first step is just to get a card, and even getting in is difficult."

"What kind of card do you mean? Like this?" Rick pulled out the business card he'd been given and Adsila whistled as she took it carefully and looked it over.

"This... no, it's not an official participant card. If they haven't changed the rules, passes like these are a one time opportunity that expires once the Showdown moves on. The real cards stay with you forever, even if you leave the Showdown. It's as good as a diplomatic passport in almost every country! Still, it's nothing to sneeze at! You have a weird knack for catching people's attention, Rick."

Ignoring her compliment, back-handed or otherwise, Rick instead focused on her earlier statement. "What did you say about leaving the Showdown? Are you allowed to just walk away?"

"That's how it works in theory. If you're in debt to your sponsor, or a slave or something, of course it doesn't work that way." Adsila handed the card back to him and shrugged. "But yes, people retire all the time. It's considered shameful, as the purpose of the Showdown is supposed to be to reach the absolute peak of lucrim achievement. But if you've acquired some good seals, you could easily retire and coast on those as a personal trainer and the like."

"Hmm. I guess if there's no risk, I should at least try to compete."

"That's the right attitude!" Adsila playfully hit him in the stomach. "I don't think there's any way I'd see you at the main event, but if you qualify and follow the world tour... who knows, maybe the next time you come around, you might be a celebrity!"

Rick put the card away and shook his head. "That eager to get rid of me, huh?"

"Just something to think about." Adsila looked like she was about to say more, but just then Delsin stuck his head in the office. He was also starting to say something, so the two just stared at each other in a brief moment of awkwardness. Rick stepped into it quickly.

"Delsin, I was wanting to talk to you."

"Well, dammit." Delsin sighed and rubbed his shotgun's handle over his shoulder. "Guess I can't get out of this one. Step outside and let me talk to my niece a bit, then you can join me on the next patrol."

"Keep him from escaping out a window, Adsila," Rick said. She grinned and nodded, but then pushed him out so they could discuss tribal business.

Back in the hallway, Rick wandered to the lobby, his steps heavy. He wished he had someone else to talk to, but Wemilat was nowhere to be found yet. His phone had another playful text from Melissa, but nothing from Uncle Frank.

Left with only his own thoughts, Rick began to spiral into incredulity. All of this was absurd, some kind of fever dream. It was bad enough that he was considering trying to compete on the world stage, even if just the minor leagues of it. But what made it all utterly ridiculous was that he was doing it because of a damn dream. Though he still felt a flicker of the rage he'd felt in that dream, more than anything, he felt like a fool for letting himself get swept up in it.

Yet without something to drive him forward, he'd soon begin drifting...

"Alright, let's get this over with." Delsin slouched from the hallway after him with a scowl on his face. "Let's hear whatever adolescent nonsense you need to throw at me this time."

As if to stop him, Delsin set a brutal pace into the Refuge, leaving Rick panting as he struggled to keep up. He wasn't sure if they were even meaningfully patrolling anywhere, the old man was just trying to leave him behind. Yet Rick had a lot more experience moving over such terrain than he'd had a year ago, so he kept up, trying to draw enough breath to ask questions when he had his chance.

After a broad arc and the quenching of a small fire, they finally reached a hill near the center of the Refuge. There were no true peaks, but it had a bit of a view over the forests surrounding them. When Delsin stopped by the edge of a cliff, Rick caught up and was surprised by how little he needed to catch his breath.

"I'm dealing with some mystical bullshit." Rick had been thinking about what approach to take and decided that sincerity might backfire. "Before you mock, just remember that you sent me on an acid trip to a buffalo graveyard."

"Oh, fuck, I'm going to regret this." Delsin folded his arms. "But I know you don't give up. What is it?"

"Do you know of any trustworthy sources about dreams actually being meaningful? Normally I'd assume not, but I'm pretty sure I dreamed someone who I'd never seen in real life, then saw them the next day."

"Are you on the wacko tobacco, kid? You think you're some kind of hero to get mystical dreams?"

"I can't deny what I saw. Also, when I woke up, I was circulating lucrim as if getting ready for a fight, and I'd never done that before."

"Fine. What did you dream?"

"Well..." Rick took a deep breath and closed his eyes. "I was standing on a skyscraper, over a city I don't know. There was someone there and I immediately hated him. It made sense to me then, but not in the way dreams usually make sense no matter what, it was as if I had memories of him. The reason I asked you is that you were there too, telling me not to fight. I tried to ask you why, but you wouldn't answer. Then you started taking off y-"

"Goddammit, kid." Delsin cuffed him on the side of the head, but Rick thought he caught just a hint of a grin. "Did you really set all this up just to get me back?"

In fact, Rick had been hoping to disarm the old man enough to get a serious answer to the question. He decided to stop playing around and just directly outlined what had happened, focusing on the events he thought couldn't be explained by the dream being meaningless. Delsin listened until he was done, then shook his head.

"If there are dreams that are anything more than the ravings of a sleeping brain, that's news to me. That sort of thing is spoken about in old tales, but not in the ones I'd trust. Either you saw him before or your brain forced a connection where none existed."

"So you think it's all nothing?"

"Well, not all. The fact that you were circulating lucrim can actually be easily explained: that's something that tends to happen once fighters get fully used to their combat cores. You dream realistically enough that your body starts actually using lucrim." Delsin chuckled at his expression. "Don't worry, you wouldn't actually use it in a way that could harm anyone, not unless you have much deeper issues."

Rick was actually more worried about spending lucrim in his sleep, but he could look that up on his own. Having Delsin confirm that there was nothing to it left him feeling more grounded, surprisingly. Attempting to enter the Showdown might be the right choice for him, but he wouldn't do it because of dreams or anything that ridiculous.

They chatted for a while longer before heading back. Just before they left, Rick found himself standing by the cliff one more time.

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Chapter 4: First Swing

The second time Rick returned to the stadium, he was much better prepared. He knew when the preliminary events were taking place and even had a rough idea what might be happening. More importantly, he knew that he was really aiming for the Showdown instead of wandering aimlessly.

His gray card got him directly in without needing to show his portfolio, but Rick was still on edge, afraid that Alger would ambush him again. Instead, he found himself hesitating as he came into sight of the field, surprised by how crowded it was compared to the previous day.

It was just a sea of humanity at first, only the occasional figure who was particularly tall, aura-covered, or powerful sticking out to him. Overall, the crowd looked much more like local inhabitants of Branton, which made sense if this was a chance for people in the city to join. He hadn't realized there were so many fighters in Branton, though considering the total population, he supposed it wasn't actually that many.

To his surprise, he didn't feel entirely outclassed. There were plenty of people with generation rates approaching six digits, of course, but plenty of others weaker than him. Those with rates around 40,000 lucrim seemed to have highly developed cores, but so did he. Or so he hoped.

There were a few people doing strength-testing exercises in the field, as well as a few rings set up for combat, but not much appeared to have started yet. He was early, but others were even earlier. With no visible organizers, Rick found himself wandering after all. There did appear to be people watching in the stands, including several groups that looked like important delegations, but they were too far away for him to tell much about them other than that they all sat in defensive blocks with plenty of space in between them.

Rick lowered his gaze back to the crowds, then abruptly spotted someone he recognized: a young woman with a bat leaning on one shoulder. "Hey, are you...?"

"Oh, hey." She turned, hostile at first before giving him an odd smile. "God, I haven't seen you since the multi-tier tournament. You got out of the Underground, huh?"

"Yeah, I was just in it because I had to be. You?"

"I was making a living off the fight money, but then Alger moved me. Did you know he has fighting rings in other cities? Like, more than I expected, I don't know how he manages them all. He had me training down in Central America for a while, but he called me back for the Showdown."

"Huh." Rick regarded her thoughtfully. He didn't think that she was Alger's tool in any way, but that was just because they'd been friendly on the occasions when they'd spoke or fought. "You said Alger just moved you?"

"Well, gave me a great offer. I've tried to avoid taking a patron as much as possible. Keeping myself independent, you know?"

"That's smart. Smarter than I've managed."

She looked him over with a practiced eye, then shifted her grip on her bat. "You look like you made out okay. Feels like you have a combat foundation, and that defensive core... honestly, I kind of want to take a swing at you."

"Why not?" Rick grinned and raised his arms to either side of his head. It would probably benefit him more than her, so he might as well.

Without another word, she swung horizontally, all the power in her body twisting into the blow. Rick caught it on his forearm and staggered a step, pain shooting through the bone. It would definitely bruise, but he'd easily endured the blow. Her eyebrows rose.

"Damn. I didn't put everything into it so I wouldn't splatter you if you weren't ready, but I didn't expect that."

"Nice swing." Rick lowered his arms, rubbing the sore point where she'd struck. He noticed that she now wielded a metal bat, etched with bright red lines. They seemed ether enchanted, but he was willing to bet that they could carry aura. "New bat?"

"Yeah, I saved up to get something good. I can't fully use it yet, but... actually, I think I want to practice on you." She flipped her bat up, tapping the end with her hand and sending it spinning back. When she caught it, aura flickered down the lines, though they didn't light up as brightly as he'd expected. Still, he could feel the raw power of a combat core gathering itself.

This time when she swung, he was ready, fully braced with his other arm in the way. Not only that, he drew deep on the Dark Blood Kettle, letting it flow beneath his defensive core. When the bat hit, pain shot through his body, echoing inside his cores. Yet that pain seemed to have been drawn from the force of the blow and he only flinched as he took the hit and held firm.

Her eyebrows climbed even higher as she pulled back her bat. Rick smiled disarmingly and lowered his arms. "You know, it's ridiculous that we've never even exchanged names. I'm R-"

"Hey, what's going on here?" The voice interrupting them was a young man, not security, but Rick automatically turned to face him.

And stared at the man from the picture.

"Whoa, no need to look like that. I'm not complaining." The younger man grinned at both of them, then gestured around and continued speaking loudly. "Most of these people are just sitting around, doing nothing, wasting time. But you two are having fun! Doesn't matter if you're not the strongest here, I can tell you've got the drive."

Rick continued staring as the man chattered cheerfully. He couldn't reconcile his memories of the violent battle on the rooftop with the happy-go-lucky man beside them. Yet looking at him so close, Rick was even more certain than before that it was the same man. That just wasn't possible...

Forcing himself to be objective, Rick considered what facts he could learn. The man wore an extremely expensive combat suit, but it was of the generic corporate type any combat athlete might wear, with no logos or hints of affiliation. His hair was dyed blue and styled upward. His accent was neutral, like almost everyone on TV. In person he seemed a bit younger, perhaps not even as old as Rick.

"Can you let me in on this?" The man asked. "You're testing offensive power and a defensive core, right? I've got a pretty good offensive Lucore myself. So I was-"

"Sorry, who are you?" The woman with the bat asked the question flatly. Her severe expression did nothing to stop the man, who grinned at her and extended a hand.

"Whoops, I get wrapped up talking about training. I'm Raggest, one of the new junior contestants in the Showdown."

That name meant nothing to Rick. He wasn't even sure what nation it might be from, or if it was a pseudonym that he should recognize. Currently the hand was hanging ignored, so eventually Rick reached out to shake the younger man's hand. He'd worried that something would happen when they touched, but the man's hand was completely normal.

"Hi, Raggest. I'm R-"

"But who cares about names, right? The important thing is your warrior spirit!" Raggest pulled his hand back and put his hands on his hips. "The preliminaries today are going to be a complete waste of time, so let's get training!"

All Rick could do was stare at him, flabbergasted. His mind was going in too many directions at once, but Raggest didn't seem to care. Before things could get any stranger, a different voice interrupted them, this one coming from above.

"I figured you'd get along with the local vermin, Raggest." A man wearing a traditional black suit floated overhead, aura flowing around his body to keep him aloft. He regarded all of them with an expression of pure scorn. "They call this a city, but it might as well be a landfill. I can't believe the Showdown bothered to come to Branton."

"This asshole again?" Raggest raised one hand, which began to glow with pale gold aura. "What's your problem today? You wanna fight, Jim?"

"It's James." The man smoothed down his lapels sourly. "Call me James Travis or I will smear your ugly little face all over this dump of a city."

"Bring it on, Jimbo!"

Raggest suddenly released a solid beam of golden energy, but the suited man jerked his head to the side with uncanny precision, just barely evading it. Though it looked like a near miss, there was something calculated in his movement that immediately set Rick on edge. He didn't realize that he had set his feet in a better combat position until the man turned to sneer at him.

"You want to defend your miserable little city's honor? All of you can come at me together, it won't make any difference."

"I'll take you on myself!" Raggest let out a cry and several more golden rays burst from him. Rick was startled, as he'd expected an attack that explosive would be a signature move, not something fired off rapidly.

Yet it didn't matter. James contorted in several directions at once, as if his body was a rag doll being animated by some greater power. Again, every single ray missed him by a fraction of an inch. His body untangled itself without so much as a crease in his suit.

Except that Raggest had leapt into the air to punch him in the face.

This blow actually landed, making James grunt and jerk backwards in the air. Raggest continued to plow into him, dragging him down to the ground. As they hit, however, Raggest let out a scream of pain, body shaking wildly, and collapsed.

James came up smoothly, brushing down the place where his shirt had been rumpled by the tackle. Everyone who hadn't been watching before was watching now, as Raggest was still releasing pained gasps. It had been difficult to see, but Rick thought that as they collided, James had struck a point in his stomach with two fingers, a precise blow that somehow caused the immense pain.

"That... is that all?" Raggest crawled back to his feet. "You think just pain will stop me? I eat pain for breakfast, y-"

The next three blows fell swiftly, and this time Rick saw each time James stabbed two fingers into exact locations on his opponent's body. Raggest remained on his feet for a moment, none of the strikes having enough momentum to knock him over, but then his body twisted and he collapsed on the ground with another scream of pain.

"Any of you hayseeds want to try me?" James asked. Several had already advanced on him, but he moved with incredible speed, disabling each with an apparently agonizing touch.

There was nothing on the line, but Rick also didn't think there was any real threat of injury. At least, he hoped that was his reasoning, because he found his body already moving forward. He didn't try to ambush James, just walked toward him determinedly. The man brushed an imperceptible wrinkle from his sleeve and scowled at him.

"The best that Branton has to offer aren't worth much, but you? Fighting local ruffians is beneath me."

"Picking fights with random assholes isn't beneath me." With that, Rick charged into the fight.

Immediately James retaliated, fingers on both hands stabbing out at him. But at the last moment Rick caught himself with his front leg, reversing direction. Not much, but enough that the fingers stabbed into empty space. Rick then moved in again, trying to hit his opponent with an elbow... but James reacted equally quickly, deflecting his blow before he could get close.

With more attacks coming at him, Rick knew he had to change strategy. He lifted his arms as if to defend... and then jabbed out with a kick. It landed on his opponent's knee, making him falter, but Rick couldn't put enough force into his kicks to take him down.

Worse, his opponent jerked forward, torso moving as if pulled by strings, his arms following along with him. This time, Rick knew that he couldn't possibly overcome his opponent's speed, so he just raised his arms and focused on his defensive core.

He managed to block two stinging blows before two fingers hit his stomach... and agony shot through his entire body. For a moment he knew nothing but pain, but Rick had felt pain before. Dimly he realized that he had staggered back a step, body shaking uncontrollably. His opponent had injected lucrim into him, which was now expanding in a strange pattern he didn't understand.

"Not enough to bring you down?" James sniffed and raised his hands again. "I suppose your head is too hard for such techniques."

Of course, Rick didn't need to understand. He could barely lift his arms through the pain, but he was entirely capable of using a Bunyan's Step to throw his entire body forward.

His head collided with his opponent's chest at full speed. James tumbled backward with a grunt of pain, while Rick collapsed to the ground. The pain was fading, especially now that he realized it hadn't done any damage. It was the pain itself that disabled, not bodily injury causing pain. Knowing that, Rick was able to lever himself to his feet.

"Bastard!" James came at him first, stabbing repeatedly. This time Rick couldn't swallow his scream of pain and he staggered backward, falling to one knee, foreign lucrim snaking through his body.

Judging it as a fight, he'd lost. But as an exchange, he'd won. Rick took a deep breath and focused on the Dark Blood Kettle. The foundation began to seep through all of his body, and where it met the foreign lucrim, it consumed everything. Though it couldn't remove the pain, and Rick struggled merely to return to his feet, the dark blood within him was dragging the foreign lucrim into his defensive core.

"That's enough horsing around!" The new voice was that of a middle-aged woman wearing combat robes. She stood on a small golden platform that lowered to the ground beside them, after which she regarded all of them like a disappointed librarian. "Some sparring is to be expected, but such screaming is unsightly. James Travis, you ought to be ashamed of yourself."

Since she apparently represented the authorities, everyone lowered their auras and all the bystanders turned away, show over. Though the woman went to reprimand James, he barely looked at her, instead merely shooting Rick a contemptuous glance. Rick wanted to think that there was a bit of concern in his contempt, but considering his body was still declaring that it was being torn apart, he wasn't sure.

"Sorry for not backing you up." The young woman with the bat offered Rick a steadying hand as he wobbled. "But I didn't want to feel that much pain, and you seemed to be inviting it."

"Yeah, no worries." Rick's voice came out grating, but he was finally overcoming the pain. "It's a nasty trick, but just a trick."

"If there are people like that here, I'm not sure I-"

"That was great!" Raggest brushed past her, slapping Rick on the shoulder. It was a violent movement, but compared to all the pain in his body, he barely felt it. "So many others just stayed down the instant they got a taste of the pain, but you kept getting up! That's the kind of determination we need!"

"Uh, thanks." Rick nodded politely to the woman with the bat, who shifted away from Raggest in annoyance. Raggest didn't seem to notice, hitting him on the shoulder again.

"What did you say your name was again? If I could give you a seal, I would! But I'm just a junior, so I can't. But I hope you make it, because the Showdown is way less fun than you'd think. Only a few people really have the spirit for it..."

As he continued speaking, Rick just stared at him. Yet again, he found himself wondering how he could possibly connect Raggest with the hatred from his dream. More than any logic, the disconnect left him thinking that it must be entirely a coincidence.

"Richard Hunter." The new voice finally broke through Raggest's babble, proving to be from the middle-aged woman. She gave him a curt nod, then glanced down at a clipboard she carried. "I believe that you had an invitation card?"

"Uh, yeah." Rick fumbled in his pocket before managing to hand it to her, feeling guilty that it had gotten crumpled in the fight. But she merely looked at it briefly, then scribbled something down on her clipboard.

"I'll be blunt: most of the people here are going to fail. You will too, if you just recklessly enter any even where you think you have a shot." She tucked her clipboard under one arm. "But your defensive core is solid, for your weight class. I'll extend you an invitation to participate in the Unlimited Defensive Ring preliminaries. It will occur in eight days' time."

With that, she spun on one heel and went to speak to others. Raggest said something about this being good and hit him on the shoulder yet again, but Rick barely heard. Part of him assumed that he'd made a mortal enemy for life and that James would begin an unrelenting blood vendetta against him, but by this point he was used to that.

More importantly, he had a target. And eight days to prepare.