Chapter 305. The Final Announcement (Patreon)

“My paper has no name written on it,” one competitor voices out loud, his serious demeanor betrayed by the slight upturn of his lips.

“Neither does mine,” a lanky man adds, a cheeky grin stretching across his face. He holds his paper up. “I don’t think this paper is mine; there must have been a mistake in passing them out.”

Holiday observes all of this with a neutral expression while seated at his desk.

Before I ask Red what’s happening, he performs a mental knock on my defenses, stringing new memories up for me to take. His actual thoughts and impressions are not shared, just his visual sight.

All memories start the same way. In front of Red on the desk is a packet of paper.

At the top right of the cover page is a pictogram for a person; above them is a scribble of text. An arrow extends from the scribble down to the person. Adjacent is a solitary black line extending for half a finger’s length.

It’s the space for a name, and as the other competitors have said, it’s empty.

Further down on the cover page are five icons, each representing one of the rounds. Next to them are what I presume to be the numeric scores. They’re low–really low, actually.

Not scores, then, but rank.

And at the bottom of the sheet? A square box, filigreed and ornate, shining like it’s been coated in gold leaf. At the center of the box is the number one.

I don’t need Beginning to understand the implications.

Red ignores the score and flips the sheet over quickly, peering at the contents of the second page while others in the room come to terms with the unexpected situation. The page is Filled with other pictograms, though most is actually written in a foreign, sloping script. Holiday’s own language, perhaps?

Holiday clears his throat. “Some of you may have noticed that the report details are unintelligible. After the competition’s conclusion, you can ask Discardia to read your report for you so you can understand it.”

Not all the competitors are aware that Red has done well enough to be the frontrunner, most likely because Red is, on paper, much weaker than everyone else. The mysterious Ancient Black may be helping him, but an ancient without ascendant energy and only one affinity–and without items, as far as they know–isn’t too great an asset.

There are enough who recognize Red’s excellent performance, though–in particular, the group of competitors we’ve been keeping pace with each round. Unless they’re idiots, they should guess that the top-ranked competitor is among them.

Suddenly, a hand snatches up Red’s packet of papers. Red looks over at the woman, Ascendant Lynx, a dual Sun and Light affinity fire elementalist who dominated the battle royale round and kept pace with us in Discardia. I recall that her ascendant observer possesses a Beginning affinity, likely offering critical utility to balance her raw power.

She grins at the number in the box and several characters appear on the empty name line, seared into the cover sheet with precisely controlled fire. Ascendant energy boosts her legs as she leaps through the desks to Holiday’s desk and slams the packet on Holiday’s desk, her expression jubilant.

“Try again in reality,” Holiday smirks, raising an eyebrow.

Lynx blinks, then growls and clenches her fist. Red’s body erupts into a column of flames.

A bit of a sore loser, isn’t she? Maria remarks.

In the next memory, Red tries to sign his name immediately, but another ascendant on the opposite side of the room–this one with a Regret affinity–throws a dagger that plunges into Red’s eye, ending the scenario early.

Holiday has decided to throw out the results of his own accord, I think to Maria, or at the very least, he’s giving the most powerful combatants who made it through Discardia the opportunity to wrest away the papers with the best scores.

In the next memory, Red throws his paper to the side. The Regret practitioner pounces on it, but several other ascendants appear to have been watching for the man’s first move. The fire elementalist woman incinerates the Regret practitioner and remotely burns her name into the paper while it’s still fluttering in the air. But before she can grab it, a Mountain practitioner snatches it and uses her affinity to change the material composition of the burnt area, blotting the original name out and replacing it with her own.

Red ducks to the other side of the room, watching the ensuing brawl behind an upturned desk.

The fight is quick; ascendants are beings of explosive power and infinite rebirth. Most of the treehouse classroom is destroyed aside from Holiday’s desk–which remains perfectly untouched. Several ascendants have respawned and died multiple times, while most have retreated after a second or third death, conceding their loss.

The one who remains, Ascendant Meng, was the winner of the battle royale. He’s done well in Discardia, relatively speaking, though wasn’t in the group of frontrunners.

Five ascendant competitors respawn in the classroom as Meng tosses the paper at Holiday’s desk. They curse but halt their assault, recognizing the loss.

“Better luck in reality,” Holiday says with a wink.

Meng freezes. The other competitors in the classroom take the news well, the Sun and Light woman bursting into spirited laughter at Meng’s expense. Meng grits his teeth, then turns and spots Red in the back, sheltering by a desk in the corner. A black blossom grows in an instant, consuming Red’s body with the obliterating power of Dark.

In the end, it’ll come down to strength, after all, Maria muses sadly.

Which is exactly what the factions expect. If the status quo is maintained, people like Lucinda won’t have cause to throw the results into question.

True, but I’m sure people have already complained about the length of Discardia, Maria comments.

I mentally shrug. At least this way they won’t try to get the competition invalidated. That seems to be what Holiday is most concerned about.

Does Red have any way to win? she asks.

I think he’s wondering the same thing, I say. He’s probably sharing the memories with me in his scenarios and asking me to formulate an optimal path to victory.

None of the options seem to be working so far, not that he’s seriously tried to win yet.

What if he just puts it in a void storage? Maria asks. He has a void ring like yours. It only takes a moment to activate and store an item.

Wow. My Beginning is no match for your ingenuity, I praise her. “Red, storage ring?”

The next scenario goes a bit differently.

Red immediately places the packet in his ring storage. Of course, doing so is a dead giveaway that the packet’s score is worth fighting over, so several ascendants attack him and he dies, the scenario ending after less than two seconds.

“My ring isn’t persistent,” Red says, speaking to my mind in reality. “Anyone can grab it after my death.”

“Does your ring have a method of visualizing its contents?”

“No,” he says, “but that is irrelevant. Once the ring is out of my hands, whoever lives longest will present it to Crimson Teeth.”

“What if I tried to claim it for you?” I ask.

“You won’t reach the classroom before I respawn,” he points out. “Besides, none of the other observers are helping. It would be out of character for the enigmatic Ancient Black to intervene in a competition that he never intended his protégé to enter.”

“That’s it, then?”

“I’m not supposed to win this, Ancient Black. Crimson Teeth’s plans depend on–” his mental voice cuts off as the treehouse explodes into flames. I sense his vitality wink out.

Did that fire woman burn everything down? Maria wonders.

I can feel the heat of the blaze on my cheeks. Seems so.

The papers aren’t indestructible.

No, they aren’t. But maybe someone secreted Red’s away, like we were just discussing.

It isn’t just the papers that are vulnerable to fire; many of the ascendants who respawn into the hellish, ascendant-energy-empowered blaze repeatedly succumb, having no time to muster their defenses.

Maria and I watch the spectacle but take no pleasure in it. The fire is an effective way to keep people like Red in a cycle of Death. As in his scenarios, the powerhouses fight for supremacy, killing and reviving until as before, Meng emerges the victor. He casts his Dark affinity’s energy over the entire classroom. A vast, rotating flower instantly annihilates all who revive, the technique more aggressive than what I saw in Red’s scenarios.

Immune to his own technique, Meng dashes toward Holiday. In his hand is a bracelet with several glass beads woven into it. It belongs to Ascendant Lynx.

In the moment it takes Meng to reach Holiday, Ascendants respawn in the darkness and coat themselves in ascendant energy to protect themselves, but none can break free in time. Meng withdraws Red’s packet from the bracelet in a smooth motion, cuts his name directly into the paper, and places it on Holiday’s desk.

Holiday leisurely grabs the packet, notes the name at the top right–not that he can read it–and begins to leaf through the packet.

Meng’s face is cold, revealing no trace of strain, but I know he can’t keep his technique up for long, especially with so many ascendants actively fighting and sapping his ascendant energy.

Even so, he doesn’t let up his flower of darkness.

“Ascendant Meng,” Holiday mutters as he closes the packet. He shows no reaction to the screams of struggling and dying competitors. “These are your results?”

He nods. “They are mine.”

Holiday’s claps unenthusiastically. “Well, I can’t say it’s a surprise. Ascendant Meng is the victor of the Discardia round of the competition.”

The all-encompassing darkness devouring the classroom disappears. Ascendants respawn and instinctively lash out, causing even more carnage. Meng turns incorporeal to avoid their attacks and slips through the floor.

When Red reappears, he collects what belongings remain intact after the Dark attack swallowed the room. His void storage artifacts are fine–they’re naturally resistant to the disintegration of Dark, and are almost indestructible–but whatever clothing he was wearing that wasn’t persistent or particularly defensive is gone. Red doesn’t care for his partial nudity as he pulls out a new set of garments. They’re mostly black, which is all that counts when he’s playing the part of my follower.

Holiday sits at his desk for over a minute, giving the ascendants time to clean up and compose themselves.

He’s also stalling because of the Regret practitioners, Maria notes. It’s what I would do if I had something to announce and wanted everyone’s full attention.

Sure enough, only seconds after Maria’s comment, a buzz comes over the observers. I allow my eyes to wander absently over those assembled. I sense the minds of those around me surging with fervor, suggesting the imminent declaration of something controversial.

“Red, what’s going to happen?” I ask him. “Is he going to name Meng the overall winner of the competition?”

“There’s no point in telling you early,” he responds while tugging on a charcoal-colored sock.

Holiday gets up from the bureau and paces the front of the room like a high school teacher before an unruly class. “Originally, I planned to have the ascendants who submitted the top ten packets proceed to the next round. But as only one packet was submitted–and by the winner of the battle royale–the victor of the overall competition is indisputable.”

I feel vindication at guessing what Holiday intended to announce, but also disappointment. This outcome isn’t what Red deserves. He ranked first in Discardia because of skills that are generally underappreciated in Eternity.

Unless my Beginning affinity is totally off, I think Holiday wanted Red to win, as well. But the ascendant’s performance is flawless. There’s nothing in his voice or body to betray his true emotions on the matter.

He smiles, his teeth glowing red, and gestures to Ebon Pearl. The snake flicks her tongue and transmits to all, “The victor of the competition is Ascendant Meng of the Void Forge.”

This sucks, Maria mentally sighs.

“Sorry, Red,” I transmit.

“Wait,” he says. As he says that, I realize the mental fervor among the observers is only increasing. There’s something else?

“This year we choose to recognize a runner-up,” Ebon Pearl continues. She rubs her head against Holiday’s throat, passing the metaphorical microphone.

Holiday’s toothy grin expands as he prepares his final announcement. “The runner-up of the competition is Ascendant Red, representing Ancient Black.”