83. Borrowed Power (Patreon)

She rushed into a standoff.

On one side were the bronze-skinned fighters of the Narong Tribe, dressed in dark-brown smocks; Young Master Narong stood at their front. His forearm was slicked with blood.

On the other was a gang of men cloaked in dark-yellow robes; cowls left shadows over their eyes. A dark-red symbol, like the laughing face of a devil, was etched in the center of the hoods. Heading them was a bald, musclebound man with silver studs running up one ear. His smile was practically a sneer. Two rows of dull silver teeth were set crookedly in his mouth.

Kaya spotted where the scream had come from instantly. One of the yellow-robed men clutched an arm, which hung limp at his side. The tendons had been severed in a stroke.

“Is this necessary?” The man yawned. “Isn’t it easier to cough up the damned fee? I don’t want to hurt you, believe me.”

A dense aura roared out from him. Peak Profound.

Three men behind him pulled back their cowls in unison; their auras joined their leader’s in one colossal wave of power. All in the Profound Realm. Each of them was bald, with that red devil-face etched between their eyes.

Kaya tensed. So these gang-folk were trying to extort the Narong—and the Narong had taken badly to it. What would she do? What would the Narong do? Their only Profound master was the Patriarch!

“Do not think that we Tribes-men are easily bullied,” snapped Young Master Narong. He didn’t look a lick frightened. Behind him the Patriarch and a few Elders approached, all looking grave. All combat-ready. Except the Patriarch was hunched over, favoring a side; Kaya bit her lip. Was it a lingering injury from the Festival battle?

Young Master Narong must’ve known his odds were poor. Still, he put up a brave face. “If you must have violence, I will grant it to you!” he roared. “Win or lose, there is a cost to provoking those who hail from the Tribes!”

“Is that the message exterminating you will send?” The bald ringleader thought for a moment. “I think not. I think the message will be: defy the Sand-Devils, and annihilation is your fate.”

The men behind him roared their support, and the ringleader grinned nastily. “You’re in the Oasis now, children. This is the Outskirts. You follow our rules.”

“And if we don’t?” said Narong softly. His eyes were the sharpest part of his knifelike body.

The ringleader’s brow creased. He strode forward, straight for the Young Master.

A few Narong Elders rushed up, trying interpose themselves in front of the Young Master, but the Profound-Realm Sand-Devils dashed forward to cut them off. The injured Narong Patriarch was stuck against a frowning mountain of a Profound-Realm Devil. Young Master Narong found himself isolated.

All eyes went to the ringleader; he kept up his calm strides. Narong met him head-on, defiant, refusing to give ground. The ringleader bared his teeth.

“I’ll offer you a chance. Win a duel with me and we’ll waive the protection fee…for tonight.”

“Hmph!” Narong spat on the ground. “Impudent!”

A new, vigorous Profound-Realm aura blossomed against the others. It was Young Master Narong’s; he’d ascended to Profound! Its presence made the air hiss in pain.

There was a blur of motion, a shrill, shrieking sound—the sound of something very sharp moving very fast—and a silence.

Young Master Narong’s fist was enveloped in the man’s own.

Kaya saw Narong’s eyes widen; she saw the man sneer. And her own encounter this morning flashed before her eyes. She knew what would happen before it did. Her heart was leaden in her chest.

The man squeezed. Hard. Kaya saw the veins stand out angry purple against his skin. There was a series of sickening crunches.

To his credit, Narong didn’t make a sound. There wasn’t a hint of weakness in his face; the only indication he felt it at all was a new tightness in his jaw.

“No screams?” The ringleader snickered. “Cute, kid, but it’s useless bravado. Here’s the thing—“

His other hand latched onto Narong’s upper arm. In a brutal flash he drove his knee through the joint of Narong’s elbow. The snap would haunt Kaya’s dreams.

But not as much as the wretched cry that left Narong’s mouth. Blood gushed out between his lips. He’d been biting his tongue to keep from crying out.

“—They all scream eventually.”

Then the ringleader lifted a fist, winding back for a blow that’d take Narong’s head clean off. Kaya couldn’t bear to look, but she couldn’t turn her from it either.

One moment the man was standing upright, his fist a blink away from smashing Narong’s head like a caved fruit. The next he was sent flying back, crashing into a tent and collapsing it to its canvas and timbers. Kaya blinked.

Standing in front of Narong was the massive body of Young Master Yalta. An impassive scowl dominated his brutal features.

Kaya was as surprised as Narong was. “Why…?” he gasped, blood still his mouth in sheets.

“We’ve lost everyone else,” he rumbled. He turned a bitter gaze on Narong as he held out a hand. “We’re Tribesmen. We must help each other. We’re all we have left.”

Kaya felt a sharp twinge.

Then the timbers stirred; the bald head emerged from the rubble. He dusted himself off. He wasn’t injured in the slightest—not cut, not bruised, not pained in the least.

“Cute. Real fucking cute.”

One moment the ringleader was collapsed in the tent. The next he was standing upright a foot in front of Young Master Yalta, his fists raised. There was a sound like a thunder’s crash. The big man hardly had time to raise his brows before he was sent careening at impossible speeds through a huddle of tents. He did not rise back up.

The ringleader flashed his teeth. “Now you’ve got my blood going,” he muttered. His skin was red all over, like he was boiling in his own qi. “Ah-ah! Now you’ve done it!” His eyes were two black-red orbs of distilled bloodlust.

“Anyone else want a try?” He crowed. “Come, Tribes-men! I won’t rest ‘till I’ve had my fill! Show me your fighting spirit! Or are you a race of cowards?!”

Kaya saw Pearl frowning at the edge of the crowd; Young Master Zhaopai and a few others stood there too. No-one answered the man’s call.

Roaring, the ringleader beat his meaty chest.

***

What the hells did Dorian walk into?

Whatever this nonsense was, it screamed ‘not-my-problem.’   Kaya registered him first. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth.

And he clamped a hand over it.

“Quiet!” He whispered.

This was most definitely not the part where either of them opened their big mouths and got themselves a pointless fight. After this morning, Dorian had learned his lesson with her—she needed to be kept on a tight leash.

Somehow even that little flicker of movement caught the ape’s attention. His big head swiveled to Dorian, and Dorian tried not to groan. Saint’s sake. I shut her up! I didn’t say a word! He sighed at the skies, exasperated. What more do you want from me, fate?

“You’ve got some fiery eyes.” He gave Kaya a stare which could’ve bored through steel. “You spoiling for a brawl, girl?”

“Not at all, sir!” interjected Dorian with a bowed head. “We’ll gladly pay your fee! We don’t mean any trouble.”

Evidently that hadn’t been the answer the man was expecting. It didn’t make Dorian very popular with the other Tribesmen, judging by the looks the Narong- and Yalta- folk were giving him.

It couldn’t be helped. Unlike Young Master Narong, Dorian was not an idiot. He wasn’t about to bleed for ‘pride’ or ‘honor.’

“Oh?” The ringleader frowned, brow wrinkled in disappointment. “So someone among you’s got some sense.”

“Name your fee,” said Dorian earnestly.

“Fifty thousand Lira.”

“…”

You’ve got to be kidding me. Really?

This bald freak knew very well Dorian wouldn’t pay it. It was an absurd amount. The only recourse was battle.

Which irked Dorian immensely. Oh, come on! Am I truly about to be dragged into this? There was no fairness in the world—he knew that as a matter of fact, but sometimes he felt it especially acutely. This was absurd. This was the universe being a jerk to him for no reason whatsoever. Dorian was feeling very grumpy about the whole matter. The ape sneered at Dorian in a manner Dorian gathered he was supposed to find intimidating.

Fate, you truly are an heinous bitch. I’ve just finished artificing, and you’re about to make me stretch my legs again? It’s nearly suppertime! You couldn’t save this shit for tomorrow?

He sighed. Despite his facetiousness, in truth it’d involve a lot more than leg-stretching. From what Dorian had seen, this man was at Peak Profound; it was an entire Realm above Dorian’s peak-Vigor. He settled into a crouch. Even he couldn’t take this task lightly.

There was one last-ditch try at his disposal. Maybe—just maybe—he could milk his newfound status as an Artificer to a solution which didn’t lead him into an incidental war against one of the Outskirt’s ruling gangs. And that was the best-case outcome, the one where he won this fight. Hardly a guarantee.

But another voice cut in just as he thumbed his Interspatial Ring. A familiar, bubbly voice.

“Enforcer Chai!”

It was Pebble. The boy who’d guided Dorian this morning; he was so small Dorian would wager his balls hadn’t dropped yet. Which was why it was nearly comical to see him waltzing onto the battlefield out of nowhere, a big grin plastered on his face.

“A good evening to you, friend!”

The ape’s face twisted in a snarl. “Pebble. What the fuck do you want?”

“I’m simply here to give you and our brothers the Sand-Devils a gentle, neighborly reminder!” Pebble beamed. “This little chunk of land is under the Mischief’s protection. You must’ve confused it with the Meat district; an honest mistake, to be sure! But I hope you’ll be off. You’ve frightened our guests, sir. And you’re threatening a guest most important to the Rat-King. That’s no good—no good at all!”

There was a long pause as Chai took Pebble in. The boy didn’t go up to Chai’s hip. Then Chai burst out in a bark of horrid laughter, whirled around, seized Pebble by the front of his shirt and brought them face-to-face. Pebble looked bewildered.

“I’m so damned sick of you and your paper King, sticking your snouts in other men’s affairs!”

His spittle sprayed all over Pebble’s little face. “The only reason you’re alive, you little buck-toothed imp, is that I have the barest shred of courtesy left for your ruler. Do not mistake it for weakness.”

He thrust Pebble to the ground. The boy gave a little gasp. Kaya squirmed against Dorian’s arms, but Dorian held her tight.

“Now scram!” shrieked Enforcer Chai.

“I see,” said Pebble, looking glum. “Erm. I’m really sorry about this.”

Then a mountain’s weight settled on Dorian’s shoulders. He was crushed to his knees in an instant. What? Kaya was bowled to the ground; all around them, men and women collapsed on the spot. The world was warped with qi. A sudden field of immense pressure had bloomed on the field—

—and Chai was at the center of it all. Every single muscle on his body was tensed, but he couldn’t move an inch. Not even his eyes would obey him.

Dorian knew what this was.

Domain.

It was a field that could only be generated by those who’d touched a Dao. Well, I never. The runt’s in Earth Realm! And he’s been there a while, by the looks of it...

The pressure which flowed off Pebble was thicker than even the Frost Dragon's.

Dorian watched, bemused, as Pebble stood up and brushed the sand from his clothes. Pebble looked around guiltily. “I’m about to do a bad thing,” he squeaked. “Please don’t think less of me, friends!”

Two small hands held Enforcer Chai’s thick neck from either side. The digits sank in, carving little indents of blood until each finger found solid purchase. Chai’s eyes were still wide as dinner plates.

Then Pebble started to unscrew. It was like Chai’s body was a bottle and his head was the cap. Chai’s head turned, and turned, and turned, and as it reached the limits of human dexterity—just when you’d expect the turning to stop—it kept turning, smooth as can be. The only indication that something was wrong was the ear-piercing crack as his spine snapped inside his neck. His lips drooped, his eyes spinning in their sockets.

Pebble kept unscrewing. He turned the head round and round until the skin was severed from the base, until the muscles and the bones and the tendons had all been twisted off. Then he tapped his Interspatial Ring, pulled out a sack, dropped in the dismembered head, and sealed it up. He did it all calmly as can be, no fuss. His smile had waned a fraction but Dorian got the sense that he was forcing it; as though the first few times he’d killed he’d been too smiley and someone had told him it made him look psychotic, so he’d gotten in the habit of toning it back. Looking at him, Dorian got the sense the boy was as content as he ever was.

Then the pressure let up and everyone let out a long, collective breath. For a few seconds, not a man dared to move. All eyes were wide and locked on the boy next to the headless body—a body which gushed like a fountain.

“I’m real sorry about that,” said Pebble, scratching his head sheepishly. “My boss likes proof that the deed was done, you see.”

He nodded to the Sand-Devil contingent, who looked one loud noise away from fleeing.

“No more tomfoolery from you all, I trust?”

They couldn’t have nodded faster. Pebble’s beam came back on his face. “Excellent! Then please have a pleasant evening, everyone!”

As the Sand-Devils scampered off and the rest of the Tribesmen regrouped, shaken, Pebble made a line straight for Dorian.

“Greetings from me and my king, Io Rust!” he cried with a bow. “Sir, I rushed over as soon as I heard of your promotion. I’d like to offer my heartfelt congratulations!”

He pulled out a plate from his Interspatial Ring. On it was one soggy burnt stone. “I was so happy for you I baked you a celebratory muffin!”

“…Thanks?” said Dorian, taking the plate gingerly. What a strange, strange day.

“I hope you and the missus don’t think that, ah, regrettable display is who I am,” said Pebble, rubbing at his wrists nervously. “I’m a talker, not a fighter—I try not to involve myself in the messier affairs! But sadly it means folk forget who I am. They feel the right to be downright rude to me sometimes. It hurts my feelings, but they don’t care at all!”

Pebble licked a dab of blood off the corner of his mouth.

“It appears not,” said Dorian dryly. His mind was somewhere else, connecting the dots which led up to this weird moment.

“Oh! I must apologize for the Sand-Devils…they’ve gotten in the habit of trespassing on our territory of late. It is the sworn duty of the Mischief to protect all Tournament participants assigned to us. Especially those guests of most importance! We wouldn’t wish to disrespect the Artificer’s guild!”

What a curious chain of events. This afternoon I told that rat outside the guild to report my Artificer’s status to the Mischief—in hopes of partnering with them, and of gaining some guarantee of protection. Who knew it’d come in handy so fast?

A few quick words in the afternoon, and a man’s head was unscrewed by evening. Fancy that. It was one of Dorian’s favorite kinds of victory: with precautions, one could win a battle one didn’t know would happen without needing to lift a finger.

“Talking of artificing… my King wishes to say that we hear your offer of a business partnership—the Mischief is open for negotiations! He shall soon summon you to discuss the matter in-person.”

It seems there’s more to the Outskirts than simply squalor. If there’s fighters of Pebble’s strength—and stronger—there’s bound to be a great deal of money and resources, too. Dorian would bet a dragon’s hoard that there was a Black Market lurking in these parts. A Black Market he’d do well to enter.

“I’m eager for it. Give him my thanks for his hospitality.” Dorian shook Pebble’s hand. “And might I say—lovely beheading technique, my young friend.”

“Why, how kind of you to say, sir!” Pebble blushed. “I’ve had lots of practice.”

***

The evening ended peacefully. Pebble left after answering the last of Dorian’s questions—

“I can now apply for both citizenship and housing in the Oasis, right?” Said Dorian.

“Yup!”

“Can I bring my sister along?”

“Unfortunately not, sir. If she’s not a citizen, she’ll need to stay behind.”

Kaya stared up at him. Then she chuckled sadly. “Go ahead,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” said Dorian with a laugh. “I’m not leaving you behind.”

Not now, in any case. The marginal value of living within the city walls when I can commute in and out freely is negligible. It’d be very silly to spend all that time and resources on her, only to strand his one trusted ally for comfier pillows.

But what he said really seemed to get to her. “Brother…” she whispered tearfully. Then she tackled him with a hug and buried her head in his chest. Sobs wracked her body; Dorian stood there awkwardly, patting her head and wondering why everyone was so keen on crying today. She did seem stressed of late. Maybe this was her breaking point.

“There, there,” he said, which was the sort of thing he figured humans said in these kinds of situations. He gave Pebble a farewell wave, then started to waddle back into the tent. Kaya wouldn’t let him go.

“I won’t be a burden.” Kaya’s muffled voice floated up to him. “I’ll get strong for you.”

“I’m sure you will,” sighed Dorian. He was wondering how best to extract himself. Maybe he could swap himself out with a blanket—she was crying so hard she probably wouldn’t notice.

When Kaya glanced back up at him, her mouth was set. Her eyes, still watery, burned fiercely in the dim light. Dorian was taken aback. She was as serious as he’d ever seen her.

“I mean it—I won’t let you down!”