“Another one?!” Lydia exclaimed, her tone urgent. “Where were they? It’s been more than a day since the first appeared, and the other possible targets that we identified were brought in soon after, so where could they have possibly been to only have been found now?”
Silence followed Lydia’s question, none of her aides willing to answer. Her office, in comparison with Stella’s, was small. So, there was nowhere for her aides to go or hide from her disappointment.
“Do none of you have mouths? Or do none of you know the answer to what I’m asking?” Nobody answered, and Lydia shot a glare toward one specific person. “How about it, Diana? Any answer? The children fall under your responsibility. Do neither you nor Reginald have an answer?”
Diana cursed internally. It had only been a few days since the news that Eric was still alive and well had spread, and she had been bombarded by questions and responsibilities that simply weren’t hers.
It all stemmed from the simple fact that she had spent one night with Eric. Everybody in the student body that knew Eric was well aware that that meant absolutely nothing to him. It was one of the reasons that Diana let go of her fear and decided to go with him to begin with. Because she knew, based on Eric’s history, that it would be a one-time thing and that nothing would come of it.
But there was one thing that she didn’t expect, and that was the fact that most of the population that she now held some responsibility for, didn’t know Eric’s reputation, and not many spoke about it anymore. It was like everyone had made a distinction between who they were before the integration and who they were after it.
If only things had remained that way, she thought, complaining in silence.
The worst part was when Reginald himself had found out about her one-night stand. He, being who he is, saw it as an opportunity to somehow elevate his position. Reginald dreamt of becoming the First Vanguard and leading the entirety of Solace, making everyone fall in line behind him.
And after hearing of Eric’s “eminent” return, which Diana still questioned as to what Reginald was referring to since she had been in the same council meeting and they never mentioned how soon he would return, he began to make plans that involved her.
The first step of his plan was to increase her responsibilities, which is why she was now reporting to Lydia, something that normally, Reginald would have had to do.
Diana, realizing that Lydia’s gaze hadn’t wavered, took in a deep breath and answered. “One of the ‘Three’ sent one of their followers and delivered the child to the orphanage—”
Diana cut herself off, realizing that Lydia’s face was already twisting in anger as soon as she heard who was involved.
“They said that they had found the child injured and alone,” Diana continued. “They tried their miracles and prayers, but in the end, nothing worked.”
Lydia made a visible effort to calm herself. “And is that all that they said?” she asked, her tone tense. “They tend to be more elaborate with their words and how they speak.”
Diana turned to one of her aides and after a moment, answered. “According to the report that the one who received the child made, they did mention some more.” Diana reached for a piece of paper that the aid had in their hand and began to scan it. “This says that they tried to use their magic, but it refused to stick—no—it was being… severed?”
“Let me see,” Lydia said, her hand outstretched. “Hmm, ok. So, their miracles were incapable of mending the child because something greater was constantly reasserting itself. And their assessment is that I personally enter their holy land and pray for greater healing.”
Lydia let out a light chuckle and handed Diana back the sheet of paper.
“Meera,” Lydia said, turning to face the head researcher that was sitting on a chair near the wall. “How is the effort of keeping the affected stabilized, going?”
Meera quickly answered, her response ready from the get-go. “From what we’ve been able to gather, which has actually been quite a bit, if you ask me, the wound itself isn’t supposed to be fatal,” Meera said. “From what we can tell, at worst, it’s only supposed to incapacitate those affected.”
“Then why are the children on their deathbed?” Diana asked, genuine worry in her voice.
“Precisely because they’re children,” Meera answered. “The wound is consistent across everyone that was affected by it. Same length, same depth, same spot and even the same angle. The problem is that children are smaller, thinner and weaker.”
“What would only be a matter of time to heal for an adult, makes it so that children are basically guaranteed to die,” Lydia said, solemnly. “Do we know if this persistent effect that prevents the injury from being cured is permanent?”
“We sought some help from many of the hunters and security,” Meera began. “And we did find some of their input useful. Specifically, from those that have gained a tenuous connection with a concept. According to them, the most they can say with certainty, is that it is in fact a concept,” Meera answered.
“A concept and a wound that’s like a sword… like a blade?” Lydia said, then turned to face another. “Connor, is your report going to be about how all of those that have suffered a wound are the same people that accepted the tournament invitation but ultimately didn’t go? Because we already guessed that.”
Connor only nodded, either refusing to elaborate, or having nothing more to add.
Lydia took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a second and when she finally opened them, began giving orders. “Meera, talk with the alchemists. See if they can help you with something. If they can’t or won’t, come back to me immediately and I’ll see what—you know what, take Connor with you.” She paused, deciding something.
With her eyes set on both Connor and Meera, Lydia spoke once more. “Now,” she said, urging them.
Lydia then turned to Diana. “Go to the security offices. They should have a more accurate census on who accepted the tournament invitation and stayed. Try your best to track them all down, make a special emphasis on the kids. We already gathered most of them, just do your best to find those that remain. At the very least we have to keep them alive until after the tournament ends.”
Diana left the room, still feeling annoyed at the fact that she was doing something that wasn’t her responsibility, but she still did it without issue.
To her own momentary delight, she soon confirmed that all the children that the security forces had identified as being at least level 10 and had accepted the tournament invitation were all located. But it was only momentary. When she was checking up on the affected children, there were more than there should have been.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
In total, the security forces had identified 8 children that met the conditions. They had either sneaked into the dungeon, or were smuggled in by friends or family, in an attempt to strengthen them and give them a head start in their new reality.
The problem was that the security forces could only verify that the children were level 10. Even with Lydia’s Eyes of Gold, the skill that at times revealed truth from lies, it was difficult to discern if the children were lying about the tournament invitation. It was one of the biggest weaknesses of the skill, if the target and their lies had no effect on the “golden path,” then their lies would never be revealed.
So, when Diana arrived at the makeshift hospital, and found that instead of there being only 8 children there were 9, a pit began to form in her stomach. Because if there was one that they missed, they could’ve missed many more. And that was only counting the children.
Rushing back to her own small office, Diana quickly gathered the sheets that she had been given by the security forces. Searching through them, she dismissed the shortened list and looked at the full list of level 10 children, but she also dismissed that sheet as well. Her focus was entirely on the sheet that had all the children that were currently in Solace.
“I should start with the level 10’s, then make my way down, to at least the level 8s. Who knows what they could have done if they really wanted to go to the tournament. Kids are dumb, I just hope that they’re not that dumb.”
----------
“12 people have been found, sir,” a female advisor reported.
“Any of them children?” the president asked, looking through paper reports.
“None, sir. As per your instructions, we have taken ample measures to ensure that children have limited access to both monsters and dungeons,” the advisor said. “Unless their parents or friends managed to sneak the children into dungeons, or monsters into their homes, I fail to see how any child would have achieved level 10.”
“There are many skills, are there not?” the president asked, rhetorically. “There could be something like spatial manipulation or manipulation of the senses. If parents are desperate enough, and they truly believe that their way of doing things is the best for their child, then…”
“Speaking from experience?” a man that was sitting in a couch within the president’s office suddenly asked.
“Yes,” the president answered. “I would burn the world for my daughter, just like I know that she would burn it for her own children.”
“Wow, that is—”
“However,” the president continued. “It is that same determination to do anything and everything for the people that I love, that drives me to not only restore the world but make it better. Knowing my daughter, the world has never been more suited for her. If I can just add some securities here and there, I would be a happy man.”
“Still a doting father,” the man said, pressing his cigarette against his palm. “So, these injuries, are they because of the tournament that you stopped me from going to?”
“All reports indicate that that is the most probable cause, yes,” the president said. “Why?”
“Just wanted to know who was responsible for waking me up in the middle of my nap,” the man said, lifting his shirt to reveal a large slicing wound that began in the middle of his chest and ran across his torso, ending in his hip. “It really made it hard to sleep face down, but I managed.”
The president lifted his gaze for a moment, eyeing the wound, but quickly returned to what he was doing. “As if something like that could hinder you. Though, if it was able to harm you, then this basically confirms that it’s because of the tournament, doesn’t it? Who else could harm you in such a way?”
“I guess that’s one good thing that came from this,” the man said. “Any idea if this would be permanent? Even though I like this one, an injury like this might make it—”
“You should wait until after the tournament is over. Regardless of whether we win or lose, Robert should bring back enough information that should be useful to you. And who knows, maybe once the tournament ends, the wound disappears along with it.”
“Speaking of the tournament,” the man said, still unbothered by his wound. “Robert won’t be able to win. He isn’t the kind of person that goes all out in a setting like that. He’ll probably learn as much as he can before he ‘loses.’”
“Yes?” the president said in the form of a question.
“No, that was it, I just wanted to confirm that what I was thinking was correct. Do you have any idea on when the tournament will end?” the man asked, changing the topic. “I mean, I can deal with the pain, but its still a bother, you know?”
“We believe that it has something to do with the Frontier that the ranking System spoke about. And based on our estimates,” the president turned to his advisor.
“Based on our estimates, the ranking System was a way to pick the best of the best, even the titles mean little—”
“I know, everyone I know turned it off almost immediately since it didn’t do anything other than make us look like targets… or dumb,” the man interjected.
“Yes, the titles and their effects are more like proof and have no real value. But getting back to what I was saying,” the advisor said. “The Ranking System began six months into integration, in a couple of days, it will be exactly six months after that. We don’t believe that that’s a coincidence.”
“Interesting,” the man said with a grin.
----------
Deep within a building in a sandy desert, a woman walked confidently and without care while everyone stopped and saluted her, salutes that she dismissed with an annoyed expression.
Having reached her destination, she pushed the door open and entered a medical room.
“How goes the wound?” she asked, sitting on a small chair, her back to the door, completely unafraid of any possible danger.
On an old hospital bed, there was a shirtless man with a wound across his torso. Beside the injured man was a light blue elf, muscular and tall, with a clipboard in their hands.
“It’s not life threatening,” the elf answered. “It appears that the wound itself is only meant to incapacitate the target, preventing them from fighting at all. Movement is possible, but healing magic needs to be constantly applied.”
“Why?” the woman asked. “Is it related to the conceptual energy that still lingers within the wound?”
“Yes,” the elf said. “If left bandaged and treated minimally, the wound would remain, but the bleeding would be controlled. However, if we try to do anything more, like use a potion or healing magic, the wound reasserts itself, returning to its original size and depth.”
“So, the wound is meant to remain as an inconvenience, or perhaps its meant to keep the ‘loser’ in a state where they can’t fight,” the woman theorized. “Bralta,” the woman said, looking the wounded man in the eyes. “Can I have healing magic applied to you, just so I can see how the conceptual energy reacts?”
“Yes, General,” Bralta said, his words resolute.
“Perfect,” the General said, turning to the elf and gesturing toward the wound.
With one hand still holding the clipboard, the elf gathered mana and before their very eyes, the wound began to close. It wasn’t a miraculous recovery of something from nothing, no, you could see the strain that Bralta’s body was undergoing.
The mana was aiding a natural recovery processes. The blood that was slowly flowing, rapidly began to clot. In an instant the wound started to become inflamed, as the wound was cleaned. And finally, the speedy creation and proliferation of new cells, closing the wound.
“How long does it—”
The General cut herself off noticing that the conceptual energy that lingered where the wound once was, flared to life with impossible ferocity. It was more conceptual energy than the combined total she had seen up until now. It astonished her for a moment, just imagining the depths of power of the person that caused such a wound.
“He can’t be the only person that accepted the tournament invitation and didn’t go,” the General said. “I feel for those that didn’t properly plan for such an occurrence.”
The General looked at Bralta once more. “Thank you for offering yourself. You are to remain on bed rest and no duties for the foreseeable future.” Her eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint appearing within them. “If I hear that you tried to work, I will make that wound bigger, understood?”
Bralta remained silent.
“Understood?” the General repeated.
Bralta only nodded.
“Make sure that he doesn’t die,” the General said, facing the elf as she stood to leave. Then she turned toward Bralta. “One more question. Do you have any idea how you got the wound?” she asked.
Bralta shook his head. “I might have been drifting off, maybe I was about to take a nap—I don’t know. I just now that I suddenly had an intense pain that I didn’t before.”
The General turned to look at elf, raising an eyebrow in question.
“I also have no idea how this could have happened,” the elf answered. “He was found in a chair, so the possibility that he dozed off is there.”
The General nodded, taking in the information, then she left without saying another word.
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