Zhang Chāo stalked back toward the throne room, his footsteps restless, his bodyguards sensing his inner tension and giving him breathing room.

  The last half hour had been a frustrating one. The meeting with his public relations advisors had turned out to be more or less an ambush, as they presented him with their top candidates for an arranged marriage.

  “The throne will never be truly secure until the people know that you have a successor,” the argument went.

  “I have Han Jianguo,” Zhang Chāo replied with a deadpan expression, pointing a thumb at his comrade. “If I fall in battle, he is to take up my sword.”

  Zhang Chāo had never tested whether the Mandate of Heaven would accept Han Jianguo as a wielder. The blade could only have one master at a time, and ownership could only transfer if the owner was defeated and the sword claimed by the one who bested him. But Zhang Chāo knew in his bones that Han Jianguo was the man most worthy to succeed him.

  “That is, um—”

  “Han Jianguo, he could perhaps—”

  “Please, Your Majesty, consider—”

  The advisors began stumbling over each other in their reactions to Zhang Chāo’s suggestion.

  “Your Majesty, Han Jianguo is a great warrior and an able administrator, but he is not you,” said Lin Yìchén firmly, cutting the other advisors off. He looked into Han Jianguo’s eyes after he had spoken and added, with an apologetic expression, “You would lead us to many great triumphs, of that I have no doubt.”

  “I take no offense,” Han Jianguo replied. The tone of his voice seemed to imply, You are incapable of giving offense to one as steady and strong-willed as I, Lin Yìchén.

  But Zhang Chāo doubted that anyone noticed it besides himself—and perhaps Lin Yìchén himself, though the scholar was wisely not giving it away if he did.

  Lin Yìchén was a subtle man. Not quite as deadly in combat as Han Jianguo, perhaps—but then, humans did not spend their lives in combat. It was perhaps more powerful to be deadly with words and stratagems than with clubs and axes, even in the post-System world.

  That was why Lin Yìchén was almost as important, as a cornerstone of Zhang Chāo’s power, as a formidable fighter and competent leader like Han Jianguo.

  “Even if I have children, they will not be me either,” Zhang Chāo pointed out.

  “But there would be a clear line of succession for all those who believe in you personally,” Lin Yìchén shot back instantly. “The System had restored monarchy, and that form of government is well suited for these chaotic times. Even if it requires personal sacrifice, I beg that Your Majesty think of his people before so easily brushing off the importance of this decision.”

  Lin Yìchén then bowed deeply.

  Zhang Chāo waited a moment, resisted the urge to shake his head, and then returned the bow, though his was not nearly as deep as Lin Yìchén’s.

  Sometimes I think you would be more comfortable in the days of Imperial China, he thought. Then again, imperialism was far from the rear view mirror at this point.

  As Zhang Chāo made his way back to his throne, he shook his head and rubbed his right temple.

  “I suppose we know whose idea that meeting was,” Han Jianguo said. Then he gave a low chuckle.

  Zhang Chāo just grunted back.

  Disaster comes from careless talk, my friend, he thought silently.

  All of the bodyguards that surrounded them had been approved by Han Jianguo—for their combat strength and versatility as well as courage under fire—but that did not mean they were free from other ties and influences.

  It would be foolish to assume that words spoken about Lin Yìchén had no avenues to make their way back to the head of public relations.

  Zhang Chāo thought he had his advisors—his team of rivals—under some semblance of control. Their ambitions were tamed while his power was unchallenged—and unlikely to be challenged by anyone else within Taiwan. But there was no profit to be had in deepening existing fault lines.

  When people work with one heart, they can even move Mount Tai. But a bad beginning makes a bad ending. We have to keep our end in mind and stay united.

  Han Jianguo seemed to take Zhang Chāo’s hidden meaning, and he fell silent.

  The Heavenly King and his entourage arrived in the throne room, and the bodyguards took up their usual posts, half encircling the throne.

  The ten prisoners, nine men and one woman, who had been in the room waiting for Zhang Chāo fell to their knees as he entered. One of the men, Zhang Chāo could not help but notice, had to be forced to his knees by one of the police who had accompanied the condemned men.

  Today’s activity with the condemned was a periodic ritual for Zhang Chāo.

  Those who had been found guilty of capital offenses—murder, treason, espionage, drug trafficking, piracy, terrorism, desertion during battle, severe cases of rape or assault, and until recently stealing food from the hungry—were brought before Zhang Chāo and his bodyguards.

  They were given one opportunity to receive a pardon or commutation of their sentence.

  “Show me your most unique Skills,” Zhang Chāo said, reciting his usual spiel for today’s batch of offenders. “If I can verify that you possess a Skill that I have never encountered before, then your sentence will be commuted from death to ten years’ imprisonment. If you demonstrate a unique Skill and would prefer a full pardon over commutation, you can choose to challenge any of those beside me to single combat.” Zhang Chāo gestured in a circular motion at the bodyguards who surrounded him, as well as at Han Jianguo. “If you manage to win, I will not only pardon you, but you will be awarded a high rank within the military and ten thousand System Credits. Make no attempt to escape or attack any of my officials, or your life will be immediately forfeit.”

  The prisoners murmured among themselves, reacting to the Heavenly King’s words with a mixture of emotions. Determination. Suspicion. Anger. Hope.

  Zhang Chāo’s eyes focused on the suspicious one. The prisoner’s wary eyes played over Zhang Chāo and his entourage for a few seconds, as if calculating his chances at fighting them. Then the man noticed Zhang Chāo looking his way, and he averted his gaze.

  Darn, he looked away before I could use my Skill. What is this fellow’s story? Not everyone who found himself in these prisoners’ position considered the situation with a critical eye. That alone made this particular prisoner somewhat interesting.

  Then again, perhaps Zhang Chāo was simply eager to observe something, anything, of interest in today’s clemency proceeding. He had initially instituted it as a way to discreetly observe and copy abilities with Quick Study—the Skill was his strongest cheat code for increasing his personal combat power—with the fringe benefit of allowing his bodyguards to get a little practice fighting. However, each time the police brought in the condemned men—almost all men—the practice showed very clear diminishing returns.

  Now it felt more like farce than a clever strategy—like Zhang Chāo was lying to these men, dangling the possibility of clemency before their eyes, so he could steal the main useful resource that these condemned men still had—their Skills. Even though they probably didn’t have anything he lacked, or at least not powers that he would want, anyway.

  “Who would like to go first?” Han Jianguo asked in a loud, clear voice.

  Several hands rose.

  The prisoner Zhang Chāo had taken notice of was not one of these volunteers.

  Those who had volunteered to go first held a quick huddle among themselves, and then two men stepped forward and bowed in Zhang Chāo’s direction.

  “Could we please have our weapons back, Your Majesty?” one of them asked. “Then we could spar and show our Skills off to best advantage.”

  Zhang Chāo simply nodded at the policemen behind the volunteers—the Ruler had received such requests more than once, and he now routinely granted them. He was confident that the two could not simply cut their way out of this place, no matter how strong they were. A couple of officers stepped forward and produced weapons from their Small Bags of Deceptive Dimensions and handed them to the two volunteers.

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  The men bowed to Zhang Chāo and each other and then began sparring.

  The other prisoners and police formed a circle around the combatants, making escape even less likely.

  The figures looked promising to the Heavenly King’s eyes from the beginning. Both were in good physical condition, though one fought with what appeared to be a long iron rod, which would seem to indicate that he was a Mage subtype. The other man used a pair of short swords, which suggested he might be an Assassin or some other Rogue Class Evolution.

  The Rogue type went on the offensive immediately, arms blurring slightly in a flurry of bladed movement. The Mage blocked deftly with his staff, and sparks flew with each contact.

  He’s doing something with Mana, Zhang Chāo observed. Each blow to the staff scattered not just sparks but also some particles of Mana, which looked like little fragments of white light. Those seemed to remain present around the combatants’ feet rather than dissipating like the sparks did.

  The Rogue stepped cautiously around the particles of Mana but did not become less aggressive. He simply tried to aim around the iron staff and strike the Mage’s body, which was almost unprotected, clothed only in the robes Mages typically wore.

  As Zhang Chāo would have expected if someone had told him on paper that these two types of combatants were physically sparring, the bout slowly but clearly began to turn in the Rogue’s favor. He began landing superficial cuts on the Mage’s arms and legs. The Mage was able to fend off any more serious blows with the iron rod, and the Rogue was still trying to avoid further collisions between the rod and the blades. As with most Rogues, he seemed to have good instincts for a possible trap.

  The entire room had focused on the fight. Everyone but Zhang Chāo seemed to have become very invested. The Heavenly King himself was focused on trying to analyze the Skills being employed and determining if there was something there that he could use. He was slightly annoyed that the fighters had chosen to have an actual fight to demonstrate their Skills, rather than simply allowing each other to practice their respective abilities.

  Wait, no, he realized. This is no fight. His eyes, looking for a pattern in how the Skills being used functioned, had picked up on another pattern instead. The pair were in a choreographed dance.

  They are pretending to try to beat each other. Why?

  The hairs on the back of Zhang Chāo’s neck stood up.

  He turned toward Han Jianguo and made quick eye contact. Han Jianguo’s expression changed in an instant, and a honey-colored glow surrounded his body.

  Almost at the same time, the two prisoners danced closer to each other. The man with the iron rod lowered his weapon, and a shroud of dark-colored Mana with a star-like pattern to it surrounded his body. The Rogue threw one of his swords into the hand that held the other and reached out to take the Mage’s hand.

  The two prisoners exchanged devilish grins, and then the whole room burst into motion. Everyone whose job it was to protect Zhang Chāo or to enforce the law in his burgeoning country understood that something unplanned was happening, and they all moved toward the two prisoners. Everyone but Zhang Chāo and Han Jianguo.

  Zhang Chāo had observed hundreds of Mages using magic over the course of the last few months. He had seen a thing or two, and now he could tell by sight alone that the Mage was ready to unleash his spell. Even the closest police officers would reach the two prisoners too late.

  Then the dark-colored Mana around the Mage fizzled and disappeared like a fog.

  “Wait, what?” the Rogue cried.

  The Mage looked too shocked to speak.

  Zhang Chāo turned to Han Jianguo and smiled darkly. Well done.

  Han Jianguo returned the slightly twisted grin.

  There was no escape from this place.

  Han Jianguo had used the only ability of his that made Zhang Chāo jealous: Nullification, a Skill that came with Han Jianguo’s unique evolved Class. It completely negated almost all Skills used within a certain space around Han Jianguo’s body. The distance affected had expanded with practice, according to Han Jianguo, but even at the time that Zhang Chāo met him, the range of effect had been too far away for Zhang Chāo to ever try to copy the ability with Quick Study. The field of Nullification stretched further than the distance that Zhang Chāo could see across—assuming this Skill could be copied at all.

  The first police officers reached the two stunned prisoners and subdued them quickly—but violently, using clubs to bludgeon them rather than to disarm. Blood streamed from wounds opened with blunt force as the rebellious prisoners stopped moving. Zhang Chāo noted that the police were acting a little more roughly than they needed to, perhaps because the prisoners had just shamed them in front of their King; it took the officers an extra few seconds to stop beating them after the men had ceased moving.

  I will have a quiet word with them later, Zhang Chāo thought. He would not embarrass these officers with a public rebuke right after they rushed into close proximity with armed criminals to quash their attempted escape.

  “Your Majesty, what would you like us to do with these traitors?” asked one of the police officers, beads of sweat streaking down his face.

  “They broke the rules,” Zhang Chāo said without hesitation. “Take them away and execute them immediately.” The police officer bowed, and four of them began hauling the two semi-conscious offenders away, Han Jianguo trailing behind to ensure that the Mage did not wake up and attempt whatever trick he had been about to use.

  The rest of the prisoners stood in stunned, still silence as the first two volunteers were dragged away.

  “Well, who wants to go next?” Zhang Chāo asked after a moment.

  The next forty-five minutes were much more orderly than the first ten had been.

  Only three prisoners had Skills that Zhang Chāo was completely unfamiliar with, which he analyzed with Quick Study. The other prisoners were quietly led from the room. None of them struggled or cried out. This had been their last chance, and given what had happened to the two prisoners who had attempted to escape earlier, these others accepted their fates comparatively meekly.

  Of the three remaining criminals, one was the prisoner Zhang Chāo had taken notice of. He had a Skill that allowed him to transmute parts of his own body into metal. Quick Study was unable to copy it, unfortunately, but Zhang Chāo thought it was certainly unique. A deal was a deal.

  “The three of you have earned your clemency,” he said. “As promised, your sentences are officially commuted from death to ten years’ imprisonment. You will spend your ten years performing labor for the state based on your unique abilities. Do not look at this as a sentence of ten years but as an opportunity to further demonstrate your value to this country. Time reveals a person’s character. Even those who have once been judged as traitors—”

  “This is bullshit,” interrupted one of the three prisoners. Zhang Chāo noticed immediately that he spoke with a mainland accent. The criminal plainly was not native to Taiwan, yet relations with the mainland Chinese had been nonexistent since the Sino-American War.

  What was he doing in Taiwan before the System’s descent? Is this man a spy?

  Han Jianguo, who had returned to Zhang Chāo’s side, stepped forward, ready to rebuke the prisoner. But Zhang Chāo raised a hand to signal his right hand man to hold off.

  This fellow is bold, at least. What exactly is he thinking right now?

  “How is it bullshit?” Zhang Chāo asked quietly.

  “We gave you what you wanted,” the man replied. “You should just let us go. None of this ten years of labor bull—”

  “You have given us nothing we could not have secured elsewhere,” Zhang Chāo shot back, cutting him off. “But even if you had provided something incredibly valuable, you still require punishment. Good medicine often tastes bitter. You stand before me for a capital offense. Virtue must be rewarded, and vice punished, or we make a mockery of justice. You do have another option to secure a full pardon, should you choose to take it.” His fingers beat a drumbeat on the hilt of the Mandate of Heaven as he spoke.

  The criminal slowly nodded. “I will take that option, then, Your Majesty.” He spat those last two words. Zhang Chāo felt the contempt in them. He wondered for a moment what the source of it was, but then decided that it did not matter.

  “Who do you want to take your life, scum?” asked Han Jianguo, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles eagerly.

  “Not you,” the prisoner replied immediately. His eyes scanned over the faces of the bodyguards who surrounded Zhang Chāo—then snapped back to Zhang Chāo himself. “You!” He pointed straight at the Heavenly King, as if there had been any doubt about who he meant.

  “You have some nerve,” Han Jianguo began, but Zhang Chāo shook his head, a thin smile playing across his lips.

  Somehow, I thought you were smarter than this… The man was clearly judging Zhang Chāo’s strength based on his size or something similarly immaterial. Zhang Chāo was smaller in stature than every single one of his bodyguards and Han Jianguo.

  “I will happily grant your request,” Zhang Chāo said. “Are you ready for a fight at this moment? Perhaps you could use some rest before we start, or spiritual counsel?”

  The prisoner smiled nastily. “I’m going to be the last face you ever see. The only thing I’m worried about is: are these flunkies going to honor your pardon after you're gone?”

  Zhang Chāo turned his head back to Han Jianguo and waited expectantly.

  His second in command snorted and rolled his eyes, then looked at the criminal. “Fine. In the unlikely event that you survive your encounter with Zhang Chāo, we will honor your pardon as his last command.”

  “Then I have nothing to hold me back,” the prisoner said.

  Zhang Chāo turned to face him and watched as the prisoner’s entire body changed. Metal oozed out of his pores and covered every exposed inch of skin. Zhang Chāo could only assume the same was happening beneath his clothes.

  Such an interesting and useful Skill, he thought. A pity it’s wasted on this buffoon.

  Zhang Chāo drew the Mandate of Heaven from its scabbard.

  “You said you were ready, correct?” he asked.

  “I was born read—”

  Zhang Chāo lunged forward, and in a move too fast for most of the room to fully track, he slashed his sword through the prisoner’s neck. The head tumbled away from the body, and the steel-coated corpse collapsed a fraction of a second later.

  Then Zhang Chāo sheathed his sword once again. Only after he had replaced it in its scabbard did the blood begin to gush out from the dead man’s stump neck.

  Neither of the other surviving prisoners chose to pursue the possibility of a full pardon.