Zachary Scott
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Chapter 107 - Holding Back
🕑 Added 2025-06-24 18:41:00 +0000 UTCThe Aspirant's Guild occupied an entire block of Gloomglow, its high walls separating it from the chaos of the district. Unlike the ramshackle buildings surrounding it, the guild had been built with purpose. It had stone walls thick enough to withstand magical assault, reinforced gates that could hold off a siege, and archer slits that currently served as windows.
Curiously, the old walls bore claw-like scratches and magical scorch marks. I wondered how ancient those marks were, and guessed they could date back as far as the deepwar.
“Looks more like a fortress than a training ground,” Lyria observed.
“Probably been both over the years,” I said.
The main gate stood open, guarded by two aspirants in matching leathers. Their tunics were studded with silver rivets and dyed midnight black. The thick clothing they wore beneath was silver, and they both had starburst metal pins holding silver cloaks to their shoulders. They watched us approach with professional interest rather than hostility.
“Business?” the taller one asked.
“I was hoping to ask about joining,” I said.
They seemed to finally give me a real look, and the taller one’s eyebrows rose. Both guards leaned their heads together, spoke softly, and then looked back to me. “You match the description of… the guy.”
Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. “The guy?”
“Yeah,” the shorter one said, tilting his head as he examined me. “The guy who embarrassed Kalcus a few days back. I heard the guy fought Kalcus with one hand behind his back, lobbing taunts the whole time. Barely broke a sweat and Kalcus was so pissed he was practically spitting.”
“Yeah,” the tall one said, voice laced with suspicion. “Are you the guy?”
“No,” I said. “Must be someone else.”
“Hmm. That’s a shame,” the short one said. “Kalcus is a prick.”
“Major prick,” agreed the other guard.
“If I ever meet the guy, I’ll buy him a few beers.”
“Several.”
“Well,” I said, doing my best to avoid looking suspicious. “Unfortunately, that isn’t me. Can I still go in and ask about joining?”
“Oh, sure,” the tall one said, though he appeared far less interested in me and Lyria now. “We’ve just been asked to remind potential applicants a few things before we let them in. Weeds out the time wasters.”
Lyria let out an impatient breath, folding her arms beside me as she waited.
“First… most who join the guild never earn a spot in the tourney. Application is expensive. Second… of the few who did earn a spot, most end up dead.”
I waited, but it seemed like that was the whole speech.
“Go on, then,” the short one said. “You’re interrupting a very stimulating conversation about the difference between naidu whores and sekmeti.”
“Pah,” the tall one laughed. “The day you can afford to bed a sekmeti is the day I’ll finally grow a beard.”
The guards continued arguing as we entered the main gate and passed through a tunnel that would be easy to defend if the gates were breached. Murder holes dotted the ceiling—currently empty but ready for archers or boiling oil. Then again, I guessed seiges in a world where warriors had magic abilities were a completely different experience. Maybe they wouldn’t bother with boiling oil when they could lob spells through those holes.
The tunnel opened into a large courtyard divided into distinct training areas.
To the left, aspirants worked through some kind of strength and agility course that involved a lot of jumping, swinging from metal bars, and dodging giant sandbags dangling from frayed ropes.
To the right, a sand pit hosted unarmored sparring matches between sweaty men and women who wrestled, punched, kicked, and grunted with effort.
But what caught my attention was the crystalline dome in the center—a perfect sphere of magical energy about thirty feet in diameter.
Inside the dome, two fighters went at each other with lethal intent. One swung a massive axe that should have split his opponent in half. Instead, when it connected, the victim flashed gold and froze in place, encased in amber light.
“Fascinating, right?” A woman approached us, moving with an economy of motion that screamed danger. “We can train with real killing intent without losing members. Usually.”
She was human, mid-thirties, and her bare arms, face, and neck were crisscrossed with puckered white scars. Her equipment was well-maintained but practical—no flash, just function.
[Human, Level 49 (Iron)]
“I'm Vera, training coordinator. That's our prize possession—a stasis dome that mimics tournament protections. Cost the guild three years of dues, but it's worth it.”
“You said it keeps people from dying ‘usually’?” Lyria asked, catching the qualifier.
“The wards aren't perfect. Sometimes they activate late. Sometimes they don't activate at all.” Vera shrugged. “Just like in the tournament. The game managers claim it's unintentional, but we've all noticed how the 'malfunctions' tend to happen when an aspirant is about to beat someone important.”
Inside the dome, the frozen fighter was released and immediately yielded, rubbing his ribs where the axe had 'killed' him.
“Keeps us sharp,” Vera continued. “Can't get comfortable trusting the wards. You're here about membership?”
“That's right,” I said.
She looked us over with a clinical eye. “Iron and Wood. Good timing—this year's tournament is running mixed rank teams. Not usual, but they’re always trying new bullshit to improve viewership. You two can enter together.”
“How many make it through?” I asked.
“Depends on your definition of 'making it.' Last tournament had one hundred and thirty participants. Maybe ninety survived. Of those, only the top thirty got any real prize money. Aspirants?” She made a dismissive sound. “We're usually happy if someone makes top thirty. Actually winning is for nobility with their pre-made alliances and superior equipment and training.”
She led us deeper into the courtyard, pointing out different areas. “Think of this place like a training gym with rankings. You can come train any time you like, and you’ll be watched and rated carefully as you do. Top ranked members make it to the tourney when it comes time to apply. Simple as that.”
I took it all in, considering. “When you say the dome ‘usually’ works… how often does it fail?”
“Not too often. Three months ago, an aspirant named Chen was training for the tournament. Good fighter, smart, careful. The ward failed when his opponent crushed his windpipe. We have his armor on display in the memorial hall—reminds everyone that the only person you can trust to keep you alive is yourself.”
She brought us to the edge of the stasis dome. “Well? There’s not much more to tell. You want to join, you’ve got to pass the initiation test. After that, you can come at your own leisure as long as you pay your monthly dues. But slack off and don’t train enough and you’re not likely to rank high enough to compete in the tourney.”
“And what’s the test?” I asked.
“You'll face three of our junior members. The dome will keep it non-lethal. Probably,” she added again with a self-aware smile this time.
“Comforting,” Lyria muttered.
“Comfort is for people who don't enter death tournaments,” Vera said. “You entered together, so you'll fight together. Tournament rules—mixed rank teams share danger and rewards equally.”
Word had apparently spread already. All around us, people were peeling off from their training to come observe. Some appeared to be making bets.I noticed they sorted themselves by apparent skill level—the more scarred and better-equipped taking prime viewing positions. Doing a quick scan with Voidgaze showed me the members were mostly Woods, with a few Irons scattered in and no Silvers or above.
“Volunteers?” Vera called out.
Several hands rose. She selected three with practiced ease. “Marcus, Tam, Elora.”
The three who entered the dome were all Wood rank, but they moved with trained confidence. Marcus carried sword and shield, Tam favored a spear, and Elora's hands already glowed with magical preparation.
We stepped through the dome's barrier—a sensation like walking through cool water—and immediately felt the protection settle over us. In a way, it felt like wearing glass armor instead of steel. Protection, but fragile.
“When you're ready,” Vera said from outside.
I glanced at Lyria. “Plan?”
“Improvise,” she said, drawing her sword.
They came at us immediately. No posturing, no testing—straight into combat. Marcus rushed me with his shield raised, trying to bowl me over. I sidestepped, summoning an Elemental Spike of Frost Finger just in time to deflect his sword strike.
The impact jarred my arm. He was stronger than expected, and the way he flowed from defense to offense spoke of real training. Not some street thug, but someone who'd been drilling these moves until they were instinct.
With practiced effort, I knew I could suppress my passive abilities. I made sure Reverberating Aegis didn’t activate as I blocked the attack, since there was no need to give the capability away for now.
Tam tried to pin Lyria with her spear's reach while Elora launched firebolts from the back. I was surprised by the coordination. Wood or not, the strategy they fought with seemed sound. They were controlling the space and using their weapons to maximum advantage.
I threw up a Mana Shield to block a firebolt aimed at my head, then had to duck as Marcus's sword whistled over me. The crowd was getting louder, calling out advice or jeering at near misses.
Marcus made a fresh, ethereal sword appear behind his strike, and it mimicked the swing but with twice the speed.
Mana Sense warned me in time to easily sidestep the magical attack.
“He's just defensive,” someone said. “No killer instinct.”
Part of me wanted to show them. To unleash the full array of my abilities. To call on the dark mana, even, and really show them what I was capable of.
But I needed to be smart. Everything I could afford to hold back was an advantage. A tactical surprise I could save for when I needed it most. So if I could win with two hands behind my back and one eye closed, that was what I needed to do.
I caught Marcus's next strike on my Elemental Spike, letting his momentum carry him past. He stumbled, and I could’ve easily summoned a Forge Echo to put three lethal strikes in his exposed back. I could’ve sprayed him with magical frost, fire, or poison. I could’ve summoned Deborah and let them dice all three of these aspirants, or a dozen other lethal options.
Instead, I simply raised my boot and kicked him on the ass, pushing him away so he had to windmill his arms to catch his balance.
Tam had Lyria backing up, spear thrusts coming fast and accurate. Lyria deflected with her Basilisk’s Shield, holding off any magic use for the moment. With her limited mana pool, I imagined she was holding back more to preserve mana than to hide her abilities.
Mana Sense warned me of another firebolt, so I twisted my upper body, leaning back just in time for it to hiss inches from my chest, singeing my tunic. Within a heartbeat, the fabric glowed and began to stitch itself back together.
So badass.
I needed to deal with the mage, Elora, but Marcus wouldn't give me space. He pressed forward with combination attacks—high, low, thrust, slash.
I gave ground, parried when I had to, and waited. I wasn’t just trying to hide my spells. I wanted to get a better sense of this place and the people before I started to show the hard-won instincts I was already developing. And the feeling was odd.
Marcus kept coming, occasionally mixing in phantom blade magic, some kind of ability that gave him a burst of strength, and hints of passives I couldn’t quite decipher. And through it all, I felt strangely calm.
When I thought I’d made it look like enough of a struggle, I saw him drop his shoulder, gearing up for a heavy overhead strike.
When it came, I sidestepped and swept his legs. He went down hard, but I was right there. I kneeled at his side with my Elemental Spike in a backhand grip and pressed it to his throat.
“Yield,” he gasped.
One down.
Lyria fired a gust of concentrated wind at Tam’s left thigh, jerking the leg back with so much force that it flipped his whole body. Before he could even land, she cut inside his reach with a vicious upward slash, triggering the golden stasis magic.
Tam was frozen, eyes wide with surprise as he clinked to the ground, frozen in some kind of crystal structure that was as transparent as glass.
That left Elora, who'd been free to cast while we dealt with her teammates. She'd used the time well—three firebolts came at us in a spread pattern, impossible to dodge entirely.
I raised a Mana Shield for one, ducked the second, and saw Lyria disperse the third with a quickly raised Wind Wall.
We rushed her together. Elora tried to backpedal, hands weaving something larger, but there wasn't enough space in the dome. Lyria fired a gust of wind at my back, launching me forward several feet in mere seconds. I skidded to a stop with my Elemental Spike pointed at Elora’s stomach, nearly running her through with all the unexpected momentum.
“Yield!”
The crowd had mixed reactions. Some applauded, others grumbled about lost bets.
“Interesting,” Vera announced. “For an Iron, you certainly seemed to take your time. But then again, neither of you were touched. I suppose that’s worthy of a pass. You’ll want to go speak with the guildmaster, next.”
As we left the dome, one aspirant—a woman with prematurely gray hair—caught my arm.
“Interesting style,” she said quietly. “Very... restrained.”
“I prefer caution to recklessness,” I said, careful to keep my tone neutral.
“Mmm.” She studied me with eyes full of experience. Eyes that felt like they were looking straight through me. “In my experience, the only people who hold back that much in a fight are those who've never faced real danger... or those who've faced so much that everything else feels like a game.”
She walked away before I could respond.
#
Talia
I leaned back in my cushioned chair, my focus entirely on just one of my active Eyes of Uvu. The invisible orb floated within the Aspirant’s Guild, and it had just given me a view of Brynn Stygos doing something peculiar.
The fight had been illuminating. Not for what he'd done, but for what he hadn't.
Before, he caught my interest because he was clearly capable. Every so often, an individual would rise above the average performance of their rank and level. Sometimes, it was a uniquely powerful class corestone manifestation. Other times, it was a mind so sharp it amplified everything else. In exceedingly rare cases, it was a condition like being Soulbound.
While interesting, none of that would have necessarily shocked me. These things did, after all, happen.
But why in the name of The Nine was Brynn Stygos hiding his power?
I pulled up my notes from the alley fight, comparing. There, pressed by an Iron and two Woods, he'd used a dizzying array of abilities. Mana shields that formed floating stairs. Elemental attacks from two different potions. That armor manifestation that hinted at an impossibly powerful item. Summons. Healing magic. Even that strange ethereal movement where he had phased out of existence. A bow that applied some kind of fire status effect, perhaps amplified by the elemental magic his abilities seemed themed around.
I’d seen nobles with far, far less impressive arsenals of rare and powerful items.
But this… nobody was dripping in equipment, clearly a master of powerful class abilities, and now this?
Why hadn’t he held back in the alley? Why was he masking his power now with the Aspirants? I checked my notes. He’d shown the magical shield ability and used whatever that ice dagger item he had was. I hadn’t seen anything else.
“You're not just holding back,” I said to the image of him. “You're trying to look painfully ordinary. Why?”
I made more notes in my journal. As enticing as the mystery around this man was, I had to admit it gave me pause. I intended for him to be the key piece on my Vice board when the tourney began. But if I didn’t know how he would behave or what he was up to… could I really afford to involve him so heavily in my plans?
That scarred woman—Vera—had noticed something too. Twenty years of watching fighters, she'd probably developed instincts for irregularities. But she couldn't see what I saw. She didn't know that Brynn had used at least eight distinct abilities in a single fight just days ago.
“What are you?” I whispered.
No normal Iron could do what I'd seen in the alley. The mana reserves alone should have been impossible. Even with the best resources, an Iron of his level shouldn't have been able to juggle so many spells and items.
I zoomed the Eye closer, studying him as he talked with the gray-haired aspirant. Like Vera, this one had spotted something, too. Fighters who'd survived long enough developed a sense for predators pretending to be prey.
“Guildmaster's next,” I predicted, watching them being led toward the main building. “Let's see if you can fool him too.”
I split my attention briefly, checking my other subjects. The enslaved sekmeti were in their cells, practicing combat forms despite their chains. The Rathborne boy was raging at his father about hiring assassins. The eye I had sent to Coil to follow the woman everyone was talking about was still blotted out.
But my attention kept returning to Brynn.
Maybe he was exactly what we needed. Maybe the unpredictability was actually the final ingredient to my plan.
“You're going to be perfect,” I said softly. “You don't know it yet, but you're exactly what we need. A wild card. An impossibility. Someone strong enough to break the pattern but naive enough to be guided.”
I watched him meet the guildmaster, pay his dues, and then he went straight back to the yard with the red-haired woman and began training.
For some reason, there was also a grommet emerging from a tunnel it dug beneath the training ground. It lifted its head above the dirt just enough for its eyes to clear, and nobody seemed to notice the wretched thing.
I templed my fingers, thoughts racing as I watched him. “You will be one to watch… won’t you?” But for now, I turned my attention to other matters.
I had work to do. Strings to pull. Arrangements to make.
The tournament would be here before I knew it, and I needed to ensure all the pieces were in place when the blood started flowing.
#
Brynn
One perk of Aspirant’s Guild membership was access to the common room. It had sounded nice when the grizzled tomte guildmaster described it.
I pushed open the double doors at the far end of the training area, body drenched in sweat and mana pool depleted, and found…
Another room with a dirt floor, bloodstains on the few scattered tables, and a half-eaten plate of meat gathering flies.
“Charming,” Lyria said as she pushed past me and slumped down to sit.
“It’s not so bad,” I said, taking a seat beside her. “But I can kind of see why we’re the only ones here. Doesn’t look like much to do but sit and smell the rotten meat.
A soft “womp” from under the table made me freeze. I leaned down to see a grommet face peering back at me, hair absolutely filthy with dust and debris. He had dug himself a little hole beneath the table. A fleshy pink arm wobbled into view, waving.
“Hello!” it whispered. “I am coming with a message from Grimbo. May I say this one feels… honored to meet the horny one.”
Lyria looked at me, clearly trying not to smile.
“I’ve told them to stop calling me that,” I said. “My helmet has horns. It doesn’t make me horny.”
“This one should say… your horniness is well known and admired among our Grommville. Feel no shame, please, his horniness.”
With a sigh. “Is there a reason you burrowed under our table?”
“Yes. This one has been living here for days. Watching for signs of the horney one. Grimbo sends message! Wood delivery can be arranged! Very exciting! Also, beware the rats here. They are not friends.”
“How did you—never mind,” I said. “Tell Grimbo thanks. I'll coordinate delivery once I know my training schedule.”
“Yes yes!” The grommet vibrated with excitement and the low womp womp womp sound came again. “Songs will be sung about this day!”
“Please don't sing songs about me.”
I think it winked at me before disappearing back into its hole.
“The weirdest things happen to you,” Lyria said, though she sounded like she was hardly surprised anymore.
As I leaned on my elbows and shifted my focus to mana recovery, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Not just by the other aspirants sizing up new competition, but something else. Something more focused.
The gray-haired woman's words echoed: Those who've faced so much that everything else feels like a game.
If she only knew how right she was.
Tomorrow would bring more training. This place was a resource, but only one of many. I’d need to spend more time familiarizing myself with Thrask, reading books on Eros and various topics, training more secret abilities in my personal space, and then coming here to practice the basics.
One way or another, I was going to make sure I got a place in that tournament. Maybe I shouldn't have seen it as my problem, but I planned to get in there and find a way to free Ramzi, Zahra, Thorn, and Sylara. After everything we went through together in Beastden, I owed them that much.
But above all else, I would keep using every day to get stronger.
Because somewhere out there, the other prestiged gods were moving too. And I couldn't afford to be found. Not yet.
Until then, I just had to find a way to maximize my training without accidentally revealing I was one of The Nine legendary gods themselves walking among mortals.
No pressure.
Comments
Ben Bass
TYFTC! It's great to see you post again! It is interesting how two experienced individuals can tell something is up with Brynn when he holds back, and they are both spot on. And Lyria casually mentioning how weird things just happen to him, and she is so right. I still think the grommets are going to be important in the long run, no one sees them and they are everywhere.
Mr.Turtle
Thanks for the chapter!
