Rating Zero (Alpha LitRPG Book 5), page 3
It took me a great effort not to chuckle smugly at this skillful “unmasking.” They did indeed take my disguise apart publicly, but what they saw underneath was what I had expected them to see—a complex illusion rather than the real picture. That skill was something I had learned thanks to the boons received at the Primordial Temple.
I did have some misgivings about someone among them being skilled enough to read my actual parameters. But I had nothing to fear now. Even if the local specialist did suspect something, a perfunctory scan like that wouldn’t let him discover the truth.
“Thank you, Master Daunth,” the fat man nodded. “That was all I wanted to hear.”
He turned back to me.
“Sir Chuck, you bear the special seal of the Primordial Temple, so it makes no sense to ask you about your family. I am certain it is worthy of our respect. Since you’re wearing your sword openly, I won’t ask any questions about it either. I have to say that your weapon looks somewhat problematic to me, but it is doubtlessly a functional and noble weapon. Please answer whether you promise to abide by the laws of the Rava Empire for the entire duration of your training period?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to abide by the rules and regulations of the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass?”
“Certainly. Provided they are made known to me, of course.”
“Excellent. There’s also the issue of a ritual donation. Do you know the requirements?”
I nodded, pulled out a small purse and handed it over to Brasse.
“This meets the requirements, if I’m not mistaken.”
The fat man took a peek inside and nodded.
“These are indeed the trinkets that all the contenders are traditionally supposed to bring with them.”
Trinkets?! The fatso was going too far. I offered them a Lesser Attribute Power, two Lesser Concentrated Mage Energies, three Lesser Concentrated Warrior Energies, four Lesser Primal Essences, and five Lesser Standard Universal States. The purse might have looked unassuming, but the wealth it contained would be beyond the means of quite a few aristocratic families. To some of the clans forming the backbone of the empire, this sum would indeed be a trifle, but how many of them were there? The number would be at least two orders of magnitude smaller than that of families like the Dantos, for example.
Besides, some of the loot was so special that it would be next to impossible even for someone loaded with cash to get hold of it. Some things in this world were notoriously hard to buy.
The donation symbolized a minimal possible distribution of an alpha’s attributes and was indicative of how difficult it would be to obtain them. Standard Universal States were the kind of loot that increased any state regardless of the power it was associated with. They were coveted, but not really unavailable. If you had enough funds, it wouldn’t take you too long to find five of those on the open market. They were expensive and rare, but you didn’t need much in the way of connections or social status. A large sum of money and enough patience were quite enough.
Lesser Primal Essences were more problematic. Those were usually obtained from creatures touched more than lightly by Chaos, and they didn’t drop often. And demand for them was incredibly high. Creating new artifacts without such loot was problematic to say the least. Serious clans did all that was humanly possible to collect as many of them as they could for their best shudra craftsmen (or even noble-born artificers). Finding something like that sold openly would be impossible; there were rumors it did happen occasionally, but no one had managed to confirm them yet.
The Lesser Attribute Power was the icing on the cake. You could raise any attribute you had opened last using that item. For example, if the embodiment was at forty-nine, you could raise it to the first standard maximum of fifty. But it could help you go above the standard. With loot such as this the second maximum was your only limit. Therefore, the Attribute Power was capable of doubling embodiments if timely used.
Absolutely everybody was thrilled about the chance it gave. This nondescript-looking object didn’t only fix errors in opened attributes—it could double their capacity. Of course, this method could only be used effectively if you had access to a large amount of Chaos loot. And that would be problematic. Those things never appeared on the open market at all. Having conducted extensive research, I decided against selling any of mine using Stubs as a proxy. It would be too conspicuous—a bit like an unknown trader or miner trying to sell a brick-sized diamond on Earth. Or an even bigger one, perhaps. Besides, those items were a special currency used by old families. They came in handy if one needed to apologize to the Emperor, for example, or settle a dispute between clans.
The very ownership of such item was worth infinitely more than any paper, no matter what seals it bore upon it. It demonstrated without an iota of doubt that you weren’t just someone and that you had access to exclusive resources. The Steel Palace might seem to promote an egalitarian approach, but the requirement to donate a Lesser Attribute Power made applying impossible not only for commoners, but for minor aristocracy as well. Medium-level aristocracy would very occasionally be able to use one for this purpose. In theory, a commoner family could also come across an Attribute Power since any hunter could get lucky. With truly exceptional luck, even a weak Chaos creature such as a wisp could drop one.
I used to get them by the bucketful back in the day, and I could still get enough due to my abnormally high Measure of Order that made every kill incredibly lucrative even at my twenty-first Degree of Enlightenment. But it would really take a very rare stroke of luck for an average local to chance upon loot of this sort. And even if they did find any, they knew better than to take it to a mere reseller. They’d go straight to the aristocrats—and not just any family, but a truly influential one.
I had no idea how much a Lesser Attribute Power was worth, not even approximately. But I’d never have called it a trinket. The rest of it wasn’t any old junk, either, far from it. So the fat man must have really been spoiled by spending so much time close to the top. The very expression on his mug said that I had given him an insignificant token payment, and nothing but.
But he kept going on in the same manner.
“All right, Sir Chuck, we’ve taken care of all the formalities. Please accept my congratulations—you are a worthy candidate for studying at the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass. All you need to do is formally express your wish to commence your education out loud, after which you’ll be taken to your room.”
“But what about the rules?” I reminded him.
“What rules?” Brasse feigned surprise.
I was on to his act. One didn’t forget something like that. But I couldn’t really call out a master for horsing around, could I? So I had to remind him.
“The rules and regulations of the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass. No one has made those known to me yet.”
“Oh, indeed. My apologies, Sir Chuck. We have many rules, and some of our students find them excessively complex. It would therefore be pointless to read all of them to you at once. It will make more sense for you to pick them up as you go along. You have to be aware, though, that being ignorant of the rules does not constitute a valid excuse for breaking them. So be careful about any action that gives you second thoughts. Rely on your common sense, and you’ll be fine.”
“Not even a brief version, then? I could break some rule right from the start without even being aware of it, couldn’t I? Just give me the gist of it, if you will. I’d need some starting point, after all.” Deep down inside, I was pondering what the master had just said about the school’s rules. The books did omit a lot, it seemed.
“Sir Chuck, your passion for learning the rules of our great school is commendable. Few of our contenders have such attention to detail or tenacity in their search for answers. You will learn many of our rules really soon, during our first general muster. But allow me to explain a few things to you right away. Firstly, everything you’ve become accustomed to by now will have to be left at the door. Inside those walls, all the students are equal in absolutely everything. This implies mutual respect. This is how we do things here, and there’s a good reason for that. Do you understand me?”
“You’re trying to say commoners are treated the same as nobles, right?”
“All of you are equal, Sir Chuck. Incidentally, sirring inside is optional too. A propensity for simplicity in everything would do you a world of good in our school. All the students have equal worth to the school, and their masters call them all by their first names. When students address masters, they must show proper respect by using the title Master together with your mentor’s last name. The title “sir” is discouraged for addressing anyone directly, but it can be used to give proper respect when speaking of someone who isn’t present during the conversation. Even if a member of the Imperial Family pays us a visit, it will change virtually nothing. Even the Emperor himself is to be addressed with the abbreviated title—Emperor or Great Emperor. There are no excesses in anything within these walls. As for gestures, only our servants bow, and students may bow to each other before sparring. The rest are allowed to sketch a very light bow to express respect or understanding. The word of any master is the law. You are not allowed to demand anything from the master. Any trespass may result in points being taken off, which will lower your position in the school’s general rating. It might seem to you initially that these positions don’t mean much, but eventually you will realize that they’re the most important thing for those who really strive for success. You can receive points as rewards, but rest assured it’s a lot easier to lose points than it is to gain them, Sir Chuck. Once you step through the gate, you’ll gain them for what might be your only time. This is the initial number you get, one hundred—a zero rating in our terminology. Whether it should grow or dwindle depends entirely on your actions. You’ll be taken to your personal record board, on which you will write the number 100 in your own hand. If you write it correctly and demonstrate a good handwriting, you’ll receive another point. If you don’t, or if your handwriting turns out sloppy, which is often the case with those who can quickly crunch numbers in their head, you’ll get a point subtracted. In this case, you’ll end up with 99, and it will be the first lesson you shall learn here. The second will involve registering with the Master of Calligraphy for extra lessons in your free time—of which you will never have enough. Your education will continue for as long as you have points. Should they drop to zero, you’ll be requested to leave the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass. And now you have to confirm your wish to study with Rava’s greatest masters, or we will part ways right here. Another thing: try to use a minimum of words starting now. We shall vie for your mind and your attention, and we therefore value laconic speech over flowery verbiage. From now on, value every moment that is too precious to waste on extraneous words. A lapidarian manner is a common trait shared by all our graduates. So, what will you say, Chuck of Norris family?
I thought for a moment, unwilling to hurry with my response. That they didn’t think much of the traditional aristocratic grandstanding made me reconsider using the speech I had prepared for this occasion.
Having finally found new words, I opened my mouth—and checked myself. Everyone around me was now looking behind my back in a really funny way. One of the masters waved his hand, regally, and several guards armed with halberds and spears tensed at once. I also heard a strange sound—as if someone was dragging some metal object across the cobblestones.
It was bad manners to turn your face away from your interlocutor, and aristocrats of my standing had to keep propriety in mind at all times, but under these circumstances I couldn’t ignore what was going on, either, so I turned around.
Someone was approaching the table, causing no small commotion. It was hard to see whether it was a man or a woman, and it took me a few seconds to realize it was in fact a young girl—or almost a little girl, rather. All right, a teenager, roughly my own age, with eyes of emerald green that drew one’s attention and told everyone in no uncertain terms that she was of noble birth.
It wasn’t just the matter of the unnaturally saturated color of her irises that almost threw sparkles around, but the young lady’s entire facial expression as well. A commoner could never look like that. Commoners strive for being inconspicuous from birth: their very lives teach them to act that way. But with this girl, not only were her eyes her most prominent feature, but they were also the only thing about her that lent itself to an easy enough description. She looked as though she had just had a bucket of blood poured over her—literally. Her face smeared with it, her clothes badly soiled, the girl had tangled hair that stuck in every direction, resembling a badly disturbed bird’s nest. She also appeared injured, visibly dragging one leg. There was a gash in the side of her garment, and the blade that had caused it must have also cut through skin and muscle. However, it didn’t look like the blood only came from that wound. There was just too much of it. Besides, how could she have gotten her head all bloody? Could she have another wound on it, invisible under her hair? That could in fact be the case, but I wouldn’t bet my lunch money on it.
The bloodied swords she had in both her hands, their tips dragging on the cobblestones, must have had something to do with it. Though it was unclear just what had happened to her, the newcomer obviously didn’t have that much strength left and found it hard to carry her weapons the proper way. She favored one leg and swayed like a zombie. Only the eyes showed that there was still enough life in her battered body to give anyone who might doubt it a thorough thrashing. Those were the kind of eyes I once saw on a wood cat, wounded in a fight with some unknown Grove predator. They were rare and beautiful animals, and secretive too. It wasn’t easy to come across one, yet all good hunters dreamed of it since, among other things, they had high-quality pelts with beautiful fur that was always in demand among the Northerners. Back then, I parted with that cat on amicable terms; it didn’t attack, and I wasn’t in the mood to find out whether it was really as dangerous as its eyes suggested.
The events kept unfolding while all those thoughts and memories were going through my mind. A bunch of guards deftly closed ranks around the girl, forming two rows behind her back—one facing the street whence she had come, the other eyeing her from the rear, all with their weapons at the ready. The girl paid no attention to the hullabaloo as she approached the group of masters. She stopped, throwing down a short cutlass with a menacingly curved blade—a commoner’s weapon resembling a wakizashi, which was particularly favored by mercenaries and assassins. Then she gave a casual salute with her other piece, a straight double-edged Artha classic, very similar to mine.
Finally, the girl broke her silence.
“I came to study at your school. This is my sword. Ask your questions.”
The masters exchanged curious glances. Brasse stared at me again.
“So? Do you confirm your wish to enroll in our school? We haven’t received a reply from you yet.”
“I do,” I nodded.
“Excellent. Dorran, please show this season’s first student to his room. We will now turn to the next contender.”
Chapter 3
The First Roommate
The books I had read didn’t say much about everyday life at the Steel Palace. The sparse tidbits I managed to find here and there implied that the students didn’t bunk on their own. Therefore, the only thing that surprised me as I stepped inside the room was the number of beds—five. The room was big enough to fit two dozen, but even given such ample space five were a bit too many. It felt more like soldiers’ barracks than a place of rest for Rava’s most distinguished families’ scions. It could have been worse, though, and I wasn’t so obsessed with privacy that I would be disheartened by having four roommates. The room also had a huge table surrounded with five uncomfortable-looking chairs. The rest of the furniture was fairly nondescript and stood in corners and by the walls.
They didn’t assign me a bunk. The servant led me to the door without saying a word, bowed, and left me on my own, closing the door behind him. Unless the place had some arcane rule invented for punishing impatient first-comers, I had a chance of choosing the best place for myself.
I didn’t think long, since the most attractive location was instantly visible. There were two bunks lined up by the walls on both sides and one near the only window—not right underneath, but a little to the side, almost in the corner, so that whoever slept there wouldn’t be bothered by draughts. Thus, anyone coming into the room would be able to see the other four bunks and the students on them clearly, while the light seeping in through the thin mica glass in the distance would afford the proud owner of the fifth a modicum of hazy protection. Besides, the tall headboard of the second bed from the door and the table in the middle obscured a part of my bunk too. It was definitely the best option.
Apart from the bunk, each student was given a small bedside cabinet, a weapons stand, a closet, and a trunk with a lock and key. The lock was as primitive as they went; you didn’t need to be a master locksmith to handle a contraption of that sort in less than a minute. It was symbolic rather than functional. However, my hidden receptacles spared me the worries about the most valuable of my possessions.
The first thing I did was place the sword from the Primordial Temple on the stand, followed by my dagger, an expensive bow bought en route to the capital, and a double quiver with different kinds of arrows. The armor I obtained at the Primordial Temple went on the stand as well (the suit was now in perfect order, having been repaired by a craftsman Master Tao trusted and asked to come over during the last few days of my training). The chain mail wasn’t exactly new, but it no longer looked like someone had fought a hard battle in it recently. That may well have been so, but I had to avoid disclosing too much of my biography so as not to attract any undue attention.
I did have some misgivings about someone among them being skilled enough to read my actual parameters. But I had nothing to fear now. Even if the local specialist did suspect something, a perfunctory scan like that wouldn’t let him discover the truth.
“Thank you, Master Daunth,” the fat man nodded. “That was all I wanted to hear.”
He turned back to me.
“Sir Chuck, you bear the special seal of the Primordial Temple, so it makes no sense to ask you about your family. I am certain it is worthy of our respect. Since you’re wearing your sword openly, I won’t ask any questions about it either. I have to say that your weapon looks somewhat problematic to me, but it is doubtlessly a functional and noble weapon. Please answer whether you promise to abide by the laws of the Rava Empire for the entire duration of your training period?”
“I do.”
“Do you promise to abide by the rules and regulations of the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass?”
“Certainly. Provided they are made known to me, of course.”
“Excellent. There’s also the issue of a ritual donation. Do you know the requirements?”
I nodded, pulled out a small purse and handed it over to Brasse.
“This meets the requirements, if I’m not mistaken.”
The fat man took a peek inside and nodded.
“These are indeed the trinkets that all the contenders are traditionally supposed to bring with them.”
Trinkets?! The fatso was going too far. I offered them a Lesser Attribute Power, two Lesser Concentrated Mage Energies, three Lesser Concentrated Warrior Energies, four Lesser Primal Essences, and five Lesser Standard Universal States. The purse might have looked unassuming, but the wealth it contained would be beyond the means of quite a few aristocratic families. To some of the clans forming the backbone of the empire, this sum would indeed be a trifle, but how many of them were there? The number would be at least two orders of magnitude smaller than that of families like the Dantos, for example.
Besides, some of the loot was so special that it would be next to impossible even for someone loaded with cash to get hold of it. Some things in this world were notoriously hard to buy.
The donation symbolized a minimal possible distribution of an alpha’s attributes and was indicative of how difficult it would be to obtain them. Standard Universal States were the kind of loot that increased any state regardless of the power it was associated with. They were coveted, but not really unavailable. If you had enough funds, it wouldn’t take you too long to find five of those on the open market. They were expensive and rare, but you didn’t need much in the way of connections or social status. A large sum of money and enough patience were quite enough.
Lesser Primal Essences were more problematic. Those were usually obtained from creatures touched more than lightly by Chaos, and they didn’t drop often. And demand for them was incredibly high. Creating new artifacts without such loot was problematic to say the least. Serious clans did all that was humanly possible to collect as many of them as they could for their best shudra craftsmen (or even noble-born artificers). Finding something like that sold openly would be impossible; there were rumors it did happen occasionally, but no one had managed to confirm them yet.
The Lesser Attribute Power was the icing on the cake. You could raise any attribute you had opened last using that item. For example, if the embodiment was at forty-nine, you could raise it to the first standard maximum of fifty. But it could help you go above the standard. With loot such as this the second maximum was your only limit. Therefore, the Attribute Power was capable of doubling embodiments if timely used.
Absolutely everybody was thrilled about the chance it gave. This nondescript-looking object didn’t only fix errors in opened attributes—it could double their capacity. Of course, this method could only be used effectively if you had access to a large amount of Chaos loot. And that would be problematic. Those things never appeared on the open market at all. Having conducted extensive research, I decided against selling any of mine using Stubs as a proxy. It would be too conspicuous—a bit like an unknown trader or miner trying to sell a brick-sized diamond on Earth. Or an even bigger one, perhaps. Besides, those items were a special currency used by old families. They came in handy if one needed to apologize to the Emperor, for example, or settle a dispute between clans.
The very ownership of such item was worth infinitely more than any paper, no matter what seals it bore upon it. It demonstrated without an iota of doubt that you weren’t just someone and that you had access to exclusive resources. The Steel Palace might seem to promote an egalitarian approach, but the requirement to donate a Lesser Attribute Power made applying impossible not only for commoners, but for minor aristocracy as well. Medium-level aristocracy would very occasionally be able to use one for this purpose. In theory, a commoner family could also come across an Attribute Power since any hunter could get lucky. With truly exceptional luck, even a weak Chaos creature such as a wisp could drop one.
I used to get them by the bucketful back in the day, and I could still get enough due to my abnormally high Measure of Order that made every kill incredibly lucrative even at my twenty-first Degree of Enlightenment. But it would really take a very rare stroke of luck for an average local to chance upon loot of this sort. And even if they did find any, they knew better than to take it to a mere reseller. They’d go straight to the aristocrats—and not just any family, but a truly influential one.
I had no idea how much a Lesser Attribute Power was worth, not even approximately. But I’d never have called it a trinket. The rest of it wasn’t any old junk, either, far from it. So the fat man must have really been spoiled by spending so much time close to the top. The very expression on his mug said that I had given him an insignificant token payment, and nothing but.
But he kept going on in the same manner.
“All right, Sir Chuck, we’ve taken care of all the formalities. Please accept my congratulations—you are a worthy candidate for studying at the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass. All you need to do is formally express your wish to commence your education out loud, after which you’ll be taken to your room.”
“But what about the rules?” I reminded him.
“What rules?” Brasse feigned surprise.
I was on to his act. One didn’t forget something like that. But I couldn’t really call out a master for horsing around, could I? So I had to remind him.
“The rules and regulations of the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass. No one has made those known to me yet.”
“Oh, indeed. My apologies, Sir Chuck. We have many rules, and some of our students find them excessively complex. It would therefore be pointless to read all of them to you at once. It will make more sense for you to pick them up as you go along. You have to be aware, though, that being ignorant of the rules does not constitute a valid excuse for breaking them. So be careful about any action that gives you second thoughts. Rely on your common sense, and you’ll be fine.”
“Not even a brief version, then? I could break some rule right from the start without even being aware of it, couldn’t I? Just give me the gist of it, if you will. I’d need some starting point, after all.” Deep down inside, I was pondering what the master had just said about the school’s rules. The books did omit a lot, it seemed.
“Sir Chuck, your passion for learning the rules of our great school is commendable. Few of our contenders have such attention to detail or tenacity in their search for answers. You will learn many of our rules really soon, during our first general muster. But allow me to explain a few things to you right away. Firstly, everything you’ve become accustomed to by now will have to be left at the door. Inside those walls, all the students are equal in absolutely everything. This implies mutual respect. This is how we do things here, and there’s a good reason for that. Do you understand me?”
“You’re trying to say commoners are treated the same as nobles, right?”
“All of you are equal, Sir Chuck. Incidentally, sirring inside is optional too. A propensity for simplicity in everything would do you a world of good in our school. All the students have equal worth to the school, and their masters call them all by their first names. When students address masters, they must show proper respect by using the title Master together with your mentor’s last name. The title “sir” is discouraged for addressing anyone directly, but it can be used to give proper respect when speaking of someone who isn’t present during the conversation. Even if a member of the Imperial Family pays us a visit, it will change virtually nothing. Even the Emperor himself is to be addressed with the abbreviated title—Emperor or Great Emperor. There are no excesses in anything within these walls. As for gestures, only our servants bow, and students may bow to each other before sparring. The rest are allowed to sketch a very light bow to express respect or understanding. The word of any master is the law. You are not allowed to demand anything from the master. Any trespass may result in points being taken off, which will lower your position in the school’s general rating. It might seem to you initially that these positions don’t mean much, but eventually you will realize that they’re the most important thing for those who really strive for success. You can receive points as rewards, but rest assured it’s a lot easier to lose points than it is to gain them, Sir Chuck. Once you step through the gate, you’ll gain them for what might be your only time. This is the initial number you get, one hundred—a zero rating in our terminology. Whether it should grow or dwindle depends entirely on your actions. You’ll be taken to your personal record board, on which you will write the number 100 in your own hand. If you write it correctly and demonstrate a good handwriting, you’ll receive another point. If you don’t, or if your handwriting turns out sloppy, which is often the case with those who can quickly crunch numbers in their head, you’ll get a point subtracted. In this case, you’ll end up with 99, and it will be the first lesson you shall learn here. The second will involve registering with the Master of Calligraphy for extra lessons in your free time—of which you will never have enough. Your education will continue for as long as you have points. Should they drop to zero, you’ll be requested to leave the Steel Palace of Crimson Glass. And now you have to confirm your wish to study with Rava’s greatest masters, or we will part ways right here. Another thing: try to use a minimum of words starting now. We shall vie for your mind and your attention, and we therefore value laconic speech over flowery verbiage. From now on, value every moment that is too precious to waste on extraneous words. A lapidarian manner is a common trait shared by all our graduates. So, what will you say, Chuck of Norris family?
I thought for a moment, unwilling to hurry with my response. That they didn’t think much of the traditional aristocratic grandstanding made me reconsider using the speech I had prepared for this occasion.
Having finally found new words, I opened my mouth—and checked myself. Everyone around me was now looking behind my back in a really funny way. One of the masters waved his hand, regally, and several guards armed with halberds and spears tensed at once. I also heard a strange sound—as if someone was dragging some metal object across the cobblestones.
It was bad manners to turn your face away from your interlocutor, and aristocrats of my standing had to keep propriety in mind at all times, but under these circumstances I couldn’t ignore what was going on, either, so I turned around.
Someone was approaching the table, causing no small commotion. It was hard to see whether it was a man or a woman, and it took me a few seconds to realize it was in fact a young girl—or almost a little girl, rather. All right, a teenager, roughly my own age, with eyes of emerald green that drew one’s attention and told everyone in no uncertain terms that she was of noble birth.
It wasn’t just the matter of the unnaturally saturated color of her irises that almost threw sparkles around, but the young lady’s entire facial expression as well. A commoner could never look like that. Commoners strive for being inconspicuous from birth: their very lives teach them to act that way. But with this girl, not only were her eyes her most prominent feature, but they were also the only thing about her that lent itself to an easy enough description. She looked as though she had just had a bucket of blood poured over her—literally. Her face smeared with it, her clothes badly soiled, the girl had tangled hair that stuck in every direction, resembling a badly disturbed bird’s nest. She also appeared injured, visibly dragging one leg. There was a gash in the side of her garment, and the blade that had caused it must have also cut through skin and muscle. However, it didn’t look like the blood only came from that wound. There was just too much of it. Besides, how could she have gotten her head all bloody? Could she have another wound on it, invisible under her hair? That could in fact be the case, but I wouldn’t bet my lunch money on it.
The bloodied swords she had in both her hands, their tips dragging on the cobblestones, must have had something to do with it. Though it was unclear just what had happened to her, the newcomer obviously didn’t have that much strength left and found it hard to carry her weapons the proper way. She favored one leg and swayed like a zombie. Only the eyes showed that there was still enough life in her battered body to give anyone who might doubt it a thorough thrashing. Those were the kind of eyes I once saw on a wood cat, wounded in a fight with some unknown Grove predator. They were rare and beautiful animals, and secretive too. It wasn’t easy to come across one, yet all good hunters dreamed of it since, among other things, they had high-quality pelts with beautiful fur that was always in demand among the Northerners. Back then, I parted with that cat on amicable terms; it didn’t attack, and I wasn’t in the mood to find out whether it was really as dangerous as its eyes suggested.
The events kept unfolding while all those thoughts and memories were going through my mind. A bunch of guards deftly closed ranks around the girl, forming two rows behind her back—one facing the street whence she had come, the other eyeing her from the rear, all with their weapons at the ready. The girl paid no attention to the hullabaloo as she approached the group of masters. She stopped, throwing down a short cutlass with a menacingly curved blade—a commoner’s weapon resembling a wakizashi, which was particularly favored by mercenaries and assassins. Then she gave a casual salute with her other piece, a straight double-edged Artha classic, very similar to mine.
Finally, the girl broke her silence.
“I came to study at your school. This is my sword. Ask your questions.”
The masters exchanged curious glances. Brasse stared at me again.
“So? Do you confirm your wish to enroll in our school? We haven’t received a reply from you yet.”
“I do,” I nodded.
“Excellent. Dorran, please show this season’s first student to his room. We will now turn to the next contender.”
Chapter 3
The First Roommate
The books I had read didn’t say much about everyday life at the Steel Palace. The sparse tidbits I managed to find here and there implied that the students didn’t bunk on their own. Therefore, the only thing that surprised me as I stepped inside the room was the number of beds—five. The room was big enough to fit two dozen, but even given such ample space five were a bit too many. It felt more like soldiers’ barracks than a place of rest for Rava’s most distinguished families’ scions. It could have been worse, though, and I wasn’t so obsessed with privacy that I would be disheartened by having four roommates. The room also had a huge table surrounded with five uncomfortable-looking chairs. The rest of the furniture was fairly nondescript and stood in corners and by the walls.
They didn’t assign me a bunk. The servant led me to the door without saying a word, bowed, and left me on my own, closing the door behind him. Unless the place had some arcane rule invented for punishing impatient first-comers, I had a chance of choosing the best place for myself.
I didn’t think long, since the most attractive location was instantly visible. There were two bunks lined up by the walls on both sides and one near the only window—not right underneath, but a little to the side, almost in the corner, so that whoever slept there wouldn’t be bothered by draughts. Thus, anyone coming into the room would be able to see the other four bunks and the students on them clearly, while the light seeping in through the thin mica glass in the distance would afford the proud owner of the fifth a modicum of hazy protection. Besides, the tall headboard of the second bed from the door and the table in the middle obscured a part of my bunk too. It was definitely the best option.
Apart from the bunk, each student was given a small bedside cabinet, a weapons stand, a closet, and a trunk with a lock and key. The lock was as primitive as they went; you didn’t need to be a master locksmith to handle a contraption of that sort in less than a minute. It was symbolic rather than functional. However, my hidden receptacles spared me the worries about the most valuable of my possessions.
The first thing I did was place the sword from the Primordial Temple on the stand, followed by my dagger, an expensive bow bought en route to the capital, and a double quiver with different kinds of arrows. The armor I obtained at the Primordial Temple went on the stand as well (the suit was now in perfect order, having been repaired by a craftsman Master Tao trusted and asked to come over during the last few days of my training). The chain mail wasn’t exactly new, but it no longer looked like someone had fought a hard battle in it recently. That may well have been so, but I had to avoid disclosing too much of my biography so as not to attract any undue attention.
