Chimera Summoner: A Deckbuilding LitRPG, page 24
The others were doing as Gareth was, lounging around the room and busying themselves with snacking and little else. At least Tax was having fun, the crystal spider was able to wander the pyramid freely and enjoy its many amenities. She had become somewhat popular with the locals, the Golden intrigued by her arachnid form and abilities. Tax had even been able to acquire herself some new cards from a different store by paying with clumps of webbing cast into abstract shapes. If all else failed at least Tax had a promising career as a modern artist, it seemed.
“We should go wait by the entrance,” Magda said, tossing her jerky onto the ground. She was seated with her back to the wall, her legs crossed so that her dress didn’t reveal anything. “At least it’s better than waiting here and doing nothing.”
“But we would just be waiting there doing nothing,” Imelda said, taking a swig of water. It had gotten almost unbearably hot in the room, the bare warehouse lacking the no doubt magical cooling of the rest of the pyramid. “Plus, there’s bound to be Golden down there and I’m not a huge fan of the constant staring.”
The party had already visited where the tournament would be happening once. The entire two hundred and nineteenth floor was dedicated to duelling, every room intended to host an individual match. Access beyond the central balcony had been restricted until things were ready, guards stationed at every entrance. What exactly needed to be done Gareth wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to argue with heavily armed golden about it.
“I agree with Imelda. There’s only so long our presence will be a novelty. Eventually, we’re bound to draw the attention of someone with a rather more aggressive stance than we’ve seen so far,” Sarkuran said. The general mood towards the party had been one of ambivalent disgust. The Golden had kept their distance and grumbled loudly about the filth flesh-covered creatures left in their wake but had largely chosen not to do anything about it. Sarkuran suspected that their Pharaoh’s choice to allow the party’s entrance into the tournament had gone a long way towards preventing any outright aggression. “Besides, Tax said she would come and get us once people were allowed in and it’s probably best, she knows where we are, considering we aren’t even allowed out without her.”
“Ah, right. I totally forgot about that,” Imelda said, willing to admit her mistake. In her defence, it wasn’t something that she was used to. Even though attitudes towards wyrmkin in Wildermount—especially forest wyrmkin—weren’t brilliant at least she was allowed to walk the streets on her own. “So. Who do you think is going to do the best out of all of us? Think we’ll build up a fanbase?”
“Well, not sure on the first one, depends on if the cards are cooperating,” Gareth said. “And on the second thing, no, no I don’t think we’ll build up a fan base. I can’t imagine there’s much space for spectators in most of the rooms and honestly, I don’t think many people are going to want to watch out matches, on account of well…” Gareth pinched the back of his hand, gathering up a squidgy blob of skin. “This stuff.”
“I suspect that we will quickly draw attention to ourselves once we start using our extra decks. I’ve noticed none of the duellists we’ve seen has one, so that’s going to be quite the surprise. If the people here any anything like elsewhere, and despite their rocket exterior I suspect they are, new and novel is always something they will want to see,” Sarkuran said. “I’m rather looking forward to it. I feel like this is our chance at—and excuse my common expression—a do-over. The last tournament we entered got somewhat rudely interrupted.”
“Grim, but you’ve got a point. It’s nice to worry about something pretty safe for the time being. No running from nightmares or traipsing through a sewer trying to avoid secret police,” Gareth said, taking another bite of his rations. “We do this, one of us hopefully wins, then we talk to the Pharaoh and explain what the big obelisk coming from her back is for and Magda does her thing.”
“And if we don’t win?” Magda said, spotting the obvious flaw in Gareth’s plan.
“Well, then we find another way to get to the Pharaoh.”
Imelda plugged the cap back into her canteen with a pop. “As easy as that? We should have just gone with plan B then.”
“No need to be sarcastic,” Gareth said, aware that sarcasm was his usual go-to. “You know what I mean. We’ve got to make it work somehow. We’ve not got any other choice really. Ideally without making any more enemies along the way. If this lot can work out the teleport platforms there’s always the chance that the Thot-Ankorians can do the same, assuming they ever find it.”
“It has been hidden for thousands of years,” Imelda said as she slipped her canteen into the bag by her side.
“And we found the Wildermount one despite that being hidden. There’s always that one small chance, right? Plus the Golden made it through even though they feel the sickness from the platform. The Thot-Ankorians won’t have that. We just need to hope that the elementals on the mountain might feel the need to come warn us.”
“One would hope,” Sarkuran said. “Perhaps it might be prudent to do what the Golden did and place guards on the other side who can come warn us. In case the elementals are unable, of course.”
Gareth shook his head. “No, I don’t like that. We’re just trying to survive, Sark. Do what we need to do to complete our quest. It’s not our job to order the refugees around and it’s definitely not our role to be putting people who are probably unwanted into someone’s territory. I’m not happy about the Golden being in the jungle, even if they’ve got a logical reason for it.”
“A reason that is more than a little dubious. It's certainly not the real reason that they’re there,” Sarkuran said smug smirk. “The aura of the platform has kept ancients out for thousands of years, guards are hardly necessary. It’s a display of power, that’s the real reason. They put those hulking warriors there because they can and there’s nothing we can do to stop them, it’s as simple as that.”
“Well, there’s one thing we could do, but I don’t think we would be popular afterwards.” Magda smiled as she tapped her deck box. “And I don’t care about how that looks. Oooo, Magda, that’s very violent for a goddess. Don’t care, I don’t like bullies.”
“And yet you never stop bullying me,” Gareth said.
Magda shot him a look that could have bored through the side of the pyramid and shot out into the desert beyond. “That’s good-natured gentle ribbing, that’s different.”
“If you say so.”
The door to the warehouse creaked open, the light from outside taking on a purple-pink sheen as it cascaded through the doorway’s occupant. The way Tax reflected the light announced her presence wherever she went, the spider glittering beneath the constant daylight that filled the pyramid. Her people had evolved to live in the darkness of a vast cave, their reflective nature not a problem in that dank environment.
“They’re ready, we can go down now,” Tax said excitedly, scuttling side to side as she spoke. “We should go and see who we have. They’ve put up these big boards on the balcony with loads of stones hanging off them on hooks, I think it’s a list of who we’re duelling.”
“Pairings,” Gareth said as he pulled himself to his feet. “We all ready? If you need to do any last-minute tweaks to your deck I suggest you do it now.”
“We’ve had three days to tweak our decks,” Imelda said with a roll of her eyes. “I think my deck is well and truly tweaked. Tweaked so much it can be tweaked no more. All tweaked out.”
“Ok, you can stop now.”
Imelda clambered to her feat, scooping up her bag as she did. “You ever say a word so much it sounds weird? Tweak. Tweak. Tweak.” She rolled the word around in her mouth, her tone different every time she said it. “Twe-”
“If you say tweak one more time,” Sarkuran said, pointing a finger towards Imelda, “I’m going to take a running dive off that balcony and take the express route to the bottom floor.”
“Oh, well now I have to say it, right?”
“Maybe hold on to it,” Gareth said. “In case he ever gives you trouble, something for the back pocket so to speak. That way if he ever gets too insufferable, we’ve got an out.”
“Charming,” Sarkuran said, crossing his arms and glaring at the others. “Good to know where I stand. What was it about hating bullying, Magda?”
“They’re just joking, you know that,” Magda said, not willing to play Sarkuran’s game. “Come on, let’s get on with this. I never thought I would say this, but I miss the jungle, at least the heat there isn’t so dry.”
“It is a desert,” Sarkuran said. “They don’t tend to be the wettest places. Fine. Let’s go, the quicker I’m duelling the quicker I’m not being insulted.” He swung around dramatically, his jacket swishing behind him as he sashayed out of the door.
“You know, if this whole saving the world thing doesn’t pan out,” Imelda said. “He could have a career on the stage. He’s got the over-the-top storm out perfected at least.”
***
The crowd before the pairings board parted as Gareth approached, the invisible aura around him that kept the Golden at bay working as well as ever. He turned to the nearest one and smiled, feeling some small amount of joy from the way they backed just a little bit further away. I had been annoying at first but now it made him feel like he was notorious in some way, maybe a tough gangster or a famous highwayman. It was useful in this circumstance at least, letting Gareth approach the board easily.
Hanging on hundreds of bronze hooks were stone strips, each with a pair of duellists written on them, along with a corridor name and room number. Each hook had two identical strips and from the way, people were plucking them off the wall Gareth assumed each opponent was supposed to take one and make their way to the address. He searched for his name, finally finding it around the centre of the board.
“Babu of the morning sun,” Gareth muttered to himself as he read the name paired against him. “That sounds familiar.” He shrugged, he had given up on remembering the names of the few Golden willing to talk to him, he was finding it impossible to tell them apart anyway. “Towards the rising sun, chamber fifty-three. This place is way too massive.” Gareth pocketed the tablet and glanced around for his friends. The boards were scattered around the central balcony, and it had taken him three attempts before finding the right one. Gareth was used to pairings being listed either alphabetically or by table number, or chamber in this case. The Golden used a system of intricate hieroglyphs for their written language—the symbols' meanings translated by Magda’s gift—that didn’t allow for either of those logical orders. Gareth was certain there was a reasoning to it that made perfect sense to everyone else, but for him, it had been blind luck finding his match.
“Once you have found your pairing you should proceed immediately to your match,” shouted one of the Golden who had been guarding the corridors. With access now granted the guards had taken up positions flanking the pathways. “We are already behind schedule. Further tardiness will not be tolerated. Remember, lateness risks forfeiture.”
A smile crept across Gareth’s lips. It was good to see that even across universes some things remained the same. A tournament starting on time was a rarity. Some friend of the organiser was always late, or the wrong time gets posted, or things simply weren’t set up and ready as they should be. Lateness was the norm rather than the exception, the people running most tournaments were volunteers, the money from the entrance fees was generally hoovered up by the stores hosting them. It rankled Gareth a little that this was the case, card games were often the only thing keeping gaming stores afloat, and things like relying on community volunteers to run paid events were part of the reason why. He didn’t begrudge a business trying to stay open but a little more professionalism wouldn’t go amiss.
“You got your matchup, Gareth?” Magda said, emerging from the crowd with Tax in tow. In an attempt to find their pairings the party had pushed the requirement to stay near the crystal spider as far as they could.
“Yeah, just need to find the corridor now. You?”
“I got mine, someone called Rana of the first rays. Weird names, right?”
“They’re all tied into the Pharaoh, aren’t they?” It seemed obvious to Gareth. “The people here call her all kinds of things sun-related. To them, she is, right? You live your whole life inside a giant pyramid you’re going to be grateful for things like being able to see where you’re going.”
“True, I suppose.” Magda dropped her voice to a whisper. “Being a glorified torch hardly makes you a god though, right?”
“If it’s what your people pray for it is. Back on Earth, there were plenty of sun gods. I think. Not really my area of expertise.”
“I guess you’re right. I never made it past trainee, well, Magda never made it. I never got to see the others doing god stuff directly. I suppose it makes sense.”
“We better go find out matches,” Gareth said, shaking his head towards the nearest guard. “Before this lot complain. Don’t want to be late. I guess the stay near Tax thing doesn’t apply here, otherwise, we can’t all get where we need to go.”
“I guess not. I reckon they probably knew we were coming. Well, the Pharaoh more or less invited us, didn’t she? Or well, implied it anyway.” Magda glanced down at the tablet clutched in her fingers. “Now I just need to find, glowing dawn, chamber six. Out of what, the dozen or so entrances here, that split off into more corridors, which split into more corridors again…” A sigh escaped Magda’s lips. “We’ll be lucky to find these places before we get disqualified, won’t we?”
“Better be quick then. Good luck, Mags. Meet back out here when you’re done?
“I’ll let the others know,” Tax said, her words clear even though she held her pairing tablet in her mandibles. “My division doesn’t start for a while yet.”
“Well, there we go then,” Gareth said, smiling at the spider. “Good luck out there.”
***
“By the Pharaoh, this must be a sick joke,” said the golden standing at the far end of the chamber. The room was a simple, a large stone box, its floor engraved with elaborate runes. A line ran through the centre, delineating each duellist's side of the field. Standing by the left wall on that line was another golden, though that one was wearing an elaborate headdress of linked golden chain.
“I know it’s not ideal, you duelling someone like me,” Gareth said, not willing to say fleshy. The way that the Golden said it, the tone they took, it felt wrong. It felt like they were saying—to them at least—a slur.
“Not, that, I mean you, specifically.” The golden leant forward, stone eyelids sliding down over his pupilless orbs as he squinted at Gareth. “Do you not recognise me?”
“I’m really sorry, but no, you all look identical to me. And I know that sounds offensive, but you’re all copies of one another, so I don’t think it is in this exact circumstance, even-”
“The guildhall?! You don’t remember?”
“Oh!” It finally dawned on Gareth why the name on his pairing tablet had been familiar to him. “You’re that Babu. Now I really have to win this, wipe that smirk off your face. Metaphorically at least, your face doesn’t really do the whole…moving thing.” He gestured vaguely towards the Golden.
“You’ll regret that. I imagine your deck is as pathetic as your pitiful flesh body,” Babu said, his hand resting on the top of his deck box, his fingers peeling back the lid slowly.
“This first-round match of her most holy Pharaoh’s divine tournament will begin momentarily. Are both duellists ready?” The Golden acting as judge said, holding out his hands. His palms were quickly filled as both Gareth and Babu placed their guild cards into them. “This match will be a best of one. You will duel until one of you has no shields remaining. This event has no restrictions on cards. Do you understand the rules?”
“I do,” Babu said.
“Same here,” Gareth added. “Will be interesting to see what you’ve got.”
“As disgusting as you are I must admit I am curious as to what cards you wield. Perhaps something uniquely filthy.”
The judge reached into the pocket of their robe, pulling out a curious object. It was a tiny metal pyramid, each side emblazoned with a different part of the Pharaoh. Her eye, her claws, her wings and then on its base her tail. It reminded Gareth of one of the four-sided dice you saw in tabletop role-playing games.
“Choose your facings,” the judge said turning to Gareth.
“Oh, right, this is a coin then I guess. Uh, tails?” Gareth said. There was a moment of awkward silence before he realised that he needed to pick two for the coin toss to work. “And uh, eye?” He reached up atop his head and pulled down his mask, his hand adjusting his grip on his staff.
“The duel will begin when I reveal the result,” the judge said. “Duel well and bring honour to the Pharaoh.”
With a flick of his wrist, the judge threw the coin into the air, the tiny metal pyramid spinning from the force. It seemed to float in the air for a moment as time slowed, all eyes locked on the glimmering object. It hit the ground with a clink, rolling across the ground for a moment before coming to a stop.
The judge bent down and picked it up, revealing the face that had finished flat against the ground. It was the cat-like eye of a dragon. The duel had started, and Gareth had the first move.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Light swirled, a now-familiar sight to Gareth, one that signalled the start of battle. His hand of cards took shape, golden light settling into recognisable forms, rectangles that looked cardboard to the eye, mana costs and images of the monsters resting above descriptions of their power. Gareth knew that cards weren’t actually paper, even when removed from a deck box and traded freely. They were mana given form, crystallisations that just so happened to present themselves in a familiar way.
