Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Han was tired, but his body was filled with energy, with the adrenaline of the fight. He had done what it took to win against Reinwan, but when his head cleared in the aftermath of the duel he felt bad for the injuries he had dealt. A glance at the stage, however, was enough to clear his guilt. Qian still stood there, right behind a pair of spirit refiners, as if she had already been brought into the sect’s inner circle, on the fast track to truly joining them. She met his gaze, and he gave her a triumphant smile as he walked out of the ring to take a break in the crowd of disciples as the next match began in the ring.

Han was happy for his friend, he really was, but he couldn’t help but be jealous of her opportunity. Deep down, he realized he was scared that she, the only one of his friends who had joined the sect, would leave him behind. While he had made friends with the other disciples, Qian, who he had known since they were children, was different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly why, but perhaps it was their long history, or perhaps it was simply because she was the younger sister of his best friend. Regardless, he was filled with motivation. He would fight as brutally and dirtily as he needed to reach that stage, to become the personal disciple of a man who was steadily becoming something of an idol to him, and to catch back up to her.

There was a break between his previous fight and the next one, and Han expected that it would be at least another ten minutes before his next bout. He leaned on the wall at the side of the room to await his next bout and calm his nerves. He would need to win multiple more duels to achieve his goal, and his stress needed to be kept in check. Slowly, Han breathed in and out as the minutes steadily passed, and before he knew it, Han saw his name displayed on the floating illusion in the air. Rather than giving names or numbers to the rings, the Vice-Sect Leader had merely put up a small map of the room and placed the relevant disciples’ names beside it.

Han’s second duel was far easier than the first. Han couldn’t help but think that this boy had been lucky to make it past the first round, as he clearly kept hesitating to actually attack Han whenever there was an opportunity. Han got the impression that this boy had never been in a real fight before, which made him trivial to defeat. Han simply had to take advantage of his fear, and the boy crumpled easily. He relied on the stances of the basic forms far too much, which made him predictable. In Han’s estimation, Reinwan had been a far more worthy opponent.

As he stood above the body of his second opponent, Han glanced up at the stage once again, and for just a moment, his gaze met with the eyes of the Sect Leader. Their gazes were locked for several seconds. The Riverfiend gave him a nod, and then glanced away, presumably at another of the rings. Han’s annoyance at his opponent’s weakness vanished, and he felt energy surge once more through him. The Sect Leader had been watching him, and had watched his dominance in the fight. Did he think that Han could make it to the end? He only needed to win two more matches. He clenched a fist. He could do it. He would succeed, and join Qian up on the stage.

As was usual for an elimination bracket, the time in between the matches of an individual competitor only continued to decrease. At the end of the second round, only thirteen competitors remained.

The third round was more difficult than the second, and this time Han actually took a heavy blow to the ribs, but he managed to grasp a hold of victory once more. The boy had clearly been in fights before, and had an early advantage, but his footwork was unable to keep up with Han’s movements, leaving him off balance for most of the fight. Once Han realized this, he had been able to pressure him enough to topple him. From there, it turned out similarly to the fight with Reinwan. Once more, Han was able to take the victory. The wound to his ribs would probably leave a bruise, but nothing was cracked, so he doubted it would hamper him in the upcoming fights.

The fourth round was the top six. In a standard tournament this would have caused a problem with the bracket, but in this case it worked perfectly for determining a total of three winners. Han only needed to win one more fight, and he would earn his place as one of the personal disciples. He was personally unsure just what had happened to turn thirteen into six, but perhaps one of the competitors had done something that the elders disliked, or lost in some sort of tiebreaker. In all honesty, he didn’t particularly care. All that mattered was that he simply needed one more win.

What felt like mere moments after he finished the previous fight, Han glanced up at the display to see his name listed once more. Han Yu and Mari Matwen, directed to one of the nearby arenas. Following instructions, Han carefully made his way to the arena in question. As he arrived, he saw that his opponent was already present in the ring.

She was a sei, wearing her long hair firmly tied up in the traditional manner, though the scrapes and bruises left on her by the fights ruined that impression. She had a rough expression, and was clenching and unclenching her fists as Han entered the arena. He quickly noticed that rather than a normal weapon, she was wearing a pair of knuckle dusters. His fingers closed on his sword, and he gave her a polite bow before standing in position. Her expression hardened, and she entered into a modified version of the first form, fists raised to protect her head rather than a sword. It was no wonder that she had so many scrapes and bruises, he thought.

“There is no shame in being my final stepping stone,” Mari said, her words clear and calm.

Her expression radiated a determined solidity, her emotions fully disciplined. Han smiled, his emotions undergoing the opposite. They revolved around one another, intensifying like a blaze in his heart. His blood pumped faster and faster as he prepared to fight. He felt alive. He pointed the tip of his sword at her.

“There is only one stepping stone here, and it’s not me. Are you ready?” he asked.

They locked gazes, and without hesitating, both began to run at one another. Han used the third form to manage his gait, very careful not to fall for any feints. He was at a slight disadvantage in the fight, because while he had a great deal of experience with pugilism, he had never found a barehanded combatant while wielding a sword. Meanwhile, she obviously had plenty of it given how far she had made it in the tournament.

Noticing a falter in her gait, Han swung his sword to take advantage, but soon realized that it had been a feint. She ducked, allowing his blade to pass over her shoulder while her fist tore after his chest. It crashed right into his bruised rib, causing him to wince in pain as he stepped back. He swore he heard a crack, and he couldn’t tell if his difficulty breathing was due to his exhaustion from the previous fights or from injury. Still, the pain disappeared as he regained focus. Pain and injury was temporary, and this opportunity would never come again.

He slid into the first stance of the basic forms, defending himself from Mari’s next blows. She was surprisingly strong, but her agility was the real issue. In addition, she was punching with either arm to throw him off. He grunted, as he took another blow to the shoulder, and took a step forward to pressure her. She dodged the upcoming swing, but he proved that he could feint as well, merely taking another step forward. His sword was ready to swing, but he did not yet make his move. He knew that his main advantage was range, the sword’s length nearly twice as long as Mari’s arms.

It was Han’s opinion that Mari had far more combat experience than he did. He had only been in a few scraps and brawls on the street, not battles with actual experienced combatants, not until he joined the sect. Still, he had picked up some tricks.

Han leapt towards her, swinging his blade wildly to provide pressure. He was very careful with the steps he took, just close enough to her to pressure her, but just far enough that she couldn’t easily step inside of his guard. He kept pushing her, and she made the mistake of continuing to back up. Before she realized it, Mari had her face to the corner of the arena, momentarily trapped. Han raised his sword high, slamming it down towards her.

She raised her hands to try and clap his sword’s blade, but her face filled with shock as he released his grip on the practice sword’s grip, the downward motion of his arms moving around her hands to slam onto her neck. Shocked by the change, her window of opportunity passed by, and she was unable to break his momentum before he gripped her by the neck. With his forward momentum unceasing, Han raised his knee, slamming it forcefully into her chest. The two of them toppled haphazardly to the ground, with Han on top, and he delivered a heavy punch to her face, which had turned red from the loss of oxygen. She moved to push herself away, but he straddled her, delivering another punch. His hand raised to deliver another, but he locked eyes with her, and saw her mouth move. He couldn’t help but hesitate, allowing the words to burble from her still reddened throat.

“It’s my loss,” she said. He sighed, feeling the coursing energy start to slightly fade as the reality failed to set in. Han stood up, offering her a hand, which she accepted.

“It was a good fight,” he said.

“You are a worthy competitor, Han Yu. We shall fight again.”

She gave him a quiet bow, her nose still bleeding and her throat still red.

It didn’t feel real to Han. His hands trembled from the adrenaline still in his veins, and he stumbled as he fell into a coughing fit. The taste of iron filled his throat, and Han chuckled. It seemed that it really had been a harsh wound. He glanced back up to the stage, glancing not at the sect leader, but at the face of his friend, who was still intently watching him. He raised a hand in the air victoriously, and gave a wide grin, his teeth stained red as a small amount of crimson fluid dribbled down his lips.

Once again he had succeeded, had proven his worth and earned the place he desired. He was going to be one of the Riverfiend’s disciples. He would become truly strong, and could feel the life he had once lived recede even further in the distance. He leaned his head back, and simply enjoyed the moment.

Staiven Prison Moons: [When it comes to cheap labor in the Pantheonic Territory, the answer is obviously the Exid. However, the worker drones cannot move too far away from their Queen, or they will lose all intelligent direction. So when it comes to mining for resources, the choices are to use machines or cheap laborers. Given the limits imposed on the Pantheonic Government by treaty with the Sheneth-Ari on machine intelligence, this means laborers must be acquired, ideally as cheaply as possible to benefit the corporations involved. For this reason, prison sentences are purchased by the corporations and the convicts are put to work. The unskilled are put to work on the prison moons, where they mine material and 'sell' it to the corporation for food, lodgings, various amenities that are offered, and to repay the 'value' of their sentence. Of course, the corporation has many ways to increase the value of this 'debt' in order to keep them working for as long as possible. For this reason, only the most skilled or most connected convicts have much hope for every reaching the end of their sentences. Asteroid mining is considered a more skilled and lucrative option, and many of the convicts on the moons fight for such limited opportunities, even though it is rumored that a significant number of those who are given opportunities to leave the moon to mine asteroids are actually taken away to be used in pharmaceutical testing. The threat of being taken to the prison moons is the true source of the Justice Office's power over the population. But within the Justice Office itself, it is known that quotas must be met.]