Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

“What occurs when two duelists summon opposing Sources during the opening gambit of a match?” Tipfin asked. The trainer rested on the edge of a wide desk, a cup of tea poised near his lips to take sips from in-between his questions.

Basil was the lone student in the hall, sitting in a chair a few feet from his instructor. He was thirteen, but the Twins hadn’t blessed him with the growth spurt everyone told him was coming, so his feet only tickled the wooden floor.

“The contrasting forces will beckon another Source of the same type from their hands if available,” he answered. His back was straight without aid from the chair, and he spoke in a voice he had practiced in his room, one he thought sounded strong and sure of itself – like the Sun King did whenever he addressed the people from on high.

If Tipfin noticed the effort, he didn’t show it, taking a long drink. Basil’s brothers claimed that the retired summoner spiked the tea, but Basil wouldn’t believe that of his mentor.

“The duelists,” Tipfin said when he lowered the cup, “must they use this second Source?”

Basil shook his head. “No. There will be a pull, but it can be resisted. However, to do so is unwise because it is better to have more Source early in the match, whether you are the first to act or the second.”

“And what is the appropriate strategy to adopt in such a situation, when you believe your opponent will use your opposite?”

Basil hesitated. He had never faced someone who possessed Earth, the opposite of his single Air Source, and Chaos was illegal in Treledyne. Tipfin had told him the answer but that lecture had been months ago, and to his annoyance, Basil found he didn’t remember. He would simply have to reason through it.

“If you are a duelist who uses only a single Source, you should draw two Source in your opening hand,” Basil said. He had slowed his speech just a touch to give himself more time to think. “If you cultivate two or three, you should draw… three,” – he thought that seemed right – “to be safe.”

“Are you asking me or telling me, boy?” Tipfin said.

Basil pulled shoulders back he hadn’t meant to let slump while trying to remember “Telling,” he said and added for good measure, “also, mulligan aggressively to ensure you have two Source of that type available for play during the opening gambit.”

“That goes without saying,” Tipfin said with a cough. He then wagged his cup at Basil, which must have been empty from how he was handling it. “And your hesitation could lose you a match under the Dome, or much worse, your life on the battlefield.” He set his cup aside and tossed some nuts into his mouth, plucked from a nearby dish. “Let’s see what else you’ve managed to forget.”

Tipfin then quizzed him on twenty different Order cards, expecting him to know all of their qualities from the name alone. The trainer might have gone higher, but after Basil struggled with the last half dozen, the man stopped with a, “Bah! Your brothers didn’t have this sort of trouble.”

It was hardly the first time Basil had been compared unfavorably to his older siblings, but he never enjoyed it, and he hated hearing the disappointment in his Tipfin’s voice.

“Do your cultivation,” Tipfin said, getting off the desk and stretching. He then put on his coat that had hung on the back of the desk’s chair. “And continue to practice summoning your Souls in this hall and directing them.” Heading from the room he did a little jig as he neared the door, “I will be cultivating dancing at House Erlun’s Winter Fete.”

“With House Erlun’s head cook?” Basil asked. His friend Warrick was from House Erlun and had told him of the two stealing moments together.

Tipfin turned around, looking at him reproachfully. “Gossip does not become a lord.”

“Of course not, Master. My apologies,” Basil said, quickly dipping his head in shame. He knew he would never be the true lord of his House, but he strived daily to be an asset to his family, not an embarrassment.

“You are forgiven… this time,” the old duelist said with a sniff. “Confine your mind to what needs to be done, and someday, Twins willing, you might become a halfway decent duelist.”

“As you say, Master. See you on the morrow.”

Tipfin gave no other farwell, leaving through the hall’s double doors and not bothering to close them behind him. Hearing the man’s steps recede into the distance, Basil deflated with a sigh. For all his trying, it felt like he was making very little headway in the art of dueling or in convincing Tipfin he was a worthwhile student, seeming to always do something wrong in his training sessions, if not multiple things like today.

Now he would not only need to practice his cultivation and Soul manipulation, but he would need to look up the cards he had remembered incorrectly; Tipfin hadn’t provided those answers, just grunted with increasing agitation each time he gave a wrong reply. For that he would need to go to the library, and while there, he could organize any books that had been left out of place by his family – something he enjoyed doing and also cultivated Order. That way he could achieve two goals with one play and then he could come back to this hall later to practice his Soul work like Tipfin had told him.

Basil was up and out of the room, halfway to the library, when Ossun, one of the manservants, came up beside him.

“Young Master?”

“Yes,” Basil asked, pausing so Ossun wouldn’t need to chase after him.

“Warrick of Erlun is in the foyer.”

“Speak of Fate and she appears,” Basil mumbled to himself, thinking of his ill-fated question to Tipfin that never would have happened if not for his friend’s overactive mouth.

Ossun stood ramrod straight, waiting for a response, his silence speaking for him.

“Thank you,” Basil said, addressing the manservant directly this time. “I’ll see to him.”

“Very good,” the man said and bustled off.

Basil found his friend dressed in a winter coat, rubbing gloved hands together. Warrick's wavy hair fluffed around his head, and he looked up, hearing Basil’s boot heels on the flagstones.

“You really need a larger fireplace here or to take your guests to a room with one when they first arrive.”

“We do for invited guests,” Basil chided him but couldn’t hold back a smile. In truth, he found seeing Warrick was a welcome relief after a tough lesson. “What are you doing here?”

“Mother said I was being a nuisance during the preparations for the Fete, so I decided to pop over here. I figured you could entertain me until it begins.”

Basil folded his arms in front of himself in mock indignation. “That was presumptuous of you.”

Warrick stood up, and was taller than Basil, having gotten some of his growth. However, he seemed to only be growing up, not out, looking like a spindly tree. “What could you possibly have to do that is more important than seeing to a fellow noble?”

“My training, of course,” Warrick knew well about his private instructions with Tipfin; they’d talked about it often enough.

Warrick smiled conspiratorially. “Then I arrived at the perfect time for you to take a well deserved break, I’m sure. Come on, let’s rest in the Dining Hall. There’s two big fires there.”

Warrick already knew the way, and Basil decided not to argue – his friend would stay for just an hour or two, and there was enough time left in the day for Basil to do the work he’d been assigned by Tipfin after that. The fete was only for older members of the court, and while Warrick might be planning to try and sneak in, Basil had no such intentions, leaving his evening free for study.

Taking their seats at a long table in an even longer hall, Warrick requested a slice of cherry pie from the cook who came to check on them from the adjoining kitchen. Basil did the same, not wanting his friend to snack alone or to create additional work for the staff by asking for something different. He also knew the request was purely for show: Warrick didn’t actually care about the food or the fires but how the dining room afforded a view into the kitchen, where a number of pretty girls worked – ones much prettier than in his own kitchens, he had told Basil on more than one occasion.

The pies were already made, and so slices were placed in front of the two boys in no time. Basil picked at his, while Warrick craned his neck to look through the stone archway that connected the two spaces.

Today’s lesson had exacerbated something that had been on Basil’s mind for a time, ever since he had started tutoring with Tipfin. It was just the two of them at the table and no one in the kitchen could hear them unless they raised their voices.

“Warrick, I think it is actually good timing that you’re here.”

“Hmm?” Warrick said, putting a forkful of pie into his mouth without looking, his attention focused over Basil’s shoulder.

“I… don’t think I’m going to be a duelist. Not a very good one anyway.”

That brought Warrick around, his brown, copper flaked eyes, snapping back to look at Basil. “What are you talking about? You’re loads better than I am.”

“That may be, but my Soul has yet to enhance, and I’ve been working with Tipfin going on a year now.”

“Neither has mine,” Warrick said with a laugh, “and you don’t see me worrying.”

The reaction eased some of the tension that had been building in Basil. It was true that neither of them had upgraded their personal Souls beyond the Common ones they had been born with. That was undoubtedly one of the reasons they were friends, and Basil didn’t particularly care for other nobles his age who were already of a higher rarity – the prince especially. Did he really want to be like them anyway?

“Perhaps you’re right,” Basil allowed. “Maybe I’m getting myself worked up over nothing.”

“You always do,” Warrick said, pointing his fork at him with a knowing smirk. Then his smile widened, pulped cherry on his teeth, which he clearly didn’t realize was there. “Twins mark my words, you’re going to be a great duelist. One of the best, even. Wait and see; I’m right about these sorts of things.”

His friend looked ridiculous, and Basil would have normally told him about the stuck food right away, but the way Warrick was speaking was so earnest he found himself caught up in the words. His parents had never said that to him, and definitely not his brothers. But something said like that – so easily – had to be true, didn’t it?

Basil looked down at his own, uneaten pie, using the provided napkin to dab at his eye. “Thank you, Warrick. I… very much appreciate it.”

“Any time,” Warrick said without care, turning his red smile onto some kitchen girls who were peeking into the dining room to spy on the young nobles, giggles shared between them.

A joyful humor at the sight bubbled in Basil along with a redoubled conviction. He would do his training and then some, and the next time Tipfin asked him the characteristics of cards, he would get every single one of them right, even if he had to live in the library to see the feat done.

* * *

“Unhand me,” Warrick sputtered, as the host and I practically carried him out of the restaurant.

When we deposited him in the hall outside of Obu, the host quickly closed the door and took up position directly in front of it instead of using the narrow stand he had previously greeted guests from behind.

“Warrick,” I said for the tenth time, “please calm down.” He had been drinking, the evidence on his cheeks and stained edges of his clothes. The king hadn’t punished him on the spot for his behavior, but he would have been well within his rights to do so after such a display. I couldn’t imagine what Warrick had been thinking, or that he was thinking at all.

“I will not,” Warrick replied emphatically. “I have been robbed by Fate and abandoned by Fortune. How else could I possibly behave in such circumstances?”

I tried moving him farther down the hall, but alone I wasn’t enough to make him budge, so I stepped closer, hoping that if I lowered my voice, he would do the same. The host would likely still hear us, but if Fortune was kind, the same wouldn’t be true of the rest of the wait staff or, more importantly, the guests.

“You were managing well enough before,” I told him. “There’s no reason for that to change now.” That wasn’t entirely true, but I also hoped that reminding him of a time when he had better contained his emotions might return him to that state.

“No reason? No reason?” he practically yelled, and I winced. “As we speak, that parasitic sycophant is representing my House to the King. My House, when I am the sole heir.” He started pacing back and forth, eyeing the host as if looking for an opportunity to leap past him. “It is a farce, a mockery of me and my parents, and now you act like I should not see it.”

“She can be a resource for you,” I said, “just as the living guards under my father are to him. Cultivate a relationship with her, and she will strengthen your House. I’m sure that is your parents’ plan.”

“You think this is the first time I’ve tried to put her in her place?” Warrick scoffed. “She is full of herself, dangerously so. She doesn’t want to strengthen my House, she wants to be my House. I know it.”

I recalled Afi’s talk of problems and her desire to rectify them. It was true she’d have more resources to do that if she was in control of a House. Perhaps my friend’s worries weren’t entirely unfounded.

“If you are concerned about your position, elevating your Soul could be a good countermeasure.”

Warrick snorted. “Says the Uncommon.”

Knowing that Warrick was quite drunk and that he was only a Common himself softened the blow, but I felt it just the same.

“Actually, my Soul is about to be Rare,” I informed him. “I experienced the signs earlier today.”

Warrick jerked back, looking at me, and then declared, “You won’t make it.”

“I… what?” Due to his current state, I hadn’t expected heartfelt congratulations but neither had I considered that he would try and refute me.

“You won’t make it,” Warrick repeated, sounding surer of himself. “You were lucky enough to get to Uncommon. Rare is too much.”

He certainly wasn’t ready to hear my newest plans if that was his thinking, nor did I appreciate him acting like my achieving Uncommon had been by chance. “I worked hard for that elevation, and you could as well if you wished.”

“Pff,” Warrick responded, dismissively. “You got that far by hiding from dueling in the library, your nose stuck in as many books as you could find.”

I probably wouldn’t have said the next words if I’d never cultivated Air, but I had and I did. “And your keen sense of hearing came from listening at doors you should not be at, hoping your name would be on their lips. What of it?”

“You think you’re so grand now, don’t you?” Warrick shouted, the full brunt of his anger brought onto me. “With your Soul, and fiancee, and tournament wins, and your dinner with the King. But the truth is you’ll never make it into the top five, and in a week’s time and for the rest of your life, you’ll work as a guard for your father. You’re not good enough for better and you never were. That’s why I was your friend. I felt sorry for you.” He took a step back, chin tilted up, using his greater height to look down at me. “Well, I don’t anymore.”

Warrick stormed off then, and in shock I watched him go, no more return volleys flying from me. When I recovered enough to uproot from the spot, I went to reenter Obu, but the host did not move from his position in front of the door.

“I apologize, Master Basil, but I cannot let you back inside.”

Frayed as I was, it took me a moment to realize what the man had just said to me. “If it’s a matter of seeing my invite again…” The host shook his head, and I trailed off.

“After what just took place, no one else is allowed entry until the service is complete,” he explained, “so as not to disrupt the integrity of the meal. This order is from Tomlil himself.”

Again, it took me longer to understand than it should have. “How long will that be, do you think?” I asked, my voice sounding hollow in my ears. My best friend had just left me, and it seemed so too had the best meal of my life. I felt empty inside, raw, and I couldn’t tell if the feeling was hunger or loss.

“Two hours, at the least.”

I nodded woodenly, and having nowhere else to go, I made my way back to my room. On the journey and once inside, Warrick’s final speech echoed in my mind. We had fought before, especially when he was in his cups, but our tongues had never cut as deeply as tonight, and I wasn’t sure if these were wounds our relationship could survive.

To say my lack had been the root of our friendship and that what I had been working toward had never been within my reach! It was so… cruel of him, since he knew my fears best of all. And perhaps worse than that, a small part of me – one that was growing larger as I worried on it – believed that he might be right. The signal of a Soul soon to advance did not guarantee that it would, and very few people made it as far as Rare, and even fewer beyond that. Certainly, none in my family expected me to achieve the fanciful heights I had recently considered, and after this, it seemed neither would the person I normally counted on for support.

Now I was the one who paced, telling myself that he was jealous, drunk, unhinged, a poor friend… but the reasoning failed to make me feel any better. And then it came to me: a way to prove him wrong; a way he himself had provided.

I opened the desk drawer, and there, underneath my notebook, were the two colorful packets Warrick had given me. I chose the blue folded paper and gently pulled the edges back, unsure what I would find. Inside, was a white powder with a metallic tinge to it. So this was what Tears of Les looked like. I didn’t know how much I needed to take in order to see the future of my Soul, so, before I stopped myself, I tipped the entirety into my mouth.

It tasted like summer.