Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

Basil dismissed his Order and sat bolt upright, clutching the Microburst card. “Hull, you can’t.”

“I can,” I said, crossing my arms.

“Hull,” he pled, holding it out to me. “This is more money than you’ll see in a year after the Tournament. Several years. Take it back.”

“No,” I told him. “You saw a kid about to walk out of the Tournament and you gave him an Epic that you had just won. Now you want to stop me from doing the same thing? Don’t be an ass.” My heart was hammering in my chest, and I was trying very hard not to think about what I’d just done. Nothing made sense, and yet somehow I knew this was perfectly right.

His eyes fell on the card. “It’s an incredible Spell.”

“Even if you’re right about me and Order, I can’t use Air,” I said. “You, on the other hand, can.”

“I can,” he murmured, caressing it. Then he stood up and thrust it toward me. “No! Hull, what I did… it’s not the same, you know it’s not. I’ll leave this Tournament and go back into a noble home with everything I need, even if I never do make it past Rare. You’re going back to the Lows. You should keep every advantage you can get.”

I bit my lip. You’ve already made the stupidest decision of your life; might as well go the rest of the way. “Basil, I’m in deep shit with the crime boss of the Lows. He wields Chaos, and when I’m done here he’s going to take every card I have. At least give me the satisfaction of keeping this one away from him.” I closed his hand around the card and pushed it back toward him.

His mouth dropped open. “Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?”

I shrugged. “It’s been a busy couple of days.” And I didn’t realize I had a friend I could tell it to until just now.

His jaw firmed. “We’ll go to the King. Wielding Chaos is treason.”

I thought of Hestorus and how closely he’d been watching me all along. “I think he already knows. He won’t do anything, I’m sure of it.” Somehow, burdening Basil with the knowledge that I was the King’s bastard on top of everything else felt unkind. “Let it go, lordling. I’ll figure it out.”

“I’ll do no such thing,” he said hotly. “This is rank injustice, and it cannot stand.”

“It’s a concern for after the Tournament,” I told him. “And in the meantime, I want you to have the card. It’s a gift. Stop being a self-righteous dick and take it.”

He opened his mouth to argue, and then the card in his hand caught his eye again. His face softened, and his eyes welled up again. I’d never met a boy who cried so easily. He threw his arms around me and hugged me tightly.

“I am in your debt forever,” he said shakily. “Anything you ask from now until the day I die, you shall have it. I swear it by Fate and by Fortune.”

“You’re not in my debt,” I said, embarrassed by the affection and trying to free myself. “I’m paying the debt I owe you, and I’m not even sure this covers it. Please stop.”

He backed away, grinning like a loon. “We’re in each other’s debt, then. Permanently. You and I shall rock the world on its foundations as we stride through it side by side like giants.”

His smile was infectious. “Sounds good.” I knew it would never happen, but I didn’t have the heart to burst his bubble. For just a moment I let myself imagine a life where I was the strong right hand of a good, kind man who rose to be King and a strong, beautiful woman who was his Queen. It was a nice dream.

Basil looked around the room brightly. “You know, I think the worst of it has passed. I still see mouths everywhere, but they don’t have fangs anymore.” He bustled away, cradling the card to his chest. “Come on, let’s have a glass of something nice. A moment like this calls for a toast. We need to cement this in our memory.”

He threw open a huge armoire of some rich-looking wood and rummaged about inside. “Ah!” he said happily, coming back out with a bottle. “This will do nicely.”

“You keep bottles hidden in your clothing drawers?” I smirked. “In the Lows, we call folks like that drunks.”

“I am very careful about the amount I consume,” he said primly, peeling away the foil covering the top of the bottle and freeing the cork with a deft twist of the wrist. A head of foam bubbled over the top and dripped gently down the side. Looking back into the wardrobe, Basil’s face fell. “I think Warrick used the last of the goblets.”

“Gimme that,” I said, yanking the bottle out of his hand and taking a hard pull. It was fizzier than anything I’d ever tasted, and it was all I could do not to cough it up. Once I’d swallowed, I licked my lips and tasted sweet apples. “Not bad,” I judged. Then a thunderous burp rushed out of me, echoing through the room.

Basil giggled and snorted, taking the bottle and wandering over to the couch in the sitting room. I followed him, seeing that he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the rim of the bottle before he took a dainty sip. I shook my head and plunked down on the other end of the plush sofa, running my hands over the warm softness of the blue velvet. People really live like this. The richness never ends. And yet, if richness could produce a kind heart like Basil’s, it couldn’t be all bad, could it? He was still smiling down at the Epic I’d given him.

“Are you going to put it in your Mind Home or not?” I asked, taking the bottle for another swig.

“I most certainly will,” he said, “but it won’t fit at the moment. I’ll have to decide what to take out and how to adjust my deck so it fits.” He looked up at me coyly with a mischievous air. “I’ve made some drastic adjustments. I want to see if I can catch Esmi off-guard with a surprise or three.”

I grunted. “Don’t know that most girls care for the kind of surprise where their man trounces them in a duel.”

“Esmi’s above all that,” he said stoutly, taking the bottle back for another sip. “She’s completely invested in my progress and elevation. Win or lose, our bond will only grow stronger.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said, settling back into the couch. “And hell, maybe you are. She’s something else, that girl is.” I let my eyelids droop. Weariness was catching back up with me, and I felt peaceful and slow in a way I wasn’t used to.

“Now,” Basil chirped, scooting toward me with an eager look, “tell me every last detail about the dinner. It kills me that I had to miss it. That soup looked incredible. What was in it?”

Sighing, I sat back up and did my best to satisfy his curiosity. He pestered me with picky little questions about every single course, what wines they were paired with, what temperature they were at, and what colors they showed. I didn’t know the answers for three quarters of what he asked, but every I don’t know just led to more questions.

Then at some point he started talking about his fight with Warrick during dinner, his family, his responsibilities, and how he hoped to finally impress them all. I let him go on, enjoying the sound of his voice and the feeling of being comfortable in someone’s presence. When he asked something about me or my past, I shrugged, gave a nothing answer, and asked him more about what he’d just been saying. I wasn’t sure how to broach the fact that I had almost no recollection at all of my life before age ten or so, some time after my mother left. I’d simply come to full awareness in an alley one day with a broken bottle in one hand and bruises on my knuckles, knowing that my father was the King, my mother had stolen my soul card, and I was all alone. Other than that… bare wisps of memory. How could I tell him all that when he needed to agonize about how his parents didn’t respect him and the boy he’d thought was his dearest friend secretly despised him? Those things didn’t belong in the same conversation. So I let him talk and basked in the odd feeling of friendship, trying not to fall asleep.

He ended up nodding off first, his head lolling on the couch arm, the Microburst card still clutched in his hand. It took me a long, muzzy moment to realize he’d stopped talking. It had to be near to midnight. I thought about just closing my eyes and sinking all the way into sleep, but something was nagging at the back of my mind. My gaze kept wandering over to the pull cord by the front door – the one that called the serving staff.

Ah, shit. I’d forgotten to send a message to Esmi. She’d be frantic. Grumbling, I hauled myself to my feet, stumbled over to the door, and yanked the cord. Somewhere outside the room a bell rang, and I went to the writing desk perched neatly between two brocaded sitting chairs. Opening it up, I saw that it was well stocked with thick, expensive paper, an assortment of wooden pens, and a well of ink. Putting the items together a tad unsteadily – Basil and I had polished off the whole bottle of bubbly stuff – I dipped the pen into the ink and scrawled my words across the page, tongue clenched between my teeth. I wasn’t a good writer, but I knew how to get the basics done.

Basil bak in his rum safe. Fot with Warik. All gud now. - Hull.

She didn’t need to know about the Tears of Les. Basil could tell her about that if he saw fit; it wasn’t my place to spill about his indiscretions. I folded the paper, growling at how the ink smudged all over when I did so. There was probably a way to keep that from happening, but I didn’t know what it was. I wrote Esmi on the outside.

When a soft tap sounded at the door, I opened to find a young lad looking in Coliseum robes looking deferential and not in the slightest bit tired. “Take this to, uh, Esmi. Noble girl with the fire ability. Competitor, you know?” I had no idea what her family name was, but the boy simply nodded, taking the note. “She said she’d be at their family home.”

He waited there a moment longer, looking at me expectantly.

“Go on, then,” I told him.

For some reason he looked annoyed as he walked away, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why, so I shut the door and locked it. The boy would get the job done, and I’d done my duty to Esmi. I might not owe her as much as Basil, but I wanted to stay on her good side.

My body cried out for sleep. I saw Basil draped over the couch in a position that was certain to leave him sore in the morning and toyed with the idea of putting him into the bed. But then I realized that I could sleep on the bed and save myself the twisty, lengthy, half-drunk walk back to my room and decided the kid was fine where he was.

I split the difference between gallantry and selfishness by pulling Basil’s stocking feet until he was stretched out flat on the couch. He didn’t even stir when I moved him. I was about to stagger into the bedroom when I heard a curious scrabbling on the low table behind me. I spun around and then nearly sat on top of Basil as I stumbled back. Something unreal was perched on the table.

Its painfully colorful body was as big as a dinner plate, and its long stick legs covered the entire surface of the small table.

“Hull,” a ghostly voice said, emanating from it. I didn’t for a second think the spider was talking; it was Ticosi’s voice. He’d just picked the creepiest messenger possible because he was a mean old bastard whose head was screwed on loose. “My sincerest congratulations on advancing to the top 8. It’s truly thrilling to watch you from the stands and know that your success is my success.”

What would happen if I smashed the spider? It’s a summoned Soul, stupid. It’ll just disappear and you’ll wake up Basil and have to explain why you broke his table.

“I’m a man who values adapting to the realities that exist rather than adhering to the rules of yesterday,” his whispering voice continued. I wondered whether he’d already said his bit to the spider and sent it on its way or if he was speaking now and could hear me in return.

“You’re a murderous piece of shit and everyone wishes you were dead,” I said, testing the waters.

The voice continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “Being in the top 8 gives you introductions into the upper tiers of society that could serve us both well. That changes your value. As of now I will allow you to retain 3 cards of my choice on permanent retainer as long as you continue in my employ. Should you advance to the top 5 and gain a place in the King’s War Camp, things will get very interesting. There are those of my acquaintance who would very much like to know what occurs in that training and what decisions the King is making as he prepares for war. Try your utmost to reach the top 5, Hull. Do that, and I will give you all the cards you currently hold, free and clear. Do your job well in the War Camp, and we will be partners in running the Lows. You have seen a glimpse of the power and influence I hold; you can share it. I know you’re a smart man, Hull. Do this for me and I will grant you a favor. Any favor.”

Kill the King for me, I thought. Do that and it’s worth it.

“You see how much this means to me,” the voice whispered from within the spider. “You want to find your mother? I can help you. Just get into the top 5, and your life will take a turn for the better that you can’t yet imagine. Change is coming, Hull, and if you want to get on top and stay there, stick with me. Be wise, be patient, and before you know it you and I will be the most powerful men in the city. I’ll come to speak with you after the Tournament. Best of luck, my young friend. Fight hard, fight well… and win.”

The spider scuttled away, and I followed it numbly to the balcony, where it clambered over the edge and scaled the sheer wall down to where the street lay in darkness seven stories below. The night was cool and quiet, but the peace I’d felt before was gone. Ticosi must be an agent for the Orcs who come to attack every so often. That’s why we even have a War Camp, right? Hestorus had talked a little about that at dinner. Layers of plans. Plots piling up on each other. This is enough intrigue to drown in.

It was a good deal. I had to imagine Ticosi knew how to conceal his treasonous connections from the King, or he’d be dead already. He’d proven that he could infiltrate the security of the Coliseum with the King himself on the premises; if the time was right, he could slip an assassin into the Palace and take the horrible man out once and for all. All I had to do was work for him. Spy for him. Betray the city.

I thought of the calculating inhumanity in my father’s eyes and knew I could do it. I left Basil sleeping on the couch and walked back to my own room. I didn’t deserve that kind of comfort or a friend I might have to let burn alongside Treledyne. I needed to be hard. Cold.

I had a Tournament to win.