Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

Chapter 45

Back to Basics

I spent the early part of the morning wandering from level to level, convinced that Gerad had bought up all the decent Healing Potions from every trader and shop in the Coliseum. No matter who I asked, the person at the table or counter just shrugged and said they’d traded away their last, or left it at home, or there’d been a strange shortage lately. I imagined the Prince sending his toadies out once they’d spied on my deck as I’d practiced the day before with Morgane, come back to strategize how to spike my wheel, and the bastard had given them all a bag of crowns each to buy up every last healing card I might need. I could envision it all, and I had no doubt the little shit would do it.

Never mind that when I asked who’d bought the last of their potion card stock, each shopkeep had a different answer, and never mind that neither Losum nor any of the others of the Prince’s pals had never given me a second look after that time in the training hall – I wanted it to be true. I wanted Gerad to be a hopeless asshole that I could blame instead of a kid who’d been mistreated by the same man who’d ruined me too. Hating him was easier. I needed Iron Maiden Plate around my heart if I was going to work for Ticosi and use him to bring down the King. It was going to be hard enough pushing Basil and Esmi away without spending a single extra thought on the idea that Gerad might deserve any sympathy.

It wasn’t until I actually found an out-of-the-way stall with a short, bald, sullen-looking man who said he had a Rare Healing Potion that I began to doubt my conspiracy.

“Can I see it?” I said, my heart speeding.

He leaned off to the side and spit on the stones. “No.”

I was lighter on trades than I wished now that I’d given up that Epic to Basil like a soft-headed idiot, but this fellow didn’t know that. I frowned at him. “You set this stall up for fun, did you? Tell people you’ve got the card they want just to wind their chain?”

“With the fees they charge to set up a table on Coliseum grounds, I’d sell my thumbs for a crown a piece,” he said, shuffling through a small wooden box stacked with cards, doing his best not to look at me. “But you’re not so much as smelling my cards.”

“I’m a competitor,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows and waggled his shoulders mockingly, still refusing to look up at me. “Ooh, a competitor. I’m supposed to lick your boots or something?”

“No,” I growled, “You’re supposed to trade with me.”

“You think I’m stupid?” he barked, finally meeting my eyes. “Come around here swingin’ your dick around like you’re something? Of course I know you’re a competitor. You’re that piece of shit gutter rat everyone’s going on about, and you cost me an Uncommon on that last fight.”

Now it made sense. I clenched my fists and tried to breathe deep. “Listen, everybody loses a bet sometimes.”

“That card was my Nana!” he bellowed, jabbing a finger at me. “She could pour fresh water out of her fingertips and she’d make us melon juice with it when I was a kid. Best damn woman this world ever saw.”

I stared at him. I came from a world where someone would knife you for a clip and still I was horrified. “You bet your grandmother’s card on my match? Why would you do that?”

His bald head was turning red. “Because he put up a Rare against it and you’re a trash slum kid who was supposed to lose!”

I spread my hands and tried to reason with him. “When someone offers you a bet that good, they probably know something you don’t.”

His face got even uglier and darker, and I realized that had been the wrong thing to say. “You’re gonna need a Healing Potion when I’m done with you.”

“Come on,” I said, trying to sound calm. “Let’s just trade. I’m sorry you lost an important card. That’s rough. But look –” I pulled the Rare Earth card from my pocket.

“I’ve got a good trade. I need a better Healing Potion than what I’ve got. Let’s forget about that other stuff and do business, what do you say?”

His chin stopped jutting when he saw the card, and he stood up straight and took a deep breath. “You want a trade? All right, here’s a trade: I’ll take that Epic you won from the bird yesterday. Straight across.”

I sighed. I didn’t have that card anymore, and besides, trading an Epic straight across for a Rare would be as bad a trade as the one I’d made with that Life Mythic at the Soiree. “That’s crazy. You know I won’t do that.”

“Oh, you think so?” he said snidely. “Then how about you trade this for your mother?” He grabbed his crotch and shook it at me.

My rage spiked, and I nearly jumped over the table to tear off the thing he was shaking and feed it to him. Strangely, though, there was a space between my anger and my muscles springing into action, and in that gap I heard myself think If I beat up a vendor they might disqualify me. Gerad could get away with it, but I won’t. And if I don’t get into the top 5, my father gets away with everything.

I turned and walked away. His Rare Healing card might as well have been on the bottom of the ocean for all the good it was ever going to do me, and no amount of sweet-talking was about to change that.

“That’s right, run away!” the man shouted after me. “Chorfun the miller got the best of you. That’s for my Nana!”

I made my way back to the Mess Hall to get some breakfast now that the sun was up. I wished I’d beaten that asshole into a pulp without thinking of the consequences. It’s what I would have done before arriving at this Tournament, and I didn’t like how much I’d changed in just a few days. I needed to be the feral street kid if I was going to see this through, not someone who walked away from fights and considered people’s feelings. It was time to go back to my roots.

The bread, sausages, and fruit in the Mess Hall were as plentiful and tasty as ever, though now that I’d eaten at that Obu place I wasn’t sure I’d ever appreciate anything else the same way. There had been a frothy pudding dessert at the end made of some fruit I’d never heard of, and there were soft little balls hidden all through it that burst on the tongue like roe but tasted incredible. Esmi had said they were chocolate, and I’d dreamt about it all night. It was no wonder those noble kids were pleasant and polite all the time if that’s what they normally ate.

I enjoyed the silence of the Hall as I ate. There were only eight of us left now, and either the others had come and gone already or they were sleeping in. Basil could use the extra sleep. Who knows if that stuff he took lingers? I shook my head and stabbed a sausage with my fork. Basil could go hang. I needed to focus on this match. We’d spent some time the night before talking over Plutar’s deck, and I was worried, especially without a better Healing Potion. I wasn’t sure I could win, and I needed to.

“There you are!” Esmi said, flouncing down onto the bench beside me. “Thank you so much for seeing to my dear fiance last night. I can’t tell you how much your note calmed me. I wouldn’t have slept a wink otherwise.”

I grunted and filled my mouth with a flaky roll.

“I might have wished for a little more detail…” she said, eyebrows raised.

I swallowed hard and cleared my throat. “He was sad. Went for a walk. It was fine.”

“Hmm,” she said, eyeing me and tapping the table with a fingernail. “I think we have different definitions of the word detail.”

I shrugged, picked up a sausage with my hands, and shoved the whole thing in my mouth.

“Well, I’ll see him soon enough, I suppose,” she sighed. “And truly, thank you for your assistance. I shan’t forget it. Now, what about Plutar? You’ve got a plan?”

“I plan to beat him,” I said, mouth still full.

“Yes, very droll,” she said, rolling her eyes. “He can burn through those demons of yours with his Greater Fireballs, you know, and if your invulnerability spell isn’t active, the Overkill will be the end of you.”

“I know,” I snapped. It’s all I’d been thinking about all morning.

She stopped. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I said, standing. “I just don’t feel like being the grateful poor-boy pet to a spoiled rich girl when I’m trying to eat.”

Her mouth dropped open, and hurt spread across her face. “Hull, that’s not –”

“It’s fine,” I said, stepping away. “Just go mother Basil and leave me out of it.”

I walked away from the table and ignored the wounded silence that followed me out. There was a painful hollowness in my stomach as I stalked back to my room. It was like I hadn’t even eaten.

My mood worsened when I opened the door and found a slim envelope in front of my feet with the word Hull lettered across the front with perfect calligraphy. I knew who it was from even before I picked it up. I was tempted to toss it aside unread, but there was a stiffness and heft to the envelope that told me something more than paper was inside.

Tearing it open, I saw a note folded around a card. Curious, I looked at the card first.

I frowned. It was a nice piece, but what was this about? I unfolded the note.

Dearest friend, it read. I paused and once again thought about tearing it up without reading any further. That pit in my stomach was deeper than ever. It was worse than unkind for me to pretend to be friends with these silly children. I was going to burn any chance for happiness and peace for myself when I went with Ticosi, and if I dragged either of them along with me it’d be like pissing on a fresh pie. I needed to never speak to either of them again. Hopefully my rudeness to Esmi had offended her enough to keep her away, but I’d let Basil believe I would become the friend Warrick had failed to be. Guilt gnawed at me. I’d harmed him already and he just didn’t know it yet.

My hand rose of its own accord. Dearest friend, Words cannot express my gratitude at your actions last night. I was truly in the depths of despair – lost in a stairwell like the basest hash fiend; I shudder to even think it! – and you came to my aid like a hero out of a storybook to bring me back to hope and life. And then, beyond all belief, to give me such a supernal gift…! You are a scion of the Twins themselves.

Please accept this humble token of my appreciation as you prepare for today’s match. It in no way balances the scales between us, of course, but I very much hope that you and I can be companions of the sort where no accounting is kept. You need this; therefore I give it. You have shown that you will do the same at a thousand times the value. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

- Basil of House Hintal

P.S. The Cloak will serve you well should you don it yourself against Plutar, but perhaps consider putting it on one of those big brutes of yours instead. As I’ve thought through the match-up further, I think your best hope of winning is to keep his hand thin so he has fewer Spells to respond with, and that means keeping your Souls alive as long as possible. Best of luck! I’ll come find you after your match.

I found myself sitting on my bed with my head in one hand as I held out the note with the other. I didn’t recognize a few of the words he’d used, but the meaning was clear: I was the worst human being that had ever lived. Not that he said so, of course, but that was what it all meant.

Shit. I don’t know if I can do this. What if I went to Basil and told him everything? I’d mentioned Ticosi already; maybe he had the connections to… I don’t know, jail Ticosi? Bring him to justice? I wasn’t at all sure he could manage that, but I let myself dream for another moment. Basil could help me hone my deck and rise in status. Maybe I could find my mother and get my card back, or if not that, maybe it was possible to create a new one. I could stay at Basil and Esmi’s side, being some kind of odd uncle to their children, and live in peace.

But then there was Hestorus. Basil couldn’t do anything about him. He’d talked about his new dream of rising to Legendary and challenging him, but that was fool’s talk. I imagined elevating my soul to Mythic in some impossible future, and there was the King, presenting me in front of the court as his own long-lost son, an arm wrapped around my shoulders.

My fist closed compulsively on Basil’s note, crushing it. No. He has to die, and Basil’s too much of a sweetheart. He doesn’t have it in him. It has to be Ticosi. I’m sorry, Basil… I have to. I let the paper fall to the floor.

The card was a good one, and his thoughts fit in nicely with the strategizing we’d done the night before. I’d take it and I’d use it, and that would be the last thing I ever took from him. He’d be crushed, but it was already done.

My face felt like it was made of stone. I squared my shoulders and slipped the Runic Cloak into my Mind Home. It was mine now. Mechanically, I turned around and arranged the sheets and blanket on my bed. It was a small thing – nothing at all, really – but it was something I could do to honor the memory of the boy who had almost been my friend.

It was time to get ready for the match.