Chapter 48: FAVORITES VS UNDERDOGS
The crystal displays flickered above the arena. The morning light was pale and thin, filtering through the high windows of the Grand Arena. Eighty thousand people filled the seats, and the black and gold that had been a scattering days ago was now a presence. Not a majority but visible. The Kane colors, worn by strangers who’d watched a C-rank Summoner touch the untouchable and walk out the other side.
TEAM TWO — THE FAVORITES
Victor Harwick — S-rank — Magic Swordsman (Captain)
Reyes — A-rank — Spearman
Baines — A-rank — Berserker
Trent — B-rank — Lightning Mage
Aldis — C-rank — Tank
Record: 2-1
***
TEAM THREE — THE UNDERDOGS
Dominic Kane — C-rank — Summoner (Captain)
Lysandra Li — A-rank — Warrior
Greer — B-rank — Warrior
Seira — B-rank — Healer
Kellan — C-rank — Scout
Record: 2-1
***
The numbers sat on the screen. The crowd leaned forward. This was the last match of Phase Three. The winner took the stronger seed. The loser took the harder path. And beneath the numbers, beneath the stakes, there was history.
Dorian Hale’s voice carried across the stands. "Team Three versus Team Two. The final match of Phase Three. The dark horse against the favorite. Dominic Kane against Victor Harwick. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the one we’ve been waiting for."
The lanes lit up. The control points flared white.
***
Dominic gathered his team at the base. Wobbly was on his shoulder, the pink bow slightly askew. The creature was calm, its glow steady. The others were not calm.
"Victor takes mid," Dominic said. "He’ll want me. I’ll give him what he wants. But I’m not going to beat him in a straight fight. I’m going to stall him. Keep him occupied. Keep him angry. The longer he’s focused on me, the less he’s helping his team."
He looked at Lysandra. She was already changing. The switch was starting, her eyes going flat and distant. But today she carried something new. Two rods of dark iron, each one wrapped in worn leather at the grip, each one heavy enough to crack stone. Dominic had suggested them. Florence had provided them. Lysandra had held them for the first time and felt something click into place.
"You’ve got Baines and Trent," Dominic said. "Both of them. Greer’s lane is going to need help. Kellan will rotate to support you. You hold them. You don’t need to beat them. You just need to keep them busy."
Lysandra nodded. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to.
"Greer. Seira." Dominic turned to them. Greer’s jaw was tight. His hands were steady on his axe, but his eyes were wrong. Distant. "You’ve got Reyes and Aldis. Reyes is A-rank. He’s going to come at you hard. Seira will keep you alive."
"Understood," Greer said. His voice was flat.
Dominic looked at him for a moment longer. He wanted to say something else. He didn’t. There wasn’t time.
"Kellan. Watch for rotations. If Greer’s lane gets pressured, you move. If Lysandra needs support, you move. You’re our eyes."
Kellan’s hands were steady. "I’ve got it."
Dominic straightened. "They’re stronger than us. We know that. But we’ve been at a disadvantage since the start. We don’t need to win every lane. We just need to survive long enough for an opportunity to present itself." He looked at each of them. "Let’s go."
***
Across the map, Victor walked toward mid lane alone. His easy smile was in place, but it was tighter than usual. The loss to Pembroke still stung. The memory of Dominic touching the untouchable duelist stung worse. Behind him, his team spread to their lanes. Reyes took the bottom lane with Aldis, his spear held loose, his eyes scanning for Dominic. Baines and Trent took the top lane together. The strategy was obvious. Overwhelm Lysandra with numbers. Break through top lane. Collapse on mid.
Victor met Dominic at the first control point. The platform was a raised circle of stone, twenty feet across, the neutral crystal glowing white at its center.
"Kane," Victor said. His voice was light, but the edge was there. "I can admit it was impressive that you scored against Pembroke. But it could barely be called a fight and I know you’re not beating me. You should consider forfeiting."
Dominic drew his sword. In his off-hand, he raised a shield. A simple steel buckler, strapped to his forearm. The crowd murmured. They’d never seen him use a shield before. Victor’s smile flickered.
"What’s this? A new toy?"
"I’ve been learning something new."
"Learning won’t save you, but you are welcome to struggle as much as you like, cockroach."
Victor moved. A blur of steel and magic, his blade trailing golden light. Dominic caught the first strike on the shield. The impact rattled up his arm and into his shoulder, but the shield held. The second strike came low, a sweep at his legs. Dominic jumped, felt the blade pass beneath his boots. The third strike was already there, a thrust wreathed in golden flame. Dominic twisted, let it glance off the shield’s edge. Sparks showered across the platform.
"You’re slower than Pembroke," Dominic said.
Victor’s eyes narrowed. "What?!"
"I’ve fought him. I’ve fought you. You’re slower." Dominic reset his stance, breathing steady. "But I guess that makes sense. You’ve never had to really work for anything. The golden child. Everyone just falls over for you."
"You don’t know what you’re talking about."
"I know you’ve never been tested. Not really. Pembroke, the only person who’s a challenge, similar rank and you lose without him going all out. Everyone else just rolls over. Must be nice. Never having to work for anything."
Victor’s jaw tightened. His next strike came faster, harder. Dominic caught it on the shield, felt the impact ring through his bones. The Wobbly trait absorbed some of the shock, but not all of it. Victor pressed. A flurry of strikes, magic and steel. Dominic gave ground, step by step, the shield taking blows that would have ended the fight without it. A golden edge slipped past and opened a thin line across his forearm. Blood welled, hot and slick.
"You’re stalling," Victor said. "You know you can’t beat me."
"I know I don’t have to. I just have to keep you here. Keep you focused on me while your team falls apart."
Victor’s eyes flicked to the top lane. Lysandra was holding. Against Baines and Trent, she was holding. The rods moved in her hands like extensions of her body, faster than the club had ever been. She caught Baines’s axe on one rod and drove the other into his ribs. He stumbled, blood spraying from his mouth. Trent fired a bolt of lightning. She deflected it with the iron, the electricity grounding into the stone with a sharp crack.
Victor looked back at Dominic. "She won’t last."
"I don’t know about that. She might just surprise you."
Victor’s smile was gone. His attacks came faster, more aggressive. Dominic kept the shield up. Kept talking.
***
In the bottom lane, Greer was falling apart.
Reyes stood across from him, his spear planted, his expression unreadable. Aldis was at his side, shield raised. They’d been pushing the lane since the match started, and Greer had been trying to hold but slowly giving ground. Not because he was outmatched, but because he couldn’t move as he used to.
"Greer," Reyes said. His voice was calm. Familiar. The voice of a team leader who’d once given orders that Greer had followed. "Is this how quickly you bite the finger that has fed you? Three years you have been with the Harwicks, and now you’re fighting for Kane. The dead house. The cockroach. What happened to you? Was your allegiance so fragile?"
Greer’s grip tightened on his axe. His knuckles were white.
"Did you forget who put you here? Who kept you in this academy when your family couldn’t afford it? House Harwick. Victor Harwick. And you’re repaying him by fighting for his enemy."
"Shut up," Greer said. His voice was rough.
"Or what? You’ll swing that axe at me? You’ve been standing there for a while now. You can’t swing anymore." Reyes stepped forward. "You know why? Because you know I’m right. You know where you belong. You’re just too stubborn to admit it."
Seira’s barrier flared. "Greer, don’t listen to him. He’s trying to get in your head."
"I’m sorry, Seira," Greer said quietly.
Reyes smiled. It was a cold expression, nothing like the easy confidence he’d worn as a team leader. "The healer’s right. You should listen to her. She’s been keeping you alive this whole match. What do you think happens when I take her out?"
Reyes moved. His spear came up in a blur, a straight thrust aimed at Seira. Greer didn’t block it. He just stood there, frozen, as the spear punched through Seira’s barrier and caught her in the shoulder. She cried out, stumbled back, her healing glow flickering.
"Seira!" Greer turned, too late.
Reyes’s second thrust caught her in the chest. She dissolved into white light, her expression one of shock. She hadn’t expected Greer to let it happen. Neither had Greer.
"One down," Reyes said. He turned to Aldis. "The scout’s rotating. Cut him off."
Aldis moved toward the river. Greer was alone now. Alone with Reyes. Alone with the man who’d just killed his healer because he’d been too frozen to stop it.
"You’re pathetic," Reyes said. "You know that? You can’t even swing your axe at the man who just eliminated your teammate. Victor was right about you. You were always the weak link."
Greer’s hands were shaking. His axe felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. He didn’t swing. He couldn’t swing. Reyes watched him for a long moment, then shook his head.
"You’re not worth the points," he said. He turned and walked toward the top lane. "Aldis. Finish him."
Aldis’s shield came down. Greer didn’t block it. He dissolved into white light, staring at nothing, and did not respawn.