February ~ 34!

A fragment of Grant’s awareness remained in the darkness of his unconsciousness and traveled inward to places normally inaccessible within the human mind. Isolated from the world, a mental representation of Grant walked through darkness. Curiously, he didn’t feel fear as his bare feet trod across the expanse.

He should have, because what waited for him would have sent him reeling into a panic if he were fully awake. Everything he had experienced thus far in his life that left scars on his psyche were here in this room with him.

Randall, Lord January, and the horrors they had inflicted on the population while seeking out ever-greater entertainment. Grant’s first kill, and the way it felt. Every kill after that, which had hardened and stunted his ability to reach out and connect with people.

His terror from monsters, rats, spiders, and other scurrying things. Grant’s failures and burning desires… his near-death by avalanche, and the crushing stones that had trapped him and filled him with a deep terror for enclosed spaces.

They aren’t there to destroy you. They couldn’t care less about you personally.

Instead of breaking him, an external influence allowed him to recognize each of these things for what they were and accept that they were now a part of him. Able to contemplate the issues safely like this, Grant started to understand them.

“They just are.”

Grant’s moment of realization opened a new part of him, a part that was vulnerable, and needed to be. The part of himself that had always held others at arm’s length, even after they had tried to reach out to him. New rings rippled out from under him as healing tears rolled down his cheeks and struck the water below.

The abomination that was Sarge’s spirit form appeared next to him and offered an arm over Grant’s shoulders. Grant looked up to the spirit and voiced his doubts, “How do I beat them all, Sarge? Even if they are just being themselves… I need to go against them. Destroy them. Or… I need to be better than them.”

“There is nothing outside yourself that will allow you to be better, faster, stronger, or smarter. Everything is within.” Sarge stayed silent for a long moment as the representations of Grant's mental scars grew blurry and dim, their previously sharp imagery fading as the young man was given the accelerated ability to stop letting them have power over him. When the sword spirit spoke again, it was slow and careful. “I know nothing about working to surpass others. I only know how to outdo myself, day after day. I work hard to pass that on to you. Over time, other things just… stop mattering so much. I look back at my past, I see how I can be better, and I live that way.”

They stood together in silence as the darkness closed in and the color began to leech out of the now-hazy images. Grant sighed as he pondered Sarge’s words.

“I can live with that.”

Slowly the area brightened, and soon, Grant’s real eyes opened. He looked around the cell, and for the first time… felt no anxiety from his situation. “I’ll either succeed, or I’ll do my best to succeed.”

The guard outside his cell noticed that Grant was awake and slid a covered tray across the floor without a word. The young cultivator’s mouth watered as he wondered what delights Lady February’s chef had cooked up. “Wheatgrass shot and protein bar. Delicious.”

The food was scarfed down with a smile. He’d built up quite the appetite after… he wasn’t sure how long it had been. At least several days since the last time he’d eaten.The bars slid open with a clunk as he popped the last piece of food into his mouth.

“The final round will commence shortly.” The Vassal stood to the side and motioned for Grant to leave his cell. “I will take you to the courtyard. Do not speak to Lady February unless spoken to first. Do exactly as you are told. Do you understand?”

Grant nodded as he exited the cell. Six of Lady February’s Vassals led the group of competitors through the vast estate and towards the courtyard. They passed staff toiling away, scrubbing floors, and scampering to complete tasks. Grant couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being led to the executioner’s block. One false move or improper response would likely be the end of him.

His sense of unease grew as he passed a long line of statues. All were men—apparently previous Lords of February—with defined chests puffed out above chiseled abs. He couldn’t fathom the cost of transporting, then refining the stone into such exquisite works of art. He was startled when he looked up at the final plinth before the entrance to the courtyard. Lady February stood atop the pedestal, holding a heroic pose. An artist furiously worked on her portrait, capturing her black skirt and white shirt, while a blob of shocking pink paint, prepared for painting the section of the canvas had been allocated for her hair, which was unbound in her standard pixie-cut style.

“Oh, it’s time! Wonderful!” She bounded down from the plinth, fizzing with energy and vitality. Grant couldn’t help but grin as her presence lifted his stoic mood following the troubled dream. “Come, come. Follow me. Oh, I’m so excited!”

Only Grant, out of all the competitors, was grinning. The others looked directly intimidated to be in the presence of Lady February. To them, she was royalty, ruler of the district, so he could understand their trepidation, although he didn’t share it.

“Is there something amusing, Grant Monday?” She turned to observe him like a cat would a mouse. “If there is, please share it with the group and our honored assembled guests? I do love a good joke. You wouldn’t be poking fun at me, would you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath before silence fell over both spectators and competitors. Grant merely smiled further and shrugged. “I like your energy and enthusiasm, Lady February. It lifts my spirits.”

“You… have the right idea. This is supposed to be fun, for all that it changes the whole District.” The group let out a sigh of relief at her words. “Follow me, competitors, and I will explain the rules.”

Grant and the other four competitors were led onto a stage in the center of a spacious courtyard. Around the perimeter sat all the Wielders of February, apart from those of House Saturday and House Thursday. Grant presumed that they had been banned from attending due to their behavior at the arena. Scanning the spectators, he caught sight of Heavyweight Wednesday, yet realized that Waylon was nowhere in sight. There was no one more excited about the tournament than him, so Grant couldn’t imagine why he wasn’t here.

“It is time for the event you have all been eagerly waiting for.” A shaft of light broke through the cloudy sky, illuminating Lady February as she stepped onto the stage. The light shining on her gleaming white gloves gave every motion additional gravitas, as though the heavens themselves were accepting her words as law. “A chance for us all to be better, and to guide the District to the highest heights.”

“It is with great pleasure that I announce the final round of the tournament. My father valued physical cultivation above all else and passed that drive on to me. From me… to the entire District. Competitors, I'm sure you are eager to compete against one another and secure your position in society.” A hint of a mischievous smile appeared on her lips.

“Yet, you won’t get the chance.”

As intended, a confused muttering filled the area. “Instead, I will be fighting each one of you individually and assessing where you belong.” Grant noticed Lady February’s Vassals share a look of confusion. They weren’t expecting this development. “As a Wielder, a Vassal, an advisor, or a combination of those.”

Grant wasn’t the only person a little uneasy with this change of circumstances. He, like the others, had anticipated fighting one another for the chance to become the winner. Not to get assessed. Not only that, but Lady February had a brutal reputation; none of the competitors were eager to fight her. “Now that you have all had time to digest this change, let us begin. Who amongst you wishes the honor of fighting me first?”

The kite shield-wielding Vassal that had sent an avalanche at Grant strode forward. “Ahh, Shieldnovice. Vassal of Shieldstudent Perceval of House Tuesday. I should have known you would be the first to accept the opportunity to prove yourself after your indiscretions nearly had you disqualified. You should take the time to thank Grant Monday for surviving, else you’d be in a hole somewhere, guarded by Tuesday.”

“Thanks, Grant.” Shieldnovice’s grin was almost as wide as his kite shield, since Grant had taken a step forward just a heartbeat after him, and he had been chosen. The three remaining competitors were Vassals of Houses Monday and Friday, and a Wielder from House Wednesday. At that moment, Grant was simply glad that he was not the last to move. Grinning at Lady February has given him more exposure than he’d wanted. His blood was boiling, and now he just wanted to fight.

Even so, he outranged her. Grant was certain he could win, even though he’d heard that her Wielded Weapon, a pair of gauntlets he couldn’t see anywhere, allowed her to put her considerable body and weapon cultivation to great use.

“Whoever defeats me in fair combat wins. If you do so, you pick your own spot. Otherwise, I choose. Easy, huh?” Lady February’s words weren’t cocky, they were confident. Grant wondered what would happen if more than one competitor beat her; would they have to face off against each other? “With the eyes of the District upon us to ensure total fairness, begin!”

Lady February backflipped to the other side of the stage, overflowing with energy as her shining gloves bloomed out and transformed into massive gauntlets that covered from past her elbow to her now-oversized fists.. Shieldnovice brought up his shield and attacked head-on with his long sword. Like most of the fights Grant had seen in both January and February, there was no finesse to the fight. He just hacked away with little regard for his safety.

Sarge had taught Grant to watch his opponent carefully, only attacking once he had identified his enemy’s weakness. Lady February’s metal fists hammered into the Vassal’s shield, again and again. To Shieldnovice’s credit, he managed to get his shield in the path of her fists every single time.

The shield started to hum. Grant assumed that it was normal, or perhaps Vassal’s ability… and then Shieldnovice spat out a mouthful of blood. He coughed out a command, “Return!”

The shield hummed and shook, and Lady February was abruptly sent flying. This, Grant realized, was the Vassal’s lesser ability. Perhaps taking energy from his opponent and using it against them? In Lady February’s case, the energy generated was substantial, with the Vassal struggling to hold onto his shield as it nearly rattled out of his hands. Shieldnovice, despite his best efforts, couldn’t manage to land any blows against Lady February as she landed and charged right back at him. He was back to defending himself, but he didn’t appear to want to seriously wound the Lady of the Month.

His reluctance to commit to an attack was his downfall.

Lady February’s fists rained down, fully ignoring the now-deafening tone emitting from the shield. It didn't take long for the barrage of blows to break through the defense, and the shield was slapped to the side. The shield bounced to the ground. Blissful silence followed. For a moment, a look of horror crossed the Vassal’s face, but he didn't let it dissuade him from fighting onwards. He swung his sword directly at his opponent, but without the defensive ability of the kite shield, he was vulnerable to assault. By contrast, Lady February’s speed and agility meant that she easily dodged his lackluster, unskilled blows.

Even wearing full plate armor, the Vassal was hardly defenseless against the relentless rain of blows from the Lady’s fists. The rapid-fire hammering reverberated around the courtyard, and the Vassal wilted as the damage from each impact increased. Grant couldn't understand why, but his sense of unease grew as the man was beat down to the point of finally surrendering with a raised fist and coughing blood near-continuously.

“Nice try, Shieldnovice. For making it to the final stage in the tournament and for putting on a good show, I offer you a position as Standard-bearer, currently ranked as Tuesday the sixteenth. May a deeper calling to the law allow you to choose your future actions more cautiously.” Shieldnovice’s wild smile—bloodsoaked as it was—showcased his excitement as he agreed. A huge flag with the heraldry of House Tuesday was pulled onstage and handed to the man, who traded his sword and shield to take it up, at the same time trading Vassalhood for becoming a full Wielder.

Tears of joy ran down his face, leaving clear trails through slowly-drying blood. Despite losing, he had achieved the goal he’d set out to complete. “You will be in charge of creating a group dedicated to improving our competitors. Congratulations; the District expects great things from you.”

The resulting cheering that rose up was out of proportion to the gathering, and Grant realized that there was a wind spell augmenting the cheers of those listening to the proclamation from a distance. “How in the District do they know what’s going on? Or… they’re just cheering, aren’t they?”

<No way to shape elemental light into illusions. Not till you get your fifth spell-slot,> Sarge confirmed. <They just know something impressive is happening.>

“Who’s next?” Lady February lifted her fists into a perfect boxing pose. Grant stepped forward; it was his time to shine. “Oh… I’ve been looking forward to this. I’ve seen your skill several times now, and I’m intrigued by the challenge.”

A few other people were laughing at Grant’s sunken skin, proof that he had only recently been serious about his physical training. The Lady of the Month’s words brought them up short, laughter turning into confusion, then expectation. Grant bowed lightly. “Thank you, my Lady.”

“I’m not your lady… not unless you earn it!” She gave him a wink, then looked him up and down. “I’m only confused about one thing. I have only seen you fighting with a sword, but do you intend to fight hand-to-hand combat? You can if you wish, but I prefer to fight you at your strongest.”

“My sword? It’s right…?” A wave of nausea passed over him as his hand went to the place on his hip where February Twenty Nine should have been fastened. Had he left his weapon in the cell? “I appear to have… misplaced my sword? Please allow me a moment; I'll run back and get it?”

“Will you now?” Try as she might, his opponent couldn't hide her amusement, and neither could any of the spectators. The Nobles roared with laughter, and he felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment.

<Nah, I dropped myself off back there because I wanted you to go last. Study her movements and prepare yourself accordingly.>

“Sarge…!” Grant hissed in a fury. “How can you do that?”

Lady February waved her hand magnanimously. “Grant, my Vassal will collect your weapon. For wasting my time and that of our guests… you will go last.”

He shuffled to rejoin the line, his face burning with shame. There was no point in arguing, and he didn’t want to weaken himself by expending his mana to pull the sword out of the air. By the time a Vassal returned with his sword, Grant had witnessed Lady February dispatch yet another competitor.

The Vassal's Mid Spring Medium armor did very little to protect her against Lady February’s devastating blows. The woman had started enthusiastically, but it was clear after a few minutes that she was distinctly outclassed. By the end of the fight, she was rolling around the stage and screaming as she tried to avoid blows. Rather than being upset about how events had played out, Grant took Sarge’s advice and used the extra time as an opportunity to study Lady February. How she moved, fought, and defended.

He winced: there was very little defending.

She, like the others, used her sheer cultivation prowess to overpower her foes and beat them into submission. Between her weapon and physical cultivation, she simply moved to deal as much damage in as little an amount of time as possible. She clearly enjoyed fighting, to the point that Grant was sure that he saw a hint of disappointment in her face after beating both competitors so easily.

His eyes locked onto Lady February as he caught a repeated combo, just as the Vassal surrendered.

<Did you see it?> Sarge didn’t even bother waiting for a reply. <You totally saw it. Knowing your enemy means you will enter the fight with far less uncertainty. Good work.>

Grant slowly nodded. Lady February would land a series of five blows, leading with her right fist, before retreating to recover her stance. He didn't know how this information would help him, but he would soon find out. “Do you think I’ll be able to move fast enough to knock her off-guard?”

<That’s really on you, isn’t it?> Their conversation ended as a Wielder from House Wednesday stepped forward. He held a spear and proved himself different from the previous competitors simply by the fact that he didn't charge forward. Lady February threw a testing punch, but the House Wednesday Wielder easily sidestepped it. He half-heartedly lurched forward with his spear, the clear telegraphing of the blow allowing Lady February ample time to dodge.

Grant couldn't understand why; the Wielder had the opportunity to get a strike in against her. From what he had seen so far, that might have been his only opportunity. Then it clicked. The Wielder from House Wednesday was only there to bring honor to his House, not to become Lady February's sparring partner. He didn’t want to win or get Lady February too excited about his prospects. When he had gone for slightly longer in the fight than the others, the Wielder surrendered, then graciously accepted the offer of a position on her advisory counsel. There were no outcries of shock, so this was an expected—if boring—outcome.

The fourth competitor, a Vassal from House Friday, stepped forward. She held a longsword. As Lady February bounded forward, Grant heard a familiar whistling noise. After hearing it directed toward him several times in deadly situations, he nearly dove out of the way, even though this thrown net wasn’t coming for him.

He watched as the net sailed through the air and perfectly encircled the Lady of the Month. She struggled briefly as it tightened itself, before clenching her fists and explosively breaking free. The shredded net fell apart, accompanied by clapping from the assembled audience.

*Pow!*

Lady February’s right fist shot forward, slamming into the Vassal’s middle. The impact launched the woman into the air and sent her skidding backward across the marble floor. Lady February hopped over and helped the House Friday Vassal up, before offering her a position as a personal Vassal and a spot on the counsel. She happily accepted the offered position, as had each fighter previously.

“Last but hopefully not least, we have Grant Monday.” Lady February turned to face him with bloodlust in her eyes. “You haven’t also forgotten how to swing that sword of yours, right? Know what… don’t answer. Let’s find out together.”