Redemption Arc

Helen focused on calming herself as best she could before her match against Lucian. Despite her advice, he’d gone through with his ridiculous strategy for the tournament. It had all proceeded very slowly—he’d take cover behind that shield, lashing out with spells when he could, pivoting around it and playing for time. Sometimes his foes would get overzealous and he’d end up defeating them outright, but the majority of his matches went to the end. The healers would judge the match objectively by damage dealt, and Lucian invariably emerged on top every time.

Helen didn’t begrudge Lucian his choice of strategy. She knew he had partial arcane paralysis. In a way, being clever was likely the only way that he could bridge the gap.

Can I win? Helen thought. Despite its simplicity, it was proving a formidable strategy. The arena didn’t have any other cover. Despite what everyone said about Lucian, she knew firsthand that he was skilled. What he lacked in raw talent he made up for with intellect and strategy. This would be a formidable contest, perhaps the most trying combat she’d ever endured. This would—

“Helen?” Lorenna walked up to her.

“Is it time?” she asked, looking around.

“Lucian forfeited,” Lorenna said.

Helen stared. As her aunt turned and walked away disappointedly, her mouth fell open.

***

Lucian walked away with a wheelbarrow carrying his Great Pavise. He wore a lovely new set of gloves—the second-place prize for the holy magic tournament. The first-place prize was a necklace that provided a flat damage boost—amazing for the early game, but it got progressively worse as time went along. These gloves, by contrast…

The Votive Gloves. Whenever the caster heals anything including themselves, it provides 33% mundane projectile resistance for one turn.

Together with the Wardchain he’d taken from the bandit camp, he could get an 83% projectile resistance just for landing a holy spell, because they healed him. Resistance capped out at 90%, so getting this much this early was invaluable. He could take these items through the whole game. Archers were among the most dangerous enemies in War of Four. They appeared in great numbers and tended to focus their fire. With this at hand, Lucian could shrug off some of the most dangerous early-game encounters.

Eventually, most projectiles won’t be mundane, Lucian reflected. But I need this now.

Now it was time to see if the strats for the other tournaments would translate to reality.

***

Dean Mortimer massaged his temples, looking at the various requests on his desk. All of them were about major reforms for the tournaments in the classes before they commenced. Changes for the tournament ruleset required official approval. They came alongside requests for censure. The source of all them was the same—Lord Lucian Villamar.

The most common trick he played was hauling along a big shield to a magic competition. It was within the bounds of the rules. Shields were, by the rules, allowed as ‘common battlefield equipment.’ This method strained the limits of that. He’d first taken it to the holy magic competitions. Thereafter, the fire magic, wind magic… he even caused some copycats among the students. It was Lucian who generally won among them.

Lucian probably could’ve won most tournaments. He chose to forfeit seemingly randomly, though, further vexing faculty and students. It was like he was making a mockery of the whole system. The last thing that Dean Mortimer wanted to deal with was something like this. He decided for a simple, but effective solution.

The dean leaned in, writing out an edict.

***

Lucian stared up at the dean’s edict, a frown on his face.

I should’ve known something like this would happen. Lucian crossed his arms as he read it. It authorized the instructors to change the rules of the tournament to their own judgment, forbidding ‘unfair or otherwise muddled competition between students.’ It was so vague that it would apply to any further stunts Lucian might pull. Lucian couldn’t deny he was disappointed, but there was nothing he could do. Hopefully by next month he wouldn’t need these handicaps.

He’d gotten most of what he wanted. Excluding the Votive Gloves, he chose the prizes that he could sell for the most. Considering he didn’t even end up using the potions he bought, he’d actually made a profit. It was a blessing and a half.

There was only one tournament that he wanted to perform well in from here: polearm fighting. Going by his original plan, there was only one person he needed to worry about in the bracket: Arslan Alaar. Now, however, Denzel had put his hat in the ring. The second prince was a martial prodigy. Even if he used the sword usually, he’d still be quite potent with a polearm by virtue of his stats.

Should I forfeit? he wondered.

Close combat was Lucian’s weakest point. His magic was fairly high, and felt improved by those tournaments. Up close, meanwhile… he was still very weak. He had some potions to close the gap, but the instructors might check for that now. He’d been relying on drinking a long-lasting potion to overcome Arslan. That man was a beast—high CON, high HP, high STR, but piddling SPD, DEX, and MAG. He was the perfect tank. Lucian was certain he couldn’t overcome the raw stat difference.

Denzel, though…

Lucian stroked his chin. Denzel’s stat spread was much like Olivia’s. Very high STR, very high SPD. He had a little bit better HP and CON than her, but not much. Even considering his potential training… his stats wouldn’t be insurmountable. And considering he’d been focusing his training on swords, not polearms, he probably didn’t know any polearm skills.

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

Denzel could beat Arslan, feasibly… Lucian started to smile. But if I use skills properly, I might beat Denzel. If it were War of Four, it’d be up to RNG. I’d give it maybe a 40% chance.

Denzel’s inclusion shifted the structure of the tournament. Depending on how the bracket was laid out, Lucian might be able to get what he was aiming for anyway. It would be a miracle, but maybe he deserved a little bit of luck.

***

“God damn it…” Lucian muttered beneath his breath.

The bracket almost couldn’t be worse. He stared at his nameplate. His first match was against Denzel. Not exactly the worst draw considering he could have gotten Arslan, but it didn’t end there. Even assuming that he won this match, which was definitely not certain, he fought the victor of Rowan versus Arslan. Those two were far beyond him. In other words, victory had already slipped from his grasp.

“What was that?” Rowan asked.

“Nothing important.” Lucian turned to him. “So, you entered this?”

Rowan smiled. “I bet you’re surprised, huh? After seeing you takedown Saltbelly like that, I figured you might be in this. I put my name in. Polearms aren’t my specialty, but I took the classes for a little bit. I think I’ll stick with sword and shield, but this experience might help me fight people like you.”

“I’m thrilled,” Lucian said monotonously. He looked over, studying Rowan. “Do you know any of the classic polearm skills?”

Rowan shook his head. “Only one. Pierce.”

“Don’t use it.” Lucian reached out and grabbed his shoulder. “And help me practice.”

“What?” Rowan raised a brow. “You sure? We could be fighting in the tournament.”

“You’re a freak. A mutant. Inhumanly strong.”

Rowan scoffed uncomfortably. “Not so sure about—"

“A monstrosity. An aberration. A genetic anomaly. Don’t care about beating you, because I probably couldn’t even if I still could cheat. Denzel, though?” Lucian’s eyes narrowed. “That’s different.”

It was personal as much as it was practical. He just didn’t like the way that the prince was behaving. As for the practical, if he lost to him, Lucian was positive his chances of getting his allowance back vanished forever. After all the unfortunate roadblocks, he needed to be a rich boy again.

“I have to beat the prince, at least,” Lucian said. “Please? Help me out?”

Rowan nodded seriously. “Well… fine, sure. About time I could pay you back.”

***

Lucian surged forth as fast as he could with the Charge skill. Rowan met it head-on, smacking Lucian’s spear up before moving elegantly to slam the polearm against Lucian’s calf. He staggered and fell to one knee from the blow. Lucian used the training weapon to keep himself from falling over.

“You’re exhausted. Take a break,” Rowan encouraged.

Lucian nodded, taking his time to catch his breath. “Those skills… take a lot… out of you,” he panted.

“I can definitely see their use, though.” Rowan studied his polearm. “That’s what you used to debilitate Saltbelly like that?”

Lucian nodded, standing up straight. He massaged his tender calf.

“Hmm.” Rowan walked around, thinking. “I was under the impression it was best to focus on fundamentals. Leave the tricks for later.”

Lucian shook his head. “Strategy is way more important. Sure, yeah, there’s fundamental differences in abilities… but you can bridge huge gaps just by fighting in the right way. Half of the people that I fought in those magic tournaments could have easily beaten me if I didn’t exploit the rules a little. If I could use items, generally? It’d be easy.”

“Hmm.” Rowan pondered that for a minute. “Helen told me you have partial arcane paralysis. Is that why you focus on that?”

“How does she know…?” Lucian began, but trailed off. Maybe she’d overheard it from the thousand times he’d been told. He sighed. “Yeah, more or less. In terms of talent, every single Student Ambassador is leagues ahead of me. I have to take measures to catch up.”

“You think so?” Rowan asked, and Lucian nodded. “If that is true, why do you think you have to try so hard? Why not leave it to others? Not everyone needs to break their back carrying the world on their shoulders.”

Lucian took a deep breath and exhaled. “If I could relax, I would. But there are some problems that only I have. Hence, there are some problems that only I can solve.” He met Rowan’s gaze. “You can see it, right? Something big is coming.”

Rowan nodded. “Yeah. I get that impression.”

He looked like he had more to say, but Lucian pointed the wooden spear. “You ready?”

Rowan hefted his spear. “Always.”

***

“You must be disappointed,” Denzel said.

Lucian didn’t answer him. He watched the match in front of him. Two polearm-fighters clashed, drawing blood. In the tournaments, they didn’t use training weapons. They used the real thing. The healing mages on standby made it so they could afford to do that.

“What sort of trick did you have prepared?” Denzel asked. “The shield wouldn’t work. Considering your acquaintanceship with that elf… potions?”

“Bingo,” Lucian confirmed. “Wasn’t for you, though. Arslan, he was the one I was worried about.”

“Hmm.” Denzel sounded satisfied. “Surprised you showed up. If the tricks don’t work, you usually retreat to the safety of your relatives. Metterand, your father… that’s usually your way, isn’t it?”

Lucian smiled. “That’s the difference between you and me. You have relatives you can’t protect. I have relatives that can protect me.”

He heard aggressive teeth-grinding behind him, and knew he’d hit his mark. The combatants they were watching finished their fight, one landing a strong blow in the neck. Phoenix’s Watch activated, separating the two forcibly and immediately healing their wounds. They announced the victor.

“Up next… Lucian Villamar, and Denzel Riverra.”

Lucian walked forward without delay. He took the provided spear, weighing it in his hands. He twirled it once, and then took his space. People cheered for Denzel already, but Lucian was just focused on reviewing his plan.

“Check and see if he used potions,” Denzel said loudly.

The healer went up to Lucian, examining him. Lucian didn’t let that simple act provoke him. Once the healer was sure that he was clean, Denzel took his place.

Lucian sized up Denzel. He felt some sense of trepidation as the Phoenix’s Watch spell washed over him.

“Stick to the plan…” he reminded himself. “Have some faith.”

Either Lucian won this quickly, or he didn’t win it at all. And if he did win, he might get a golden goose.