Volume 4, Chapter 8 – The Tournament. Brands of the Backwoods
Poof.
"Huh?" — I saw Uyana's hand touching my mouth. "Thanks..."
"Let's take a walk. There are still three whole days before everyone finishes their fights," Uyana began slowly descending the pyramid, against the backdrop of a sun-drenched sky and colorful tents on the ground.
I followed her, descending block by block — and saw on the left, right by the wall of green blocks, a tent with piles of crates, barrels, papers, armor — and there sat Lelik, with a line in front of the tent. (Had this world not invented betting, and Lelik became the first? Or is it just not popular here? But judging by Lelik's success and the number of people, everyone wants to try their luck.)
"So there's no concept of betting in this world?" I caught up to Uyana.
"There is. And it exists here too. But who needs ordinary bets on who won — and here's the twist: who are they betting on? A guy who knocked out an Archmage with a kick and got away with it — and he even showed drawings of how he did it," Uyana explained calmly.
(I see... Amazing how Lelik became a local legend and earned a fortune in a single day.)
We descended from the pyramid and just walked through the tent city, looking at people and sights. Uyana said she was making money off this too — because everyone wants to bet, but no one has money, so she gives out loans for bets without documents, right there and then. Her people stand around, people come up and take money, leaving their documents... (I'm amazed — people apparently don't know that leaving documents is, like, not the best idea — especially with a syndicate.)
Uyana walked gracefully between the tents, her hair heating up to such a temperature that a steady aura of heat surrounded her. Her impassive face and stern eyebrows gave her the style of all the flash-mobbers — but not blending with them, on the contrary, adding uniqueness among the women, where girls were dressed as goths, nuns, angels, and loli-vampires — which was a little unnerving given who they might be. If they're out on the street now, maybe they could be S-rank too? But they're also just waiting their turn in F-A. I don't know. But I walk and look around as if one of them might right now take and cut off my head.
"[I]* Hey there!" a girl ran out in a dress with a wide skirt — as if it had a frame underneath — in several layers. On her head were bows tying back a few strands, and a long black fringe covering her eyebrows. Her lips were red like a rotten apple, and on her pinched cheeks was blush — but painted on.
Uyana lunged, pointing her sword at her — the girl parried with her foot, and, swinging a hammer, aimed it at Uyana's torso, while U. blocked the blow with her arm, and they stayed in that pose.
The girl looks at me, the hand holding the hammer thrown behind her back, and her left leg almost at a hundred and eighty degrees, blocking Uyana's sword. And Uyana stood behind her, extending her sword with her left hand and blocking the hammer with her right.
[[I] — Language of the Empire of Arbakan. Seraphim doesn't know it.]
I watched with unusual calm. I didn't understand her language — but I could note she looked stylish — and thank God she wasn't a loli.
"[I] Yeah. Mhkm. Mouth. No," I answered her. "Uyana, easy," I said to Uyana — and was even glad no clown gang appeared around this girl. I looked around — nope, they did appear. Not clowns, but two snipers at three kilometers with Barretts — I'm sure they had MOU loaded. I sighed. "At ease, Yellows," — and they dispersed.
(How did I even notice them... Not the point right now.) Uyana put away her weapon and just stood behind this girl in the black dress with the voluminous skirt.
"Oh... Sorry, you don't know Imperial? I know Ruman and Rekhilon... Though they're the same thing," the Girl sang, returning her foot to the ground and the hammer "to her leg." She leaned forward and looked up, peering into my eyes, and continued. "I'm Guya Stumanskaya! And you... Seraphim-chik! More precisely..." — she straightened up like at attention. "— President of the Democracy of Silence, Seraphim... But your surname isn't listed," — she pressed her index finger to her lower lip.
(How fast she changes poses... But thankfully, she's speaking Rekhilonian. I calmed down a bit, afraid I'd have to use the earpiece. But what does she want, and why is she so familiar? Maybe it's the Emperor's order? I looked into her blood-red eyes, which seemed to flow like blood and pulse — but the strange red-eye defect didn't ruin her look. Though unpleasant and filled with burst capillaries, it actually gave her a gothic style that suited her appearance — and it didn't cause fear, just the same feeling you get at any flash mob.)
"Seraphim de Tsuhille," I answered her question. "Did something happen?"
"Mhm!" — Guya quickly brought her hand to her chin and took two steps one way, two the other. "So 'De' is mandatory!" — she snapped her fingers, pointing at me, thinking she'd uncovered some secret. "And why are you President? And why... Is this strange one (glancing at Uyana) walking with you... You're quite mysterious, Seraphimovich!" — she poked my cheek with her finger, coming up close, jumping to match my height.
"Esteemed..." Uyana said, touching the blade to Guya's cheek, drawing a neat line parallel to her eye. "The only strange one here is you."
"See! Totally psycho!" — Guya poked a finger behind her back, not even noticing the blood trickling from her cheek. "But anyway... Tell me, Seraphim!" — she swung her hammer toward Uyana, who blocked it with her hand, and Guya just looked at me while her hammer hung behind her back, pressing the syndicate head. "Are you an enemy or a friend? Can I be friends with you? And can the Emperor talk to you?"
(Creepy... But even now it gives her style.)
"Lower your weapons first," I reacted.
They lowered their weapons.
"I'm a friend first and foremost, and I don't want to quarrel with anyone," I answered honestly.
Guya smiled as much as her lips allowed and looked at me from under her fringe, hiding her eyes. She leaned over so far that her entire voluminous skirt went to ninety percent — probably even showing something to Uyana. Her eyes were raised to me, and two index fingers pointed at my stomach.
"So you're a good guy?? Submit to the Empire! Poke poke" — she smiled at me from under her fringe.
"No."
"Just kidding!" — she tickled me, and I actually felt the tickling, dodging her. Guya moved closer, grabbing my arm, pressing it against her body, and, continuing to look at my face, went on. "But if you show yourself in the tournament, maybe you'll even get to talk to the Emperor — and with me!" — she pressed even closer. "— You can start being friends right now!"
(Whoa... That's quite intimate proximity — I can feel her warmth and breath, and I like it and don't. I wouldn't say I'm close enough with Uyana to ignore this proximity. Even though I'm twenty-nine, it still looks surreal — but also charming. She's so hyperactive compared to Uyana that for a second you forget you're in the Kingdom of Ruma at a tournament, among tents and hundreds of onlookers.)
(And her words that I could talk to the Emperor carry weight — because she's from the Empire, and secondly, because I want to befriend him... And when did I even start choosing friends — Emperors and Monarchs and a syndicate head... My friends used to be work colleagues, and somehow it suddenly turned out I only pick such friends, without even trying to find a friend among ordinary people...)
"I'd be happy to talk with the Emperor — and with you too!" I answered very sincerely — because in my past life I lacked friends in a difficult hour. Maybe in this world, if something happens, she'll help me — just as I'll help her if she has problems.
Guya stepped back and put her hand to her chin, examining me like a painting at an exhibition, trying to express all the deepest emotions of cleverness.
"Can I just... — she jumped, hitting her nose against mine. — Kill you!"
"No," — I crossed my fingers like the Japanese do.
"Fine... But listen, esteemed Seraphim!" — she decided to march in circles around me, poking my back, stomach, and sides one after another. "You think like a twenty-three-year-old," — she held up two hands with ten fingers twice, and one hand with three fingers once. "— The world will rape you, being this kind, and throw you into a field."
"What's your point? I don't care. I want to talk to people — and if they don't want to, they can turn around. I came with good intentions," I answered sincerely.
She stood on her tiptoes, matching my eye level, and a mischievous smile appeared on her face. The ball gown pressed against me with its stiff skirt, making me step back — and she didn't stop staring into me.
"Mh!" — she stepped back businesslike and put her hand to her chin. "And what's this thing?" — my pistol gleamed in her other hand.
"What?" — I felt my belt — but the pistol wasn't there. "Thief, give it back!"
"Give it back? Why?" — Guya said playfully, twirling the pistol in different directions, then aimed it at me — and I tried to step out of the line of fire.
"Oooh... So this thing is dangerous? Why are you running when it's looking at you?" — Guya asked, still aiming the pistol at me, while parrying Uyana's arm with her leg.
(Oh wait.) I stopped. (It has a decocker.)
"You probably don't understand family heirlooms — this just passed to me from my dad, to him from my grandpa, to him from my great-grandpa, to him from my great-great-grandpa—"
"Okay, okay! I get it! Family trinket. Take it!" — she poked the pistol into my chest, displeased. "Oh! Well, this probably didn't come from your great-great-great-great-great-grandpa?!" — now Guya was holding my rapier in her hand.
(Big mistake.)
I smiled.
"Hold still..." — I made a demonstrative gesture toward my arm and clicked my finger on the skin, parodying her hyperactivity.
"OW!" — Guya shouted and dropped the rapier to the ground, examining the burn across her entire palm and fingers.
"I told you!" — me.
"And he told you!" — Uyana.
"He didn't tell me!" — Guya.
"And I didn't actually tell you..." — me.
"And you didn't actually tell her..." — Uyana.
I took my rapier back and watched as Guya stood between us, trying to heal her hand with magic, casting again and again — and nothing. The gears started turning in her head, and she walked up to me, tearing off a piece of cloth, to my protests.
"You're to blame!" — Guya protested and deftly wrapped the cloth around her arm, then glanced at Uyana's hand, where she noticed the exact same situation.
"Seems we have more in common," Guya smiled with half her lips — while in her head she was already calculating the probabilities that this weapon was designed against mages. And if so, then any human is defenseless before this weapon.
Guya smiled and, waving her hand, quickly ran off across the tent field with her hammer at the ready.
I sighed, looking at my sleeve — of which only the word "sleeve" remained. (Guya... She's strange, and one hundred percent S-division. I wonder if everyone in the Empire is like that? Probably worth talking to the Emperor.)
"Talk to the Emperor" — I caught myself again on who I choose to talk to. I don't remember sitting and thinking: "I should talk to the neighbor across the landing" or "Hmm, maybe I should get to know the baker's salesgirl?"
I saw a fist flying at my face.
"Whoa!" — I dodged. "Don't, I'm here."
"Wow, the Archon has developed a reflex and a survival instinct?" — Uyana reacted coldly, returning to her straight posture, folding her hands at her waist.
"Do you know anything about this Guya?" — I continued walking toward the river.
Uyana followed, gazing into the distance, while flash-mobbers of various kinds ran past us.
"Guya Stumanskaya, fifty-three years old. IBR-A agent. Competes in the tournament annually, taking leave for that period," Uyana deftly recited an entire dossier and bit her upper lip with a touch of anger. "But apparently today she's not on vacation. She shut down seven of my shadow ships and personally destroyed contraband warehouses on the continent of Tsumonikal."
(Whoa... I mean, holy shit! That girl is one of Uyana's enemies — and she doesn't even know what the syndicate head looks like. If she did know, there'd probably already be a bloodbath trying to take Uyana down.)
"Why didn't you kill her?" — I asked, sitting at the edge of a cliff over the river. (Of course I wouldn't want them killing each other, but Uyana... that's her trade.)
"Over a thousand Ruman GPSD at the tournament," Uyana parried. "And two hundred and eight S-ranks. It wouldn't be a fight — it'd be a pinpoint Armageddon."
(She knows so much... Maybe I should ask her to cooperate with the Democracy of Silence? It could help protect all the officers — because if we know what anyone can do and who has what, we can avoid clashes or get acquainted before any hostile intentions appear...)
I watched the sailboats slowly pass beneath my feet — the huge Ruman Navy galleons. Long cargo ships slowly rowed with oars, packed to the brim with resources. They flowed in two directions, unhurried — and their presence filled the air with the pleasant sounds of rowing, making the duckweed near the banks sway, giving off a pleasant river-village aroma. To the accompaniment of frogs and crickets, sailors ran across the decks, either tightening sails or taking them down to pass under the bridge, or giving water to the rowers, arguing, laughing, drinking. And the ships kept changing in an endless kaleidoscope of variety...
"Beautiful," Uyana said without emotion, watching the river.
"What?" — I nearly dropped my eyes.
"Beautiful," she repeated.
(I thought she'd say "what?" — but she decided to stand her ground. Why am I surprised? She's human too, a woman — and she can see something beautiful in the world.)
I leaned on my palms and rested my head on my shoulder, watching the river.
"Yeah... Beautiful... By the way, would you like to become the head of the Democracy of Silence's Security Service?" — I asked offhand about a trifle.
"What?" — she glanced in surprise, though you couldn't tell from her makeup.
"Would you like to become the head of the Democracy of Silence's Security Service?" — I repeated.
"I thought... you'd say 'what?'" — Uyana started stroking her hair.
(I have some deja vu...)
"So... You wanted to be my shield — but now you could be a shield for... twenty-eight officers... And... One and a half million mage souls," — I decided to keep going with this topic.
Uyana sat down on the cliff next to me, thinking about it.
"I need to think about it. But cooperation with a syndicate is hardly going to benefit the Democracy of Silence," Uyana calmly found the downsides.
"But I'm not cooperating with a syndicate — I'm appointing an unknown woman to the post of DSSS head," I parried calmly.
"I'll think about it. It's a complicated question," Uyana closed the topic coldly.
(I should probably think about it too... Such an alliance isn't just pedaling a bike. Pedaling a bike?)
"Brilliant! I'll start supplying bicycles to this world!" — I shouted my "eureka," but Uyana didn't react, lost in her own thoughts.
I looked at her — and my first thought was "Maybe knock out a tooth?" — but I stopped myself. (Hitting a woman in the face... Is that... Weird?! No?)
"Is there an officer nearby?" — I shouted, fully confident that we were sitting in an enclosure.
"Yes, sir! Pex," — Pex jogged up to me and saluted.
I looked at him.
"Uh-uh-uh............ Are you sure you're Pex?" — I stared in shock at his outfit.
A tall cylindrical top hat, a tuxedo with holes and patches, a wooden cane with a shark-head handle, red moccasins, and a towel on his other arm.
"Operation 'Bread and Circuses' also mandates the phase 'Backwoods Brands,'" Pex answered calmly.
(As I understood — it's camouflage, or to avoid suspicion because of rifles, helmets, and other military gear. Wait! Brands!)
"Eureka! I'll sell proper clothing with a brand from each officer! Brilliant," — second business idea in a minute.
"Uh. Could you please give me a radio to contact CUB?" — I returned to earth.
Pex handed me a smartphone. (What?? We've always had phones? Since when? Why didn't I know? How... That's...)
"I can sell phones!" — third business idea in a minute.
"What's that?" — Uyana became interested in the phone.
"Ooooh... It's a thing that can do whatever your heart desires!" — I praised the smartphone and went click. "Here, I can capture you — or click — the ships on the river," — I showed her the photo, and she was clearly surprised but also tense about seeing herself in the phone.
"Can you remove this drawing... with me?"
"Sure. Do you mind if I make a quick call?"
"A call?"
"I'll contact my people through magical channels."
"Alright."
—
Ring-silence-ring-silence-ring — I looked at Pex in surprise.
"No answer."
"Maybe they're busy?"
"Ma—"
CUB: Hello?
Me: Hello? Is this CUB?
CUB: Yes? Meow Is this Seraphim?
Me: Yes?.. It's me?
CUB: Uh-huh... Well, then... Should I pass the phone to the Strategist?
Me: Uh-uh, who is this?
CUB: Oh-oh, I'm... Uh, from YF-11, Hinata, in training...
Me: Oh... Well... Uh, nice to meet you? Can I have the Strategist?
CUB: Uh-huh... Nice... Meow (Shouts) STRATEGIST!
Rustle.
CUB: Good day, Commander, I'm listening carefully.
Me: Oh! Hi. So, I have business ideas I want to discuss!
(I'd unconsciously started pacing back and forth along the cliff edge, talking to the Strategist under Pex's and Uyana's gazes.)
CUB: Meow Yes, go ahead. I'm listening carefully.
Me: First — selling bicycles to this world.
CUB: Not difficult. Feasible. It'll take about a week or two to create automation. We'll need to find a market to funnel into the general market — that can be done through Rekhilon. Meow-meow Or once you get an audience with the King of Ruma.
Me: Great. Also, selling quality clothing, and creating twenty-nine brands from each officer.
CUB: Feasible. We can start hand-sewing right now and have a monthly output of over ten thousand shirts or whatever else. I'll ask each officer to create a concept for each season of the year.
Me: Excellent. Also selling smartphones!
CUB: Possible. But I'd put this idea up for discussion. There are far more downsides than benefits. First, it's complex technology — and if people figure out how to develop apps for it, they could get maps of the entire world. Plus, calls will be impossible anyway due to network overload, and there's little profit.
Me: Understood. Well, two ideas for now, plus one more. I've offered someone the position of Head of the DSSS.
CUB: Copy. How can I contact this person to brief them and get acquainted?
Me: She hasn't agreed yet... And... Also... Well, she's the Head of the whisper — syndicate.
CUB: Understood. But we have no data on the head's identity from world sources. So this would be a fairly profitable cooperation — and we'll also issue her a passport with a new name.
Me: Alright, that's it. Talk later. Oh, by the way. How are things back in the Country?
CUB: Everything's excellent. Work continues. We've already obtained oil that can be refined, with finished barrels of oil — diesel, kerosene, gasoline, and other products are already being planned. The mountain cutting for the new Capital continues, and agricultural production complexes have been established in greenhouses. Also, the 'Silent Stream' project was completed — a water pipeline extended to the Capital, connected to all buildings, with salt filtration.
—
(Whoa...) I stopped to think. We have our own oil, our own greenhouses, clean water that we could, if we wanted, extend to the nearest Kingdom... And the strangest thing is that only one living person lives in the Democracy of Silence... But the officers have now truly become alive, like me — and they do this not only for me, but for themselves...
Me: Understood... Well, then green light for the clothes and bicycles...
CUB: Good. Goodbye, Commander.
End call.
I looked at the phone in surprise.
"Goodbye?"
(He said "goodbye"? So strange... But so warm in my soul.)
(Whoa! Where am I?)
I looked around and realized I was on the other bank of the river. How did that happen?
(Probably the phone did its thing, as it always loves to do — but more actively now, since I hadn't heard those pleasant dial tones in so long... M... Twenty-first century technology...)
(A few more days until the S-rank tournament starts. Maybe in that time they'll manage to make at least one bicycle to present to the King — and some clothing. That would be good...)
I should probably head back to Uyana and give Pex the phone — he definitely needs it more, since he's everywhere now. So I won't take away such a pleasant, cool, convenient, excellent, convenient... thing.