Volume 4, Chapter 9 – The Tournament. Death
The tent zone around the green pyramid. A huge white tent with the coat of arms of the Empire of Arbakan, and twenty agents of the ISBI* dressed in rigid white armor with thin rods protruding from it — the magical shield was held on those. In their hands were massive spears radiating an aura — capable of both melee and ranged combat. Two swords hung at their belts, and a flat white box was on their backs.
[ISBI — Imperial Security Bureau of the Emperor]
Guya was rushing toward the tent at full speed — and two guards stopped her in front of the entrance, crossing two spears into an X.
Guya stopped, stroking her wide skirt, glancing at the guards from under her black fringe with her large, pulsing eyes.
"Guya Stumanskaya, from IBR-A. I have strategic information in hand! I even got hurt!" Guya protested.
"IBR-A code," the Guard snapped, not moving.
"The ray of the horizon dies on a bread strand and sneezes," Guya answered, twirling a huge hammer in her hand and snorting, making her fringe constantly lift.
"Leave the hammer here and turn out all your pockets," the Guard answered emotionlessly.
"Hey! I'm in a dress — what pockets??"
"You're from IBR-A. You have enough pockets," the Guard parried calmly.
And Guya, displeased, began turning out the hem of her skirt, from which she produced: lunch, dinner, twenty throwing knives, two swords, vials of poison, a stack of blank sheets, a quill and inkwell, a world map, a napkin with a kiss on it, a piece of graphite, sketches of the pistol, the rapier, and Seraphim, sketches of two hundred and eight S-rank fighters, a list of the weapons of everyone present here. A pillow, a pouch of gold, documents from three states, a glass, perfume, a whetstone, a chisel, a saw, and... I think that's all?
"That's all!" Guya snorted displeased, looking at the pile beside her.
"Unlikely."
And Guya, with displeasure, pulled metal rods out from under her skirt, causing the dress to snap shut neatly like an umbrella.
"That's all!"
"Unlikely."
"For the Archon's sake!" — she pulled sharpened hairpins from her hair and untied the bows, which contained metal needles soaked in poison.
"That's all! For real!" Guya snorted, already with disheveled hair, in an ordinary dress.
"Eyes."
Inhale-exhale — Guya irritably pulled a thin-walled little ampoule from her eyelids — wrapped in a thin magical shell, used as an L-pill.
And now Guya stood in an ordinary black dress that was a bit too big for her, starting at the waist, with the hem spreading across the ground. With ordinary brown eyes, disheveled hair, and a pile of everything beside her.
"The Emperor is ready to receive you," the Guard answered, lowering his spear.
"Later," Guya snorted and walked into the tent — the hem slowly trailing behind her, gathering all the dirt.
She entered, where the Emperor stood over a table, talking with the head of the ISBI.
"Good day, Emperor. Good day, Gustav Craig," Guya bowed and stood at the entrance, waiting for them to notice her.
For five minutes, Guya just stood and didn't move, glancing with displeasure at Gustav — his gray head — and listening to his nasty voice.
"Uh, and what's this runt doing here? How did they even let you in, dressed like that?" Gustav finally noticed, glancing sideways at her with his small eyes from under gray brows.
The Emperor also looked at Guya — who looked like a little girl in her mom's dress, trying makeup and hairstyling for the first time in her life.
"Speak," the Emperor addressed her calmly.
"I am Guya Stumanskaya from IBR-A!" Guya snapped quickly, standing at attention. "I have a report on President Seraphim of the Democracy of Silence, his weapons, and his stated intentions."
"Oh... So it even talks, and it turns out it works at IBR-A..." Gustav spat. "They'll hire any trash!"
"Enough," the Emperor raised his hand. "Continue, Stumanskaya."
"Seraphim is under constant guard by at least fifty people, with a surveillance radius of about five kilometers. He doesn't know Imperial, speaks Ruman with an accent, possesses no aura, has physical conditioning and minimal knowledge of politics. He has a naive desire to 'make friends,'" — Guya paused to catch her breath. — "He's also armed with a rapier of unknown metal — but touching the hilt causes a burn, and regeneration magic doesn't work on that area. I can also note that most of those registered for the tournament from the Democracy of Silence carry the same weapon. And he's accompanied by a strong fighter named Victoria."
The Emperor listened carefully, sitting on the edge of the table. He removed his crown and set it on the table.
"Anything else?" the Emperor asked.
"He has a metal object, which he calls a 'Family Relic,'" Guya exhaled. "And I'd also like to add that at the Tournament there's a 'True Frenchman' from the Democracy of Silence who opened his own betting shop for tournament fights, with a large list of bets on absolutely all outcomes," — she adjusted a strand of hair. "— At the moment, it's known that this person managed to negotiate with the Ruman GPSD that sixty percent of the earnings go to the Kingdom of Ruma. Currently, over sixty thousand gold has been received into Ruma's treasury before the S-rank fights even began."
"Is that all?"
"Yes!" Guya snapped quickly.
"You're dismissed," the Emperor answered calmly.
"Shoo," Gustav hurried her along.
Guya left.
Gustav walked up to the table, examining the crown, hovering a little.
"What do you think, Gustav?"
"I propose we capture Seraphim and seize this weapon from all his people," Gustav struck the table, and the crown jumped. "We'll cite self-defense laws!" — Gustav turned toward the entrance, spitting with every word. "— We'll do everything so those around think they attacked us — and while our people seize the weapons, we'll throw Seraphim into a ship and send him to the Empire."
"And what about the betting?"
"We'll charge the Kingdom of Ruma with cooperating with criminals and remind them that no one recognized the Democracy of Silence, and conducting any financial operations with them is already receiving gold from unknown sources. And we'll also throw in that Seraphim slaughtered a whole village by hand in a duchy..." — Gustav thought. "— Let's say some duchy on Zurnalina."
"I've heard you," the Emperor answered calmly.
"Yawn And I've heard you, gentlemen..." — Zumwalt materialized elegantly in the corner of the tent, adjusting his white fur coat to the ground and his magnificent white Homburg hat with gold trim — with an elegant pinstripe suit underneath.
Zumwalt pulled out a gleaming pocket watch, businesslike checking the time, leaning one hand on a black oak cane, lacquered with the engraved name "Zumwalt."
"GUARD!" Gustav shouted, aiming a spear with a magic stone at him — and ten ISBI agents burst into the tent.
"Ah... what schemers you all are..." Zumwalt yawned lazily.
"Who are you?" the Emperor reacted calmly, watching twenty agents pin Zumwalt into a corner with their spears.
"Let's finish him off, Emperor! Kill!" Gustav shouted, spitting out all his saliva.
"No," the Emperor stopped him, and the guard obeyed. "Speak," he addressed Zumwalt.
"What? But—!"
"Silence," the Emperor cut Gustav off.
Zumwalt lazily surveyed everyone, barely opening his eyes, and tucked his fallen white hair back under his hat with his white-gloved hand.
"My yawn... Name is Zumwalt..." — a lazy pause. "— And there's one technology... Oh, why tell when I can strong yawn show."
Zumwalt clicked a play button on a recorder, and the recording began from the very beginning — even before Guya arrived.
"I'll rewind..." Zumwalt held the button, stopping at the intrigue moment.
The Emperor watched carefully, hands folded on his knees, still sitting on the edge of the table — while Gustav nearly exploded with rage, continuing to hear his own voice from the magical box.
"Kill," the Emperor ordered briefly — and twenty ISBI agents lunged at Zumwalt.
Zumwalt deftly pulled two Cabot Guns "Big Bang" with MOU rounds from under his coat and quickly punched through the chest plates of all the agents — deafening the Emperor and terrifying everyone who collapsed to the ground with a bullet, the shots echoing across the entire tournament town.
Everyone fell to the floor, clutching their ears, trying to cope with the nasty ringing and pain. Zumwalt carelessly tossed aside his white fur coat stained with blood, and, pressing down on the guards' backs, kicking their spears toward the tent walls, walked toward the Emperor and Gustav, waiting for everyone to come to their senses.
Zumwalt roughly lifted Gustav by the scruff, seating him on the table — and while Gustav hissed with rage and spat, clutching his ears, Zumwalt put a bullet in his thigh and threw him off the table onto the ground, where he began writhing in pain, screaming so much that ears began to ring from him.
The Emperor managed to endure the piercing sound of twenty-one bullets and Gustav's screams, watching Zumwalt.
"Looks like an assassination attempt on the Emperor," the Emperor declared, examining his crown with drops of blood.
Zumwalt smiled and stood in front of him, bowing.
"Exactly. Yawn Looks like it. But if you consider what you discussed and release it to the world — plus yawn somewhere cut down a village and add it to your accusation — then..." — Zumwalt slowly placed the pistols back into his chest holsters. "— Maybe it was self-defense?"
"I think it was an attack. I doubt the King of Ruma would appreciate it. It would hurt his reputation — he failed to protect me on his territory..." the Emperor said calmly, examining Zumwalt's appearance.
"We can negotiate," Zumwalt added calmly, checking his watch.
GPSD burst into the tent, completely filling it, lifting the wounded and leading them out. All the fighters had already flipped the levers on their cases, surrounding Zumwalt.
"I doubt it," the Emperor answered.
"Emperor, are you alright? What happened here?" a Special Forces soldier asked quickly.
"Planes," Zumwalt said, surrounded by GPSD.
The Emperor glanced at him and thought.
"A training bout. Clear the tent," the Emperor ordered.
"But it's all in blood," the Agent was taken aback.
"What's a training bout without blood," the Emperor reassured him and turned to Gustav lying in the corner. "Gustav. 'Soul's earth.'"
Gustav shouted, getting to his feet.
"No! I can't do it that stupidly. This one," Gustav said, blazing, pointing at Zumwalt, who lazily stroked his sleeves.
"He's kil—" Gustav suddenly fell silent — and the Emperor's arm was exposed to the bone, slowly clenching into a fist.
"DISMISSED!" he shouted at the special forces, who immediately ran out.
"What do you know about Ruma's planes?" the Emperor asked with interest, still choking Gustav with an invisible hand.
Zumwalt deftly moved a chair over and sat across from the Emperor.
"No. I'm telling you about planes of a different design. Yawn Without magic," Zumwalt continued.
The Emperor released Gustav and looked at his bony hand, examining a large signet ring.
"Words can show much — but where are these planes?" the Emperor became interested.
"In the Democracy of Silence. Yawn But I'd like to clarify the anonymity of this conversation," Zumwalt crossed his legs.
"We'll see. Well then, how can I look at these planes?" the Emperor continued, rising from the table and returning his hand to its normal state.
Zumwalt surveyed the tent and smiled.
"The table will need to be moved aside."
[Zumwalt]: Aviana. To the Emperor's tent.
"Listening," — Aviana entered as if she owned the place. "The table needs to be moved."
The Emperor looked at the entrance covered by cloth, saw the ring of GPSD, and was surprised at how she got through.
"Fine," the Emperor nodded, thinking. "Gustav, you're free."
And he quickly scurried out. The table was moved aside, and everyone stood by the tent walls.
Whoosh.
And filling the entire space, an F-35C Lightning II appeared.
The Emperor was stunned by the sight of the plane, his eyes lighting up.
"Speed? Danger? How does it work?" the Emperor walked around, tapping the hull.
"Maximum — almost two thousand kilometers per hour. But everyone says Mach 1.6. Cruising — Mach 0.85," Aviana began coldly, walking alongside the Emperor under the fighter's wings. "Can carry nine hundred kilograms of pure explosive if stealth is required, and also almost three tons in 'Beast' mode."
"Three tons?" the Emperor was even more surprised, not understanding how this thing flew at all.
"Absolutely."
"How much do all your planes cost?" the Emperor asked, striking the hull with his fists, testing its durability.
"It's not about gold, but about recognition on the world stage, yawn, and an alliance. We also offer a new type of transport for your citizens, and clothing," Zumwalt calmly stopped the Emperor's enthusiasm.
The picture in the Emperor's head flipped upside down — and he was no longer thinking about capturing Ruma or Firkun... He was thinking far bigger. He already wanted to seize the hidden lands from which he'd been exiled — the ones no one knew about. A huge layer of the world hidden by magic — and he wanted to return there not as an exile, but as the man who, for the first time in centuries, saw a chance for the Empire of Arbakan to reach those lands and restore the honor of his name.
"Deal. How many of these planes can you provide, and how do you fly them?" the Emperor quickly stepped out from under the plane, returning composure to his face.
"We're ready to begin delivering planes in a month. And deliveries of clothing and a transport called the 'bicycle' — in a week," Aviana answered coldly and dismissed the plane.
[CUB] (heavy breathing): Everyone... Seraphim is dead.
Aviana and Zumwalt froze in terror the moment they heard the shocking words in their earpieces — words too terrible to even speak. "Seraphim" and "dead" — an icy shower crashing down on every officer, freezing them in place.
Aviana looked at the Emperor, who was saying something — but her heart raced, spreading fear and heaviness through her whole body. Everyone who heard understood: they'd been doing the wrong thing. They'd been trying to protect Seraphim politically — but he was killed physically. It was a wound seared into every officer's heart.
Aviana pulled a pistol from under her skirt and looked at everything with a blurred gaze, as if underwater, letting all the Emperor's business intrigues pass by her ears.
Pistol at her temple, she looked at Zumwalt — and he did exactly the same.
Boom-boom — two shots echoed from the Emperor's tent, and the bodies of two officers slowly fell, dead weight hitting the ground.
—
Lelik stood under his tent, talking to clients — but hearing it, he stopped, tears streaming down his cheeks. His bro... Commander... Dead... While he was just relaxing here, not protecting him...
He pulled a rapier from under the counter and stabbed himself in the stomach several times, collapsing dead.
—
Pex stood next to Arleigh in the middle of the tent city — they looked at each other. Pex lifted his hat, pulling out a fragmentation grenade — and standing next to each other, he looked into Arleigh's red eyes, unable to make a sound, just whimpering, hugging him tightly and the grenade lying between them.
Click.
BOOM!
Their bodies exploded into fragments, scattering pieces of flesh onto the tents and people nearby, leaving two mangled bodies behind.
—
Paladin stood facing an Abrams, the barrel pointed right at his face. He'd already accepted it and understood what mistake they'd all made.
BOOM — the tank shell tore off his head and half his torso, the remains falling neatly to the ground.