Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

“Are you as thick as you are ugly? It’s not your card.” The smug bastard was right in my face, his perfumed breath washing over me. “Trade it away and I’ll have you imprisoned for theft and fraud.”

It would be so easy to lunge forward and break his nose with my forehead. I imagined him falling backward with his nose crushed to the side and blood leaking onto his teeth. Oddly, I found less pleasure in the thought than expected; he looked enough like me that it was almost like imagining my own defeat. There he was, the man that I should have been, every inch a prince in his dark blue and cream silks, glossy chestnut hair swept back over his shoulders, ruby flecks shining in his eyes like angry stars. He was the very definition of a handsome devil, and from the first moment I saw him I hated him every bit as intensely as our piece of shit father. I wanted to ruin him. If I couldn’t make him actually bleed without a trip to the headsman, I could at least keep this Mythic out of his hands.

“I don’t see anyone’s cards here but mine,” I said as innocently as I knew how. “What was your name again?” I let the Shared Wisdom card drift an inch closer to Findek.

The princeling turned red and clenched his fists, but then he took a glance to both sides, saw that others were watching, and relaxed into a mocking smile. “I’m not one to make much noise about myself. Maybe there’s someone else here who wouldn’t mind letting this dimwit in on a little secret?” He held one arm out casually, and from absolutely nowhere appeared a truly stunning woman who slipped inside the circle of his arm like she belonged there. His hand rested on her glowing hip in a possessive manner.

Wait, glowing? She was a summoned Soul, and she had that extra-realness to a stronger degree than I’d ever seen. She made everything else seem dim and dingy just by existing. She was dressed all in dark leathers, and if an Artisan could have put a woman’s curves on a blade, it would have looked like her.

“You’re talking to Crown Prince Gerad of Treledyne, and you’d know it if you ever popped your head up from your farmer pigsty or wherever you’ve grubbed through life,” she said in a throaty voice, looking me up and down in a way that knew everything about me and dismissed me as useless. “Best give him what he wants. He doesn’t play nice.”

“Twins take me,” whispered Findek, his jaw slack. “That’s Kitsanya the Ghost!” When I looked to him, he mouthed Legendary at me. Suddenly it made sense. The woman looked a good ten years older than Gerad, and I couldn’t wrap my head around a woman like that letting a smug little boy paw at her, Crown Prince or no, but he had to be her Summoner. Apparently the highest-rarity Souls would put up with a lot to stay summoned. I imagined his Mind Home wasn’t exactly a nice place to rest.

Gerad gave the woman a wink, and she nodded to him gravely, moving off into the crowd. Then he stepped close, his smile bigger than ever. “Now you know who I am, you whoreson gutter trash, and if you cross me, I will destroy you. That card was meant as a gift for me. I know that idiot elf told you.”

He pointed across the way, and in the distance I saw Fferun stagger up to a table and pick up an entire crystal decanter of wine, tipping it back into his mouth. Apparently the sting of losing to a kid like me wasn’t bad enough to keep him away from the party’s free flow of booze.

I made a show of thinking. “Did he, though? The duel went by so fast it’s hard to remember everything. The only thing I know I heard for sure was something about shitting on you and your father.”

People were gathering, and I heard a few of them gasp. Findek sniggered, watching us both as if he were spectating a duel even as he kept one hand out to accept the card I kept teasing in his direction.

Hearing the whispers, the prince straightened up and went very cold. “You want to be very careful, boy. You can go to the cells for treason just as easily as theft.”

I turned to Findek. “Are people allowed to interfere in private trades?”

He grinned, delighted. “They, as a matter of fact, are not. I could summon Coliseum security if you like.”

The rage lit in the prince’s eyes again as he considered the half-dwarf. “Tell me who you think any guard will side with, little man. Are you trying to get yourself blacklisted?”

“Eh,” Findek said casually. “I don’t come to Treledyne often enough for it to make much difference.” To me he said, “Come on, lad, are we doing this or not?”

Then Basil was at my elbow, eyes wide and breath short as he tugged my hand and the treasured Mythic back to my side. “Oh hello, Your Highness. What an unexpected pleasure.”

“Stay out of this, Hintal,” the prince growled. “Go sit with the children watching puppets; that should be about your speed.”

A sudden voice broke over the crowd, magically amplified so everyone could hear. “Friends and fellow King-men, the time has come for this evening’s entertainment! I’m sure you’ve all heard about the soul ability competition – time to brush up and show off! We’ll start with our guests of Common rank. Don’t be shy, come up to the stage. The prize is worth the effort, I promise! Come on now, that’s right, everyone leave your gossip and drinks for just a tick and work your way to the center stage for the competition. I see a line forming, good, good!”

I recognized the sound of the smarmy, smartass announcer from my first match, the one who’d mocked me so mercilessly, but now he sounded a touch breathless, almost scared. If I had to guess, the party organizers had seen the prince spoiling for a fight and decided to move forward with the festivities ahead of schedule.

The prince gestured toward the stage in the center of the space where guests were slowly congregating. “Drop the card and go grub for a prize that suits you better, you dogshit. Or do you even have so much as a Common in you?” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses with multicolor lenses and gems studding the frames. They had to be Gamemaster Glasses or something very like them. He slid them onto his nose and looked me over. “As I thought. What kind of scum, what kind of thief plays an Epic and wins a Mythic without even forming their own soul card? Sounds like somebody needs a little investigation, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” I said shortly, my heart pounding. I wanted to rip the glasses off his face. I didn’t like people seeing inside of me, and the thought of someone trying to trace my Epic back to its source was nearly as bad.

“Come on in and watch, folks!” the announcer jabbered, sounding desperate. “Our first Common competitor takes the stage. Oho, look at that – a growing ability from Zarina, companion to Bessamun of House Jasker. Not all abilities are meant for the dueling arena, my friends. Look how lovely: hothouse flowers within spitting distance of winter. Well done!”

The Prince stepped in close, breathing on me again. “You’re a slum rat feasting at my table, and I won’t have it. That’s. My. Card.”

Basil cleared his throat. “Your forgiveness, Prince Gerad, but I don’t think that’s accurate. I can attest that the card in question was won fairly as the ante in an official duel. Hundreds of us saw. Thousands.”

The announcer prattled on in the background, commentating on one contestant after another, but Gerad had his eyes locked on me like a cat hunting mice. “You’re playing at games so far above you they might as well be in the clouds, you pissant. That card was meant for my hand and you know it. Keeping it could cause a rift in our state’s alliances that last for generations.”

I drew myself up to full height, wishing he weren’t taller than me. “If the card was supposed to be yours, then why did Fortune give you the elf’s Common and me the Mythic?” I raised my voice to carry. “I can’t be hearing you right, because it sounds like you think you know better than the gods. Is that what you’re saying, Prince?”

His fists clenched again, and for a moment I thought he was going to have a go with me right in front of everybody. I almost hoped he would.

Findek jumped into the silence. “I have three of the Ghastly Gremlins and a second copy of the Marauder to sweeten the pot. Now or never.”

“Wait–” said Basil.

“Deal,” I cut in, never taking my eyes from the Prince. I held the Mythic out to the half-dwarf, who snatched it up with a cry of joy and dumped a stack of cards into my hand in return.

“What have you done?” Basil whispered, aghast.

Prince Gerad was pale as milk and moving stiffly as he scanned the space around us. The competition was in full swing, but plenty of eyes were turned our way, as well. I could see him decide that making a scene would hurt him more than it helped, because he pasted on a brittle smile and stepped back from me.

“You pick your enemies poorly.”

My whole body hummed with pent-up energy. I wasn’t used to a fight where we never threw punches. “You and me were enemies the day you were born,” I said.

That puzzled him, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He drew back and very deliberately spat a thick wad of spittle near my feet. “I’d say I hope we meet on the boards, but it would be a lie. When I come for you, I won’t be under a Dueling Dome.” He pointed to Findek, who was in the process of packing the Shared Wisdom card into his leather case. “You. Stay right there. One of my men will be along to trade with you in a moment. Try to leave the building with that Mythic and you won’t live to see sunrise.”

Findek hugged his case to his chest behind the table but stayed put. “Better tell them to bring the good stuff, little prince, and lots of it. Sentimental value costs extra.”

Gerad’s lip twitched into a snarl before he could stop it, and he stormed off, pushing people out of the way as he went.

I clutched at the little stack of cards in my hand, letting my eyes soak in the horrible, beautiful Demon Marauder sitting on top. I had two of them, and I’d nearly made Gerad shit his pants in anger. It was the best night of my life, no contest.

Then Basil had my arm in his pinching fingers, his eyes wide and despairing. “What did you do? Why didn’t you wait?”

“What’s wrong with you?” I snapped, shaking his hand off me. “Didn’t you hear him? I got two of the Rares and three of the Uncommons.”

“You idiot!” he wailed. “I told you to wait for me!”

I put a hand on his shoulder, wishing I could slap him in the head but feeling sorry for him. He cared so much about his trades, and I could see he didn’t understand what had just happened. “I know you wanted to be here for it, but that asshole was breathing down my neck and I had to go for it. Besides, look,” I said, spreading the cards for him. “Look at all of these!”

The sight of the cards just made him angrier. “I’ll never get my hands on another Mythic to trade, and you botched it!”

“Are you blind?” I laughed. “He threw in extras just to piss off the Prince.”

With visible difficulty, he controlled himself. “Hull, even after the doubles, we could have gotten three more Rares out of him easily. Maybe even another Epic. He used the Prince’s interference, my absence, and your inexperience to his own advantage. If Gerad weren’t such an unlivable pain in the derriere every single second, I’d suspect them of working together.” He patted my hands, sympathy warring with annoyance on his face. “You got taken, Hull. Plain and simple.”

I looked over at Findek, who was still at his table, holding his pack of cards tightly and listening in. He met my eyes shamelessly and nodded.

“You son of a bitch,” I said. I was so shocked I wasn’t even angry. Findek hated the nobles; he’d helped me pull one over on my secret half-brother. He’d been on my side!

“No other way to learn, kid,” he said casually. “I’ll get twice as much out of the Prince’s library. More. Fate must love me to send me a greenhorn with a Mythic. My deepest thanks – I’ll be able to get a nice manse down in my ma’s clutch because of this.”

“You’re a terrible person,” Basil said primly.

Findek the Mender snorted. “If you think this is what’ll weigh on me when I’m trying to sleep, you’ve got some living yet to do, lordling. Go to battle a time or two and then let’s talk.” He waved a dismissive hand at us. “Be on about your evening, little ones. Better if you’re not crowding me when the Prince’s men come to trade. Don’t give me those angry eyes! It’s not a robbery, it’s just a bad trade. Go drink too much and fall into bed with someone pretty. You’ll hardly remember in the morning.”

I balled a fist and wondered if his face felt as much like rock as it looked.

“Come on, Hull,” Basil sighed. “There’s no point. He got us by the rules, there were plenty of witnesses, and there’s no better way to anger Fate and Fortune than going back on a trade. Making a scene won’t do any good. Come on. Put your new cards away.”

Mentioning my new cards distracted me enough that he was able to pull me away. They looked less shiny than they had a minute ago. “They’re really good cards,” I protested.

“They’ll be excellent for you,” Basil admitted. “I just wish you had waited for me.”

A familiar face stood in the center of the competition stage as we approached. The announcer was chattering on, sounding more cheerful now that the potential disruption was taken care of. “And the winner of our Common competition: Jubal Fisk of Dockside, one of our Rising Star competitors, for his impressive demonstration of the Hunt ability!”

We found space alongside Esmi and Warrick. “Who’s this?” Basil asked them.

“Another poor kid,” Warrick sighed, then jerked a guilty glance at me. “Ah, no offense meant.”

“He’s not poor,” I said shortly. I felt sour about everything, including the boy standing on stage. “He admitted as much in the Mess Hall. Pretends to be poor, gets into the loser’s bracket, and takes as many cards as he can. Leaves all his best cards home. If I knew where he lived I’d rob him blind.”

Warrick’s private little frown told me he didn’t think I was much better, but I’d decided he was a whiny, self-obsessed piece of shit hours ago, so I wasn’t any more bothered than I had been before.

“And for the prize,” crowed the announcer, “Jubal can go to the Royal Library any time in the next month and have his choice of any Common card from the King’s collection!” Approving mutters rose in the crowd, and Jubal, ever the hustler, ducked his head in an aw-shucks kind of way and gave a rich kid’s idea of a poor kid’s bow before tromping off stage in his strategically stained boots. I kind of wanted to follow him to his seat and kick his teeth in just on the principle of the thing.

I distracted myself by putting my cards into my Mind Home one by one. They really were incredible, and I couldn’t wait to absolutely tear through my next opponent in tomorrow morning’s match. I’ll be unstoppable with these. I get my Sucking Void out to absorb damage until the Talisman kicks in while my Souls beat the shit out of everyone. It wasn’t that bad of a trade. The sense of weight got heavier and heavier as I put each card behind my right ear and let it disappear into me. The Epic Talisman of Spite was the last one in, and I felt a feeling of fullness that was like eating my fifth plate of food in the Mess Hall while carrying a sack full of bricks on my back… except it was all inside my head. I didn’t think I could have fit so much as a single additional Common into my Mind Home until I got used to these.

The discomfort made me antsy and left me itching for a fight even more than I had been before. Right then, the crowd parted just as my gaze fell off to my right, revealing a tubby man sitting at a table near the stage right as his mouth opened. He was wearing Gamemaster Glasses and a smug little smirk. I knew what he was going to sound like, who he was, even before he opened his mouth and confirmed it for me, his voice echoing magically around the space.

“On to our Uncommon competition! We’ll have fewer to see but each one will be that much more impressive. Line up, friends, don’t be shy!”

He was the asshole commentator that had mocked me during my first match. I hadn’t heard him make a single snotty comment about any of the Common card competitors, not even Jubal, who was ostensibly a poor kid just like me. The fat little bastard just hated me for some reason.

“I’m gonna go get a bite to eat,” I told Basil.

He nodded distractedly, his eyes glued to Esmi as she spoke. Warrick didn’t even notice when I walked away. I circled away from the competition stage, trying to look casual.

I was going to get some food, and then maybe some ale to wash down my anger and complex disappointment. But then I had some ideas about how I was going to pay my respects to the worst announcer of the Tournament.