Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

I registered Hull’s departure half a moment later than I should have, and I nearly cursed when I scanned the crowd, unable to find him. He had barely needed anytime alone before to get into a shouting match with the prince – the prince! – not to mention failing miserably in the trade I had been so looking forward to. Considering what sort of trouble he might make this time around made my skin itch, and I did another scan over the well-dressed attendees to no avail.

A warm hand on my wrist pulled me back to my more immediate surroundings. It was Esmi, of course – only her touch held such heat.

“He’ll be fine,” she said, giving me one of her equally warm smiles. “Let him enjoy himself.”

Earlier today, not an hour ago even, I would have delighted at the contact and the look she was giving me. Now though, my thoughts swirled around the poisoned words with which Plutar had infected me. I knew his boasting had to be some trick, some attempt to rattle me before our match tomorrow – he had talked of dueling strategy, after all. But know that as I might, there was a traitorous part of me that questioned, that yet again spun out the possibility of Esmi having played me for a fool this entire time.

I could put the question to her, cutting through the deplorable what-ifs that my mind in its sickness seemed to enjoy fabricating. In fact, I wanted to ask so badly I worried my face would betray my intent without a word being spoken. However, if she was in cahoots with Plutar, I doubted she would reveal the truth to me before my match with him – why give up the charade now? – and if she wasn’t, the question would dishonor her. What sort of relationship, what sort of marriage would we have, if I let us start out on such an unstable footing?

So I bit my tongue and nodded my agreement. I thought she might have paused ever so slightly to consider my reaction but then her focus was back on the wide stage and the people who had assembled there.

I decided my best course of action was to follow suit. I didn’t particularly care who won the competition – not unless it revealed a duel oriented soul ability of someone I might face in the tournament – but it was a good distraction. I just had to make it through this night without causing disorder in my relationship with Esmi, defeat Plutar on the morrow, see Esmi’s delight at my victory, thus proving the falseness of his words, and everything would be aright in the world again. It was less than a day away. I could hold my peace that long.

A few of the competitors on the stage were talking to the event functionaries, perhaps coordinating the order they would go in or things they would need to showcase their abilities. In the last round, I had caught the winner using some cups and a ball to prove that no matter how a functionary had tried to hide it, he could always locate the ball with Hunt.

“Time for our first competitor!” the announcer declared, apparently having received whatever information he needed.

There were eight Uncommons in total and as they took turns displaying the power their inner soul card gave them, I found that I didn’t need to work particularly hard to become engaged. The first was a blind boy who summoned a butler Soul, of all things. That card then went out into the crowd to taste various foods and wines set out for the guests; each time the boy calling out what the food was and even the vintage of the wine. I hadn’t ever seen a shared perception ability before, and I think not many others had either, because the applause for him was quite rich.

Next was a girl who made a series of volunteers laugh when she touched them, then came a boy who wore a strange outfit: half bright yellow, half bright blue, split down the middle. The purpose of the curious fashion choice became clear when he changed his skin color to match: all yellow, all blue, and then split just like his clothes. Both of these received a healthy applause from the crowd, but not as much as the blind fellow had earned. Then came a girl who tried to show us that the cold didn’t affect her, but seeing her stand in a bucket of iced water without shivering wasn’t particularly engaging, and she only received a smattering of applause from those who seemed sorry for her, myself included.

“That’s what it would have been like if either of us had gone up there,” Warrick said to me, his breath sour from wine. I had lost count whether he was on his third glass or fourth, but half drunk or no, I certainly agreed with him. Esmi, for her part, chose not to comment.

Next on stage was Throice, still wearing his shirt and pants with buttons made to look like tiny gears. I was actually quite curious to discover what ability he would show off, since I hadn’t noticed him using any during our duel. He carried a metal ingot with him about the size of an apple. He knelt down, knocking the hard ball against the wood of the stage for some reason. Then he straightened, and using nothing more than his fingers, he began to pull the metal like taffy.

Esmi let out an appreciative “ooh” beside me, as did many others in the crowd, and I was certainly impressed, too. Something about his touch must be changing the integrity of the metal, but the effect seemed localized to the bit he was grasping and stopped as soon as he was no longer touching it, the metal returning to its hardened state. This let Throice work the ingot like a sculptor might but in a fraction of the time. Barely a minute or two passed before he held up a beautiful iron flower for us all to see. The crowd shouted and clapped at the display, the sound redoubling when Throice tossed the flower to a young girl in the audience, who spun about laughing after receiving the fine gift.

After him went the kestrel about whom I had been so curious, but the three-foot tall bird with its spotted blue and brown plumage merely showed off that it could summon cards, which – while an impressive feat for one of its kind – was not much of a show, particularly not after Throice’s display.

Next was an older boy with glasses, who I recognized as Bessamun of House Jasker. Before going on stage, he shared some soft words with the kestrel, who seemed rather disheartened by the reception it had received. Bessamun then turned to us with a deep frown, as if we were bullies to have treated the bird so. The announcer tried to say something funny, but the awkwardness of the moment lingered as the older boy stalked out to the front of the stage and lifted an open book before him. House Jasker was in charge of the Royal Library, so seeing him with a book wasn’t a surprise. I knew Bessamun in passing; at Common he’d had the ability to have a book read itself aloud to him, but I’d not seen him since advancing to Uncommon. Thus I got to experience the same surprise as the rest when a disembodied voice was joined by an elderly man made of yellow light projected above the book, who moved and gestured along with the words. Strangely, the section Bessamun had chosen was a lecture on the importance of treating all creatures under the sun with equity and grace. The speech droned on and on, until the announcer finally called for a stop, at which point Bessamun snapped the book closed dramatically, eyeing us all again before finally yielding the stage.

Last was a squat boy who Esmi mentioned had been the aggressive swarm duelist she had faced earlier. A functionary assisted by throwing various fruits from the food tables at him, which he slashed in half with a curved blade nearly faster than the eye could follow, showing off his Fast Attack ability. This earned him a robust applause, but not as much as some others had received.

In the end, it was Throice who walked away with the win, a chance to pick an Uncommon from the Royal Library, and I was happy for him. I thought that Bessamun might have been the victor instead if he had chosen a more lively section of his book to read from… or perhaps a different novel entirely.

“Next up, Rares!”

I had considered going and getting a bite to eat, that last act having made me a touch hungry, but it seemed that the announcer wasn’t planning on giving us any breathing room between rounds.

“Wish me luck,” Esmi said, throwing me a smile. I did my best to smile back encouragingly, but the unasked question stuck in my throat kept it from being as natural as I might have liked.

The Rares were only a slightly smaller group than the Uncommons, and I knew almost all of them: Esmi, Losum, Reginald, and Plutar. There was also a boy with very short hair and scarred, cauliflowered ears that I thought might be the bruiser from Dalrish, and when Warrick let out pitious groan as the last of them took the stage, I knew it had to be Afi.

“You didn’t tell me she was Rare,” I said.

“Of course she is,” Warrick said, staring hatefully up at the smartly dressed girl. “Just another reason why my parents think she’s perfect. If she wins this, they’ll probably adopt her and leave me out on the streets to eat garbage with your new little friend.”

There was a lot in that sentence I’d have liked us to discuss, but his tone told me it was best not to comment further just yet. Ideally, the girl would lose and some of Warrick’s good cheer would return of its own accord. If not… well, I’d deal with that card when it flipped.

Losum was up first, and while seeing him lose wasn’t as important to me as Afi doing the same, after his rude comments to me earlier in the day, I surely hoped he did. The tall boy proved that he had Armor by taking spaced out hits from a sword swung by a functionary directly to his torso, shedding no card shards in the process. The Prince’s other toady Reginald went next. He had a functionary put on a blindfold and sit off to the side of the stage. Then, Reggie held out his hand to us, showing three fingers. Only a few moments later, the functionary called out the same number, though there was no way for him to have seen it. Reginald repeated the trick two more times, just to prove it wasn’t luck, and in both cases the functionary gave the number correctly.

“One-way telepathy,” the announcer called out, “not particularly useful in a duel but invaluable on the battlefield!”

The bruiser went next, picking up one functionary and another and another, until he had all four balanced above him. He was Strong, just like my brother Randel, and the crowd clapped happily at the feat – in part, I thought, because the functionary on top seemed utterly terrified to be so high up off of the ground.

Then it was Esmi’s turn, and I found myself unexpectedly torn. I had been wanting to know her soul ability ever since we had become engaged, and yet to find it out at the same time as everyone else felt somehow… wrong. Should I leave to keep the pureness of the reveal when it finally happened between us? My body made my decision for me, not moving from where I stood, and so I watched along with the rest as Esmi lifted her bare arms into the air and then set them on fire. At first I worried for her safety, and others cried out in shock as well, but the pleasant smile on her face as she swung her burning arms in slow arcs put us at ease. She sped up, spinning on her toes like a dancer, arms outstretched and the fire whooshing as it cut through the air, brilliant motes trailing after the flame. Esmi then came to a sudden stop, rubbing one arm against the other, like a knife on a sharpening rod, and the flames vanished, leaving her skin pink but otherwise unmarked.

Plutar stepped forward into the wake of the strong applause meant for her, which I didn’t particularly appreciate. Worse, instead of using a functionary as others before him had done, he conscripted Esmi to assist before she could escape. Putting a blindfold on himself, he had Esmi walk among the crowds with her arms on fire again. She consented, but was careful to hold them high so as not to endanger anyone she passed. During this, Plutar tracked her movement the entire time, his outstretched finger following her unerringly.

It was some sort of heat sensing ability, and while I disliked nearly everything about what had just transpired, there were two things I was glad of: one, I couldn’t see how such an ability could help him in his duel against me, and two, the crowd wasn’t particularly impressed by it.

However, when Plutar removed the blindfold, he gave Esmi a bow for her help and winning smile, saying, “I weell always know where you are, my deer,” to which many of the women in the audience tittered in delight, and the applause for him increased while my teeth creaked together.

Last was Afi, who walked primly to the front of the stage and then reached forward, her hand vanishing into nothing. When she pulled it back from wherever it had gone, she held a potted plant, which she placed on the stage beside her. She then reached both hands in, pulling out a stack of books, and then a stool, and then even a candle, making a neat little study space on the stage.

That done, she used both hands again, but this time she pushed outward with them, straining a bit as if there was a force resisting her. Despite this, she eventually got her arms quite wide, as wide as I thought she could go, and then she stepped into nothing, vanishing, leaving the crowd in dead silence.

“Did she just go into her Mind Home?” the announcer asked, sounding flabbergasted.

Afi then stepped back out of the invisible door she had used, returning to her spot on stage, and gave us all a bow.

The crowd went wild.

For Warrick’s sake, I didn’t join in, but it made little difference. Afi was declared the winner on the spot, gaining access to the Royal Library like the winners before her, and my friend let out the foulest string of curses I’d ever heard him use. While I expected him to be angry at the outcome, I still jumped when he smashed his wineglass on the ground. Luckily, the way he drank, there was very little liquid left, so it was just the shards of glass that made a mess. Still, people near us reacted, making sounds of shock or glaring at Warrick– and me, by association. My friend hardly noticed, storming away without a word of apology or explanation of where he was going.

While I felt badly for him, I didn’t bother following. In situations like this, it was usually best to give him an hour to cool off, if not more. After that, we could have a more logical conversation about what had transpired and how best to proceed. In the meantime, I did my utmost to restore Order to the moment by expressing my sincere regret for the outburst to those nearby and pushing the glass shards I could find together into a small pile with my boots.

Despite my focus on the task, I saw Esmi coming and gave her as hearty a greeting as I could muster, hoping she didn’t feel as badly about the outcome as Warrick had.

“That was impressive,” I told her. “I should have guessed you had such an ability from the interactions we’ve shared.”

“Thank you,” she said, her cheeks pink from her recent exertions. She looked perfectly pleased by the situation, at least until she registered that I was alone. “Where did Warrick go?”

“He…uh, wasn’t feeling well.” I was saved from needing to explain further by the announcer’s insistence on going one round immediately after the next.

“What you’ve been waiting for, Epics!” he cried.

As everyone knew he would, Prince Gerad took the stage, waving lazily to the crowd as if he was climbing to the steps to the throne. He didn’t bother waiting on the wings once he had ascended, boldly walking to the middle of the stage. Before he could say or do anything though, he was joined by a beautiful girl in a dark skintight dress. She leapt up onto the stage in a single bound, positioning herself to stand near the prince, which Gerad seemed decidedly put out by. To glower as he was instead of turning into a simpering, drooling buffoon, the prince must have been wearing something to protect himself against the vampire’s glamor. My family pin had such an effect, and I imagined Esmi was wearing a similar Artifact. Hull, though… I realized belatedly that I hadn’t thought to warn him about such things. Likely an inconsequential worry. The vampire was up on stage, after all, while he was off doing whatever he was doing. The chances that the two of them would interact were low, and even if they did, Hull would just end up fawning over her, which would hardly be the worst thing someone like him had experienced, I was sure.

“First up, the Prince!”

Taking a measured, distasteful step away from the vampire, Gerad flourished a full hand of cards in the crowd’s direction. Did he plan to summon one of his powerful Souls like that Legendary he had been with? That really wasn’t a personal soul ability, but the prince wasn’t always the best at following rules. The audience waited with me, expectant, but the prince didn’t do anything. Instead, the longer the standoff went on, the more annoyed Gerad looked.

“He’s got an extra card!” someone called. The voice sounded a great deal like Reggie, but looking around, I didn’t spot him.

A slow applause picked up through the crowd, and I went ahead and joined in. It wasn’t the flashiest of soul abilities, but I could appreciate its utility. Still, the way Gerad looked down at us all like we were twice-blind idiots to have not noticed the grandeur of his power wasn’t the most pleasant of sights.

Esmi shifted beside me. “I see the prince hasn’t become less entitled since I left for Charbond, has he?”

“Unfortunately, no,” I confirmed. “He’s somehow managed to get even worse.”

“Eleven cards,” the announcer crowed, sounding sycophantic. “What a feat indeed. Can our foreign competitor hope to match it?”

The vampire stepped forward, and I swore I saw her eyes go as black as her dress. A shockwave rippled out from her, seen as a distortion in the air and a collective gasp in the crowd, many crumpling before it. When the strange force reached me, I was no longer standing amongst my peers, but instead looking down at the hilt of a dagger protruding from my breast. My cravat and shirt darkened around the wound, blood soaking into the cloth, and I was hit by a staggering, searing pain, a force pressing into me that shouldn’t be there, making it hard to swallow. I went to try and pry the dagger out, but my hands didn’t move, nothing could move, and yet I felt myself falling, out of control, unable to brace for –

I jerked upright, awaking in the same fashion I often did after attempting to power through a dull book in my family's library. This, however, was much more unpleasant. My chest was still tight, and I put a hand over it to prove to myself that I wasn’t actually in mortal danger. Had I just felt my own death?

Beside me, Esmi’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and her body was trembling, like a hare that had just managed to escape a hunter’s hounds. She must have felt my attention, because she turned to face me, and without needing words, the two of us grasped hands, our fingers squeezing each others’ tightly. I felt more grounded while touching her, more alive, my worries from before now seeming like inconsequential things after such a macabre experience. Supporting one another, we were finally able to take stock of those around us, and I discovered that most were even worse for wear, a good number having to actually pick themselves up off of the ground in the wake of the vampire’s power.

“That was…” – the shaky voice of the commentator broke the eerie silence – “both unexpected and quite impressive. I think…yes, it seems we have our winner.”

The applause was slow to start as people recovered themselves but then it swelled in intensity. Gerad stormed off the stage with a petulant huff, while the vampire gave the audience a shallow bow of appreciation. Our adulation for her was loud, but also tempered by a healthy dose of fear. What she had just done, and to so many of us, was a terrifying display, and I was quite glad that I wouldn’t be facing off against her on my side of the tournament bracket tomorrow.

“For our winner, we have a veritable mountain of shards, enough to raise any Rare you might possess to Epic!” the announcer declared, having regained some of his gusto.

The vampire seemed pleased at that news, her full lips stretching far enough to reveal two pointed teeth. She left the stage then, gliding off of it as gracefully as I’d ever seen a person move. Even with my pin and at a distance too great for her glamor to affect, I found myself utterly captivated by her movements.

“What a show,” Esmi breathed, squeezing my hand again. That broke the spell, and I turned to my fiancee, giving her a solemn nod of agreement. I hadn’t expected there to be a second Epic in attendance tonight, and the vampire’s presence had indeed made for a show to remember.

“Any Mythics who wish to compete?” the announcer asked those gathered, though he did so in a playful tone.

Anyone with knowledge of Treledyne’s annual Rarity census could easily deduce why. The only other Epic who resided in the city besides the prince was one of the two commanders of the king’s army: Jorin, Losum’s father. No one of Mythic rarity lived in Treledyne, and hadn’t in more than three and a half generations.

“We have a pair of foreign dignitaries in attendance who can boast such a claim,” the announcer went on. My attention couldn’t have been grabbed more fully if the words had been a physical thing, and many others felt the same, excited, disbelieving talk bubbling up all around. “But from their looks… No, my friends, it appears as if neither Ilopion from the Cloudpierce Peaks or Geldenik from the Undermountain Ways wish to share their souls with us at this time.”

Cloudpierce Peaks? Undermountain Ways? Those were centaur and dwarf lands, respectively. I had never met a centaur before, and though I had some experience with dwarves already, I would very much enjoy speaking with another – they weren’t all as harsh-tongued as Findek the trader. I craned my neck, and sure enough, near the back of the crowd I could see a woman who was taller than the others, a mane of reddish brown hair cascading down her back, white leathers covering her torso, painted with some sort of silvery runes, and just below that, the chestnut hair of her equine lower half.

“That means the Ability Competition of the First Blossoming of the Spring Soiree has come to a close. Please show your appreciation one last time for those who chose to entertain and impress us with –”

The announcer cut off unexpectedly and conversation among the crowd also died out suddenly. I turned from my inspection of the foreign dignitary, searching for the cause and found it even faster than I had the centaur: our King was floating down from the sky, resplendent in fluttering, fur-lined cream and garnet robes. He also wore a golden crown atop his head, the burnished metal embedded with rubies, emeralds, and an enormous diamond at the center.

He landed softly on the stage, his layered garments settling, and his skin giving off a soft glow – not like when Esmi had been coated in fire, but as if light were trapped beneath his flesh. He flashed a smile to the crowd that was nearly as bright and declared in a rich baritone, “There’s one more category left to judge.”