Sworded Affair-Chapter 236: Sweet Sixteen

Chapter 236: Sweet Sixteen

Emma looked around as the last wisps of the fading curse dissolved into nothing. From her fellow competitors, apathy was the norm, and while one or two grimaced, none reacted strongly enough to be notable, nor did anyone need to look away. Pretty much within her expectations, as those who got as far as the round of sixteen would be used to violence, and had likely seen similar sights before. The reaction on the viewer’s gallery was far more pronounced, with a few faces turning green, and others several shades paler. Nobody excused themselves, however, preferring to suffer in silence than invite the inevitable ridiculous of withdrawing from the scene,

”Bad idea, casting such a wide ranging curse,” Master Europe tutted, treating the entire fiasco as yet another opportunity to educate, which for a man of his experience, perhaps it was. “When attempting to claim vengeance from beyond the grave, it’s best practice to clearly define your target; the looser you leave the bloodline shackles, the higher the chance of annoying someone far above your weight class. Typically, such masters stay out of low level disputes, but it’s a different matter entirely when a misfired curse bounces off of them.”

That stratification matched what Emma knew of the Empire, a rigid hierarchy that bound both magic and politics alike, right down to the event calendar.

[It’s the only way for a large society to function, when the heads of each family can cast curses capable of depopulating a small town at minimum. If you’re an old patriarch, you don’t target the juniors of the next generations, because that invites retaliation in kind, and it’s not much of a victory when all that’s left is scorched earth in the aftermath. Practitioners are adults, in terms of age, but still very much treated with kid gloves. Magi are considered full participants in society, while the Masters take on leadership and supervisory roles, but tend to avoid micromanagement, which is seen as a sign of ineptitude and mistrust in their subordinates.]

Oddly enough, this echoed what little Emma remembered of her father’s words, on the rare occasions he was able to talk about work without breaching the Official Secrets Act. The intelligence services dealt with the same problems, of managers breathing over employee shoulders and tanking morale, or failing to communicate expectations until the last minute, leading to mandatory overtime for the entire branch. The practical realities of management, it seemed, were a universal constant that cut across even radically different societies.

Still, that was probably beyond the scope of the night’s entertainment, and nobody else seemed about to step up and make a fuss. Master Europe likely came to the same conclusion, because he clapped his hands, banishing the remnants of the very sore loser to parts unknown.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

”With that bit of excitement over, we’re down to the last sixteen,” he declared. “The numbers are getting a bit thin for random pairing, so it’s time to open the floor to challenges. The rules are simple, anyone remaining contestant can challenge anyone else, with the lowest ranking getting first pick of opponent. You can only fight once, however, so whoever wins a challenge is exempt for the rest of the round. Got it?” fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓

That drew a murmur from the audience, as it was the first true agency we’d gotten since the impromptu preliminary round. Emma had to admit, there was a surprising variety for the night, far more so than the simple tournament bracket she had expected, but she certainly wasn’t complaining. A faint light flickered into being above her brow, designating her as number one, the highest seed according to whichever metric they were being measured against.

Princess Astaroth was ranked third, with the second spot on the podium occupied by a wiry looking girl who barely appeared to be in her teens, though appearances could be deceptive, Emma’s own variety of forms being testament to that. There was a moment of silence from the participants, as each of them took in the competition, assessing their odds, before the man ranked sixteenth challenged the fifteenth, setting up the inevitable derby at the bottom. Both of them looked rather worse for wear, with the former wiping away blood from a long cut across his forehead, and the latter cradling his broken left arm. A circle appeared between them, and the bout was one.

”Since neither of them will fight again this round, the fourteenth can make his pick now,” Master Europe proclaimed, evidently deciding to hurry things along a bit.

The fourteenth likewise picked the thirteenth, trusting to the mysterious algorithm’s judgment, in the absence of any desire or perhaps capability of gathering their own intellligence.

“The twelfth as well then,” Master Europe continued.

Here, on the third selection, the prior trend broke, as the man in question, a burly lad who favoured a greatsword, pointed to the visitor from the east who occupied the fifth rank, one of Tian Mao’s entourage, if Emma wasn’t mistaken. The cultivator smirked, making a waving gesture with his fingers that she couldn’t quite parse, but was probably quite rude judging by how his challenger’s face reddened: there was definitely some prior history between the pair, making them decide to settle their scores now that the opportunity presented itself.

Emma resigned herself to fighting last, since it seemed unlikely that anybody would challenge her, especially after the earlier display, watching for the three bubbles that had formed to pop. The first to form, as it happened, was also the first to collapse, revealing the fifteenth seed still standing, if barely, and needing to use his sword to prop himself upright. The second bubble followed shortly thereafter, and to Emma’s surprise, nobody emerged.

”A mutual kill,” Master Europe explained. “Both reached the threshold for emergency artifacts to send them home. No matter, there may be a bye in the next round, if the remaining numbers are odd.”

Not the strangest thing to happen, Emma mused, as the winnowing of the final sixteen continued apace.

The sourc𝗲 of this content is free(w)𝒆bnov(𝒆)l