A Journey of Black and Red

Chapter 214: Kung Fu diplomacy and other diversions

After weeks of travel, I would have hoped to stay in a nice hotel upon my arrival. Unfortunately, Shanghai is hostile territory, and the city lives through difficult times. A message on my desk informs me that martial law has been declared throughout the city. Constance is in there. I am rather cross.

Towards the end of the afternoon, the skipper comes to see me. All my skippers are Dvergur-blooded men with grim countenances, possibly due to my unique need for both engineering knowledge and tricorn tolerance. They switch because captaining the Fury is a taxing endeavor, but I always call them skipper. I suspect they might all be brothers.

“A Colonel Something-or-other came today. He had a letter from a certain Mr Douglas demanding our ship’s assistance in pacifying the communists, which I understand they intend to exterminate.”

“Could you politely tell them to get bent?”

“I have already written an answer to that effect, claiming neutrality.”

“And to keep their filthy paws off my ship.”

“I reminded them that we are flying an American flag and thus exempt from requisition.”

“And if they try anything I’ll crater the lot of them and send the city through a winter without end.”

“I finished by pointing out the undesirability of a diplomatic incident.”

“Thank you, skipper, you are a dear. I do not have the patience to deal with them right now. And it’s Colonel Zheng.”

“I shall keep it in mind for the next seventeen seconds.”

I look at him questioningly.

“His expression when I slaughter his name is simply too priceless.”

“I understand.”

A report comes. The ship has finished loading supplies and is ready for departure, should we need it. The men bemoan the lack of shore leave but the presence of an entire company of those white sunburst soldiers outside reminds them that necessity makes law. I am told they are part of the ‘KuoMinTang’ which is the, well, not communist faction. Towards the end of the afternoon, Constance returns with a man I have never met before, as well as a gash in her dress. Her ear is covered in dried blood. Hers.

“HSSSS!”

“I am fine, Ariane.”

“Who? Where? Is it the men outside?”

She attempts to pat my head and I slap her hand away, though not too hard.

“No no, it happened earlier.”

“And who is this?” I ask, turning my attention to the man who came with her.

He is clearly a native of sorts, with pale skin and delicate traits. A gray, western style suit with hat and assorted gloves covers his solid frame. I can see a fencer’s build from the muscles under his white shirt. The suit looks more than expensive, tailored in fact. He completes his look with a pair of round glasses over calculating brown eyes. An aura like a storm comes with him, fresh yet threatening. He bows when he feels my attention on him until I see the hint of a tattoo peeking from his right sleeve. Interesting.

“This is Wang Yunlong. He is from the north. Ah, it would be better if I start from the beginning. Following the advice of Melusine’s Vassal, we decided to follow the money, as it were. We made our way to the Bund this morning. That’s the riverside. The financial trail Melusine’s men found led back to a local branch of the Hong Kong and Shanghai Banking Corporation. Unfortunately, it had been evacuated by the time we arrived.”

“Because martial law was declared.”

“Yes. What are you doing?”

I remove a first aid kit from a cupboard. I call this piece of furniture “the pointless storage place” since it contains that item, along with glasses and a few bottles of alcohol, all of which I have no use for.

“I will clean your ear and disinfect it.”

“You know I’m regenerating, right? It’s almost closed.”

“Good then it will sting less. Sit down.”

Constance grumbles but she obeys. The wound is small and clean, new tissue already closing the gash. It will be closed and unscarred by tomorrow but that is no excuse to be like a street lout and move around with blood on one’s face not to mention leaving scab on the carpets and pillows, thank you very much.

“I managed to open the way in thanks to your invaluable lessons. No broken windows this time. We found records of the transaction in their office with the help of a guard.”

“That you manipulated?”

“And bribed and threatened. Ow!”

“Quit fussing!”

“Moor covered her tracks very well. HSBC looked into the donors. They are all phony facades made just for the transfer, with no real origin we can track, but he had an idea. In the meanwhile, I decided to pursue another lead. You see, we were not the first to ask about those transfers. Someone else had been making inquiries, though with the same success. A local ‘private detective’ company. I decided to pay them a visit. Believe it or not, they were quite rude.”

With her ear clean, I replace the first aid kit in its compartment.

“Martial law and the inevitable chaos has made us… distrustful. Especially of outsiders,” Mr. Wang adds in a mellifluous voice.

“I failed to convince their secretary to talk to me as she did not speak English. And also because I had forced their lock. It was enchanted. I met Mr. Wang in the agency’s inner courtyard. We fought. ARIANE, NO!”

“INSECT.”

“Ariane, let him go. He wasn’t the one who hit me anyway.”

Mr Wang looks quite shocked, pushed against the wall with my claws on his jugulars.

“You… Xixuegui. Vampire!”

He raises his hand in surrender, all while taking great care not to struggle. A hand rests on my shoulder.

“Let him go, Ariane. Please.”

I delicately place him back on his feet and step away. He readjusts his tie.

“Cold one. I thought you were a myth.”

“Can I finish my story?” Constance asks testily.

“Yes, yes. I have not killed him, have I?”

Accursed dragon and blood prince essences. I have difficulties handling bouts of aggression, especially if they concern Constance or my domain. I suspect they will be subsumed in time, but vampire timelines approach the fae ones in scale. It could be decades and it would still be a short delay in the grand scheme of things. Ugh.

“Right. Mr. Wang took the intrusion seriously, especially because we are both mages. We fought in the garden. It was quite nice!”

“Miss Constance is powerful in the way of ying. She froze my cherry tree.”

“I already apologized.”

“That will not make the tree regrow. You must seek balance.”

“Your spellcasting and mine are not similar. When I fight, winter comes with me,” Constance says, and her blue eyes take an icy color.

“Can you finish your story?” I interrupt with no small amount of Schadenfreude.

“Right, sorry. Mr. Wang and myself took each other’s measure. He uses a lot of internal mana to move faster, hit harder. It is quite fascinating.”

“It requires many hours of practice, discipline...”

“And tattoos,” I finish.

“Those are merely finishing touches on a masterpiece.”

“Their external spells are weaker,” Constance says smugly. “Anyway, after we were done, we had a talk and realized we had the same purpose when it comes to Moor. She has apparently been aggressive to her neighbors and they are quite eager to find her to even the score.”

“How surprising.”

“Is it not? Mr. Wang represents a faction of the local mages based in Beijing, to the north. He proposed a solution… but it’s a little complicated so I will let him explain.”

“Please sit,” I offer with a smile. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Not at the moment, thank you,” the man replies with an ever-polite smile. “You are a vampire, yes?”

“Correct.”

“We have heard of your kind but thought they were stories meant to scare children. It appears the world is vast and full of surprises.”

“You have no idea. You were going to explain how we can… help each other?” I ask, the alternative to cooperation clearly implied.

“Yes, well. As you may have presumed, China hosts a vast number of magical groups. They very much prefer to backstab and fight each other rather than work for the good of society.”

“Then we are not so different after all,” I grumble, making coffee for myself.

“This vast… community of groups is called Jianghu. The lake and rivers. We have existed for a long time in the margins of history and… separate from the central power. Thus it has been for centuries, but the world has changed. Invaders have come to China, not to form a new dynasty but to steal its wealth and drag it far away. My faction purports that we have been separate for too long, and that it is time for the individual mage to reenter and serve society again so that we may throw aside the weight of unfair treaties. Only through unity can salvation be found. My faction… is not very popular.”

“By that he means to say that we were attacked by assassins on the way back and nearly killed. I nailed one with my pistol, by the way. He looked really mad about it.”

“My favorite part,” I admit.

“The one you call Moor, that spider, she has preyed on us for a long time. She has weaved her nets and killed many promising students. This I know. It is time for our group, long divided, to unite against her. You could help.”

“I will go out on a limb and wager that your Jianghu friends do not like foreigners very much,” I tell him.

“Yes, but they respect strength even more. The one you call Moor was but a ghost until now, a shadow, but if you know her, you can give a face to our enemy. A good slap and redirected anger can achieve what a month of backroom deals will fail to do.”

“And once we have gathered your merry band of boxers, then what? Bang on every door until we find the bitch?”

“Twenty spies might fail where a five working together will succeed. Her money must come from somewhere. Find enough business irregularities over the past few years and you will find a trail of people who know things.”

“Thralls,” I say. “Moor trusts no one. She has always been very hands on. She will use an agent to guarantee oversight. There is only one person she will trust.”

“Baudouin, her servant,” Constance says.

“Find him and we will find Moor. DO NOT hurt him,” I warn. “If you do, our deal is off.”

“Why?” Wang asks with surprise.

“Because,” I reply, “I asked politely.”

***

In order to leave the ship, I have a dinghy lowered on the other side of the hull, opposite the shore. Melusine has joined us. I prepare to row but Wang offers to do it and I consent, seeing as he attempts to get in my good graces.

“Nu Sarrehin.”

I no longer need a gauntlet to cast simple spells, provided I do not need to channel too much power. I use a simple glove instead. It suffices to drown our small boat in illusory darkness. Not one soldier sees us move along the shore.

We move through warehouse districts, the streets empty except for roving bands of men armed with swords, axes, and cudgels, mostly. Large groups huddle in some of them, discussing in low voices in a tongue I do not understand. It appears I was mistaken. Shanghai is not going through hard times, exactly. It is a powder keg with its fuse already lit.

“What happens if the city devolves into a civil war while we still look for Moor. Will she use the opportunity to flee?”

“The balance of power is heavily skewed in favor of the KMT, and they will not dare to touch the foreigners. I suspect Moor will not depart so long as there are English pockets to empty. As for your plan to use local resources, I would advise looking into opium dens, illegal gambling rings...”

“You might as well search for a — what was it again? — a needle in a haystack, yes. Shanghai is the world capital of vice and debauchery.”

“And here you are missing all the fun,” I tell Melusine.

“I am after your kind of fun, for once. I will be fine.”

Then to Wang.

“We need such establishments that cater to foreigners, as she would not risk Baudouin standing out even more.”

“Hmmm.”

“First, we need to rally the troops,” I remind them. “Do we have a plan? I assume they will not just come running if summoned.”

“They might, but they might also take their time. The only way to get them quickly is to bait them. I believe the provocation that your presence represents, as well as a personal interview with the leading grandmaster, will be enough to attract their attention.”

“And why would the ‘leading grandmaster’ receive us? For that matter, why would they admit us in what I assume is their meeting point?”

“Yes. Master Shu’s home. I… will think of something.”

“Items that reinforce the… external expression of magic.”

“Qi emissions?”

“Whatever you choose to call it. We have them and know how to manufacture them.”

“Ariane? You will sell our western know-how to… to barbarians who still fight with swords?”

“Oh, you own the patent for the western standard magic system? A system widely known over every continent where the English have spread their empire?”

“It is not the same thing as teachings from a master.”

I lean in front of her so we are practically nose to nose.

“So you agree I am a master of magic. Will you also agree I am better than you, despite being born mundane?”

She sputters.

“I am not so sure we should be arguing…” Wang interjects.

“No no wait, I have never heard that argument before!” Constance adds.

“You wield it like a warhammer! Your power does not make you a good mage, merely a strong one,” Melusine blurts.

“And yet you are concerned with a poor mage teaching the locals how to make a focus?”

“That is not the same thing.”

“You have no right to tell me who I teach and why, especially after dragging me to the world capital of vice at the height of political oppression, which is, by the way, the most Melusine thing you could do.”

“Fine! Not that I expect much anyway. Do as you wish. I am merely tagging along because I do not want to stay confined a minute more.”

“Does this mean that you will not talk? As if!”

“Aaaand we are back on familiar grounds,” Constance says.

I let myself settle into the familiar bickering while Wang looks on, apparently a little surprised that the legendary ‘xixuegui’ would devolve into squabbles. Hah, he has seen nothing yet.

***

The house of Master Shu is a manor, and by manor, I mean one of those strange complexes made of courtyards and rooms the local rich folks seem to appreciate. The roving gangs we have seen avoid this place like the plague. Guards patrol the low wall in groups of two wearing strange garb and wielding strange weapons.

“Why pick a short halberd? Too small for horses, too large for unarmored infantry.”

“Those are called guan dao and they are a respected and honorable tradition,” Wang says testily.

“They are not even in formation.”

“What do formations have to do with them?”

“Polearms are best used in formations where wielders might cover each other.”

“I see. I was considering another form of formation. A repartition of qi users to empower an effect.”

“A spell array? Alright. Lead the way Mr Wang, let us see if they take the bait.”

I hide my aura out of habit but Melusine and Constance do not. We approach in full view and are let through the dense network of guards and quite a few subtle arrays without being molested. I like their subtle spells. I might look into them to add one more layer of defense to my hoard. I mean, my art collection. A hoard? I am no dragon.

We witness a small conflict between the doormen and Mr Wang. To say that the relationship is tense would be an understatement. Without him to translate, we are left in the dark about the details but I can pick up the gist of it. The doorman harbors animosity towards our guide, but our guide has a right to be here. Eventually, the surly sentry gives up and we are let into a gorgeous inner garden made of gravel and curiously-shaped stones. Ah, this is the source of the subtle array, a curious arrangement of plants and minerals that form an extremely primitive spell. The gardener would be forewarned about intruders without them noticing, unless they have practiced to the level of archmage. Melusine studies the construct with equal interest while Constance focuses on the archers she has spotted on the roofs. That was fast. I will commend her later. People do not pay enough attention to the skies. A lack of airborne predators will do that. I cannot be everywhere.

We find more soldiers inside, obviously belonging to the same faction. Most of them are mages. If I were to trigger my Magna Arqa here, I would reap quite the harvest. They cast looks of disbelief our way and hatred towards Mr Wang. I notice that he is the only one who wears western garb.

“You do not seem to be very popular,” I observe.

“We embrace western ideas, believing that it will make us wiser. Many in the Jianghu find this dishonorable. They think we betray our ideals in the name of power while we argue that ideas should clash so that the truth may emerge. I am also from the north while they are from the south. Finally, we advocate for a return to society while they argue the opposite. We have little common ground.”

“Let us hope Mr. Shu will be more accommodating.”

“Grandmaster, please. He has earned that title.”

I do pay attention to our surroundings as we are led to another courtyard, then to a waiting room with varnished wood tables and high seats. Their mages count both men and women in their ranks. Many of them appear related, with younger wards in the care of older masters. I see mostly traditional clothes, not even the qipaos and simple robes of Shanghai’s affluent society but old sets one would see on ancient travel journals. Everyone is armed. The situation appears tense through no fault of our own.

We are not offered tea, which sends most of us into a sullen silence. After a while, an old man in a long, flowing white robe and a pristine white beard appears flanked by two youngsters with mighty auras. Like others in the compound, they keep hair long, which I find cute on Torran and pleasant enough on them. All three are powerful mages and carry blades.

Wang and the grandmaster immediately engage in a tense discussion. This one appears much more subtle than the one with the gatekeeper, and I find myself unable to follow. Wang grits his teeth, but eventually returns to us as the grandmaster waits.

“Grandmaster Shu will accept a petition, unfortunately, I am unable to summon the other grandmasters to hear your proposal immediately because I am not, myself, a grandmaster, and only they who bear this title may summon their peers.”

“How does one become acknowledged as a grandmaster?” I ask, sensing an opportunity.

“You have to challenge them to duels and beat five among the assembly. The grandmasters may decide to challenge as well, three times.”

“And you cannot participate?”

“Impossible. To even ask this opportunity would dishonor my master, for it means rejecting his teachings and deciding I am ready. I might as well spit in his face!”

“That sounds, errr, unpleasant. Not to worry, I shall give them a good walloping.”

“I apologize, this is not an English word I am familiar with.”

“The battle maniac will get us the summon,” Melusine interjects.

“She means she’ll thrash them,” Constance helpfully added.

“Ah. Yes. I might be able to argue this case. Is there a protocol westerners use to announce this short of challenges?”

“Slapping his face with a glove.”

“It would be best if I conveyed your offer… verbally.”

“Whatever you prefer.”

Wang returned to argue his case. As soon as I feel three pairs of eyes on my back, I turn, aura still masked. They stare at me, so I smile. I feel a probe and block it. Wang addresses me.

“Grandmaster Shu would like to tell you that the challenges will test your control and body, not just your destructive power.”

“How else can you tell if someone is more than just a battery?” I ask.

Wang conveys my words. The old man agrees. They turn to leave but the strongest young lad’s gaze lingers. He has a cute blue robe with white, weird horned horses. His aura tastes like a storm. He nods imperceptibly. I smile back.

Ah, duels. I love duels.

“Grandmaster Shu bids us return tomorrow. He adds that the grandmasters will be present. If your challenge is successful, you may propose your deal immediately afterward. If your performance is good enough yet you still lose, the grandmasters may still consent to hear you so he wishes you good luck. I will add that the grandmaster’s reputation hinges on you holding your ground against the others.”

He frowns.

Ah, mortals, so prompt to forget.

“How is your throat?” I ask him.

Wang reaches for it, his fingers immediately finding the jugulars where my claws rested but a scant hours before. I give him my toothiest smile.

“I had forgotten. How peculiar.”

“We tend to have that effect, but do not worry, we will remind you.”

***

The next night, the patrols are so dense that we are forced to travel by rooftop for part of the way. Fortunately, Mr Wang appears to be as nimble as his local counterparts and we manage to reach the Jianghu compound in time.

While yesterday it was mostly empty except for patrols, today lanterns light the white circumference of the wall, casting a festive mood on the complex. Well, the sort of festival where people fight to the death in any case. My sort of festivals. More groups patrol the walls which only improves security slightly as they seem more eager to glare at each other than two look out. They wear garbs and antiquated armor of different makes and styles, some clinched at the waist with a silk rope, others tight with shoulder pads. Some are decorated, others sober. Some, finally, emit the same sort of ashen promise war priests do. It would be more ominous if they did not wear bright orange.

The most interesting part is the abundance of women in their ranks, not mixed but gathered in sisterhoods of different creeds. Some of the men are slightly deformed, as well. That or their order only hires horrendously ugly people. It remains a distinct possibility.

We walk through the gate under the collective gaze of hundreds of people. Perhaps this is how convicts feel when they enter the courtyard of their penitentiary for the first time while the residents wonder if they are meat or killers? I will never know for sure. What I do know is that the practitioners inside are stronger than their guards. The air is thick with auras. I have never seen so many mages gathered in the same place since the Great War, and even then they were not quite so close together. Western mages also share a certain uniformity because they mostly follow the same tradition. Differentiation starts at a later level. The casters here are different, as varied as can be, so that their auras form a tapestry of colors and tastes, an experience that my normal senses cannot quite catch. Ah, perhaps this is a cause for an impressionist painting? I could superimpose colors over the men and women. Hmm, yes, I can see it now.

I come to my senses because our way is blocked by a tall man sporting an impressive black beard and equally long eyebrows. How peculiar! He wields one of those short halberds and smells of fire and a mountain. He sneers at our guide whom he towers over with naked contempt. They quickly exchange a few sentences while the crowd looks on in sullen silence.

Like before, Mr Wang remains calm under the onslaught of what I assume to be profanities. I can taste the hint of smothered fury under his perfect composure and I can tell he wants to even the score, though his face does not betray a hint of emotion. Not even gritted teeth. After a while, the man lets us pass with one last threat or insult.

“Is he a grandmaster?” I ask Wang.

“Yes,” he quietly replies.

“It appears I have found my first opponent.”

I move closer to him, annoying Melusine as I push her aside.

“You want to face him, do you not?”

“I will face him, vampire. After your challenge, if you leave him alive. It must be done, for he insulted my master and myself.”

“Oh do not worry, I would not slay those we want as helpers. It would be most counterproductive. You will have your chance at revenge.”

Wang nods and leans in to whisper.

“I shall translate what is said to Lady Constance. I trust you will pick up on it?”

“Oh yes. Let me know of the insults so I may repay them.”

In short order, we arrive where the crowd is densest, a large open space surrounded by walkways turned into impromptu bleachers. A structure has been raised, composed of vertical beams planted in soft soil around a sort of gymnast set: four posters holding four horizontal beams with two more beams crossing at the farthest angles. All the beams are quite thin, barely as large as a foot. They are also above the reach of even the tallest man around. There are no obvious ways to climb. A rack filled with a wide assortment of weapons rakes an entire side of the arena.

A semi circle of men and women sits at the far end of the arena, with Grandmaster Shu at their head. They are all powerful mages in fineries with a few notable exceptions, like an orange monk and someone who looks and, unfortunately, smells like a beggar. A conscious choice, I presume. There is no accounting for taste.

Grandmaster Shi stands. The humdrum of conversations dies in under a second.

“Tonight, we gather to see the merits of western magecraft,” Wang translates for us.

“But more importantly, we talk with those who have crossed the ocean and stand before us with an open hand. For too long our nations have been at each other’s throats in a world where allies are only too rare. I hold the sincere hope and belief that we may become a whole greater than its parts. Perhaps I am an old man who has seen too much and I will be proven wrong, but it will not be by the hands of those I have called under my roof. The following challenge will be held according to all rules and without fouls. Prove that you are knights even in this day and age.”

The meaning is clear. If there is treachery, it will come from the white outsiders, not them, or so Grandmaster Shu hopes. A few of the other masters sneer at these words but that is fine. Someone who plans to cheat would not show it.

“As for the rules, they are simple but I will explain to our guests. Lei Gong, if you please?”

To my surprise, one of Shu’s two protégés stands up to face me. He is the one with the word horse on his clothes and the storm aura.

“Greetings. The challenge is one of control and ability, not one of might. You must make your opponent fall or forfeit without killing them. That is all. You must defeat five. Three may call to you. Do you accept?”

His English is clipped and laborious, but no less clear for it.

“I do,” I say, and a roar of confusion emerges from the crowd.

“Her?” Wang translates, “she is not even awoken! They are making fools out of us!”

“Let the first challenge begin. Any volunteers?”

A guan dao as tall as me smashes into the ground. The mountain grandmaster roars a few words, then he jumps on a nearby beam, gracious despite his size and boisterous character. He also wears cute little boots with pointy, upward ends and I want a pair. I shall have to ask Wang. Perhaps we can burglarize a place on the way back.

My first opponent starts a diatribe that lasts for a good five minutes. At first, Wang makes a token effort to translate the many figures of style and subtleties the man uses, but he soon gives up after a last ‘spill words in eight directions. It means talking nonsense and, oh, I have lost the thread’.

I do not need a translator to figure out he is quite hostile. Just as his anger winds down, I go and grab a guan dao myself from a nearby rack. I hold it by my side while the mountain main chokes with fury, then with an easy step, I join him.

The rules will be simple. I cannot simply do away with my heightened perceptions so I will be using reflexes and strength at the limit of what a human might achieve and nothing else. It will be good practice.

The mountain man spits a few more words that Wang translates as ‘errrr. You dare.’ Good enough for me. I swing the guan dao a few times to get used to the unusual balance, then the unexpected happens. The mountain master swallows his rage to salute. Placing his open palm over his fist, he nods.

“Qing.”

I salute with my borrowed weapon in return: immediately after, Grandmaster Shu says a word and the fight is on. Fire erupts around him in great gouts, and he charges forward.

FIRE.

Yes, instincts of mine, I know. We have faced it before. FIRE. Yes yes. Enough. I dodge under a first swing, feeling the heat as a wave of fire travels where my head would have been, then over another. I strike back at the limit of my own range but the mountain man darts away to his side of the beam. He is cautious. Another cry and he starts in a series of swings I easily dodge. After all, a guan dao is quite close to a glaive, my sire’s soul weapon. Of course I would train extensively with and against it.

We fall into an easy dance. My foe screams then charges, then I dodge and counter. I am not sure a blow could easily pierce the armor he wears, yet he will not risk it and the fight extends in length. Since he cannot bring his strength to bear, he switches to more jabs but I answer by deflecting rather than dodging now that angle and pivot can make an impact. Attentive silence has replaced the earlier mutters. Still, he is slightly faster and much stronger than any human mage I have ever faced. Only technique and anticipation have kept him at bay. I can tell he is building up quite a sweat, however, and I expect an opening quickly.

Because of the way the pillars are planted, there is no real way to back someone into a corner. They can merely jump on the outer ring and bounce about. This appears to incense my new friend. Eventually, he roars and plants his guan Dao in a beam, then punches the air. A fist-shaped burst travels on, a rather impressive if wasteful spell. The man soon follows, ready to grab me wherever I may dodge if his expanded arms are any indication. It is with some surprise he sees me fall to the side, the distraction is enough that he misses the haft of the glaive I have left in his path. His back foot moves forth, propelling me to a nearby pillar. He stumbles while I am already moving towards him.

I kick him as hard as I can. Despite this, he still manages to flip on himself. A foot lands on the outer beam and his fingertips reach a central one. I slam the glaive’s haft down.

I distinctly hear his knuckle break, but to my surprise, he does not budge. I look up in wonder to see a red face. Furious, bloodshot eyes bore into mine. He growls while I smile despite myself. How manly! I like it.

“Grandmaster Shan. That is enough,” our host says.

“I am not done yet!”

“But I am. Please give the next contestant a chance.”

I step aside as a gesture of politeness and because I will uphold the rules of the challenge. Shan growls again and, with a flex of his impressive arms, pushes himself back to a standing position from a plank, using nothing but arrogance and his broken fingers. Marvelous! Truly, this has already been an interesting evening. I step aside to let him retrieve his formidable weapon and, though I can tell he is still furious, there is a grudging respect buried there.

Behind us, the crowd is agitated. Shu appears displeased, if his scowl is any indication. Perhaps he expected a display of prowess with the glove rather than the mysterious beat down I am delivering. I can display later but an opportunity for a proper duel should not be discarded so easily.

“The warriors believe she is a, ah, seer fighter. Rare and fragile but beautiful to behold.”

Well, they are not wrong.

“Grandmaster Lin wishes to go next,” Shu says.

I find myself facing a reedy man with short, graying hair and a short beard so carefully cut it cannot have been done more than an hour ago. He wears trousers and wields a whip, so I politely replace the glaive and pick a whip myself. This one is a crude tool. It does not even have a link at the tip! I could have robbed an ox driver and found better for myself. Travesty.

Nevertheless, whip users are rare, and I might learn a thing or two. As before, he salutes with a ‘qing’ which apparently means ‘please’ while I return with a more western weapon salute.

“Careful, Lin,” Shan says from his seat. “The beams are very narrow today.”

Haha, what a nice way of warning his friend. Oh well.

Our duel is shorter and not all that interesting. For all that a whip is rare and exotic, the use is frankly straightforward until vampire speed gets involved. The tail of the whip will break the sound barrier and leave a rather unpleasant gash on someone’s flesh. Be somewhere else, and the windup will result in nothing but a sharp noise. Grandmaster Lin complements it with graceful movements and quite a few tricks using electricity and illusions, but I see through his games easily enough. At some point, he even sends three lashing tongues for thunder bolts with his main weapon but I stay where I am and they all miss. A slower opponent would have struggled enormously. These are all things I know and understand well. Frustration builds up while I score painful hits on his flanks. Eventually, he overcommits into a strike and I manage to lash his leg with my own whip. He lands on a crossing beam and grabs it. At the same time, electricity bursts out. I have, of course, already dropped my own and soon land feet first onto his head. This ends the fight.

We salute again and I replace the now seared whip in its compartment. What a crappy weapon. In fact, a good half of this arsenal looks made with pig iron by some cross-eyes wanker in two hours tops. Some armory this is, aye. They could just offer the good stuff and turn the rest into shovels for all the good it does. Pah!

Just as I frown at some trident thing - is this seriously rust I see? - a woman complains loudly among the grandmasters that they are ‘too tender’ and ‘weaklings unwilling to tarnish the beauty of their foes’ and other less savory epithets. I turn to face my new opponent. She is an older, matronly woman carrying a sort of wooden box.

Now, far from me to detract those who nature has not blessed. It is indeed unfair that the creator has not seen it for to evenly distribute beauty in the fairer sex. Nevertheless, I will be a little cruel and say she is dog-faced and, as my father would say, a complete tuna. I would also add that if my opponents feared to damage my picturesque profile, they could have taken cudgels to hers and I would have been none the wiser. She gives me another similar box with a smirk that indicates she does not believe it will do me any good, then she jumps on the beam.

This one does not salute. I see a flick of a finger and martial instincts more than sight warn me to move. My intuition remains silent since poison will not hurt me. A black needle flies by my face, practically invisible in the shadow of the night sky. Or it would be for a human. I grab another between two fingers while I use a hand to open my own box.

More needles.

I have no idea how to use these.

I am also uninclined to learn.

The woman looks quite surprised when I throw the entire box at her face but an extended palm ends my dream of an easy win. I still rush her and we duel at close range in a flurry of open-handed strikes. She would be extremely hard to face as an unarmored fighter. All her attacks come bearing a needle and most of those are hidden behind flexed fingers until the time has come to strike. She must be lethal in a wild fight. A simple wound and she could fade away, leaving her foe to die to toxins while she cackles or whatever else it is extremely ugly people do for fun. I would not know myself. I resort to picking the needles as I see them, ripping them off her grip as they appear. Her mobility is not bad but she is on the back foot as I pursue relentlessly. Since she focuses on shivving me with her trick weapons, I manage to land quite a few hits until, finally, a kick to the chest sends her flying against a nearby pillar. She lands and dramatically spits some blood on the ground. I could swear it hisses like acid. Even more spectacular is the fact I never hit her jaw or her lungs so I have no idea where this is coming from.

“You may have won, but thanks to my crimson toad drool poison, your beauty will wither before morning! Be thankful killing you was against the rules!”

In answer, I open my hands. Two dozen needles fall on the beams with a clatter. She blanches. I am sure I got them all.

“I would have inflicted this poison upon you but who could tell the difference?” I reply.

Mr. Tempest helpfully translates. This insult triggers a few laughs across the crowd, quickly silenced when the woman flares with fury. She leaves with a huff.

I am under the impression that she may not be very popular here. I am ready to continue but the people are not. It appears that dozens of sharp poisoned needles peppered around the arena would be considered as a hazard. As safety is extremely important to me in the lab, being personally flammable, I understand. The group is waiting for me as I return. Melusine starts complaining immediately, as expected.

“You could have blasted them with a storm of magic and saved us this farce but no! It is too much to ask you to demonstrate the power of our focus. It has to be a faaaaaair fight with the mortals. You and your insufferable quirks!”

“I do not have quirks. Just good habits.”

“Oh so your hoard of art pieces behind more layers than Fort Knox is just normal behavior?”

“It is called a collection, and I was burglarized once! Art collections are a valid hobby, not like sampling blood spiced with every sexually transmittable disease known to man!”

“I have pastimes I shall have you know, and do not try to avoid the topic. Your fascination with explosions, for example!”

“It is a fascination for military engineering, explosion being sometimes a desirable result.”

“It’s a strange mania and you know it.”

“Nonsense!’

“And your tricorns! You are obsessed!”

“That… is a homage to my fallen Dalton who always wore them and who guided me through my first ship battle. He stood as the rudder while I climbed the masts like a monkey, tying and untying with vampire speed. I did not know my knots back then…”

“Oh.”

“Loth acted as our gunner. We were too few for even basic operations. I ask for the tricorns because my ships are named after Dalton.”

“I see, and I understand.”

She contemplates my words in silence.

“Do you reckon I could ask my house guard to wear what my Arthur favored?”

“Since when does the night ruler of Chicago and America’s deadliest Master ask anyone for permission?”

“Huh. I believe I just got an insight into the world you live in.”

“Congratulations on achieving enlightenment!”

“Do not get ahead of yourself, you overjuiced bumpkin. And how long do you intend to keep this charade up? We do not have all night!!”

“We do, in fact, have the whole night. Do you expect them to start searching immediately? Please. We will only see movement tomorrow after they return to their bases.”

“Perhaps!”

“So relax and let me fight them properly instead of sneering with your nose up, pipsqueak.”

“I hate you so much.”

It takes only a minute of bickering and seven sighs from Constance for the way to be cleared.

My fourth opponent will be the young storm lad, Shu’s protege. I am surprised that our guest would risk his obvious heir apparent for such a purpose. If he loses, this will certainly show weakness. Ah, come to think of it, not facing me might also imply weakness. The young heir does not seem worried, however. If anything, excitement shines in his dark eyes as he approaches me with two boxes. He opens them to display their content under the silent gaze of the mystified crowd.

“Although the weapons available on the rack would be decent, I would like to offer you the opportunity to wield a true creation of the Shu clan, if it pleases you. Pick one and I shall use the other.”

Two swords rest in lacquered chests. They are straight, short, and double edged which does not suit me much, but the enchantments on them leaves me appreciative. Though more subtle and perhaps not as violent as what I can manage, they speak of patience and fine control to a degree that only a master of the craft could achieve. The storm boy does me a great honor to lend me one of those, and I nod to show that I understand. One of them speaks of lightning while the other speaks of cold. A test, perhaps. I pick the one meant for me and let him have his blade. He smiles and jumps. I move to follow him.

“You may begin.”

We fight.

Hmm, the young man does not use external magic. It is his blade against mine and our duel is fought at close quarters, without artifice. His style favors beheading swings and high strikes, with great lunges on occasion. It seems better fitted to a battlefield or to duel another eastern mage. As for me, I use it as a short rapier, resorting to quick jabs. For a moment, the economy of motions favors me since it takes so much less effort to stab someone rather than cutting their head off, but my foe soon adapts to my style. He already wastes very little movement. Even my heightened perception does not let me gain the advantage. It feels like we are both playing chess, and I am losing. I lunge and he stops at the edge of my range, the swings for my wrist. I parry instead and he rushes forward with another blow, forcing me back. I move low and he stops to dodge another thrust. He moves at the same time as I do, but it does not feel like intuition. Or rather, it feels like a more natural one born from skill and experience. Curious, I move much more to increase the variables and he follows, though we are evenly matched for some time again. It takes me another minute to resolve myself to a terrible admission just as I move from pillar to pillar, still exchanging blows.

I am losing.

Within the parameters I have set, I cannot win this fight. The foe is simply better at fencing than I am using human speed, despite my fast perception. At some point, it happens. A flurry of blows leaves me with the tip of my sword near his armpit, under the cover of his ample robes. When I try to pull it back to push his blade away, I find it stuck. The fabric moves aside to reveal two fingers holding the metal, near the edge. I am caught.

I allow his blade to come to rest against my neck, trusting that he will respect his own rules. We stop in position and the crowd goes wild. I can feel Melusine’s rage and Constance’s annoyance on my behalf but I am myself at peace. It serves me to be reminded that I am not the best at everything and that a margin for progress always exists. If one does not fail a challenge now and then, it only means they were never truly challenged.

The storm boy and I salute each other.

“Thank you,” he says. “What will you do now that you have lost?”

He seems to care. How precious.

“You must have forgotten the terms of the contest. I can lose four more times and only need to win twice,” I reply. “And I may no longer be challenged. Why, I do believe I am at the advantage now.”

Around us, the mood has turned more festive. Wang translates words of praise for the boy, whose name is apparently Lei, but also for the duel which was appreciated by everyone.

“I know you held back something. Will you fight me again with your full power?” The boy asks?

“No,” I scoff, “not with everything… but I can show you some magic.”

He grins and steps back up. Whispers of confusion spread across the arena but Grandmaster Shu forces everyone to calm down.

“Nothing prevents the contestant from challenging someone who already challenged them. You may begin.”

A halo of small bolts surrounds the boy’s form, but his pleasure disappears almost immediately.

“Bolt.”

I cast a series of fast attacks as I move forward. He parries the first but this is a spell perfected over a decade and empowered by my own blood. His arm shakes with the effort. A third casting rips his dress and draws blood. The crowd’s mood turns from eager to impressed, I believe. My glove shines from the strain of power so that all may see that yes, I am using my focus and yes, it is quite powerful. And this is just a cloth version.

A bolt erupts from the boy’s sword, which I divert with a wave of power. It crashes on the ground and leaves behind a cup-sized glassy surface. Not too bad. I watch him charge with some level of amusement and raise a shield as his sword comes down, making sure it is grounded. Bolts travel its surface then touch the ground while I retaliate with my own sword, activating its enchantments. Moonlight surges from the tip. Nice enough. I slice a small wound on the boy’s neck. We part.

He dramatically reaches for the bleeding gash and finds red liquid on his fingertip. The crowd whispers in appreciation.

To my annoyance, he does not take it as a sign that I could have killed him. The wound makes him giddy and the storm around him gains in intensity. He soon hovers above the beams like some beacon that says ‘shoot me, shoot me!’. I oblige in spirit.

“Promethean.”

Constantine’s signature spell latches on him. He contemptuously cuts at the links, only to realize that they have been designed to contain warlords and will not cut so easily. His aura explodes and undoes one of the chains but it is too little, too late. I have piled more on in until, with one last flick, I force him to the ground. Gently. As soon as he lands, I let the chains dissipate.

Wang translates that this was a good demonstration of ‘qi emanations’. This should calm Melusine down. The young Lei bows to me and returns to his leader’s side, clearly a little sore about the prompt defeat. I would have played a little longer but I must show that our focuses are worth their time. And I cannot let the younglings get some ideas. They need humility.

“This marks your fourth victory. You may pick your last opponent,” Grandmaster Shu says.

The chief of the monks in orange robes stands up, surprising everyone. A hushed discussion between the bald man and my host is cut short when I accept the man’s unspoken challenge, despite the fact nothing forces me to do so. I expect he knows I am not human, and he will reveal it no matter what.

We climb back up for what should be my last duel. I have read reports that other faiths besides the monotheistic ones have managed to repel us. I want to see for myself.

“You may begin.”

The monk wields a staff which he smashes against the beam. The chime of metal resonates through the arena with supernatural focus: I grit my teeth and take a step back, fending off the taste of ash on my tongue.

“Polar midnight.”

A veritable storm gathers around the monk and it takes all my focus to restrain it both in power and shape. My opponent feels the bite, I can tell, but a golden bubble around his form fends off the worst of the damage and what goes through seems to affect him very little. He bends like an old man braving the elements, not defiant but patient. Enduring. He rings his staff again and I am forced back. I land on the farthest beam while the storm still rages. Once more, he endures. Our eyes meet and in his gaze there is no anger. He lifts his staff for a third time, then stops.

Grandmaster Shu has placed a hand on his shoulder. I watch him blink and realize he stands on the ground, the beams now nothing but shattered wood fallen to the ground under the onslaught of my cold. Victory is mine once again, but Grandmaster Shu seems displeased. He speaks in a clear voice, once again translated by his protege.

“You must serve a dark sect to be repelled by my friend. He claims you are not of this world.”

“And if I am?” I retort, “will you go back on our arrangement?”

“You will get your meeting but first we will decide how to protect ourselves. Is our common quarry of the same nature as you are?”

“Yes.”

“You have respected your side of the challenge according to our rules. We will take this into consideration. Please excuse us while we deliberate.”

Mutters and whispers move to the crowd like lit powder. More than a few give our group a wide berth. Melusine appears calmer, somehow.

“Good, now that you have finished your little games we can return to what really matters in this expedition? You know, hunting down Moor?”

“Oh yes, that. For me it was always about the trousers.”

I dodge a claw swipe and smile. Tonight provided some fine entertainment.

***