Metaworld Chronicles: The Quest for Money
Date: 2024-10-29T18:00:00+00:00
Description: Work. Study. Life. The key to the balancing act necessary for magical progress even in a world of Magic and Monsters is… Money. Join Gwen in Fudan’s Arcane University as she prepares herself from the international university competition, meets unusual tutors, duels her way to infamy… and grasps and opportunity to plant and harvest a money tree, all while under the influence of Dragon juice.

The Quest for Money

David J. Wuto

Mango Media LLC

Dedication

To Jenny

For reading my terrible first drafts

Blurb

Work. Study. Life.

The key to the balancing act necessary for magical progress even in a world of Magic and Monsters is… Money. Join Gwen in Fudan’s Arcane University as she prepares herself from the international university competition, meets unusual tutors, duels her way to infamy… and grasps and opportunity to plant and harvest a money tree, all while under the influence of Dragon juice.

Copyright © David Jian Wuto 2023 produced by Mango Media LLC

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact the publisher at admin@mangomediapublishing.com.

The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.

Book cover by Sanwansen. Typesetting by Miblart.

Contents

1. Green-eyed Gwen

2. To Her Door

3. The Cuckoo Crows Thrice

4. Don’t Dream It’s Over

5. For Thou Art with Me

6. Bookworms

7. Chekhov’s Dragon

8. Great Anticipation

9. Trouble in Paradise

10. Dances with Deerhounds

11. Six Degrees of Separation

12. I Have Become…

13. Who Let the Dogs Out?

14. Silence of the Apes

15. Monkey in the Middle

16. What Lies Beneath

17. Favour of the Father

18. Many Jasons in Pursuit

19. Loftier Ambitions

20. Figuro Magnifico

21. A Step in the Right Direction

22. Who Watches the Watchers

23. Credit Where Credit Was Due

24. Dai Harder

25. December Days

26. The Dumplings of Prosperity

27. A Tuft of Flower

28. A Tall Poppy

29. I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues

30. A Crucible’s Caress

31. The Devil’s Plea Bargain

32. Fingerpainting

33. No Source of Honey

34. The Milk-Tea of Human Kindness

35. Interlude: Percy Song’s Big Day Off

Thank You

Glossary

Elements & Elemental Magic

Chapter one

Green-eyed Gwen

Suzhou

The Wedding

By the second minute of the unceasing applause, Gwen’s hands were beginning to hurt. The ovation continued unabated as though they had concluded a concerto and the audience refused to leave without an encore.

Clap! Clap! Clap!

Secretary Miao raised a hand. The Inspector-General’s impromptu humility caught Gwen by surprise, for though a sudden cesura reigned, she kept clapping for half a second too long.

It also didn’t help that her thunderclaps were at a decibel hitherto unreachable by those without Draconic Essence. Horrified, she made herself smaller, hiding behind Jun. As he glanced at her, the Secretary-General snorted.

Gwen’s apprehension was voluntary. Unlike when she had first arrived in Shanghai, she had studied the organisational structure of the CCP in the half-year since she’d begun her lessons at Fudan.

For a commoner like herself, Secretary-General Miao Yang-Bò wasn’t someone whose name and title allowed for an innocent faux pas. After all, the CCP’s nerve centre was the General Office, which held the Central Committee of Twelve. Attached to the General Committee was an independent oversight body, the Central Commission for Discipline and Inspection.

And the head of the CCDI and its Secretary-General was Miao Yang-Bò. She knew of the man because, quite simply, Secretary General Miao was the boss of Jun’s boss. He was the watcher who watched the watchers who watched the state. Though the man looked harmless, she reminded herself that every word from his mouth could be enforced as an edict.

“Lord Ayxin, I hope you will forgive us for neglecting your august presence. Secretary Liu’s insult was an unforgivable trespass.”

Boom. Gwen winced. There goes Liu’s career as a statesman.

“I BEG FOR YOUR CLEMENCY, LORD AYXIN!” The once haughty Secretary Liu threw himself into a prostrating kowtow. The CCP had long since banned Imperialist gestures like the full-body kowtow, but Liu had mastered the form after only one attempt. As a politician, the old man was amazing in ways Gwen could never replicate, with skin as thick as Dragon scales.

Her new mother, Qīn, fell to her knees as well, bowing until her forehead touched the cold pavement. Hai stood awkwardly behind the two, looking unsure whether to kneel or remain standing. After a moment of stiff-jointed hesitation, her father implored Uncle Jun with eyes swimming with unspoken desperation.

The corners of Ayxin’s lips twitched.

What did the Dragon-kin think of all this? Gwen tried to live vicariously through Jun’s girlfriend. These worm-like beings were the blood-relation of the male she desired. But then, wasn’t the male she desired also one of them?

Erasing Liu would please the Dragon-kin. However, Gwen had a feeling that exercising the liberty afforded by her position and prestige would sour Jun’s opinion of Ayxin.

Echoing Hai’s dilemma, Ayxin allowed the matter to fall to Jun.

“Lord Ayxin, please have compassion on Hai’s father-in-law.” Her uncle bowed, probably to remind his companion that they were at a wedding—more specifically, a wedding Ayxin had intruded upon uninvited and unwanted. “The groom’s father did not know of your august presence.”

“I do not like that you are so distant.” The Dragon girl recoiled at Jun’s formality. “Speak normally.”

Her uncle awkwardly looked toward Secretary-General Miao. Indeed, their current circumstances were a whole new world for all involved.

The old Master of the CCP watched the siblings and Jun’s Draconic charge with great interest.

“Be at ease, Captain Song,” the Secretary-General said with a tone of mirth. “You shall assume the role of our Ambassador while Lord Ayxin remains in Pudong. I am sure you know how having an ancient land deity who has protected the yellow earth for millennia as an ally would affect our borders. Maybe now the Japanese will think twice about our South Sea territories then, hey?”

“My only interest here regards Jun,” Ayxin stated bluntly, furrowing her brows. “I do not have my father’s permission to engage in politics.”

“Then let our city be your shelter and sanctuary,” Miao answered without skipping. “You are welcome to stay for as long as our cities stand.”

“Sir, I have duties in the north.” Jun coughed, politely rejecting the General Secretary’s too-generous offer. Listening to her uncle’s blind diplomacy, Gwen got goosebumps when she guessed why Jun remained single. “My next tour begins in February.”

“Lord Ayxin is free to go wherever she pleases.” Miao inclined his chin in a way that made him seem infinitely agreeable. “If it pleases her to tour the north, we will make that accommodation as well.”

“I see.” Her uncle stepped back. Unlike Jun, Gwen was beginning to comprehend the scope of the CCDI’s vague intent. Whatever Jun desired was now out of the question. As a soldier, orders were absolute, whether trench-charging a troop of Corpse Gatherers or escorting a Dragon Princess to tour the Front. “I shall perform my duty.”

Gwen’s feelings were ambiguous concerning her uncle’s prospects. Did this mean the Dragon was here to stay? He was her uncle and she wanted to spend more time with him!

“Perfect, Captain Song. You are a smart man and an even better soldier. Now, let us not stand on ceremony.” Miao stretched his arms behind his back. “I am an old man; eighty-two years old! Guo, is there a quiet place to sit down for some tea? Lord Ayxin and I have much to discuss.”

“Please allow me to offer my home,” Secretary Liu quavered from the floor. “Qin, bring me all of our yearling Da Hong Pao!”

Shaking her head, Ayxin dismissed the pitiful sight of Secretary Liu. “You are forgiven,” their Dragon Princess decreed with the dignity of a deity. “There won’t be a next time.”

Having learned their lesson, Qīn and her father remained on the floor, the very picture of humility. Hai moved to retrieve his wife, but she batted his hands aside.

Caught by the awkwardness of her rebuke, Gwen’s father finally took a knee beside his new spouse.

Klavidya turned away from the pitiful sight of her son, as did her grandfather, whose jaws were clenched tight enough to require new molars.

“This way, Secretary-General.” Her grandfather didn’t so much as glance at his first-born son as he led the way back to the west wing.

“Oh, one more thing.” Secretary-General Miao paused mid-stride.

The gathering collectively ceased their shuffling.

“The young miss over there, I have some questions for you, but lacking the time, Xiao-Kú will act in my stead.”

The crowd stepped back to reveal Gwen, now made modest by a towel. She pointed a trembling finger at her face. She had been singled out like a drunken sheila at a Friday night alcohol stop by one of the most powerful men in China.

Though her internal self almost crapped her pants, she kept her external passions contained.

“Sir?” She dipped her head just low enough to be at eye level with the Secretary-General. Her makeup was a mess, but Gwen figured a look of juvenile vulnerability was to her advantage.

“It’s nothing serious, Miss Song. Talk to my aide.” Miao was already on his way out. “Kú, I’ll debrief you later.”

“Sir!” The woman beside Gwen saluted, then took Gwen aside. Together, they waited for their seniors to leave.

Walking side by side with Miao was Ayxin, the new V-VIP, followed closely by Jun, who paced beside his father. Trailing the group beside Miao’s two bodyguards were Qīn and Hai, with her father lagging behind. At the end of the corridor, Hai and Qīn left the main group, evidently lacking the seniority to participate in whatever discussions were about to take place.

With the VIPs gone, all that remained in the spacious courtyard were the servants, Gwen, Kú, Mina, Tao and Petra. The sibling’s mother, Nen, who must have realised she should have gone along, quickly excused herself.

With her superior gone, Kú turned toward Gwen with eyes with the clarity and hardness of rock-quartz. Attired in an olive-hued pencil skirt, the woman was corporate cool, though Gwen suspected her blouse and dark skirt combo were a part of her super-agent disguise. “This way, Miss Song.”

They arrived at a pavilion beside the water.

Gwen checked her Divination senses for danger. Its silence wasn’t a bad thing; it meant Kú wasn’t going to knock her out and take her back to Central for vivisection.

Her cousins reached her side. She knew Petra was wary of the CCDI agent, especially having seen such incidents in her previous line of work.

“Guys, I’ll be fine, I think. The worst is over,” Gwen assured them, though she wasn’t so sure herself what Kú and, by extension, Secretary General Miao, wanted from her. “Miss… er, Kú? appears amicable.”

“It’s Kú Tēng, Senior-Assistant to Secretary Miao. I hold the rank of Assistant Chair within the Central Confidential Communications Bureau, first division, Beijing branch. I assure you, Miss Kuznetsova, that your cousin will be safe with me. That said, my interview with Miss Song is conducted at the behest of the Secretary General’s office. All non-affiliated personnel should make themselves scarce lest you be charged with espionage.”

Tao and Mina were the first to leave, seemingly far more in awe of Kú than Petra, who was more accustomed to grandstanding from Muscovite officials.

“Gwen, be careful.” Her cousin was the last to leave.

Inside the pavilion, Kú materialised a wand that suspiciously looked like one of those butt thermometers, which made Gwen nervous.

“What’s that for?” She readied herself for a series of rapid Dimension Doors if the Assistant Chair’s next response was to ask her to lie down.

“Samples.”

“For?”

“Your Familiar.”

“Oh, thank God,” Gwen answered with relief.

“Your Kirin, please.”

“It’s a marten.”

“We’ll see,” the woman said as she waited impatiently by the table.

Gwen glanced at the instrument again, then brought forth her Familiar. “Ariel!”

Ariel materialised mid-air. In its passive form, Ariel’s Draconic qualities were far less pronounced. Without an empowering flow of Lightning Mana, her Familiar remained closer to its Marten form. Two little stag horns peeped out from its forehead while its tail more closely resembled that of a fan-tailed fish, forming a fluffy pad perfect for stress-relieving molestation.

“Ee-ee?”

Ariel swished through the air a few times, then landed on Gwen’s head.

Oooh. That’s nice. Gwen kept her face straight. Minx-scarfs had nothing on Ariel.

“Hold it steady,” Kú commanded.

“Ariel, be strong.” Gwen held her Familiar’s paws with both hands. “Look at me. Focus.”

“EE?”

Kú passed the wand over Ariel’s tail. She then punched the numbers into a data slate.

Gwen blinked. “That thing’s not for sticking…?”

“Sticking what?”

Ariel’s butthole? Gwen stopped herself from blurting out the obvious. Why are you aiming it at my Familiar’s ass if all you wanted to do is wave it like a metal detector?

“I am detecting a trace of Draconic Essence.” Kú prodded Ariel’s fur. “I need some samples.”

“Okay.” Gwen scratched Ariel’s tail. “But Ariel dematerialises when I unsummon it.”

Kú handed her a pair of nail shears. “Please provide one lock of hair and clippings from the front hooves and the back paws. As for your warning, Familiars with highly developed egos retain their existence in the Prime Material. The samples will degrade, but they’ll be here long enough. That is the point, actually. The degradation itself allows us to gauge its authenticity.”

“I see. Ariel, hand.”

It was a shame that Ariel’s front paws had become hooves, though they were cute in their own way, with a thick bushel of furry mane covering the pastern bones. The hoof wall was a polished jet, more akin to obsidian than keratin. When Gwen took hold of its hoof, she noted that the frog was immensely satisfying to squeeze.

Clack!

A chunk of the keratin parted.

“Ee-ee!” Ariel retracted a hoof, pawing the air.

“It’s okay, buddy. Come on, one more,” Gwen coaxed.

Reluctantly, Ariel settled back into her arms.

Cradling her Familiar like a baby, she retrieved one of its hind legs. Hidden under the snowy fur was a mightily fluffy paw with four meaty beans so pink and springy one could play with them forever.

Gwen dug her fingers into the luxurious tissue, tickled by the soft down.

“May I?” Kú’s eyes followed Gwen’s joyous, exalted digits. “Inspect your Familiar, that is.”

With flashing eyes, Gwen’s social instincts kick in. As with any business transaction, it was always good to bond with your clients before talking shop. One could ask about their day, their holiday, their latest venture, that relative they had once mentioned, their new car or most commonly, their pets.

“Help yourself.” She offered her pet.

Ariel regarded the woman warily.

“Ee-ee!”

“I’ll be careful.”

“Ee!”

The assistant retrieved the other foot, with Ariel now floating belly-up.

“Mao, this Familiar is certainly a divine specimen,” Kú murmured.

“Not divine enough to be a Kirin, I hope.”

“No, that much is evident. The physiology of a Kirin is far more complex.”

Ku gingerly lifted Ariel’s tail.

“EE-EE!”

Ariel covered its butt with its swishing, flap-like appendage. Rude, its scowling face seemed to say. Gwen noticed Ariel now possessed shame. This was a new development.

“As you can see, your Familiar has no sex.” Kú tapped her datapad.

Gwen made an O with her lips.

“Though the Kirin is a chimeric creature, it nonetheless possesses universal underlying traits.” Kú parted Ariel’s mane. “Additionally, the mane should extend from under the keratin, but Ariel has an undercoat with a herringbone scale pattern.

“Furthermore,” Kú tapped on Ariel’s horns, “young Kirins sport ‘ròngor or fuzzy horns. This creature possesses what looks like a warped stag-horn, even in its passive form.”

“You’re very observant.” Gwen marvelled at the woman’s expertise. Was she a cryptozoologist?

“Well, observant enough to see that it’s a low-tier Spirit. What did you feed it?”

“Assorted Cores? Uncle Jun gave me some and then we found one in Huangshan imbued with Draconic Essence.”

Kú paused in her molestation of Ariel’s paw before continuing. Gwen looked up, then averted her gaze, using Ariel’s back paw as a distraction.

“Out of respect for Inspector Song, my colleague, I will allow you to be forthright with me,” Ku replied amiably. “You should know that I am a Bloodline Diviner. I am not very good at foretelling the future, but I can accurately tell whether someone is telling a lie.”

“Ee-ee!” Gwen’s nail dug into Ariel’s back-paw with more force than she had intended. When she looked up, she caught a glimmer of Divination refracted in the back of Kú’s amber eyes.

Her Familiar escaped her grasp, slithering away like greased lightning. It hovered just out of reach, swishing its tail, taunting the pair for their trespass.

“Is this an interrogation?” Gwen asked.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she replied.

“Then think of it as an interview. If I were in your position, I would endeavour to make a good impression. With a rare talent comes rare responsibilities, Miss Song.”

Gwen repositioned so that she wasn’t so intimately seated beside the Diviner in case their closeness helped her lie detection. What answer should she give? It wasn’t like she understood everything that had happened herself.

“Then I shall endeavour to do my best,” Gwen said.

“Good. Who is the originator of your Summon Familiar?”

“Henry Kilroy. He was my mentor.”

Gwen omitted the fact that Henry was also her saviour and Master. She wasn’t sure how many people knew of her position as Kilroy’s number three apprentice, but the information was best kept covert until Gunther could announce her presence to the world.

“I see. What is your Familiar’s original form?”

“A Marten. With mana, it transformed into a Mongoose.”

“May I see your second Familiar? The Void beast?” the agent demanded.

“I am afraid not.”

Kú’s pen paused above her slate.

“Wonsoo Li sealed it,” Gwen added helpfully. “I can’t call for Caliban right now.”

“Back to our original question. What did you give your Marten?” Kú continued.

“I have Three Cores: an Eland Core I bought from an auction, a Draconic Carp Core and a Draconic Stag Core.”

“Retrieved from where?”

Gwen gave Kú a wan smile. Nice try.

“I see.” Kú tapped her slate. “Can you empower Ariel right now?”

“Yes.”

“Please do so.”

“Ariel!”

Up above, Ariel grew into its combat form, transforming into a magnificent pseudo-Kirin.

“How wonderful. I need lumen-pics from all angles, if you please.”

Gwen coaxed Ariel to come closer and stand on the table, then paraded her Familiar like a show dog at Crufts. She lifted its tail, struck out its chin and lifted its paws for close-ups.

More samples were collected with Ariel in its combat form.

“You are a fortunate young woman.” Kú brushed a hand over her Familiar’s back, inviting startling motes of static electricity from Ariel’s fur. Grimacing, Kú retreated her hand gingerly, shaking out the numbness. “There are stories of Familiars becoming Spirits, of course, but it isn’t common. Certainly, your Familiar’s changes are tied to Kilroy’s unique summoning circle.”

The mention of her Master’s name made Gwen’s chest constrict. “The state’s not going to want Ariel for invasive tests, is it?” she enquired worriedly.

“No, Magister Wen of Fudan will take care of that. She has been given broad jurisdiction over the matter of reporting on your progress.”

Gwen’s heart sank. Magister Wen wasn’t malicious, but the woman was utterly amoral when it came to filling charts with numbers. Given the opportunity, the scholar would likely jump at the chance to dissect Caliban or Ariel to figure out what made them tick.

“Jun mentioned Draconic Essence,” Kú reminded her. “Can we see?”

“Ah, of course.” Still thinking of Petra’s Master, Gwen funnelled what little Essence she had collated into Ariel. Immediately, her Familiar took on the radiant form of a full-maned Kirin with elongated fork-pronged horns and shimmering fur scales.

“Beautiful.” Kú breathed in. “It almost feels like the real thing, especially its presence.”

Ariel modelled for another round of lumen-pics before Ku was done. Midway, Gwen’s Familiar shrunk back to her Marten form.

“What happened?” the Assistant Chair demanded.

“I am out of juice,” Gwen confessed. “It takes a long time to coalesce Draconic Essence.”

“That makes sense, I suppose.” Kú noted the limitation on her pad. “You’re only human.”

“So what’s going to happen to me?” Gwen asked.

“I thought you’d never ask.” The woman packed away her spectrometric implements.

“Well, I’m asking now,” Gwen said.

“What do you think will happen to you?” Kú sat back, her smile growing friendlier.

“Again, with the rhetorical questions.” Gwen’s patience was wearing threadbare. If the woman wanted to play the fortune teller, she could do it on a day when she wasn’t so damned tired. “Assistant-Chair Tēng, I know Gunther has a thing going on with you guys and I’ve got options, so why don’t we be forthright? This battle suit I’m wearing isn’t making itself warmer.”

“That’s a bleak way of putting it.” Kú crossed her legs. Though younger, the woman reminded Gwen of a female CFO she had known from Westpac. “Let us be blunt, then. The Secretary-General’s position is to ensure you do not become a point of tension between ourselves and the Mageocracy.”

Gwen nodded.

“We are not asking for much. We desire only that you actively avoid flaring those tensions. Examples include territorial disputes, Political posturing and sabotaging Lord Ayxin’s interest in your uncle. Jun has informed you of our treaty with the Pudong Tower, yes?”

The snide insert about Ayxin hadn’t escaped her notice. “What about Wen’s research data?” Gwen asked.

“Yes, as long as both sides have equal access, we expect full cooperation from you.”

“If I wish to leave the country?”

“Go ahead. Jun is a loyal member of the CCP and the PLA. Your grandfather and grandmother are both our countrymen, as is your father and now your brother. You’re welcome to return to the fold at any time, as long as your interests abroad do not conflict with ours.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Are you going to be a threat?” Kú raised both brows.

Gwen sighed. She did her best to avoid reflecting on her turbulent emotions.

“Look,” she took a deep breath, then arched her spine so that she sat upright and poised, “as you know, I came from Australia, an old British Penal Colony. I was a nobody; hell, in a place like the Oceania Frontier, I was meat. But as luck would have it, I awoke to rare talents I had no idea how to control, winning the bloodline lottery. During that very uncertain period, I was picked up like a stray cat by Magister Kilroy and his apprentices, Magus De Botton and Lord Shultz. They gave me a home in the Sydney Tower, taught me how to use my magic and set me on the right path.”

Gwen waited to see if Kú would interrupt her, then continued.

“Later, I had found allies like Magister Kilroy, my babulya, my friends in Sydney and my family here in Shanghai. I had no idea what I wanted or would do with my talents. HDMs? Sure, I could do with a mountain or two. I could buy a big house, have a nice life, place by the ocean, sans the Mermen; that sort of thing.”

“A good aspiration,” Kú said. “Very western.”

Ariel turned in Gwen’s lap. Repositioning her Familiar, she offered Assistant-Chair Tēng Ariel’s super-soft belly. After a moment, Kú dug her fingers into the luxurious fur.

“And that would’ve been it, but Magister Kilroy told me there are bigger things in this world than sipping a Tequila Sunrise and watching the surf at Bondi. A great man once said, ‘With Great Power comes Great Responsibility.’ My benefactor himself believed in Noblesse Oblige—that we need to show compassion and empathy to our fellow man.”

“The Great Leader stated as much in his manifesto,” Ku added, squeezing Ariel’s beans. “I am in full agreement. Go on.”

Gwen wetted her lips quickly. “What Magister Kilroy gifted me was more than Spellcraft, more than his Signature Conjure Familiar. It was a goal that extended beyond myself. A goal that, with every tier of magic I master, I feel inching closer. As my power grows, so does the burden on my shoulders. That’s why I strive always to surpass myself.

“For my immediate future, I want to represent Fudan in the IIUC. I’ll finish my degree here. I’ll graduate a Magus. After that, I want to help Gunther rebuild Sydney. If China wishes to be a part of that, you’re welcome. If not, I’ll try not to be a menace. That’s my honest opinion. I hope the Secretary-General is not going to think less of me.”

Kú played with Ariel’s tail. Gwen felt she had done a decent enough job at garnering sympathy.

“What about Magister Kilroy’s killer?” Kú asked casually.

Gwen stiffened. The Secretary-General’s aide was entirely serious.

“Well, given a chance,” Gwen licked her lips again, “I would like to see her returned to the Void.”

“I see. I will pass on the sentiment.” Kú nodded, her face revealing neither agreement nor malice.

Gwen studied the woman. For fairness, it was time for a few questions of her own. “May I enquire as to the Secretary’s desire?”

“Status quo.” Ku waved a hand over the bottled samples, stowing them in her ring. “The country is in a good place at the moment. The past decade has seen minimal insurgency and the Undead have been kept from the Xian-Beijing Front. It’s times like this that we need to build up our forces for the next big calamity.”

Gwen nodded, a little unnerved by Kú’s choice of words. ‘The next big calamity?’ Her grandfather had called her that when they’d first met. Ayxin had stated likewise, as had the Yinglong.

“Calamities are bad,” Gwen channelled her inner Jean-Louis Finch, “so I’ll keep out of trouble.”

Ariel coiled again, its serpentine Marten’s body offsetting the tension. Without speaking, the two women listened to the bone-thrumming purr of Gwen’s Kirin-like Marten as they worked over its head, feet and tail.

“They are indeed,” Kú replied eventually. “This concludes our meeting. I will inform the Secretary of my findings. Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Don’t be so trusting, especially of those wearing a uniform.”

“Ma’am?”

Kú’s chuckle broke into a laugh. “It was a pleasure speaking to you, Miss Song. I look forward to your progress.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll not disappoint.” She was glad to finally be on her way to finding a bed.

“I have every confidence you won’t.” Kú took one last look at Ariel, then picked herself from the seat. “An official announcement regarding your pseudo-Kirin will be sent out to relevant stakeholders, though I would personally advise keeping a low profile. It would be a fortuitous day when half of those under our jurisdiction believed in official notices. Never underestimate what people are willing to do to get their hands on a piece of potential divinity.”

“I’ll be careful, ma’am.” Gwen bowed.

Ding!

As though preplanned and divined in advance, a Message bloomed beside Kú’s ear.

“Sir? Yes, I am done here as well. I understand. Very well.” Kú turned toward Gwen amiably. “Looks like we’re all wrapped up. Your family is seeing off the Secretary-General. Shall we?”

Gwen followed.

Outside, the party had reconvened in the outer courtyard. From the looks of it, the group had already bid their farewells by the time Gwen and Kú approached.

“Xiao-Kú, allow me a good look at our future Magus.” The Secretary-General beckoned.

Gwen bowed deeply. “I am flattered by your recognition, esteemed sir,” she replied sheepishly, mindful that this man was akin to China’s Gunther Shultz.

“Don’t mind the formality.” Secretary-General Miao approached. Strangely, her magical senses told her the man possessed no mana; she may as well be addressing a NoM.

Miao extended a hand. An opportunity! Gwen contemplated the outstretched digits. First impressions were important. She straightened her body, looked up with bright eyes and gave Miao the most sugary smile she could muster under the circumstances.

The two shook, her palm melting into the old man’s iron grip.

Gwen had long since discovered the power of a submissive handshake, a poise uniquely exploitable by businesswomen. As before, she lowered her shoulders, dipped her head and then took Miao’s hand with both hands. The “double-cusp”, it was called, delivered underhand, almost like a hug.

“Thank you for looking after our family, Secretary General Miao. It put me at ease knowing that Grandfather has a reliable superior and that Uncle Jun is working under your esteemed guidance.”

Miao’s mien took on a grand mirth. “A fair flatterer!” the old man said, smiling so much that his face became a series of weathered lines. “Guo, you have a wonderful granddaughter. I am jealous!”

“Please don’t mind her,” Guo awkwardly said next to his superior. “Gwen, show Secretary Miao the proper respect.”

“Please forgive my insolence.” Gwen bowed again, her hands on her knees and her towel wrapping the goods below her slender neck. She mindfully noted that her makeup was still in ruins.

“Nonsense.” The Secretary appeared pleased by her expected humility. Behind Miao, Kú stared and sighed.

“Sir,” the assistant coughed, “we need to go. You have to be back in Beijing at 23:15.”

“Of course.” Miao turned toward Ayxin, who stood with Jun. “Lord Ayxin, I hope Captain Song and yourself will usher forth a new era of cooperation between the PLA and the Lord of Huangshan. For now, please enjoy your stay in Pudong.”

Ayxin remained attired in her Hello Kitty shirt, cutting a curious figure beside Gwen. “Thank you for the reception, Yang-Bò. I am sure Pudong will be a very interesting experience.”

The Secretary-General performed a double-take as his eyes passed between them. It was the first time that Gwen and Ayxin had stood side by side, and Miao’s sharp eyes didn’t seem to have missed their similarities.

“Farewell.” The Secretary seemed to have acknowledged a misunderstanding as he gave Jun a strange look.

The gathering saluted, bowed and curtsied.

Kú began an incantation and a silvery Conjuration Mandala formed on the floor of the outer courtyard.

Gwen felt her brain buzz.

Kú is a conjurer? She baulked. The woman’s advice made so much more sense. Kú had played her like a fiddle!

Kú must have seen her dismay, as she winked, then moved aside as a portal connected Hangzhou and Beijing, where presumably a massive ISTC array fed power into the translocation spell.

The next moment, the Secretary and his men were gone. All that remained was the scent of burning silver in the air, sizzling away where the Mandala’s reagents had eaten into the granite floor.

As one, the gathered members of the wedding party breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Magus Liu turned to Guo. The man bowed deeply. “Secretary Song, can you forgive a fool who was blinded by unnatural ambition?”

Gwen’s grandfather sighed. “We’re family now, Liu. Let us put this behind us.”

“I cannot possibly repay you for your generosity.” Liu’s voice choked.

The two old men held each other’s hands and shook on the ceasefire. It was a foregone conclusion, one that had been set the moment Miao arrived. The head of the CCDI wasn’t going to allow his Chair of Confidential Communication to have a shit-fight with the man responsible for supplying Shanghai with grain. It would create chaos for his precious status quo, as Kú had so generously informed Gwen.

Gwen felt a wave of revulsion. The two old crooks had been at each other’s throats an hour ago. Bloody politics!

“Gwen,” It was Qīn who now turned to her, “I am sorry for everything. My intentions weren’t pure. Can you please forgive me?”

A blast of heady perfume washed into Gwen’s nostrils. Qīn was inches from her face. There was a musky scent of old sex as well, one that Gwen, as an inexperienced teenager could not have known but, as one who knew, irked her nostrils.

What the fuck? She glanced from Qīn to Hai, then back to the woman again. They had been gone an hour at most. To think that in a time like this, her father and stepmother still mustered enough libido to get it on like they were on the Discovery Channel.

“Of course,” Gwen replied, stepping away. “As grandfather said, we’re family now. We’re on the same team. Right? Not to mention I am keeping the shoes, hahaha.”

Qīn’s face trembled with happiness, even though Gwen could feel the rigidity in her fingers. She was a woman being forced to put on a show, but she couldn’t blame her stepmother. Qīn had her circumstances, such as being stuck with her asshole of a father, and that in itself would be torture enough. Why add insult to injury, especially as tomorrow she would be back in Fudan?

“Well, I am glad that’s resolved,” Jun said. “I’ll be taking Lord Ayxin—”

“Jun,” the Dragon reprimanded her future spouse.

“Ayxin back to Pudong first thing in the morning. They’re readying her accommodations, as well as a Shielding Key capable of supporting a being of her seniority.”

Ayxin growled.

“Uncle, such a poor choice of words,” Gwen said. She took the opportunity to separate from Qīn, not wanting to think about where the woman’s fingers had last been. Walking beside Ayxin, she offered the Dragon-kin her hand. Reflexively and looking a little perplexed, Ayxin took it. The two shook in full view of the audience, two figures sharing a sisterly face.

“Ayxin, I hope you enjoy Shanghai as much as I did. There’s lots of cuisine to eat, tons of interesting places to visit, clothes to buy and shoes to try. That Hello Kitty shirt? That’s just the beginning. I am sure Uncle Jun’s CCDI currency card has no limit, right?”

“I suppose.” Jun shrugged helplessly. His face revealed a terrible premonition for himself and the Operations Budgetary Office.

“That sounds wonderful.” Ayxin tugged at her shirt, then looked toward Jun.

“Yes, Ayxin.” Gwen smacked her lips. She had seen how Ayxin had looked at her clothes on the Mount. The Dragon-lady was strong, but not even a Dragon-kin could escape the curse of vapid consumerism. “In the mortal world, we call it retail therapy. With an unlimited budget and Uncle Jun by your side, holding your bags, every other woman shall stare with nail-biting envy. You, my girl, are going to have a blast!”

“Gwen!” Jun warned his niece.

“I think I would like that.” Ayxin beamed, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, I would like that.”

Jun groaned.

Gwen grinned. Shopping? Endless shopping? For this trespass, her uncle would pay.

Chapter two

To Her Door

Percy Song wondered if anything in the world could hurt more than walking with a gash in his gut. But the wound couldn’t be helped. After all, it was the first time he had fought anyone to the death.

His instructors had been right. When the shit hit the fan, one should never underestimate an inferior enemy. That his opponent would struggle until her final, dying breath was a concept Percy understood intellectually but had never encountered in real life, much less via a live spell exchange.

The second assailant had been a Transmuter, though unlike the Abjurer, she had reached at least the second tier. Drunk on acquiring his new School of Magic, Percy had attempted to endure her Rock Shard, a sort of home-brew Barrage, only to have the obsidian spike pierce his Salt Shield, then slam into his abdomen.

In the first split-second, he had thought his injury manageable with a little grit, for his brain was still in denial. Then the pain had struck and Percy had coiled over like a cooked prawn, gasping for breath as a white-hot wave of agony washed over his shell-shocked brain.

The bitch! he’d howled internally, forcing his eyes to open. So much for the power-up. So much for discovering the greatest secret of the Songs’ lineage. He was going to be murdered by a hobo in a temple and it would take them days to find his desecrated corpse. Gwen never got wounded by hobos, not even when she supposedly Quested in the Blackheath slums.

At any rate, by the time his brain moved past denial, his anguish was unreal.

Like a lumen-pic carousel, Percy’s life flashed through his feverish brain. He thought about Gwen, his mother, Helena, his father, Hai, his babulya, and even his grandfather, but most of all, he thought about his aborted future: his titles, his House, his position in the PLA.

“Stone Spike!” The woman was intent on ending his life.

Then, Percy’s body had moved as though possessing a mind of its own.

He wasn’t too sure how he’d survived the fight, but he figured that it must have been the ingrained training from Guo kicking in. He vaguely recalled that he’d manoeuvred away from the blast of spindly stone, then fired off two Salt Shards in quick succession while in mid-air, a feat he’d hitherto never accomplished, taking the astonished woman in the abdomen.

As she fell, choking on her own blood, he rushed toward her, bowled the vagabond over, caught her by the throat and then activated Drain Life.

Holy crap, I am good, Percy remembered thinking.

Was it the adrenaline? Enchanters had a spell called Heroism that could temporarily lessen pain and increase physical and mental alacrity. Transmuters had a spell called Unyielding Body that performed a similar function. For Percy, the feeling was akin to a training trance when one pushed past the pain and entered a mental high, awakening only when the timer blared.

Usually, it took him almost fifteen minutes of concentration to activate the Blessing of the Kirin, but just now, he had used the elaborate Drain Life ritual as though it were a Salt Blast or a Chain of Salt.

By the time his second victim expired, Percy had restored enough vitality to regain mental clarity and though his wound oozed, it was no longer dire.

Searching through his storage ring, Percy produced a Healing Potion.

Tssss!

While the potion staunched his bleeding, an unbidden insight blossomed within the chaotic recess of his stimuli-addled Astral Soul, bringing with it an acute awareness of just how far up shit creek he had inadvertently paddled.

How are you going to get out of this one? Percy’s brain declared mercilessly.

Without a doubt, he had just violated the very essence of preserving the House of Song’s secret and the non-proliferation of Necromancy.

What would happen when someone inevitably found out? Would he be sent to that infamous prison near Hongqiao, the Tianlanqiao? How could the future heir of the House of Song, one who sought to resurrect the House’s bygone glory, be the very one to bring its demise?

Percy’s temples throbbed.

He was most definitely up shit creek. And he had just lost the paddle.

Panic germinated from the pit of his stomach, twisting and turning, gripping his heart with skeletal fingers, pinching his arteries and wringing his chest with sadistic intensity.

What should he do? Who could help him now?

Gwen?

His sister’s face was first and foremost in his mind.

When Hai had been out playing with women, Gwen made him breakfast. When Helena had been too upset to show up for their weekly dinner, Gwen took him to the local RSL for phó. When it was New Year’s and neither of their parents had been around, Gwen had taken him to see the fireworks at Darling Harbour. She’d even bought him a Big Mac with her part-time money.

She had always given him her things while he had gotten used to taking them. And more than that, Gwen had given up their father’s amulet.

The Kirin Amulet!

A new agony seized Percy’s breath. It was like that proverbial trope where an angel and a devil duke it out within one’s conscience, only within Percy’s head there were two devils—guilt and envy—jostling for dominance.

Out of habit, he thumbed his heirloom pendant. The smooth texture of the stone, its all-too-familiar design, comforted him.

Going to Hai was a joke. Going to Jun was an unknown. Going to Guo? It was social and filial suicide.

Going to Gwen for help?

Percy was surprised that he found the prospect plausible.

What was the alternative? Bury the bodies? Never use his newfound power again?

A spark of hope flickered within the darkness of his despair.

No.

His sister was living proof Necromancy could work. She had kept the family secret and thrived, hadn’t she? There was no reason why the Songs couldn’t accommodate another. He was sure that Uncle Jun, or at least his grandfather, would be more than happy to provide him with the means to become the most potent heir the House of Song had ever seen, elevating House Song beyond its mundane strata.

As for his sister, his beef with her was irrelevant. It was a problem of his immaturity and his insecurity. An issue of her overwhelming excellence. But those barriers were no longer applicable. He was just like his sister now.

They could fight together.

Adventure together.

Be together.

The dynamic duo! That was what the Mage-world would call them.

“Haha!” Percy sniggered, his choking chortle sounding strange and hollow. He tried recalling where he’d heard the idiomatic phrase, except the laughter brought a new wave of agony.

“Ergh.” His guts revolted.

He popped another healing potion, but the Positive Energy was diminished by his Salt-corrupted constitution. Despite his self-medication, the wound continued to weep.

With naught but pure grit, he cleaned up the scene, then limping and staggering, he wandered back to the manor.

As a guest residing in the west wing, he possessed a Warding Glyph that allowed him passage through the Siheyuan’s perimeter. Seeking discretion, Percy entered from the south side servant’s quarter via a Jump spell, then ducked between the artistically landscaped faux-ponds and granite mountains.

With his sister’s guest room in sight, he stopped to catch his breath. His abdomen was now smarting something fierce while his brain remained conflicted about his decision to trust Gwen.

“Oooh, I needed that.” Gwen’s voice came through the window. “You have no idea, Pats. Christ, it’s been a long day. Give me another crisis and I am going back to Sydney.”

Percy hesitated.

Was now the best time to break the news?

“Where do you suppose Percy’s gone?” Gwen asked Petra.

After the fiasco, the girls had retired to their guest quarters in the south wing.

The wedding guests were gone, though a few stragglers had elected to remain overnight. Taking advantage of the vacancy, Petra had moved adjacent to her cousin, desiring to catch up on recent events. As for Mina and Tao, their mother had preferred Teleportation, seeing as crystals weren’t a concern for the rich and that the family had no desire to stay in Liu’s estate for a single minute longer than necessary. After a brief goodbye, their cousins had promised to organise a catch-up once they returned to Shanghai, bidding Gwen and Petra farewell.

“I honestly don’t care.” Petra’s husky-blue eyes flashed with displeasure. “From what you’ve told me of his deeds, I fail to comprehend why you’re so hung up on the little twat.”

“Well, he’s my brother, for one,” Gwen felt like she had delivered an exhaustive response.

“I would be wary. Percy’s belly might be full, but his eyes are always hungry,” her cousin jeered. “You won’t see me inviting him for the autumn festival; there’s no family and certainly no faith in the boy.”

“That’s a little harsh?” Gwen nudged her cousin jovially, almost causing her to slip from the single bed. “He’s just a whiny kid who wants his piece of the world. It’s a perfectly normal response for someone undergoing his developmental stage. He thinks he’s got a good head for judgement, but he’s just a kid with a wispy wig, haha—ouch!”

Gwen bumped her head.

Petra readjusted herself. The post-framed single bed was somewhat cramped, barely boxing in two six-foot women and a four-foot pseudo-Kirin.

But the girls didn’t mind. It was cosy, not to mention they were playing with Gwen’s Familiar. Ariel’s meaty feet-pads were pink fetishes capable of firing oxytocin in the most stout-hearted cynic.

With conversation at a standstill, the duo focused on molesting Ariel, digging their long white fingers through the soft rush of its undercoat, manipulating its body this way and that.

“EE-ee.” Ariel wiggled.

“Ariel’s new fur feels so good, such softness.” Petra sighed. “If I ever get a Familiar, it’ll be a rock.”

“Oooh, I needed that.” Gwen squeezed the frog of Ariel’s hoof, splaying the fur. They were two perfect stress pads, warm and springy, with just the right amount of tension. “Christ, it’s been a long day. Give me another crisis and I am going back to Sydney.”

She squeezed the Kirin’s primordial pouch.

“EN-HUGNN!”

The moan was a little too masculine to belong to a fur ball.

BANG! BANG! BANG! came the interruption, knocking thrice at the door.

The girls ceased their lallygagging.

“A visitor?” Gwen turned to Petra, feeling bemused. “At this time of night, tapping at my chamber door?”

“A young man, perhaps?” Petra teased. “A bit rude, though.”

“Better not be a bloody Raven.” Gwen turned to command her Familiar. “Ariel, can you check it out? If it starts rhyming, eat it.”

“EE!”

Ariel floated from her arms, drifting toward the door.

“I can’t believe it’s got innate flight.” Petra marvelled.

“EE-ee?” Ariel be-screeched the door, but the silence outside remained unbroken, while the stillness of the air gave no token.

“Huh.” Gwen felt a curious tingle in her bosom. Gauging the intensity of her danger-foretelling senses, she determined that whatever was outside wasn’t dangerous. Taking Mayuree’s advice on Divination, she had elected to ignore minor tingles, as avoiding every mishap would make her abnormally “interesting” life impossible. In Fudan, every Mage frightened by Caliban could send her warning systems into a tizzy.

Gingerly, Gwen opened the door.

“Hey, sis.” A young man’s voice came from below.

Gwen’s head spun.

There was Percy, her brother, the very devil they had been ragging on just a second ago, lying half-slumped on the floor.

“PERCY! What are you doing here?”

Gwen knelt, placing a hand on his shoulders to help him sit.

“Shhhh.” Percy groaned. “Sorry, sis. I fucked up.”

“What did you do?” Gwen quickly inspected her little brother. Following the blood trail, she spotted the wound near his abdomen. “Shi, you’re bleeding! Oh my God! PETRA!”

“On it!” Petra put a hand on her Message Device.

“No!” Percy raised a trembling hand. “Please, no Grandfather. No commotion.”

Gwen halted Petra’s Message. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I swam up shit creek, sis. I am sorry.” Percy’s face was as white as a sheet. “Have you got… a Healing spell? My injectors are on cool-down.”

“I got better,” Petra said. “Here, stay still.”

Their cousin produced a Spell-Cube with Cure Moderate Wounds. Instantly, the spell manifested, flooding their surroundings with Positive Energy.

“Ah, gods, that prickles!” Percy rolled to one side, gasping for breath. His flesh mended visibly, his skin flaring like ten thousand ants regurgitating flesh.

But the commotion attracted the NoM servants. Gwen shooed them away, then gingerly pulled Percy into her guest room, hoping that none of the other guests had decided to have a sticky beak at two in the morning.

“God, you’re strong,” her brother said as she picked him up with both arms and placed him on her bed. Gwen said nothing, noting that Percy weighed very little in her arms.

“Shut up, fatty,” she chided her brother. “Don’t move. You’ll agitate the wound.”

The girls laid Percy on the bed, then settled by his side.

“What happened?” Gwen demanded.

Percy caught his breath as the healing spell finished its run. “Sis…” the boy looked more vulnerable than she had ever seen him; his visage was so pale and loitering that Gwen’s heart melted. “I killed someone.”

It took several seconds for the news to register.

“Like, a person?” Gwen enquired, wondering if her ears were deceiving her.

“You heard him right.” Petra recovered better than she had. “How did you receive that wound, Percy?”

“I am sorry,” Percy repeated the phrase like a mantra, his eyes haunted by dark thoughts.

Could the boy be suffering from post-traumatic stress? Gwen wondered, playing the armchair psychologist. She had read about the infamous disorder in the Sunday papers when they’d interviewed ASDF soldiers returning from Iraq.

“It’s okay, we’ll deal with it,” Gwen assured her brother. The important thing, the article had said, was helping the victims understand why the trauma had happened and that they could control their unbidden episodes. “Just tell us what happened.”

Percy took a deep breath. The boy’s words came slowly, reluctantly. “When I saw your Kirin…”

“EE?” Ariel flittered around Percy, then patted his head. “Ee!”

“I felt this… insane jealousy.” His face was a mask of shame and misery. “The idea that you found a Spirit, of all things, ate me up. It was the last straw and I guess something snapped inside my head, and I sort of just… ran like an idiot.”

Poor sod. Gwen patted Percy’s hand, mimicking Ariel. The green-eyed monster had almost claimed another victim. Jealousy was like that—it could pitch brother against sister.

“Oh, Percy.”

“Percy, get to the point.” Of all their relatives, Petra disliked him the most. To Petra, Tao was annoying, but the young man was usually well-meaning; Mina was vapid, but she had a good heart; Richard? Gwen knew Petra liked Richard since the two were, more often than not, planning things behind her back. “Out with it! What happened?”

“Pats, he’s in a fragile state of mind,” Gwen growled like a young leopardess defending its young. “Percy, you can tell us anything. Pats is worried, just like I am.”

“O-Okay.” Her brother swallowed, steadied himself and then began to tell his tale.

“Like an idiot, I ran from the estate. I was upset and super-pissed. I wanted to blow off some steam by going to West Lake and firing a few Salt Bolts into the water.”

“Go on.”

“I felt better, so I wandered around. Eventually, I got to this abandoned temple complex. At first, I thought it was empty, so I yelled angrily.”

“Oh, Percy.” Gwen placed a hand on his knee. She could feel the boy trembling. “Understandable. Keep going.”

Petra scoffed. Gwen shot her cousin a look that demanded some slack for her poor brother.

“After a while, I got tired. It was stupid because I knew I had overtaxed myself. That means I had to use this.” He took out the pendant.

“Whoa!” Gwen stood between Petra and Percy. Was the boy really that stupid? The pendant was their secret! Petra wasn’t supposed to know about it… was she? “Percy, maybe you should speak to Grandfather or Father about this. Also, I might not be the best person to consult about the pendant.”

“Someone saw me.” Her brother moaned.

“What?” Gwen almost leapt from the side of the bed. “SOMEONE SAW YOU?!”

“They were Rogue Mages! Deserters!” Percy protested. “They attacked me first. I defended myself!”

“Bloody hell, Percy.”

“I think they were living there,” Percy blubbered. “They wouldn’t let me go because I would have reported them. I couldn’t bluff them either because I was wearing this.”

Indeed, Percy was wearing a very expensive-looking tuxedo, the type for young officers.

“So you killed them?” Petra asked in Gwen’s stead.

“Yes!” Percy groaned.

“Just like that?” Petra asked. “Also, you said they. Earlier, you said ‘one’. What’s happening, Percy?”

“Pats,” Gwen said again. “Percy’s confused. We’ve both been through this. We know how bad it can get in the heat of the moment. Give the boy a chance to explain.”

“Numbers and Mages, Percy. What were they?”

“An… Abjurer.” Percy breathed out. “As for the other one, I think a Transmuter.”

“Sanctioned?”

Percy shook his head.

“Tier 1 or II? Were they Chinese?”

“Yes, they were Chinese; they were barely tier 2.”

“How did they get through your Salt Shield?”

“I panicked. I tried to disable the Abjurer first and couldn’t keep my shield up.”

The girls looked at each other.

“How did some vagabond Mages wound you?” Petra wasn’t convinced. “Usually, deserters flee when confronted. What made them want to stay and fight a properly trained Mage?”

“I don’t know. It’s the first time I had to fight someone seriously,” Percy confessed. “I still can’t believe I killed them. They were just two women.”

Gwen raised her head. “You killed TWO women?”

“Vot der’mo!” Petra swore in her native tongue.

For Gwen, the reality of Percy’s confession struck her like a bolt from Caliban. Her brother, a killer? He was just a boy. Sure, it was self-defence, but still.

What a fucked-up world.

Then again, were her hands so clean? There’d been accidents, such as those poor sods at Blackheath and that poor pig-tail woman in Hengsha. Then there were those she had willingly murdered, like Faceless, Nephres and then Choi.

Watching her brother, Gwen felt as though she had to do something. What had she desired after the deed? Her feet had been inch-deep in blood, her hands scarlet with coagulated gore. What could she give Percy that no one had given her?

Compassion, perhaps. Empathy. Someone who didn’t think the killing was a big deal. Someone who understood.

“Oh, you poor thing.” She enveloped her brother with both arms, pressing his head against her bosom. “It’s okay, Percy. We’ll get through this.”

He seemed surprised by her unconditional affection and dug his face against her collarbone, breathing as though taking in a part of her.

“Thanks for understanding, sis, but I’ve got bigger problems. I used ‘you know what’ on one of those Deserters.”

‘The amulet?’ Gwen took a moment to digest the full extent of Percy’s doubly horrid confession.

“Yeah, the Kirin Stone.”

“Holy shit, Percy.” Gwen looked over at Petra.

“Should I leave?” Petra seemed to inherently understand that this was a special circumstance.

“I am sorry, Petra,” Gwen said guiltily. “This isn’t something I have jurisdiction over.”

“It’s fine.” Petra picked up her jacket. “I’ll be in my room.”

Gwen wanted to explain, but her cousin was far too much of a consummate professional to linger. Families had their secrets. Her cousin knew the Songs had theirs. If she was to know, Gwen would tell it. No mere secret could drive a wedge between them.

“Gwen.” Percy waited until Petra audibly entered her room. “I life-drained one of them.”

“Why would you do that?” Gwen hissed, thinking of Uncle Jun, of babulya and the family. If anyone should find out, it would be the end of the Songs. “How is it even possible? The spell is incomplete! It’s not supposed to be Nec… the N-word. It’s just a part of the ritual, right?”

“I got scared; I was low on vitality. They caught me in the middle of the ritual. I was almost OOM and it just happened.” Her brother released a wail of abject misery tinged with desperation.

“Fuckin’ oath, Percy.” She leaned back but soon changed her mind. Instead, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “Gods, we’re a fucked up duo, you and me.”

“Not only that,” Percy continued, his voice barely a whisper. “I think I stole her Abjuration talent.”

Gwen’s arm turned rigid. Affinity Consumption? Percy wasn’t a Void Mage, so how was such a thing possible? Shivering, she thought of Edgar. The young man had used his Dust Devil to drain the vitality from its victims. He had done it to Debora… or was it Faceless? She knew for sure he had done it to her. But it wasn’t as though anyone knew how Caliban’s Consume worked. It was just an observable phenomenon.

“It’s true,” Percy muttered guiltily. “Look.”

Her brother got off the bed and stood in the centre of the unfurnished room. “Shield!”

A semi-dome consisting of a thin layer of Salt spontaneously appeared.

Gwen recognised the tell-tale signs of Abjuration. It was nothing impressive; almost every Mage at Fudan could manifest a split-second shield, but Percy had just begun his training. Abjuration was one of his secondary schools, one that required time and dedication.

“I could barely reflex-cast my shield before, and the delay was usually half a second,” Percy explained. “But now… you know.”

Gwen did know. She had walked the same well-worn path. Her recollection brought memories of the aftermath of Blackheath. Though her knowledge of Spellcraft had been dog shit and she had a terrible understanding of theory, she could suddenly shield herself like a bona fide Abjurer, going as far as to undertake Gunther’s Signature Non-Newtonian Shield.

“Tell me again what happened.” Gwen attempted to retrace Percy’s steps.

Percy explained as before—he’d been almost OoM when the two attacked him. He’d tried taking down the Abjurer, but the Transmuter got him. In desperation, Percy had ended up breaking through the Abjurer’s Shield, using Drain Life while wounded, and then using his replenished vitality to overpower the second attacker. Unfortunately, his vitality and mana hadn’t been holding up, so he’d ended up using the AoE effect of Drain Life to nail the Transmuter.

“Where are the bodies?” Gwen loathed the prospect of having to go and clean up Percy’s mess.

“In here.” Percy flashed a medium storage ring.

“Sorry? You mean…”

“They just fit,” Percy explained nervously. “They were both very short and skinny.”

Gwen stared at Percy’s ring finger in horror. “Percy, God! Why?”

“I just…”

“Just think of a way to dispose of it.” Gwen shivered.

“What should I do?” Percy choked. “I got scared. I wanted to go to the authorities and hand myself in; I believe I was justified in defending myself. But if they find the Necroma—”

“SHUSH!” Gwen cupped his lips. “Don’t say the N-word.”

Her brother nodded obediently.

Gwen wracked her brain for a logical outcome. Her brother had killed others in self-defence. His victims were vagabonds and deserters, according to Percy. Usually, that meant they had to file a report. With Percy’s connection and the Liu family now under their thumb, her grandfather could easily prove his innocence.

But what if the coroner detected Necromancy on the corpses? How the fuck were they going to explain that? What if someone else used Percy’s crime as an excuse to play silly buggers with the Songs, as Liu would have done?

Perhaps they should bury the bodies and smite the evidence.

No, that wouldn’t work either. How the fuck did two teenagers hide evidence in a world with bloody Divination? What if someone’s “dousing’ dug up a corpse?

Cremate the cadavers? Where the fuck were they going to find a crematorium? Get Uncle Jun in on this? Did she really want Jun to play clean-up while Ayxin watched? What the hell would they say to the Dragon-kin? Hey, let me borrow Uncle Jun for a bit. We need to turn some bodies to ash. Do you want in on the action?

Percy moved his hand over the floor. Two corpses materialised. Both were dressed in rags.

The first was barely five-foot-two, skeletal and gaunt, with yellow skin that sagged from her bones. The second was likewise slumped over, but there was a wound on her gut, its jagged wound suggesting a Salt Shard.

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Gwen hissed, overwhelmed by the sight and stench. “Percy, why would you dump them here of all places?”

Percy stared at his sister, dumbstruck. “I thought you wanted to see—”

Creak!

The noise may very well have been the innocent swaying of an unlocked door or window, but to Gwen, with the evidence of her brother’s kills fresh on the floor, the noise may as well be a SWAT team bursting through the window.

A flush of scarlet washed over her. “Caliban!”

Nothing. Caliban remained dormant.

“SHIT!”

Should she force Percy to stow the corpses again? She could stow them herself, but the thought of having her ring play home to fresh cadavers, especially ones that reeked like rancid cheese and old, mouldy rags, petrified her.

She would have to do this the hard way.

“Percy, stand back.”

Percy did as he was told.

Forcing her mind into painful focus, she channelled a glob of Void matter, then deposited the tenebrous mass onto the horrid shapes below her.

To Gwen’s relief. It worked.

There were now two craters in the middle of the room. Blood, hair, clothes and even the pavement below had been sent into the Void.

Bloody oath, I would make an excellent Dexter. Gwen studied her handiwork then felt immediately overwhelmed by the reality of what she had just done.

FUCK, I just became an accessory to murder!

She looked over at Percy. Her brother stared at the missing granite slabs as though in a trance.

Gwen sighed. “Percy, come here.”

Her brother came to her, moving like his feet were lead, his dazed orbs the eyes of a haunted man.

“It’ll be okay, bud.” She kissed him on the forehead.

That’s what Gwen would have wanted when everything had gone to shit—someone to hold her, to tell her everything was dandy and that life would go on as before.

She mustered her best smile for her brother.

Percy’s eyes were like their father’s; two dark hazel orbs hidden behind long slits that softened an otherwise angular face. His mouth and his nose, however, were from Helena, a little overtly sensuous for a boy, giving Percy a permanently sulky expression that Gwen knew some girls would love.

Percy.

The Gwen of this world loved her brother as well, even knowing that their vastly different magical talent would drive them apart. Was it genuine affection or was it a condition of her loneliness? Gwen would never know. In her old world, she had fancied herself a mother to her adolescent sibling, taking him out to dinner when neither of their parents came home, helping him with homework and buying him study guides with her part-time job money.

In Percy’s eyes, she saw hope, desperation, awe… and hunger.

It was good that Percy had come to her, confessing his jealousy, looking to her to save him from himself. She had thought the boy had gone down a path she couldn’t follow, but his prodigious return made her giddy with happiness.

Like Alexander Pope had said, “To err is human, to forgive divine.”

Percy had learned to accept her help. His coming to her, of all people, after a singularly traumatic event was all the proof she needed that she meant something to him, that he trusted her enough to rely on her, and that alone drowned out the noise from becoming an accomplice.

And so, in the secret court of her heart, she acquitted Percy on all accounts.

“Sis…”

Her brother nuzzled her shoulders. His hair had a scent of brine, like the ocean.

The time for sentimentalism was over. It was time for action.

“Percy, we can’t keep this from the people we love,” she advised, dispensing the foresight of her adult mind. “You need help and I need help. We need to tell Grandfather. He was the one who taught you the rite, yeah?”

“The secret rite,” Percy noted with a hint of sardonicism.

“Yeah, yeah,” Gwen continued. “That’s not important right now. We need to fortify your secret with as many trustworthy custodians as possible. Should we tell Uncle Jun and Dad?”

“Probably not Dad.”

Gwen tittered, her sniggering bitter and full of resentment. “All right. Jun and Grandfather, then,” she said. “I’ll Message them now.”

“Sis?”

Gwen paused in the process of activating her Message Device.

“Thanks.” Percy lowered his eyes.

“Hey,” Gwen flicked her hair cooly, “no worries, champ. I got your back.”

Her brother laughed. It was a sound thrilling to her ear, a sound she hadn’t heard since Sydney.

It was good to see that her brother still had a sense of humour, though now she had a far more harrowing task at hand. She hoped to God that Jun wasn’t doing the horizontal Draconic fandango when she rang.

She made sure that her Message was on silent. “I’ll be back, stay here.”

Gwen made the calls outside, leaving her brother in the bedroom to ruminate on what he would say to Guo and Jun.

“Hi, Uncle Jun. Are you asleep? Er, is this a good time? Is it? Okay! Good! Ha! Thank God, phew! Hahaha. Anyway, we have a situation here…”

Percy watched his sister through a gap left in the doorway.

Curiously, after his bonding with the amulet, the Kirin Stone no longer went “ape-shit”. It had remained dormant throughout their conversation, even when she’d hugged him.

“Ariel, come here,” he commanded her Familiar.

“Ee-ee?”

Ariel drifted closer.

Percy ran a hand through its mane, feeling its luxurious coat run through his fingers. “Beautiful.”

“Ee!” Ariel coiled itself around its mistress’s kin, sensing her familiar scent about his body, hand and hair.

“But you’re imperfect.” Percy allowed Ariel’s tiny whisker-tentacles to play with his fingers. “You have lots of room to grow yet.”

“Ee! Ee.”

Ariel’s dark button nose sniffed Percy’s hand.

“EE?” it recoiled, seemingly confused.

“Ariel?” Gwen pushed through the door of her bedroom. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Percy carefully slipped his hand into his pockets. “I was playing with Ariel. He’s gotten cuter!”

“Right?” Gwen beamed. Her expression said to Percy that Guo and Jun would both be joining the two of them.

“Righto, jackaroo.” His sister slapped his back. “Saddle up. You and I, we’re in for a wild ride.”

Chapter three

The Cuckoo Crows Thrice

Hai rested his face against his wife’s milky abdomen, listening for the heartbeat that may even now be finding its pulse.

The room was a mess, but that was fine. The NoM servants would restore it to perfection tomorrow.

“Beloved?” Qīn’s fatigue-riddled face turned toward him in the darkness. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing, my love, go back to sleep.” Hai brushed her forehead with his lips.

The usual Qīn would have kissed him and then queried him until she was satisfied. For the moment, though, his wife was arguably and understandably exhausted.

The Wedding. Gwen’s fiasco. The Patriarchs’ bitter dispute. Gwen’s fiasco, redux. Secretary Miao’s visit.

As any soul with half a heart would heartily agree, his wife deserved the rest.

Hai dug his face into Qīn’s voluminous hair. He loved the scent of vitality radiating from her scalp, the softness of her supple skin, the warmth she exuded effortlessly. It was in moments like these that Hai felt genuinely happy.

Happy… and a little paranoid that his fragile happiness wouldn’t last.

There had been an accident right after they had left the aftermath of the wedding. It was why the room smelled like burnt paper, despite the Gust of Wind he had operated for half an hour.

After her father’s disgrace, Qīn had stormed back into her room, screaming, “I can’t even talk to you right now!” He had chased her into the interior of her bedroom, where she dispelled an illusionary wall, revealing a hidden alcove.

Curious, Hai had followed his wife, then immediately regretted his decision.

Qīn had been tearing down a wall scroll. It was a picture of his likeness from many years ago. On the table were chunks of pink salt, which tended to naturally form if he fought on water or in areas with high humidity. There was also a splayed, leather-bound volume filled with old newspaper clippings of his past exploits in the military and other propaganda pieces about when the Song brothers had still been a thing.

If Hai had to be honest with himself, he’d felt unnerved.

To think Qīn had waited for him this whole while, alone and loitering, even knowing that he was “dead”. Hai knew that if it were him in her place, there would be no chance he could muster the conviction to wait for a woman, much less lose a decade of his life.

But of course, his wife was then in the process of tearing down her shrine. His callousness had broken her heart.

“Qīn, calm down! Hey!” Hai approached his wife.

“No!” Qīn’s mascara ran down either side of her creamy white face like squid ink. “I can’t believe you didn’t help Daddy. Your peasant family humiliated him, Hai. Humiliated him! I felt like I could have died right there. If I could have killed myself to save him from that experience, I would have!”

“But—” Hai scratched his head.

“I KNOW!” Qīn wailed. “Mao! Oh, Hai, I knew you couldn’t do anything. You ran away from your father, didn’t you? You faked your death! But I had hoped! I had a little spark of wishful, hopeful thinking that maybe, just maybe, you could have done something.”

“I did do something. It was Gwen—”

“Then Gwen exposed you for the man you truly are—a runner! When things get too hard, you run! ARE YOU GOING TO LEAVE ME NOW?”

“Qīn, that’s not true,” Hai protested.

“Yes, it is!” Qīn touched a hand to her belly. “Poor child. Poor baby.”

Goddamn it! Hai snarled internally, feeling the descent of torturous anxiety enveloping his mood like a dark shroud. Qīn was right, though—he had a half-a-mind to get the fuck out of there while everyone was busy entertaining Secretary-General Miao.

Why was it that every time he achieved a little happiness, people from his family came and shat all over it? Was it so hard to get the fuck on with their own lives? To leave him to live his life in peace? Was that so impossible? The wedding hadn’t even been for him or Qīn. They could have just eloped. They could be happy somewhere, ANYWHERE that wasn’t here, living off his Abjuration and her Healing.

But Qīn loved her father and he couldn’t force her to leave Hangzhou.

Earlier, Qīn had demanded that he do something. He did. It wasn’t enough, but he did it anyway. Put himself out there like a worm for hens to mercilessly peck and quarrel.

“Waaaaah!” Qīn’s wail was heartbreaking.

He had to do something.

Hai summoned the courage that came naturally to him in moments like these. Ge strode toward Qīn with the conviction of a martyr going to the cross, spitting at sneering Romans along the way.

“Create Flame.”

Hai set the scrapbook on fire.

His wife recoiled, her misery replaced by shock. Her face was streaked with tears and fraught with fury, caught between wanting to preserve her childhood memento and letting it burn, like her marriage.

From behind, Hai’s arms wrapped around his wife’s waspish waist. The act seemed to surprise Qīn at first, then she began to struggle violently, beating his hand with her fists. “Let me go! Let me go, you bastard!”

“Qīn.” Hai held his wife tightly, ignoring her protest. “I love you.”

Qīn’s thrashing grew tamer.

“I won’t leave you and I won’t leave our child,” Hai whispered beside her ear.

Her struggling ceased. “You won’t?”

“No, not now and not ever. I’d rather leave my parents, Gwen and all of them behind than leave you.” Hai was serious.

Qīn gasped and turned to putty in his arms. Then she began to sob. “I don’t believe you.”

“Then we can leave right now.”

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere you want. Just pick a direction and we’ll be on our way. It’ll work out.”

The idea of leaving seemed to strike his wife like a bolt from the blue. It was such a romantic notion. Just trying to imagine the two of them escaping from home and going on a life-long adventure made her eyes light up. Her face flushed, her breath came in shallow gasps, her bosoms rose and fell dramatically.

“We can’t.”

“We can,” Hai stated. “Just say the word.”

“No,” his wife said, looking fearful of what she might undertake in the moment’s passion. Hai knew this. He knew she could not stomach the idea of a future without the House of Liu, without the familiar siheyuan, without her koi… well, her koi were dead now.

Although the abandonment of her family was abhorrent to a traditionalist, she looked happier for Hai’s proclamation. “We can’t just leave. Daddy needs me now more than ever. It’ll break his heart. Not to mention your daughter, your parents.”

“Then I’ll stay here with you. I don’t care what deal the family has made, Qīn. In the end, this is our marriage. It’s just you and me. It’s our right to be selfish—it’s our life, our happiness, not your father’s, not my father’s and certainly not Gwen’s. “

Hai hadn’t even finished before Qīn melted into his arms, silencing him with her peach-petal lips. The warm glow from the flaming scrapbook illuminated their faces with dancing flickers of orange light, juxtaposing the acrid smell of diffused ink, old leather and lacquer.

“Salt Bolt!”

A cascade of Salt washed over the burning effigy, snuffling the light.

Qīn answered with her own assault, infusing Hai’s abdomen with Positive Energy.

That’s how they’d spent the hour or so until they’d had to send off Secretary General Miao—as his daughter had once noted with asinine peevishness—like goats and monkeys.

An inestimable period later, Qīn was OoM. She collapsed beside her once-again loving husband, sticky with musk, fast asleep.

Hai breathed out. His whole body was sore, his legs trembled and certain parts of his anatomy suffered pins and needles.

It was done.

By all accounts, he had sheltered his little corner of the world. His wife’s milky form lay beside him and their future was arguably going to be uneventful.

Still, Hai felt an interminable bad feeling. Naked and sweltering, he shivered.

He embraced his wife. As a Positive-Energy Mage, her quick metabolism meant she had a very snuggle-worthy temperature.

He hoped that Gwen had no more grievances waiting to be unloaded. She was no longer a little girl and her continued obsession with his life had endured far too long. With any luck, Gwen would go back to Fudan, back to her interesting life of power and turbulence, leaving him to his boring old honeymoon on the placid surface of the West Lake.

On the other side of the estate, a conspiracy of Songs convened.

It was impossible to know if such a thing as privacy existed in Liu’s estate, so Jun suggested that Gwen offer up her Portable Habitat. They gathered together in the living room, the three junior Songs standing uncomfortably opposite their patriarch.

Guo.

Jun.

Percy.

Gwen.

“You told her. Without my permission,” Guo growled. Gwen further noted that her grandfather’s accusation was not a question but a statement.

“Grandfather, I hardly think this is the time to be bickering about—” Gwen began.

“I did. I informed Gwen while we were on Huangshan,” Jun interjected. “And I intend to teach her the rite when the time comes. You can’t deny her now, not after all she’s done for us tonight.”

Beside the uncle-niece duo, Percy’s expression took on one of contemplation.

“Son…” Guo’s fury sounded starved of indignation. Gwen knew Jun was his favourite son who could do nothing wrong, which really put the old man in a pickle.

Slowly, their grandfather turned his head ever slightly toward Gwen. “Fine. I cannot deny that she has earned that privilege. Gwen?”

“Yes, Grandfather?”

“Tell us what has happened.”

Gwen backpedalled until she stood behind Percy. For once in her life, she wasn’t the one in trouble.

“First of all, this meeting isn’t for me.” She watched her uncle raise a brow. “Yeah, I know. I can’t believe it either. This time, it’s Percy who’s in trouble—BIG trouble. We did what we could to mitigate the damage, but as I’ve said to Percy, there’s no point keeping secrets from family. Right, Percy?”

Guo glanced at Jun, who cleared his throat.

“Percy,” Gwen prodded her brother’s spine; he’d been as quiet as a church mouse the whole time, “tell them what you told me.”

“We’re all here to help you, Percy,” Jun said, following Gwen’s lead.

Guo grunted. “Percy, speak.”

“All right.” Under the watchful eye of his family, her brother rustled up his courage. Then, in an affirmation of Gwen’s growing validation, he bared the naked truth.

He told Jun and Guo that he had become increasingly jealous of Gwen since her awakening as a Lightning Mage and then again as a Void Mage. He confessed his peevish insecurity as Gwen found belonging with Gunther Shultz and Alesia de Botton. He furthermore told them of his paranoia that Gwen would somehow be better suited to the Kirin Amulet than he.

Lastly, as an unexpected boon, Percy told Guo of his sinful intentions the night Gwen had attempted to “take” his amulet.

“I lied. I was afraid and I lashed out. I am sorry, Grandfather. Gwen, as well. I’ve disappointed all of you.” Her brother’s speech was adorably sad.

“Owning up to your wrong is a good thing, Percy,” Gwen stated with sagacity, leading the conversation.

Guo’s gaze shifted between his two grandchildren.

“Father,” Jun politely intruded. “Gwen is a model sibling, is she not?”

Guo stared at his son. Jun stared back.

“Gwen,” her grandfather declared after a few seconds of hesitation, his expression one of constipation, “that time, I was too quick to judge.”

“You were under a lot of stress.” Gwen lowered her chin understandingly, even as her heart soared with vindication. “Babulya already told me, so it’s fine. I understand your intention, Grandfather. I know it’s not personal.”

Guo nodded, his expression softening.

Percy then confessed to his killing of the two deserters.

“Percy,” Guo regarded his grandson, “you were right to defend yourself, but your lack of discipline must be addressed. Your training will be harsher from now on.”

Percy shook his head.

“You do not think you deserve it?” Guo’s face twisted with displeasure and outrage.

“No, Grandfather,” Percy answered. To Gwen’s surprise, he retrieved the Kirin Amulet from his neck and held it in the palm of both hands. “I made a terrible mistake tonight, something that proves I am not worthy of this.”

Guo looked to Gwen, who quickly forced Percy to put the amulet back where it belonged.

“Grandfather,” Percy uttered miserably, “they saw me use the rite.”

Both Guo and Jun tensed, flooding the enclosed chamber of the habitat with a heaviness that made it hard to breathe. As for Gwen, she gauged her grandfather’s aura to be inferior to Golos, especially when the Thunder Wyvern was as pissed as a stepped-on wombat.

“No one else saw anything,” Gwen added quickly. “Percy took care of the two that attacked him. He came home wounded. I looked after him. Well, Petra looked after him. After that, Petra left. Percy told me what happened and here we are.”

“What about their remains?” As a military man, Jun’s follow-up was expected.

“Ah, about that.” Gwen made a face. She recounted that Percy had collected the bodies and that she had deemed it necessary to void the evidence.

Guo raised a cynical brow. “You helped your brother hide the bodies?”

“Guilty as charged.” Gwen raised both hands. “We’re accomplices.”

“And you discerned that they were deserters?” Jun seemed surprised that after all of Percy’s misgivings, Gwen’s immediate reaction had been to shield her ungrateful sibling.

“They stank. Their attire smelled like old onions and rancid grease.” Gwen said. “They wore rags as well, completely haggard. Matted, wild hair too. No uniforms or identifiable crests or glyphs. Does that sound about right?”

Father and son contemplated that.

“There’s more. Percy made a booboo,” Gwen tried to downplay the catastrophic news of accidental Necromancy by making a cute face. Hopefully, it sounded better coming from her lips than if Percy stuttered out the truth in terror. “He used Drain-Life on the hobos.”

“HE DID WHAT?” the men burst out.

Even the unfazed Guo leapt from where he’d leaned against the couch.

“Impossible!” Guo snarled. “The blessing is a rite! It takes minutes to prepare. How is it possible that you, a boy, can use it in the heat of combat? Percy, now is no time for deception. I want the truth!”

Percy’s face turned the colour of paste. “I was in the middle of the rite itself when they attacked me,” he protested feebly. “I… I don’t know what I did. There were two of them, it was dark, and I was OoM. I did the first thing that came to my mind.”

Guo’s face was a tremor of conflicting emotions. Gwen could see the pressure building. The old man’s weathered face may as well be molten tectonic plates.

“YOU INGRATE FOOL!” Mt Guo erupted.

Percy shielded his face. Gwen reflexively moved in front of her cowering brother. “Yeye!” Her outburst, particularly her rare use of Mandarin, seemed to catch Guo off guard.

The intercept was just enough time for Jun to intervene. “Dad, hold on.” He took his father by the arm. “Let Percy finish. What’s happened has happened. You’re right to be angry, of course, but punishments can wait until after we figure out a solution.”

Guo struggled against his son’s iron grip before slumping a little against Jun’s shoulders.

“I have taken too little care of this.” He sighed. “I was too hasty. The boy’s not ready.”

“Percy,” Gwen swallowed, feeling fortunate she hadn’t taken an accidental licking in Percy’s stead, “tell Grandfather what happened.”

Percy took a few seconds to reply. Unfortunately, it became self-evident that the boy was not talented in the gift of gab.

“I know you’re all angry, but why are you so surprised?” He wore a wounded expression of having been betrayed, the very picture of a child bewildered by circumstance beyond his knowledge. “Didn’t you teach Gwen, Uncle Jun? She Life-Drained people in D-109, didn’t she? That’s how she gained those Schools of Magic. She also used her amulet in Australia as well. Maybe Dad taught her back in Sydney? How else is she stealing all those Schools of Magic?”

Gwen stared at Percy, mouth half-open.

Jun met his father’s disbelieving eyes.

Guo looked as though he was about to open another jar of Salt-laden walloping on his obliviously entitled grandson.

“What do you mean, Percy?” Guo’s low voice took on a dangerous weight.

Percy stared at his elders with incomprehension. Even if he had no idea what was going on, even with his limited knowledge of the world and its people, he could read the mood. From Gwen’s perspective, if Percy had been up shit creek without a paddle earlier, now his dingy had capsized and there was a croc in the water.

“I think there’s a misunderstanding.” Gwen pushed between Guo and her brother again, much to their grandfather’s annoyance. “What Percy is saying is that he accidentally took on Abjuration, one of his victims’ talents, after accidentally using Drain-Life on her in the heat of the moment.

“Nonsense.” Guo dismissed Gwen’s counterpoint. “Percy has been trained in Abjuration. It should be no surprise that he could reach tier 1 by now. Not to mention you are… different, in a way.”

“Gwen’s telling the truth, Grandfather.” Percy stepped back from the inquisitorial Patriarch. “Watch! Shield!” He invoked the spell without effort.

An external Salt Shield sprang into existence, lingering even after Percy ceased channelling. To Guo and Jun’s trained eyes, either Percy had become a prodigy in learning secondary Schools of Magic or he was telling the truth.

“Mao!” Guo touched the shield, observing its rigidity and its slow corrosion of the skin on the surface of his finger. “Percy, tell me exactly what happened. Every detail.”

Percy retraced his steps as he had done for Gwen.

“Percy, perform the Blessing of the Kirin,” Guo commanded.

“Do it outside,” Jun advised, not wanting to damage Gwen’s Habitat.

Once outside, the rest of the family retreated to a safe distance. Guo activated his diagnostic magics and watched as Percy underwent the process. Compared to Jun, Percy’s movements were clumsy and unrefined and his command over the essence reclamation was likewise ineffective and amateurish.

What impressed all of them, however, was Percy’s affinity for the amulet. What little mana the boy injected into it induced a disproportional release of rarified energies far more generous than his expenditure.

“What do you think?” Guo asked Jun. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Same. Not for me and certainly not for Hai,” Jun confessed. “Percy has taken to the amulet’s Soul-Well like he was born for it.”

“This is too strange,” Guo muttered. “The boy’s idea of the spell’s intentions was all over the place. The final utterance for activating the magic was the Hanyu incantation for ‘extract’, a synonym beside the annunciation for ‘drain’. Chōuqù wasn’t the same as Xīqǔ. Only true Necromancers drain life. Ours withdraws life from the Kirin Amulet.”

Gwen pondered Guo’s words. Anyone with limited knowledge of Necromancy and its reputation would naturally assume the spell ended with “drain” and not “draw”, even though one implies taking out something that had been stowed, while the other was synonymous with usurpation.

Not far from where they stood, Essence flooded Percy’s astral body, forming a swirl of darkly shimmering energy barely perceptible at the edge of vision. The spiritual meta-matter first entered from Percy’s palm, with the Kirin Core at its epicentre, then diffused into his mana channels.

“I activated the rite,” Percy said, “just like this.”

To his observers, the rite seemed less important than the ease and efficiency with which Percy had completed the sigil and incantations.

Does he have a talent for Necromancy? Gwen was impressed. What a terrifying prospect! If so, they should thank their lucky stars that Percy was a Salt Mage and had no means to raise, empower or summon the Undead.

Of course, nothing he had demonstrated explained how he managed to grow his Abjuration as she could. For Gwen, there was a whole Elizabeth Sobel involved in her inexplicable talents. Likewise, her mastery over Caliban offered a rational, logistical pathway for the acquisition of new affinities.

Therefore, for Percy, the family now stood on unbroken ground.

If a Song had ever thought it was a great idea to use the rite on a living human being, a Mage no less, they would have undoubtedly not recorded it in the analects for posterity.

“We need to keep a tight lid on this,” Guo suggested darkly, “until we know more.”

“I concur.” Her uncle breathed out, clearly glad his father saw reason. “Gwen?”

“I am at your mercy.” Gwen smiled simperingly, knowing that sort of thing placated Guo. “Percy, are you fine with it? Speak up!” She slapped her brother’s back. “Percy?”

He was silent. Second later, he looked up. “May I return the amulet to Gwen?”

As before, the request fell upon his listeners like crashing thunder.

“No!” Gwen was the first to protest. “It’s yours now. Didn’t you see how well it worked just then? I never had that kind of interaction with it, ever.”

Her brother’s cowardice should have made Guo erupt once more. But instead, the old man stroked his chin thoughtfully, gazing upon her with a profound kindness in his eyes.

“You do not wish to possess the amulet, Gwen?” Jun tested the waters, perhaps believing she was playing one of her mind games. “As you can see, it could help you train beyond what you are capable of doing alone, not to mention you may need it if you wish to master your Void element.”

“Don’t need it,” Gwen flexed her bicep in the “we can do it!” Rosie the Riveter pose. “I’ve got Ariel and tier 6 Lightning Affinity. Let Percy have his.”

“I see.” Guo’s voice took on a kindness the old man had previously withheld. “This makes me truly happy, Gwen. I don’t know what to say.”

“Saying you feel proud would be a good start.” Jun laughed. “See, Dad? I told you. You’ve mistaken her this entire time.”

Guo scowled, but it was a sheepish expression mingled with pride, scorn and self-loathing.

Gwen felt vindicated. She had denied the amulet thrice and she had also used the attempt to encourage her brother. Her grandfather could not ask for more proof of big sisterly conduct.

“Granddaughter.” The old man uncharacteristically placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Yeye?” In all honesty, Guo’s sudden generosity made her skin crawl. Though she knew what to say and where Guo had expected her to meet him, she shrank back.

The old man retracted his fingers, eating his own guilt. But lucky for her grandfather, Gwen wasn’t a sulky teenager who delighted in rebuking an old dog who’d bitten her. She instantly recognised her error, as well as Guo’s desire for reconciliation.

“Group hug!” Taking the opportunity, Gwen pulled Percy up by the hand and brought him into the circle. “Uncle Jun, come on!”

If Jun had been Australian, he would have declared, “You bloody ripper!” But as he was Chinese, he chuckled politely. Guo stoically joined the fray, his arms awkwardly tethered to his side.

The four of them huddled.

“Team Song!” Gwen stepped back, beaming at her work. “If we work together, we can overcome anything. Percy, don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll get to the bottom of this yet. There has to be a logical reason for all of this.”

“Sure thing, sis.” Percy’s face was beet red.

Touched and invigorated by the spectacle of sibling communion, her grandfather visibly relaxed. “Jun.” Allowing a smile to touch his lips, the old hound of the CCP finally looked fully human. “I think your mother will be overjoyed to know that the two of them have made up.”

“You should tell her yourself, Father.” Jun held his father’s shoulders. Gwen understood her uncle well. For so long they had walked around each other on tiptoes, hung by a string, tethered and strung until breaking point. “With Percy’s talent and Gwen’s support, he will make a great heir.”

Gwen felt a great weight shed from her shoulders. She felt giddy and happy knowing they weren’t going to take up residence in Tianlanqiao.

“Ancestor’s blessing,” Guo muttered, looking outside the paper screens.

“I thought we were cursed,” Jun joked. Then, more seriously, he announced his own dilemma. “Dad, I’ll be going back to Hubei once Ayxin is settled in.”

“About what the Yinglong told you?”

“Yeah. I should probably take Percy.”

“I never fully trusted those scrolls.” The mirth faded from Guo’s face, replaced by his usual indifference. “These Dragons, they give us truths to damn us with our own foolishness.”

“I’ll treat it as a matter of academic interest,” Jun said.

“Do you believe I made a mistake? I was trying to save both you and Hai.” Guo sighed. “Was I too greedy?”

“No, Father. If you hadn’t made the hard choices, either myself or Hai would not have been here today, and without Hai…” He looked at her, smiling.

Her uncle, Gwen decided, was an amazing human being.

She watched the cryptic exchange with Percy under her arm. Perhaps because of puberty and perhaps because he was wary of Guo, Percy allowed Gwen to ruffle his hair, crushing his face against the side of her torso.

“Isn’t this fine, Father? We’re all here. Whatever happens, we will deal with it together,” Jun assured them all.

Guo laughed. “You’re right,” the old man said, placing a hand on his youngest son’s broad back as his gaze swept over his two grandchildren. “You’re absolutely right. We’re all here and that’s what matters.”

Chapter four

Don’t Dream It’s Over

By the time Petra succeeded in dragging Gwen out of bed, it was almost 10:00 a.m.

The family had only gone to sleep around four, having explored what paths Percy could undergo and what avenues the young digger must avoid at all costs.

“The first rule of Per-secrecy is that we do not talk about the N-word or Percy’s unfounded talents,” Gwen had proposed. “Indeed, the second rule of Per-secrecy is that we do not talk about Percy’s N-affinity, at all, to anyone.”

The family concurred.

Thirdly, it was agreed that Percy would not use his newfound methodology carelessly and that any extra-curricular progress would be in a controlled environment under the strict supervision of his loved ones.

Percy, she reasoned, was only fourteen. There was no rush. Now in possession of Abjuration, Evocation, and Transmutation, he was already far ahead of those who had to train their Meta-school Magic the hard way, through hard-coded memorisation and unceasing practice, risking mana burn and regression. He could slowly introduce his Affinities over the next few years, and with Gwen as a herald, there wouldn’t be too much suspicion.

Fourthly… there was no fourthly.

None of the stakeholders within the Song conspiracy had further questions. All they could do was wait for an opportunity to uncover Percy’s incidental Consumption. Thanks to Ayxin, Uncle Jun now wielded an unnatural authority and was beyond questioning. As for Grandfather, he would ensure that all eyes steered away from Percy and that those who wished to pry did so at their peril.

At its conclusion, Gwen returned to her room and struck the silk sheets like a corpse. She slept dreamlessly until Petra twisted her arm.

“It’s time to go back to Fudan.” Petra was merciless. “Up you get, porosenok!”

Gwen fought her for the blankets, succeeding in tearing the silken fabric from her cousin’s hands until Petra threatened to open the doors and reveal an unclothed piglet to the whole world.

“Alright! Sheesh, I am up!” Gwen said.

The girls had to be up early because, unlike the oldies, whose position offered them Teleportation from the local military ISTC at the state’s expense, they had to arrange public transit.

While Gwen potentially owned a modest mole-hill of crystals, she wasn’t about to spend fifty-odd HDMs for no reason other than to save six hours of travel. As students, their time wasn’t worth the crystals, not to mention that for a mere 3 HDMs each, the girls could book a private cabin on the return train and catch up.

After a hearty breakfast of pickled vegetables, cured fish and porridge, the girls waited in the courtyard to be seen off by the remaining family members.

Lamentably, the only “family” who remained were Gwen’s father and his lady wife. Guo and her babulya had work to do; one had patients to save, while the other had conspirators to condemn. Percy was deemed too dangerous to remain in Hangzhou for any longer than necessary, and so the grandparents had spirited him away.

Jun and Ayxin left via Teleportation as soon as the local ISTC station opened, arriving in Pudong, where a major delegation awaited Ayxin’s Demi-divine presence.

“Take care.” Qīn waved at Gwen happily; a shared sentiment.

“You be careful out there.” Hai wore his goofy, guilty expression like an albatross, simultaneously incensing Gwen’s ire as well as stoking her sympathy. “If you run into trouble, call me.”

Gwen smiled politely but said nothing. It would be too awkward after her tempestuous outburst, not to mention her father had shown neither contrition nor remorse.

An estate car took the girls to Hangzhou station in the CBD, where a 13:00, express would bring them back to Hongqiao, forty minutes from Shanghai’s CBD. From the transit station, an additional taxi would return the girls to Fudan.

“Farewell.” Gwen ducked into the cabin, towing Petra by the hand.

Thunk!

The slamming of the car door was her final farewell to the city of lakes and fishes.

Hai watched his daughter and her cousin disappear into the distance with ambivalent emotions.

“Finally!” Qīn muttered beside him.

Hai turned to regard his wife.

“We’re alone.” She beamed at him.

“I can hardly believe it.” Hai slid a hand around his wife’s waist, feeling the slight bulge of her belly. “My father left me alone. I wonder why?”

“He has heirs to play with,” Qīn quipped wittily. “You’re no longer his favourite.”

“I should be so lucky.” Hai chortled.

For the foreseeable future, just the two of them would live on the estate, surrounded by wealth, servants and idyllic idleness. The West Lake and its boundless bounties, both natural and man-made, beckoned, and in seven months, they would welcome their child.

It was paradise, one that Hai wasn’t entirely sure he deserved.What of the future? What would become of a child who lacked the means to tame their talent? Would the “drought” curse manifest yet again in his third child? But that was something he had no control over.

The two kissed and he fell into the embrace of Qīn’s petal lips, falling endlessly into a land of flower and flesh, milk and honey.

Well, whatever. Hai shrugged mentally. The future was so far away.

Why be greedy?

“St Peter’s Golden Gates! Tier 6?”

On the express train, in the privacy of their cabin for two, Gwen revealed to Petra her recent Elemental upgrade.

Her cousin nursed her tongue. In her haste and excitement, she had bitten it. “That’s insane!” she continued. “Is there a limit to Consumption?”

“I am certain I’ve maxed out diminishing returns,” Gwen confessed. There were a lot of deer, Pats, carp and goats, too. What monsters are there beyond tier 7 for Lighting or Air?”

“An ancient Dark-beast, maybe. That or a Behir.”

“Is that like a Lightning-chicken?”

“Like a basilisk, but lighting-wreathed and semi-Draconic, oodles of legs. Found in Black Zones here and there, mostly around central Africa,” Petra recited from memory.

“Sounds dangerous.” Gwen licked her lips as well, wetting her whistlers. “In the future, I could do with one, figuratively speaking.”

“You’re not going to become a gourmet hunter, are you?” Petra quipped. Gwen laughed. The rich and powerful paid a premium for the flesh of rare beasts. Such obscure delicacies could be used in alchemical cuisine that fortified the body. For herself, it was far easier to imagine eating monsters than the alternative. “Speaking of which, is Caliban back?”

“Yep.” Gwen made sure there was no one watching, then sprang her Familiar into being.

Caliban slithered into the world, happy to once again savour the air of freedom.

Ariel was already out. In its docile guise, it was discreet enough to pass as a Marten-like creature. However, a closer inspection would likely stifle the breath of one with sufficient knowledge to recognise a horned, clawed and hoofed Lightning Familiar with fish-scaled fur.

Her Familiars sniffed one other, then began play-biting, tumbling under the girls’ feet.

The Hangzhou-Shanghai Express did not serve lunch, but Qīn had ensured that a hearty banquet for two had been packed. One by one, they brought out the lukewarm dishes, feasting upon the final generosity of Gwen’s guilt-ridden stepmother.

The topic then moved toward Gwen’s future training.

Although the university was said to be open 365 days a year, its facilities were shut between 10 December and 7 January. There was another break from 19 to 25 January, when Golden Week took place. During these times, the entire university went into lockdown.

Semester 2 began on 2 February. Semester 3 began on 9 July.

The IIUC Selection Trials began on 8 August, and the five finalists and reserve members were announced four weeks later. This meant Gwen had almost ten months to master her spells, gain proficiency in her auxiliary Schools of Magic, and push Evocation to V and Conjuration to VI.

“I’d honestly favour utility over raw power,” Petra advised her against power obsession. “Do you seriously think you need more power?”

I need FIREPOWER, FIREPOWER, FIREPOWER! Gwen channelled Yue, feeling nostalgic for her friend’s forever optimistic presence.

“Should I not?” She twirled a finger around Ariel’s swishing tail, causing it to coil around on her lap. Sensing Ariel’s empowered cuteness, Caliban demanded Gwen scratch its obsidian belly.

“We’ll work out a plan.” Petra smacked her lips thoughtfully; Spellcraft was her cousin’s favourite thing. “You’ve got a lot of spell learning to catch up. Considering how long it takes to learn high-tier Magic, I don’t think ten months can be considered generous.”

“Took me close to a month to get a handle on Ball Lightning,” Gwen pointed out. “Amongst other things, of course. What do you suggest?”

“Some proper AOEs now that you’ve got Ariel as a Spirit. Finishing up your Transmutation Utility spells and Divination and Abjuration Utility.”

“No Illusion?” Gwen asked.

“Not your style, but you can play with defensive varieties with contingency triggers like Mirror Image.”

“Ah, I want Invisibility!”

“You’re welcome to join the CCP’s Gui program anytime.” Petra chortled. “Other than that, don’t expect the state to be liberal with Unsanctioned Magic.”

“It’s not like I want to sneak into government facilities with it.” Gwen shrugged. “And Polymorph as well. It’s so useful.”

“A straight ticket to Tianlanqiao.” Petra snorted. “Not to mention, it’s absurdly tricky to master. One wrong move and your organs will never recover. That’s why Shifters generally rely on Spirit-forms.”

Gwen took another nap shortly after lunch, awakening to the sight of Shanghai as the train passed under the PLA Superstructural Tower.

“God, it looks bigger every time I see it,” Gwen remarked.

“Most of it is for tapping into ley-lines.” Petra shook her head disapprovingly. “The Pudong Tower told the CCP that the Superstructural Tower would permanently disrupt the flow of geo-energy in the region, but as always, they took the advice as an affront… or a deception.”

“So did it damage the ley-lines?”

“Hard to say.” Petra’s shoulders fell. “The miasma is as dense as anything in Shanghai. The weather is a mess and that’s not counting that the NoM habitats are putting out an absurd amount of waste.”

Gwen was reminded of the bleak landscape she had seen during the District 109 trip. The rural countryside wasn’t exactly dead, though it managed only patches of green and brown here and there, giving the impression of leprosy.

Compared to verdant Hangzhou, it was as though the land itself was sick.

“We’re here.” Petra stood.

The train pulled into the station. The girls alighted, cutting across the concrete platform as they made their way to the taxi bay.

“Fudan, Guoding Road, Apartment B1. It’s the one with the sky garden; you can’t miss it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The taxi driver tipped his cap respectfully. Petra, Gwen supposed, had that effect on strangers.

Around the station, NoMs and Mages surrounded the cab on all fronts, swarming through the multi-lane carport like schools of sardines. Away from the train station, a similarly endless stream of vehicles meandered through congested arterial roadways. Opening the window a little, Gwen confirmed that the atmosphere stank of stale oxygen and stifling mana-miasma was made worse by the humidity of early October.

Gwen closed the window, then slumped back against the leather seats.

Just like that, she was back in Shanghai, as though the Yinglong’s mountain was the passing of a midsummer fancy, no more yielding than a dream.

Chapter five

For Thou Art with Me

It took the girls another hour to get through the 6:00 p.m. gridlock.

As the cab pulled into the covered foyer of Gouding B1, Gwen noted a delegation at the apartment’s sliding doors.

“GWEN!” came the sweet voice of her diminutive friend.

“MIA!” Gwen replicated the passion.

If there were one person who had both the interest and expertise to predict the precise moment of her arrival, it would be Mayuree, the Divination Major.

“Goddess, I missed you.” Mayuree pressed herself against her tightly, almost as if the girl wanted to meld into her. “I can finally go out! WONDERFUL FREEDOM!”

“Hahaha.” Gwen returned the hug, empathising with the Diviner’s fear of self-fulfilling prophesies. “Sorry that I took another week.”

“How was the wedding?”

“Weal and woe,” Gwen replied. “A little too accurate for my liking.”

“That’s why you never ask!” the Diviner said.

The girls both sighed.

“Gwen, it’s good to see you back.” the next companion to accost her was Richard and his crew, meaning Lulan and Kusu.

“Richard!”

The cousins embraced.

“Lulu!”

Again, the girls exchanged greetings, with Lulan woodenly accepting Gwen’s overfamiliarity.

“Kusu, did Lulu give you trouble?”

“Hahaha.” Kusu’s expression was that of a man coming to accept chronic haemorrhoids as a fact of life. Gwen could sense the buried uneasiness underneath Kusu’s amiable exterior as he gazed at Lulan. Poor bastard. She patted him on the shoulder. An adorable sister was a blessing and a curse.

“I’ve got a banquet set up.” Mayuree beamed. “Ah-Lei cooked up all your favourites!”

“Wonderful!” Gwen waited until everyone was ready before walking through the double doors. “Oh man, have I got a ‘show and tell’ for you guys!”

“Wow, your father is a cunt.” Richard sipped on a beer, stating what he considered obvious, his speech as liberal as ever. “And Qīn sounds like a character. Let’s introduce her to Helena. The drama generated from those two clashing could tear a gap into the Elemental Planes.”

“Gosh, I am so sorry.” Mayuree covered her small mouth. “What a horrible experience.”

“I’d just do this.” Lulan made a cutting motion. “Problem solved.”

“Excuse me,” Kusu butted in. “I think you’re all missing the main point here.”

The gathering turned to regard him.

“Gwen defeated Wonsoo, right? Wonsoo Liu?”

Richard shrugged. “Who the fuck is Wonsoo Liu?”

“The Wonsoo Liu! The Quagmire?”

“No idea who that is. Maybe my brother would know, but I haven’t seen him in months.” Mayuree was as clueless as Richard.

“Come on. You guys seriously don’t know who Wonsoo Liu is?” Kusu was incredulous. “He’s a war hero.”

“He’s famous then, like, actually?” Unlike the others, Petra had witnessed her rooting the whole hog. But she wasn’t that impressed. Her cousin cared little about the workings of the PLA and the Front. As an expatriated Magus-to-be and a researcher, the chance of her being sent to the Front was zero, barring a cataclysmic failure of the Beijing-Xian battle line.

Gwen understood Kusu’s amazement. Wonsoo’s omnidirectional entrapment spell, Quagmire, was as impressive as anything she had ever fought.

“He’s incredible!” Kusu marvelled at their ignorance. “During the Meeting of the Sixteen Sects ten years ago, he was undefeated. The scholar-bureaucrat houses see him as their big hope of ascension.”

Gwen paused, her chopstick resting halfway to a Wildland pheasant drumstick. “Er, should I not have defeated him?” she said.

“Of course you should have kicked his ass, Gwen,” Lulan declared sulkily. “Why, Kusu? You scared?”

“What? No!” Kusu huffed. “Oh, Lulu. Look, Gwen, what I am saying is that once the news gets out, you’re going to be even more famous. I’d be surprised if a single Clanner wouldn’t know your name or want a piece of you for fame or amour.”

“That sounds bloody awful.” Gwen winced.

“Gwen.” Petra diverted their conversation. “Show them what you came home with.”

“Ah, yeah.” Gwen grinned. “Guys, as I said, we got a lot of goodies in Huangshan and Hangzhou.”

She stepped back.

First, to whet their appetite, Gwen gave her family and friends gifts of silk.

“And now, for our main course—Mayuree, this is for your auction.”

Gwen then produced one, two, three, a dozen and more Creature Cores from her ring. There were twelve from the Draconic-deer, two from Dragon-carp, one murky Merfolk Core and one sapient sibling of Ayxin, now deceased.

Thunk!

The fist-sized Pangolin Core rolled across the floor.

Lulan sucked in a breath of cold air.

Kusu’s eyes bulged.

Richard smacked his lips.

Mayuree wailed.

“They’re all Draconic?” Mayuree took the Pangolin Core and brought it closer to her face. “I know you’ve told me already, but Goddess! REALLY? You were gone for two weeks and returned with more Draconic Cores than the House of M has seen in the last financial year?”

“Oh.” Gwen pulled half of them closer to her bosom. “How about you pretend these don’t exist? That one’s just a Merfolk Core. It’s still Lightning, though, with maybe a sliver of Dragon.”

“Ha! You wish.” Mayuree picked up another core, her pupils glowing with faint Divination. “Great clarity as well. No cracks, no fissures. How the hell? What did you do? These Draconic-beasts died peacefully in their sleep?”

“Magic.” Gwen spread her fingers.

Petra burst into laughter.

Richard appeared contemplative.

“Say, Gwen,” her cousin leaned in closer, “can your luck hold out if we go on a quest of our own?”

Gwen looked at Richard.

“Does it have to do with our youngest?” Richard winked.

Gwen nodded.

Richard glanced at Mayuree.

“I’ve got a proposition for you and Percy,” he Messaged Gwen silently. “Nantong region dungeon crawl. We’ve almost cleared the whole district, but a lair refuses to budge. Give you the details later.”

“Sounds like a solid chunk of HDMs,” Gwen sent back.

Mayuree observed her interaction with Richard. “Gwen, if you’re going away again, take me with you!” the Diviner interjected guilelessly, her almond eyes begging for approval. “I hate being stuck home, please?”

Richard formed a no with his lips.

Gwen grinned amiably at her cousin. “If there’s any chance you can join us, Mia,” she answered diplomatically, “then I’ll be happy to have you with us. Adventuring with you in D-109 was awesome.”

Her cousin shrugged, then returned to sipping his beer, his expression as stoic as a monk’s.

The girls clinked glasses.

The rest of the dinner proceeded with small talk. In particular, the HDMs Gwen stood to gain with her harvest of Draconic Cores.

“You want any Magic Items crafted?” Mayuree asked after a few more dishes arrived, courtesy of Lei’s extraordinary culinary artistry. “Draconic Cores make master-crafted items, after all. I could offer you a trade-off with our in-house enchanters.”

“Any good suggestions?”

Mayuree tapped her glass.

“Staves, wands, rings, armour, clothing, that sort of thing,” Mayuree suggested. “For example, it’s not much on paper, but a Thunder-Deer’s Core could be used to craft a Thunder-Rod.”

“Those things are really expensive.” Lulan looked nervous just thinking about owning such an item. According to Richard, the Sword Mage had become hyper-conscious of her bank account balance after leaving Huashan. Since her exile, she had squirrelled away every crystal she had earned on her adventures, fearful that she wouldn’t have enough to pay for tuition and training. “Like heirloom expensive.”

“Not really,” Mayuree explained. “You have to consider what the rod’s capabilities are. A master-crafted Thunder Rod can be used as a knocking baton that shatters hard shields and displaces soft shields. It can convert Air and Positive users’ mana into Lightning Bolts at a tier lower than the caster. It can likewise be used to destroy brittle objects. Decisively, you can overload the core for a massive AOE burst as a hard counter against Earthen Mages. Gwen should know that these are the most common variations of Abjurers and their Elemental Earth counters, Lightning and Void.”

“All right, all right. So what’s the damage?” Gwen meant the cost.

“The core, I’d say, is about five thousand HDMs, while the crafting is usually by Commission, ranging anywhere from a thousand HDMs to almost ten thousand HDMs if you want a famous artisan to put their name on it. Keep in mind that this includes the extra materials as well, like the Mithril inlay, the Elder wood insert, the Dragon blood inscriptions, and so on.”

“So what you’re saying?” Gwen did some quick math in her head. “I give you two cores: one for your Enchanter to do his or her pet projects and the other for the baseline material. Then we auction the rod?”

“Precisely, or keep the item for yourself,” Mayuree suggested. “For example, we take the two largest cores—around tier 5—and make the item. In that case, the rod could auction for twelve thousand to fifteen thousand HDMs.

Lulan’s face grew red. What were these numbers? Gwen shared her friend’s shock. So large and inconceivable. The Sword Mage had laboured endlessly for almost a month or more and she had just made 500-odd HDMs while covered with fish slime and worm gore. Comparatively, Gwen was making ten times that amount as profit.

“Hm, do you have a list of potential items?” Gwen felt her greed stir like a purring cat.

Mayuree swilled her glass. “I’ll send someone over and discuss it with you by the end of the week. The sale of your Ccres will take up to six months. We’re going to release no more than two per month to keep prices afloat, if that’s fine with you. If you want them crafted then sold, maybe up to six months per item.”

“Of course, supply and demand,” Gwen noted. “Cheers, Mia.”

“Anything.”

The girls clinked glasses again.

“There’s like eighty thousand HDMs in that pile?” Kusu’s chopsticks fell gently beside his bowl. “Mao, I’ve never even seen ten thousand HDMs in one place!”

Lulan’s eyes were two blazing rods of HDMs.

“Perhaps in the future, we can borrow some of Gwen’s luck.” Richard burped, replacing another empty bottle.

Gwen popped another beer and passed it toward her cousin. “Cheers.”

Lulan and Kusu turned to Gwen with puppy eyes.

“I suppose,” Gwen looked away, unable to meet their gaze, “I’ll have to ask Grandfather for permission to bring our lucky charm.”

“Very well.” Kusu raised a toast. “To the lucky charm!”

“To cores!” Lulan raised her juice. Kusu had forbidden his sister from having more than one glass over dinner.

“Hahaha.” Gwen raised her glass with Mayuree.

“To crystals!” Richard knew what was important.

“Gānbēi!”

“Cheers”

“Za zdarovje!”

Gwen swirled the scarlet liquid in her overlarge glass, then with one tilt of her head, she downed the wine, leaving not a single drop.

On Tuesday morning, Gwen set her schedule while basking like a lounging lizard. Fighting her conflicting desires, she managed to jolt her brain with just enough juice to generate an itinerary:

- Work out a spell list with Petra after breakfast.

- Check out her CC balance at the Tower and see what’s for purchase.

- Establish a training schedule between November and early February.

- Try to catch up with Gunther and co.

- Contact Elvia.

Ding! Her Message Bracelet pinged.

“Hello? Pats?”

Petra had called to inform her cousin that Magister Wen had received “the good news” and was thus expecting Gwen’s presence at the second PLA Hospital.

“Oh.” Gwen’s mood instantly fell several storeys. “Okay, I’ll be there in an hour.”

In her small clothes, she walked into the winter garden to check the weather. With the quiet death of September, Summer had come and gone. Below, the oak and mulberry trees lining University Avenue were transforming into a river of brushed orange and daffodil yellows.

Thinking of the hassle of changing into the hospital gowns, Gwen elected easy clothes bought in Hangzhou. She also wore her peep-toe Hermès because want-not flaunt-not. She had worked for these shoes and damned it if she wasn’t going to make use of them.

She took the subway, the same route Petra had shown her but in reverse, picking up a milk tea on the way. Alighting from Wujiaochang, she proceeded through the internal stratum of the hospital’s megastructure until she reached the lab.

“Miss Song, Magister Wen and Director Song are waiting for you,” a guard politely informed her.

“Cheers, Cheng.” Gwen waved.

Cheng beamed and bowed.

Gwen was surprised herself at her recall of the stranger’s name. Her memory was hardly eidetic, even with her babulya’s Clarified Ioun Stone. Was her new boon a condition attributed to her newfound Draconic Essence? After all, Dragons held grudges forever.

She entered the sterile laboratory.

There was Magister Wen, seated by the Affinity machine, her pale crystalline eyes scanning over slates of data placed beside and in front of her.

“Gwen.” The researcher managed a smile, evidently less salty over Guo’s rebuke now that some time had passed. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Gwen nodded curtly, bowing out of habit. “Where’s Grandmother?”

“She’s with Petra.” Wen patted a seat beside her. “Come, sit. Let’s talk.”

Gwen kept her expression as ambiguous as possible as she took a seat. Her palpitating heart, however, failed the subtlety test. The distinct impression Gwen felt was that she was seated next to one of those tigers you took a picture with in Bangkok.

“Come on. I won’t bite,” the researcher promised.

Gwen sat, her face hot despite her best efforts.

“Look.” Magister Wen cleared her throat. “I am sorry.”

Gwen blinked at her.

“I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me.” Magister Wen extended a hand. “Truce?”

Gwen stared at the hand as though Wen had suddenly shoved a tentacle in her face. She had known that Wen was awkward when it came to things like empathy, but asking for a pass in the aftermath of having your ward murder a stranger in the name of Spellcraft was a little too strange.

But she took Wen’s hand anyway. It took two to tango, and Gwen was confident she wouldn’t be cheated again. A great statesman once said, “There’s an old saying in Tennessee—I know it’s in Texas, probably in Tennessee—that says, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me, you can’t get fooled again.’

“Of course.” Gwen smiled amiably. “Let’s work together as before. We’re both stakeholders, are we not?”

“Very good!” Magister Wen stepped back, then stood awkwardly, as if unsure of what came next. “That was easier than I thought, to be honest. I had anticipated outright rejection.”

“Nothing so complicated.” Gwen decided to do a little politicking of her own. “I mean, Secretary-General Miao sends his regards.”

Wen visibly paled.

“Yes indeed.” She forced a cringeworthy smile to her thin lips. “The Secretary’s office did say to keep you out of harm’s way.”

Watching Wen fidget, Gwen regretted borrowing the tiger’s terror, hoping that her spontaneous indiscretion would not make Petra’s tutelage under Wen more awkward than necessary.

Beep!

The laboratory’s glyph-protected doors opened.

“Gwen, you’re here?” Petra’s voice greeted the two already within the room.

“Gwen, how are you feeling?” The other voice belonged to her babulya, whose presence warmed the room a few degrees.

“All right.” Wen clapped her hands, interrupting their irksome public display of affection. “Let’s get some numbers!”

Chapter six

Bookworms

Magister Wen stared at the script in her hands with such intensity that one wondered if her colourless, crystalline orbs would fracture.

“Lightning—6.54. Void—4.32. Just how many mid-tier Lightning Creatures did you consume?” Her complexion was a few chardonnays too many. “You were at 4.8. Your affinity growth is worthy of two decades of dedicated practice!”

“Gwen.” Petra nudged her cousin. “Stop teasing my master. Bring out Ariel; I want to see what it’s giving you.”

“Ariel!” Gwen commanded her Familiar.

“EE—EE!” Ariel 2.0 appeared in a flash of lightning.

“Mao’s Crystal Tomb!” Wen almost fell off her stool. The researcher had known that Gwen had a Kirin-like Familiar, but the visual confirmation was shocking nonetheless, especially as she had known Ariel in its infancy, when Ariel had been a furry Marten.

The two girls bit back their laughter.

Taking deep breaths, their instructor took several seconds to compose herself.

“Petra, help me set the machine up to measure Ariel,” she commanded, putting a hint of steel back into her shaky speech.

Gwen understood why Wen was so excited. As one of the first individuals to encounter and study her, Wen knew more than anyone else what Gwen’s absurd growth portended. Her research with the Void was making steady headway, and if she could replicate its effects in another specimen, a Meistership was assured.

As for their immediate question—If Gwen’s affinity was 6.54, how much of it was courtesy of Ariel?

Spirits did not “add” tiers of Affinity in a linear sense. As denizens of their respective elemental planes, they allowed for greater efficacy in energy transfer and spell manifestation and, of course, provided differentiation between friend and foe.

“6.35,” Petra announced once Ariel’s portion was read out.

“A low-tier spirit.” Wen touched a finger to her data slate, seemingly relieved. “Ladies, we are in rare company.”

Though both Klavidya and Petra had already known Gwen’s abilities, her relatives stepped back in awe. Gwen felt flushed yet again. How many Mages could arguably boost a natural affinity over VI? How many Mages could look forward to their Spirit Familiar ultimately reaching a tier capable of adding a multiplier that could complete the legendary tiers of VII or above? Would there come a day when her tier III Lightning bolts possessed double the damage and range while necessitating a negligible volume of mana? Her tiers of Conjurations could be kept active almost forever. Her Dimension Door could range hundreds of metres while requiring a fraction of the cost.

Gwen squirmed, feeling like a tap-dancing panda bear.

“I wouldn’t celebrate yet,” Wen interrupted her moment of revelry. “Affinity doesn’t come free, you should know. Gwen is going to see some interesting mental and physiological changes too.”

The coldness of Wen’s pragmatic advocacy doused her student’s affirming flame. Gwen had already felt the influence of her prideful Element driving her onward even when the best course of action was to reverse course. The same dynamic was also true of her instructor’s sociopathic tendencies.

The next indexing machine wasn’t nearly as taxing on the women’s suspension of belief.

“Evocation 4.69. Conjuration 5.22. Transmutation 2.75. Abjuration 2.01. Divination 1.35. Illusion 1.96. There’s significant growth in both your primary schools,” Wen noted. “Did you do a lot of fighting?”

Gwen nodded, reliving some vivid memories.

“VMI 234,” Petra announced.

There had been an increase of 4. Magister Wen jotted the numbers down. Gwen wondered if this was because of her natural talent or her time spent with her uncle and hero, Jun Song.

“Petra,” Klavdiya turned to her grandniece, “how’s Gwen’s theory work?”

“Passable,” Petra noted, “unless you’re thinking of having Gwen take the Magus examination. Then no. She’s not even a second year.”

Gwen felt insulted.

“Mao’s ghost.” Gwen’s grandmother grimaced mirthfully. “I hope they won’t disqualify you for misrepresenting yourself. I don’t think there’s an Acolyte in all of Shanghai who can take down an actual Combat Magus in a one-on-one duel.”

“Ha.” Gwen chuckled, pulling Petra close to her. “That’s the plan. Let them underestimate me, and then BAM! Crystals!”

Gwen’s laughter fell short when she saw Wen’s frozen face. Sitting alone opposite the table, the researcher’s paper-thin lips formed a forceful curl, making her skin crawl like a swarm of army ants.

As it was noon, Gwen and Petra farewelled their babulya and then had lunch at a local deli that sold Hong Kong-style barbecue pheasants.

“Far too greasy for me.” Petra polished off a leg, leaving the rest of the carcass to the ravenous Gwen.

“Food in Hangzhou tasted so light.” Gwen swallowed, ignoring the usual stares from pedestrians and patrons. Magister Wen had left a lot on her plate, though for now, all she could do was eat and drink her fill. “Salt, sugar and saturated fat, that’s Shanghainese food in a nutshell, haha.”

“Well, don’t forget the soup.” Petra pointed at the extra bowls that came with the meal. “What say we check in with Fudan T2? I want to see if your contribution to Morden’s Hound sold well.”

“Oh, yeah.” Gwen quickly spooned down the sauce-soaked rice. She had forgotten about Morden’s Hound because Gunther had said he would take care of it. “Let’s go!”

With both semesters over, the Tower was on a half-staff roster.

When a young man took their petition ticket, his eyes widened. “You’re Miss Petra Kuznetsova! And you’re Miss Gwen Song!”

Oooh. Gwen struck a pose. Are we famous? Or rather, am I infamous?

“No Mongolian Death worm today, ma’am?” The young man’s eyes twinkled. “We all miss it, haha!”

“Caliban is taking a break,” Gwen said, feeling deflated. She reminded herself to let her Familiars air out as soon as they returned to the apartment. Both at Mayuree’s place and with her hospital visit, she had put off re-summoning Caliban.

When its name was mentioned, her Void-Familiar’s pocket dimension grew agitated, indicating its desire to be out and about.

“A shame. How can I be of service?” The young man’s eyes glowed, finally taking note of the splendour of the Flower of Fudan and her cousin, The Wormless Handler.

“Checking on my CCs.” Gwen smiled and pushed over a signed slip.

“Of course, ma’am. It’ll only take a moment.”

The young man returned a minute later with Gwen’s data slate. She tapped through her profile.

203 CCs.

HOLY corn chips!

There was a note attached:

Gwen, the Tower has granted you access to Morden’s Blood Hound and Hound Pack. In exchange, get Magister Wen or someone to help you with a report on how Master’s signature magic interacts with the spells. The Pudong Tower has been advised and should provide you with the scrolls.

—Gunther

“Petra, I’ve got…” Gwen passed on the number discreetly.

Her cousin’s husky-blue eyes widened. “We’re going to need a private office,” Petra informed the helpful clerk. “And bring us the spell catalogue. Oh, can you check if Gwen has any items from Pudong?”

“Yes, ma’am!” For some reason, the young man saluted.

The clerk escorted the two of them to a private chamber with opaque glass walls, then returned to deliver the thick volume of spells for sale. Under his other arm, the young man reverently carried two scroll cases. “These are keyed to your mana signature, ma’am.”

“Thank you.” Petra gave the young man a dazzling smile, then shut the doors, blocking out the curious face.

Gwen materialised her tablet, several notepads and pens.

“Alright, sit down. Let’s go over the catalogue.”

Gwen followed her cousin’s orders.

“First, write down your spell list,” Petra commanded. “Let’s see what we’re missing and what we can do in the next ten months.”

The girls spent the next few hours drawing up a chart of spells Gwen could benefit from, assuming she was a one-woman adventuring party.

Gwen noted her Evocation was steadily working toward tier 5. Her acquisition of Ariel as a Lightning Spirit meant that with IFF, she could now be far more liberal with her range of incantations.

In tier 6, Evocation staples such as Ice Storm and Wall of Fire, which both had Elemental-shift variations, would increase her combat utility and AOE potential.

Likewise, for tier 5, she had the incredibly useful Evocation-cum-Conjuration incantation “Bilby’s Hand”, a spell made famous by Magister Bilby Bigglesworth, a famed disciple of Magister Morden. Her master had once shown her this spell, though back then, the possibility of her using it seemed fantastical.

Bilby’s Hand

Conjuration (5)

Casting Time: 41 Major, 40 Minor Incantation

Range: 1—20M

Components: Somatic, Verbal

Duration: Persistent

A signature spell of Magister Bigglesworth adapted for modern spellcraft. It is said that the late Magister wished to improve on his favourite spell as an Acolyte—”Mage Hand”. Conjurers and Evokers may use this variation of the Magister’s famous telekinetic incantation, though knowledge in both schools is necessary to maximise the spell’s efficacy. Upon manifestation, a prehensile human hand between one to two metres in height appears. The Mage may control the manifestation as Mage Hand, commanding at will the phantom appendage to grasp, manipulate, push, pull or attack the target. The Elemental-shifted variation is intended for Mages with material elements such as prime, quasi and para-elemental variations of Earth and Water.

“I am not so sure.” Gwen mulled over the possibility of “grabbing” her opponents. What kind of Magister specialised in wrestling their targets? Did Bigglesworth perhaps choke a Dragon by the neck? Perhaps a Centaur by the mane? Or maybe a Lamassu by the tail? With a famous spell like this, the Magister probably had a whole collection of Magical Creatures.

“It’s absurdly useful,” Petra said. “You could retrieve things from afar, save people from torrents and push back boulders. It’s one of the most versatile spells anyone could have. Not to mention that the non-elementally shifted variety is usually used for pacification. You’re still into that sort of thing, aren’t you?”

“I’d say so.” Gwen did indeed prefer pacification. “Okay, I’ll keep it in mind. Still, fifty-three CCs!”

“You won’t regret it,” Petra assured her. “Let’s keep going.”

She read Cone of Cold, a spell firing away a blast of Lightning or Void Matter in a ninety-degree cone extending up to fifteen metres. This was another impressive AOE Gwen could now use at tier 5.

As for the future, Petra pointed out that tier 6 brought the most potent spells a Magus could arguably employ without the need for Mandalas. Maelstrom, Chain Lightning and Blade Barrier were all tried-and-true damage dealers capable of changing the tide of a small battle.

At the mention of Maelstrom, Gwen’s lip stiffened. She recalled the story of Elizabeth Sobel, who had first awakened to the Void. Her Master’s wife had opened up a vortex that turned the Battle of the Brisbane Line, culminating in Sobel’s descent into a dark and insane path of endless hunger.

Would the same happen to her if an endlessly consuming miniaturised black hole opened atop thousands of enemies?

Gwen dispelled her doubt with a self-platitude. I will be better than Elizabeth. She had the wisdom of Sobel’s failure to guide her. She had Henry’s instruction. Moreover, she had her friends and family and her Almudj’s Essence. And unlike Sobel, her powers were gained through Caliban indirectly.

“Now, about Conjuration…”

So far, Gwen has only a single tier 5 Conjuration spell—Conjure Elemental Swarm.

“I’d say pick up some of Morden’s spells, especially since you’re able to get a discount because you’re the originator of the new elementally shifted incantations.”

“Got ‘em right here!” Gwen announced proudly. “Straight from Scotland, or so Gunther said.”

She opened the scroll-cases.

At tier 5, there was Revised Morden’s Bloodhound.

At tier 6, there was Revised Morden’s Bloodhound Pack.Once she could push into tier 6, with her VMI and control over her Familiars, she could summon Caliban, Ariel, a single Bloodhound, and a pack of up to a dozen dogs. She would indeed be a one-woman army! She could harass her enemies with her hounds, then let loose either an AoE or single-target assault with Evocation or even supplement the swarm with Conjure Elemental. Just thinking about the glory of a pack of Lightning dogs or Void-mongrels had her proverbial tail wagging!

Going beyond the Hound-based options were other Conjuration staples such as Cloud-Kill, which filled an area with motes of Lightning or Void, perfect for dispersing mass-troop movements.

Additionally, tier 6 in Conjuration marked the entry point for higher-order spells such as Planar Ally, which temporarily bound a semi-intelligent upper-tier creature to the caster’s service.

Likewise, Arcane Gate was the precursor to Teleportation at tier 7, allowing long-range, non-instantaneous transfer of the caster across vast distances.

“Arcane Gate and Teleportation are Tower-only spells,” Petra pointed out helpfully, no doubt observing Gwen’s eyes aglow with passion. “You need to be a registered, sanctioned Magus to submit the applications for learning them. Anyone caught breaking the rules, be it clan, house, Magus or Magister, will have to answer to the full force of the military police. Usually, a Mind Wipe would be the kindest punishment. In the worst-case scenario, you could get iced. That’s why it’s easier to give one’s followers Teleportation scrolls.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Gwen thumbed the pages. A state couldn’t allow folks to come and go willy-nilly. “What else we got?”

“Here, I’ve outlined my suggestions. These are all utilitarian spells, by the way. Some of them you can’t use without theory. Next semester, you can take some utility courses to increase your WAM or take Secondary Magic classes for things like Divination.”

“Hmm…” Gwen browsed through Petra’s notes, one hand on the spell list and the other on the spellbook.

Only one spell was highlighted for Transmutation—Flight, arguably the most important to master and one that paired with every other School of Magic. But it was also the most time-consuming. She wasn’t just getting her metaphorical driver’s licence, what she needed to acquire was the ability to circumnavigate like a boss while slinging spells, turning her body into a proverbial Spitfire.

As for Abjuration, Petra recommended against taking advanced courses that required extensive specialisation. Thus, her spell list included only the staples.

Tier I—Resistance, Endurance, Mage Armour, Alarm

Tier II—Obscure Divination, Static Shield, Repulsion Shield

Tier III—Ward, Explosive Glyph, Barrier

“Bloody oath, that’s a lot of spells!” Gwen felt her brain swell.

“All practical.” Petra clicked her tongue. “They’re not difficult to learn. I’ve neglected Dispel Magic, Dispel Curse and Negate Ward. Those are far too specialised. You won’t be working at a shielding station, so there’s no point wasting time on theory. Even if you did, others will be there to fill the niche.”

“I am barely tier 2!” Gwen protested. There is no way I am getting Abjuration to tier 3 in ten months in addition to everything else.”

“Well, work on it. You could also pay CCs to study advanced shielding theory with one of the Magisters. Where did you get your signature shield from again?”

“Gunther.”

“Well, I don’t know if there’s going to be someone like the Morning Star in Fudan,” Petra shrugged, “so focus on something else.”

The girls continued down the list.

“Divination is going to be problematic,” Petra confessed. “You can ask Mayuree about it, but insofar as I know, if you want to serve as the party’s Message relay, you won’t be able to cast high-tier spells yourself.”

“Too much static in the brain?”

“More like you’ll be maintaining a Message Mandala.” Petra sketched the problem for Gwen on a piece of scrap paper. “As you can see, the more people you support, the more likely you’ll be inundated by their thoughts. There’s a reason Diviners are trained young. Personally, I never spell-cube Divination spells other than Detection Magic. If you want to play that role, get a magic item for it.”

“Hmm.” Gwen touched the list with her index finger. As before, it was an impressive list:

Tier I—Detect Traps, True Strike, Hunter’s Mark

Tier II—Arcane Sight, Aura Sight, See Invisibility

Tier III—Link Sight

“That’s the one that allows you to look through your Familiar’s eyes,” Petra pointed out. “It’s going to be a chore to train up your Divination, but with a flying Familiar, I’d say it’s one of the most useful spells a Mage could have.”

Ariel surveillance? Yes, please. Gwen knew she had to have the spell.

“Finally,” Petra moved her finger to the bottom of the page, “I don’t recommend learning Illusion at all, but if you must, here’s a list of helpful spells for the IIUC. Keep in mind that, like Abjuration, you’re going to have to attend beginner, intermediate and specialist classes if you want to use the school in Combat.”

“What’s wrong with Illusion?”

“One, it’s useless against Golems and the Undead. Two, most of it requires so much concentration you need to stand still while casting. Rare is the day that you see a flying Illusionist, but then again, you’ll be competing in the IIUC, so who knows? Illusion is big business in the States and Europe. Here? Not so much.”

Gwen took note of Petra’s recommendations.

Tier I—Auditory Hallucination

Tier II—Haunting Mists, Mirror Image, Minor Image, Magic Mouth

Tier III—Hypnotic Pattern, Haunting Vision, Lingering Image

The list informed Gwen she would operate a Rocky Horror house at a freakish carnival. What if she learned to summon visions of Lovecraftian Transvestites from Transylvania? After all, she had the entire 20th century’s horror genre to plagiarise. What if she paired Caliban and her Void-hounds with yet MORE gut-churning terrors?

There was potential there.

What the hell would they call her after that?

“You’ve got so many options that it’s become a burden.” Petra patted her head, perhaps feeling sorry for her brain. “Take your time. For now, work on your two main primary Schools of Magic and get used to the Lightning. Didn’t you say Caliban has a new form too?”

Gwen nodded. “I can’t test Caliban without live targets. Richard mentioned a dungeon, didn’t he? Can you make it?”

“I’ll see,” Petra answered. “It will depend on the duration and my Master’s schedule.”

Gwen collated her notes and closed the spellbook. Ruminating over her spell list would take time and advice. Perhaps one of her lecturers would be willing to give her some of their time. Then again, if she had that much time, perhaps she should get to studying.

Chapter seven

Chekhov’s Dragon

Richard and Lulan joined the girls for a quiet dinner at home, both taking a few days off from adventuring. Kusu had forbidden Lulan from bothering their saviour, but the ex-clanner couldn’t care less about her brother’s traditionalist politeness, coming and going as she pleased.

Conversely, Petra had taken a liking to the girl and didn’t mind Lulan at all. Perhaps it was because of Lulan’s ability, though more likely, Gwen guessed, it was because Lulan was what they called a “straight shooter”. The girl didn’t have a deceitful bone in her body. Whether because of her Iron Affinity in Earthen magic or merely that she’d been raised to be simple, Lulan meshed well with the Russian, whose formative years had been spent amongst factional politics and intrigue.

“So what do you think about bringing Percy as a lucky charm?” Richard began after dinner was done and dusted.

“It should be fine, though I’d have to confirm with Grandfather. I’ll say it’s a bonding exercise.” Gwen wiped her hands on a napkin, then reached for the rice pudding. Now that she’d had a few days to settle down, her metabolism was giving her hell. Although her Draconic Essence suppressed her Void-induced hunger, it was no better in its relentless demand for snacking.

“That would be best.” Richard leaned back. “Training with Lea is costing me an arm and a leg! We could all use a boost to our extracurricular budget.”

Upon hearing her name, Lea looked up from the living room, where she had been playing with Gwen’s Familiars. Though sapient, the Undine felt more at home conversing with its fellow Elementals, even if one of them was Void-serpent with endless hunger and the other was a worshipful Kirin.

When the trio had met the other night, Lea had been intimidated by Ariel’s Draconic demeanour, so much so that she’d quivered behind Richard. It took a drop of Gwen’s emerald essence and several minutes of coaxing to finally convince Lea that Ariel was indeed its Marten self and not some predatory Dragon looking to eat or mate. “Besides,” Gwen had pointed out, “Ariel has no ding-a-ling.”

“Where are you thinking of taking us?” Gwen spoke between mouthfuls of rice custard.

“A Dungeon… well, a monster lair.” Richard produced a Lumen-caster from his ring to project images of what looked like a hole dug into the side of an escarpment, surrounded by dense shrubbery. “We were clearing the Tonglv Canal when we discovered it.”

“What’s in it?” she asked.

“Water Monkey’s Den.”

“Whoa, for real?” Gwen was impressed. She briefly envisioned ten billion krill swarming forth from the cavern’s mouth in a white-pink devouring wave, their little shrimpy claws snipping away at every inch of organic matter in their path.

“He means Watery Ghosts,” Petra pointed out. Perhaps she sensed Gwen’s confusion.

Gwen felt impressed all over again, now imagining ten billion Undead, incorporeal Sea Monkeys rushing forth like that scene from Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, only the spectral millions were starved Sea Monkeys out for vengeance against their neglectful teenage owners, led by Krillagon, the last heir of Krillisildur.

“They look like bedraggled Jueyuan,” Lulan said, “only with giant bulging eyes, sharp claws and teeth capable of chipping my iron sword. They’re also cannibalistic, though they prefer other meat. The locals say they’re single-sex beings that attack human women, though I am sure that’s made up. We saw females while we were in the den.”

“Holy hell.” Gwen grimaced. “That sounds nasty.”

“Yep,” Richard said, the Familiars mucking about as he spoke. “Bloody good cores, though. They’re semi-sapient, so make great material for mid-tier magical items, especially for imbuing water-based Enchantments.”

“Nice, how much?” Gwen, the capitalist entrepreneur, raised a critical, snobbish brow.

“About fifty to three hundred HDMs, pending on the tier,” Richard sagely advised. “There’s a lot of the buggers in that cave, though. We got through about three dozen of the little nippers before we had to retreat.”

“How come?” Gwen glanced toward Lulan, the last person she would have associated with the term “retreat”.

“They had the home ground, they’re ambush predators, they have low cunning, and they run away,” Lulan grumbled, puffing out her cheeks. “If it weren’t for Richard and Lea, some of us could have died.”

“Their claws and teeth are infectious as well,” Richard added. “At least these buggers are. Your wound festers if left unchecked, and starts oozing pus after about an hour. Then there’s the fever.”

“It sounds like a phage.” Gwen thought of a National Geographic episode she had seen about Komodo Dragons.

“Well, ‘disease’ then.” Richard shrugged. “We pushed about a kilometre before the caverns widened. There were crevices and cross-tunnels all over the joint. I figured it would be best to get you in on the action, maybe invite Mina as well.”

“Team cousin?” Gwen laughed. “Round two, Monkey boogaloo?”

“Possibly, unless Petra wants to come? We’re in it for the money, after all. I doubt Tao and Mina would care for HDMs.”

“I am always on the lookout for more HDMs,” Petra said, raising her hand. “Research, training, luncheons, rent, clothes, power, extracurriculars, everything costs HDMs. Shanghai is an expensive city.”

“Yes, Shanghai is very expensive! Kusu and I pay almost a hundred HDMs per month!” Lulan replied with a shell-shocked expression. “When I received her first paycheck of three hundred HDMs, I thought myself the wealthiest I had ever been. A few weeks later, eighty HDMs went to training, fifty-five went to rent, twenty-five went to food and seventy-five went to tuition. Since then, I have become budget-conscious.”

More than that—Gwen knew she was ever-paranoid that a single mishap would wipe her clean. Her immediate goal was to be as well-provisioned as Gwen. She’d also confessed to wanting clothes, which Kusu disapproved of, cementing her opinion of him as a dried-up, scrotal prude.

“The PLA ain’t taking care of the den?”Gwen asked.

“Naw.” Richard shook his head. “There’s a Dungeon-clear bounty as well. I’m betting there’s a bigger monster inside controlling these fish-faced monkeys. They’re staying put for now, but once their numbers swell…”

“They’ll be out in force,” Petra agreed. “The Construction Bureau’s cleared the land, right? It’s aquaculture from the Yangtze to the coast.”

“So what?” Lulan asked. “That’s how it is in Hangzhou and Suzhou.”

“That means no more food for the Water Ghosts,” Gwen said. The destruction of hunting habitats meant apex fauna had to forage for food elsewhere. As for the Water Ghosts of Tonglv Canal, it just so happened that there were seven million meals in Nantong within half a day’s travel. Of course, shield stations sheltered the city, but there were tens of thousands of labourers here and there on the canal, enlarging the city’s transportation infrastructure.

“That is why we should take advantage of the bounty before the local authorities are forced to act,” Richard declared. “I am sure the locals are keen not to be torn apart in their sleep either.”

“Why does Nantong sound so familiar?” Gwen cocked her head. “I’ve got it on the tip of my tongue.”

“I worked there a few months ago,” Richard reminded her.

“No, wait!” Gwen felt a bulb ignite briefly through the air. “Nantong. The Nantong Fungs. Dai’s clan!”

“You know the Fungs?” Lulan’s mouth grew sulky. “They’re incredibly uppity. Think they’re better than us just because Nantong’s been rezoned to be a part of Shanghai. They used to be a boat clan, you know. River rats.”

“Well, now they’re connected to a deep-water port,” Richard added helpfully. “The Tonglv Canal offers access to the South China Sea and has trade routes running up to Korea, Japan and the northeast coast of China.”

“Right, thanks, Dick. Lulu, if you meant Dai, we’re acquaintances.” Gwen determined that after fighting off Wonsoo and Golos, her instigated duel with Dai’s bodyguard was child’s play. Now, she could KO the guy with a single Elemental Sphere. To think that she’d struggled six months ago! Caliban’s consumption truly was a life hack. “The young Master owes me a favour.”

Gwen watched as Lulu’s petal-pink lips made an adorable “O”. Ever since Lulan’s restoration, she not only looked younger but more refined as well. Not having to deal with damaged mana channels and a faulty implant that polluted one’s astral body could do wonders for a girl’s complexion.

“So, interested?” Richard asked. “We haven’t done anything together since Hengsha.”

“Of course! Sign me up!” Gwen clenched her hand for a fist bump, which Richard smoothly addressed with one of his own.

“Me too!” Lulan raised her fist as well.

Gwen met her halfway. “Pats?” She floated a fist toward their femme fatale.

Petra rolled her eyes, then met Gwen’s fist.

“FOR HDMS!”

“FOR CORES!”

“FOR CCs!”

“Ergh!” Petra refrained from joining the cringeworthy battle cry. If anything, Gwen thought she’d been praying for her dignity.

“I’ll let you know by the end of the week,” Richard said, packing his bowl and chopsticks. “You do your best with our lucky charm.”

Back at the apartment, Gwen took it upon herself to ask Gunther and Alesia for advice regarding her spell list. They had been discussing the virtues of Creature Mage combat versus aerial casting when Gunther dropped a bomb on her.

“Are you serious?” Gwen shrieked, her startled voice rattling the panes.

“Absolutely.” Gunther laughed. “Ariel can direct Morden’s Hound pack. The inventor’s Familiar, Milo, was a Church Grim. It was said to be his pack’s alpha.”

Gwen saw sparks. Ariel, leading a pack of Lightning Dogs? Could anything in this world be more perfect?

“Gwen, I can’t believe you’ve almost caught up,” her sister-in-craft’s voice uttered from somewhere beside Gunther. “I am… bloody hell, I am thirty-four; twice Gwen’s age! What the hell am I doing?”

“Don’t dwell on it.” Gunther brought Alesia into view, giving her a peck on the forehead even as he wiggled his brow conspiratorially at Gwen. “More importantly, I am pleased that Ariel mutated into a spirit and a pseudo-Kirin, no less. I dare say it’s going to bring you fame and trouble in equal measure.”

“Ah, about that.” Gwen sat back down on the living room couch. “I was hoping you could tell me more. Did Master ever mention anything about Signature Conjure Familiar rituals?”

Gunther shrugged. “Not to me. At least, not for Conjuration. My schools are all over the place. I started in Evocation. Later, Master and I developed an Illusion-Conjuration secondary school to amplify my Radiant powers. Master Henry was allergic to textbooks for some reason. Alesia’s spellbook is likewise chock-full of signature spells.”

“I wish I could have known him for longer,” Gwen lamented sadly. The loss of her mentor had come so suddenly that even now, she felt as though she could return to Sydney and see Sufina and Henry sitting in the Grot, sipping on a cuppa of golden mead.

“More than a teacher, Master was like a father to us,” Gunther said. “He had a lot of secrets, nonetheless. He once told me that he hoarded signature spells because Elizabeth Sobel could utilise every School of Magic.”

Gwen nodded. That made sense. To think that if Henry had remained alive, she would have inherited a treasure trove of signature spells from around the world. “Did Master leave behind any clues for something like a Grimoire collection? Scrolls?”

“He never told anyone,” Gunther said. “If anything, Sufina would have a copy, but you were the last one to see her.”

“She didn’t mention anything,” Gwen recalled her last meeting with Sufina. “She had already grown distant by then; I think she’ll revert to her baser instincts after another decade. I hope she’ll at least remember us.”

“I hope so, too.” Gunther’s face took on a grim cast. “It’s too bad you couldn’t assume Master’s talent for the Prime Element, otherwise, you could have inherited Sufina. I am sure she would have liked you. Remember how you used to feed her that viridescent mana of yours?”

“Oh, about that…” Gwen explained the ordeal with her Druidic Essence, with their serpent friend Al, and her recent acquisition of Draconic Essence.

Her brother-in-craft took on a thoughtful expression. “Maybe you should pay Sufina a visit in the near future, anytime within the next five years,” Gunther suggested. “As for Alesia and I, we’ll join you as soon as we’re able to bring back Sobel’s head.”

“On a silver platter,” Gwen added helpfully. “Don’t forget, I am a part of this as well. I am coming too.”

“Of course.” A smile touched Gunther’s lips, his pupils glowing like two embers in the ambient light of Alesia’s apartment. “It haunts me, you know.”

“What does?”

“My failure.” Gunther’s chiselled jaws clenched. “I was unable to prevent Sobel’s ploy. I was baited into fighting the Leviathan. Given the same choice, I would have gladly allowed the numberless millions to die if it meant Master could be here with us today.”

“Would Master have wanted that?” Gwen caught the flash of pain as it crossed Gunther’s laconic face. Her chest grew constricted as well. Gunther’s rare display of raw emotion made it all the more powerful. “Master would have wanted you to help the city.”

“I know.” Gunther sighed. Gwen wondered if Gunther would have liked to be Alesia once in a while and just not care about consequences. “They sentenced Walken, you know. They stripped him of his titles. He’s retired now, gone to a teaching job. His faction fell apart. Magister Ferris is the head of the Grey Market now. They’re fully compliant with the rebuilding of the city.”

“That’s good to hear.” Gwen could feel Gunther’s frustration. Her brother-in-craft would have coveted nothing more than to annihilate Walken, whose misunderstanding had expelled Gunther from the Tower at a critical juncture. It was unfortunate that the Radiant Mage’s sense of justice did not allow him the satisfaction, knowing that Walken was as much a victim of Sobel’s conspiracy as anyone else.

“Gunther, are you done?” Alesia’s voice came through the LRM Device. “I want to speak to Gwen.”

“She’s all yours,” Gunther retreated from the projected image. “And Gwen, enjoy those CCs. The Master might not have left you a spell book, but he certainly left you an inheritance.”

“Thanks, Gunther.” Gwen blinked away a few drops of wayward moisture.

“Gwen!”

“Alesia!” Gwen watched as Alesia’s face drifted closer. Her sister-in-craft had regained her lost vivacity; her complexion once again had that glow typical of Australian women.

“Bring out Ariel again. I want to see Caliban, too!”

Gwen obliged.

“Aw, how wonderful!” Alesia cooed. “I could snuggle Ariel all day, and maybe Caliban, just for a little bit.”

“Ha.” Gwen snickered, wondering how Alesia would feel if she could see Caliban in its Horror Stag form.

The two women then discussed Gwen’s future spellcraft training. Gwen reiterated her proposed spell list and asked Alesia for a second opinion.

“I wouldn’t bother with Illusion or Abjuration, to be honest,” Alesia pointed out. “I would focus on Divination, empower my Evocation and Conjuration, master Flight, and specialise as a Hunter-Killer. With Void and tier 6 Lightning, you could be peerless. Between Dimension Door and Flight, you should be perfectly safe. Get Morden’s Dogs up, and you’ll be a bonafide living nightmare to boot. Don’t you have Gunther’s Shield as well?”

“Hmm…” Gwen weighed Alesia’s advice. It was certainly true that she was a glutton for options. “Thanks, sis. I’ll consider your input.”

“Don’t over-generalise, but don’t over-specialise. Too much specialisation and you breed in weakness. You’re going to have teammates. No matter how many spells you know, you’re one woman. As a single Mage, you can’t multi-cast anyway,” Alesia advised. “Finally, don’t pussyfoot around when you can lay down the Wrath of God. Let’s see some sucker try to attack when they’re one Lightning bolt away from electrocution.”

“Well said,” Gwen concurred.

“Good.” Alesia beamed. “Now tell me again about how you thrashed this Golos feller—in the ass, you said?”

Gwen wanted to call Elvia as well, but it was getting late. In Shanghai, 8:00 p.m. meant noon in London. There was no way that on a Tuesday, at midday, Elvia would be in the dorm with nothing to do. She would have to wait for a more convenient time or wait for Elvia to call her back.

“Done?” Petra always hid herself in her bedroom when Gwen called her companions overseas. Her cousin’s self-imposed discipline made Gwen feel glad, grateful and guilty.

“Sorry.” Gwen dipped her head. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us? Alesia seems quite taken with you.”

Petra shook her head. “Divided loyalties are never a good thing.” The Russian smiled, her lips forming a rouged crescent. “As long as my studies under Master Wen continue, I am bound to her for the duration of our relationship.”

Gwen inclined her head.

She had raised the matter of Petra’s apprenticeship with their babulya. Klavdiya had assured Gwen that Petra wasn’t an inheriting disciple but rather an apprentice in a mutually beneficial relationship. It was akin to the apprenticeship that Alesia had offered Gwen at her uncle’s house. In the parlance of Gwen’s old-world vernacular, Petra would be a PhD student and Wen would be her supervising professor.

Other than guidance, knowledge and a co-authorship, Petra stood to inherit nothing from Wen and was bound to the Magister only for the duration of their thesis on spell cubes. Once released from Wen’s studies after another year or two, Petra would be able to apply for tenure at an institution, join either of the Towers or, failing that, become a private consultant.

“Feel like a snack?” Gwen asked.

Petra shook her head. “I’ll cook if you’re hungry.”

Gwen winced. Once she had fallen asleep while cooking instant noodles and had almost pulled a Marong, clearing out the whole apartment with the smoke from her flaming ramen.

“G’nite, Pats.” She decided to go to sleep hungry.

Ding!

Bleary-eyed, Gwen reached for her Messenger Device.

“Gwen!” Mayuree’s voice came across the vox-glyph. “Can you come up?”

Naturally, Gwen was still in bed. “Why? Something important?”

“I’ve got Enchanter Maymaruya here to talk to you.”

“Sure, let me get ready.”

“Dress well!” Mayuree warned her. That meant she’d better not show up in her sweats.

“All right, all right,” Gwen buzzed back. “Give me twenty.”

“Ten!”

Gwen rolled out of bed. A quick circulation of her Draconic Essence was enough to chase away her physical fatigue, though her increased metabolism was giving her an unexpected bane—insomnia. She either woke up hungry, experienced hyper-arousal for no discernible reason or laid back in bed with her eyes wide open.

She retrieved a suitable dress from her storage ring. For shoes, Gwen stuck to her Hermès. Until the magic failed, she would wear nothing else.

A quick reconstruction of her face later, she was out.

“Good morning!” Gwen greeted Mayuree and the old gent seated in the lower living room. Hastily, she scanned the room for Mayuree’s shadow, Kitty, but the girl was nowhere in sight. “I’m sorry for being late.”

“Miss Song.” The Magus dipped his chin respectfully. “I am Magus Maymaruya, serving under the House of M.”

“Sir, Mia said that you have business with me?”

“Miss Song,” the Magus remained standing while Gwen sat, making her a little uncomfortable, “I would like the pleasure of purchasing and inscribing the Earth Dragon Core you have provided.”

Gwen turned to Mayuree.

“He means the pangolin,” she said.

Gwen nodded. “Of course. It’s not mine, though, or rather, half of it is mine. How may I repay my benefactor if I were to allow this favour?”

“In currency, favour or service,” the Magus immediately said. “Mayuree’s elder sister, Miss Maymyint, has dire need of it.”

“What do you wish to do with the core?” Gwen asked, wondering about the exotic origins of the exotic-sounding name.

“A gift,” Haymaruya declared, “for the Tyrant of our conquered homeland.”

Gwen raised an exquisite brow. She and Mayuree had an unspoken pact. She would not unduly expose Mayuree’s history or family and Mayuree steered clear of hers. They were friends and allies, and it was best to remain as such on the best of terms. Should they unduly gain too much knowledge of one another, it would likely impact the path upon which Mayuree’s prophesy lay.

Beside Gwen, Mayuree remained as quiet as a sleeping lamb.If the knowledge were to be passed under innocuous circumstances, who was she to stop what came naturally?

“Where are you from, Magus Maymaruya?” Gwen asked.

“Please, just Maymaruya.” The man tilted his chin politely.

“Maymaruya.” Gwen squared her shoulders. “Please call me Gwen.”

“From a Frontier not far from China.” The Magus’s face grew nostalgic. “A place rich in jade and gems and the bounties of nature. A fallen kingdom once called Myăma.”

“Burma?” Gwen blurted out. “Mayuree, you’re from Burma?”

“Please do not use that name,” Maymaruya spoke with quiet dignity. “That is the name of a colonised country. We are the people of Myăma.”

“Right, sorry.” With the aid of her clarifying Ioun Stone, Gwen tried to reconstruct as much of her old-world reconstruction of Myăma as possible. All she recalled was that the place was a constant hotbed of human rights disputes—that and Aung San Suu Kyi was one of its heroes, suffering house arrest until finally bringing a semblance of democracy to the country in 2015. “Say, I might be completely wrong, but how’s Miss Aung San Suu Kyi these days?”

“The daughter of General Aung San?” Maymaruya’s face grew stern. “Her name is Aung San Yuzana. She is unfortunately imprisoned in our captive nation, kept as a prize by the Tyrant. Who is this Miss Suu Kyi?”

Gwen quickly glanced toward Mayuree, who sipped her tea gingerly. “I was mistaken. How’s the situation with the Military Junta?”

Maymaruya appeared confused. “What is this Junta?”

“Sorry.” Gwen coughed. “I am ill-informed regarding Myăma. Who is keeping General Aung San’s daughter captive?”

“A name that shall not pass our lips, for its gaze sees far and its ears hear all.” The Enchanter answered cryptically.

Gwen’s mind furiously connected the dots presented to her.

Mayuree’s family owned and operated a Mercantile House called the House of M. She came from a conquered land called Myăma. A “beast” ruled the fallen Frontier, a place famous for gems, jade and jewels. It kept the famous daughter of the nation’s founder captive.

A beast that hoarded gems, coveted jewels, and kept a girl captive after taking a kingdom hostage?

Right.

“So,” Gwen smiled delicately for the Enchanter, “tell me about this Dragon. It’s not called Smaug, is it?”

Chapter eight

Great Anticipation

“The Tyrant came upon Myăma some two decades ago,” Maymaruya began, his countenance the manner of one delivering a eulogy. “At first, like the fabled Yinglong, it desired only a mountain upon which to nest.

“As a remote Frontier city in the 1980s, Yangon did not possess a Tower capable of defeating the tyrant without crippling our city-state. We asked for help from the British Mageocracy, though as expected, no help came; the newly formed Commonwealth was too busy establishing its Towers all over the world to oversee the problems of a deserted colony.”

“Not Smaug then. Still, I’m guessing it came,” Gwen dug through her long-term memory for what she could recall of Burma, “for the jade and the gold?”

“Yes.” Maymaruya nodded. “It came for the jadeite, the gems and the gold.”

Gwen was happy to know that at least some of her old-world knowledge still held up. Imperial Burma, now officially known as Myăma, had once been a thriving kingdom. Like all medieval kingdoms, it fell to decay and internal strife and was conquered by the British Mageocracy during its Pax Britannica days.

Despite its infamy for poverty, Burma was, in fact, one of the wealthiest regions in the world when it came to natural resources. The struggling nation possessed an untapped trove of exotic animals, lumber, natural gas, oil reserves and native fisheries. Most notably, however, Mageocracy-controlled Burma was infamous for its blood jade and gem trade. No other place on earth could produce jadeite with the clarity and hardness of Kachin’s excavated stones.

It was no wonder a Dragon had taken an interest. In a world of Arcana, Jadeite could substitute for creature cores, being itself a form of congealed mana formed of the Quasi-Elemental Plane of Minerals. Though Gwen herself had little longing for jade, she had seen the Chinese Mages donning their jade pendants, earrings, thumb rings, belt buckles and waist danglers.

“The House of M was called by another name then,” Maymaruya continued. “We were the lords of Tawmao and Khansee, the heartland of Myăma’s jade trade, inheritors of the old kingdom.”

“I see,” Gwen said. “Did you dig too deep looking for the wonders of Myăma and then awoke a nameless evil?”

“You are too perceptive, Miss Gwen. Yes. It was in ‘76 that we unearthed the Jade Pillar, an enormous lode of Jadeite of the highest purity, possessing an incredibly dense core capable of serving as the basis of a Tower’s nucleus.”

“So a Dungeon Core?” Gwen wasn’t up to date on the matter.

“Indeed, that would be the name for such a thing in today’s parlance,” Maymaruya said. “A Tower needs to tap into geo-dynamic ley-lines and only a Dungeon Core possesses the density and size necessary for channelling the earth’s natural energies.”

“What is a Dungeon Core, if you don’t mind me asking?” Gwen implored. “I am only a student, Magus Maymaruya. Please excuse my ignorance.”

“I take no offence,” the Magus replied. “Mayuree, are you listening?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Mayuree quietly replied.

Gwen gave Mia a comforting smile, which she returned warily.

“You must know about creature cores.” Maymaruya raised the Pangolin core.

“Yes.”

“Good. A Dungeon Core is not so dissimilar; it is a solidified mass of condensed elemental that remains buried deep down in the earth where subterranean ley-lines meet. Did you know that the PLA Superstructural Tower has at its heart the King Stone of the Huang River? I was a part of the team that excavated it.”

Magus Maymaruya sounded very pleased with his prior accomplishment. “Three storeys high it was, big as a skyscraper, entirely consisting of condensed Earthen mana. It took the team six months to move it to the construction site and another two years to carve the glyphs necessary to channel its latent energies.”

Gwen made an “O” with her lips.

“But I digress. As I was saying, having found the Jade Pillar, our city-state was readying itself to build our Tower. We had even invited the Mageocracy’s Magisters to aid us in our endeavour.”

“But the Dragon had other ideas.”

“Indeed. The ‘70s was a time when human magic was chaotic, Miss Song. You must understand that our nation struggled with Western spellcraft, possessing only six Magisters and no more than three dozen Maguses. There was no way we could have fought the Tyrant to a standstill. Even if we had won, there weren’t enough of us left to rebuild Yangon.

“We attempted to placate it at first. The Tyrant had remained on Mount Arakan in the Golden Valley, minding the territory and warding off lesser beasts. It had even made the region safe for human habitation. We were wary and so was the Tyrant.

“But, of course, human nature prevailed. A few of the local lords thought the creature divine, though I could hardly blame them. After all, our goddess is a Naga, a form of Dragon-kin. They approached the Tyrant with carts of polished jadeite and nephrite, stoking the creature’s insatiable greed. Over time, it grew more and more voracious until it caught news of what we had unearthed in Tawmao.”

Gwen eagerly consumed every word. The Enchanter’s alternative history of a colonised nation was music to her ears!

“That was the beginning of the end for our city-state.” Maymaruya shook his head wistfully. “Arriving at our capital, the Tyrant destroyed the construction site, chased off the Mages, then carried away the Jade Pillar, calling it the cornerstone of its unholy palace. Surprised and beaten, we desperately attempted to retrieve the pillar. Without it, we could not construct our Tower.

We asked for help, but once more, we were outdone by human nature. Factions within the Mageocracy took advantage of our weakness. Old allies and new enemies from China, India, Japan and Britain flooded the country under the guise of ‘aiding’ our city, only to pillage Tawmao of its jade, leaving our people to rot.

“After that, those of us who survived fled the country. We smuggled out what we could and established a trade consortium with our shamefully gotten gains, amassing wealth and waiting for the day when we could raise an army, gaining enough influence to invite a tier 1 city’s leadership into helping us reclaim Yangon.”

“What’s happening with Yangon now, as we speak?” Gwen enquired.

“It survives, barely. Until the Tyrant is removed, I fear, we will never have our Tower. Without a Tower, we are cut off, unable to join the ranks of even minor Frontiers like Chittagong or compete with our neighbours in Bangkok.”

Gwen turned to Mayuree, who’d been silent the whole time. “Was I supposed to hear that?”

“Was Miss Song not in the know?” Magus Maymaruya coughed gingerly. “At all? You had spoken of her so dearly that I’d thought…”

“It’s fine.” Mayuree relaxed as though a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “The Goddess willed it. I was no more than her instrument. Well, Gwen, now you know about the House of M!”

“So the M stands for Myăma?”

“Close enough.” Mayuree smiled. “It stands for our country, of course, but also for our displaced house and home. There’s a symbolic significance as well. The M stands for Mü—nothing. Until we recover Tawmao and restore Yangon, we are the house of ‘Nothing’.”

“The House of Moo.” Gwen rolled the words across her tongue. “Yes, the House of M is definitely what I would have stuck with as well.”

The two girls had a pleasant chuckle, offsetting the heavy atmosphere.

“So what can I do to help?” Gwen asked.

“Nothing.” Mayuree rested her hands on her honeyed thighs. “It’s not your problem.”

“But…?” Gwen was not used to refusals.

“There is no but,” Mayuree insisted. “Come back when you’re a Tower Master. We can pay to fly your Tower over and skin this Dragon, haha.”

“All right, I’ll keep foreign aid as a top priority.” Gwen grinned. “So tell me about this gift. Why are you giving this ‘tyrant’ of yours magical items?”

“It’s a Trojan gambit,” Mayuree divulged readily. “Maymaruya says that the Pangolin Core contains traces of the Yinglong’s essence. Dragons are extremely territorial. Mixing items like this into the jade we send will make it think that another Dragon is encroaching on its territory. If nothing else, it’ll be losing sleep—and Dragons love to sleep.”

“What if you well and truly piss it off?” Gwen pursed her lips.

Maymaruya shook his head. “Not even the Tyrant can detect the whereabouts of a thing like this if we embed it into a procession of jadeite Bodhisattva. It would have to destroy the visage of the Naga Goddess to get at the core, and the Tyrant is too superstitious a being to do that and too greedy to relent a priceless carving of imperial grade jadeite.”

“Ah, the woes of being a Dragon,” Gwen mused. The greedy Dragon would feel like a starving, man-eating raw turnip—the stinging acridness of the bitter flesh made one sick, but the hunger disallowed such a meal to be forsaken.

“There are worse things.” Mayuree stretched, reminding Gwen of her cat. “As the Tyrant’s Essence pervades these statues, they will subsume and ‘erase’ the Essence of the Earthen Drake. A land god as powerful as the Yinglong would certainly sense such a thing. Maybe it’ll stir the pot for us, dislodge the Tyrant.”

Gwen wondered if she should say something, like they were playing with Dragon fire, but she was too uninvolved to start telling people how to recover their long-lost homelands. After all, if Thorin could have been persuaded, the book would have ended differently.

“So the House of M will pay in currency, favour, or service; up to you. What do you say?”

“I am fine with it,” Gwen conceded. She wouldn’t know the first thing about hawking the core of a Sapient Earthen Dragon-kin, but she could trust Mayuree to offer a fair price. “Myăma, huh? A House of Nothing. I’m so sorry, Mia.”

“It’s been like that since I was born, so I don’t feel the loss, not like Maymaruya here.” Her friend shrugged.

“You would have loved Yangon, young mistress.” The Magus’s voice was rich with nostalgia. “It would warm my old heart if you could see it one day, the city, that is—the avenues abloom with dendrobium, frangipani and cherry blossoms; the Sule Pagoda resplendent in gold and ivory, the saffron-clad monk boys, walking to morning prayer beside the cafés of the Yangon Riviera. We had all of that before the Tyrant usurped the city.”

“That sounds nice.” Mayuree closed her eyes. Gwen guessed she was imagining the serene scenes of the Riviera.

“One day.” the Magus sighed. The Enchanter then turned to Gwen. “Miss Song, are there any items you wish to craft right now?”

“Honestly? I have no idea.” Gwen smiled politely. “Mayuree, any suggestions?”

“Not unless you want to disclose your spell list and talents.” Mayuree put up her hands before Gwen could respond. “No, no, don’t do that. Trust me. Just tell us what you need.”

“I don’t know what I need.” Gwen faced the dilemma of a high-maintenance girlfriend being asked what she wanted for dinner.

“Our in-house craftsmen specialise in Ioun Stones, pendants, rings, earrings and precious stone bracelets,” Mayuree informed her friend. “Maymaruya, can you give Gwen a few recommendations?”

“Our most popular products are Contingency rings.” The Magus smiled. “But I can see you have one already.”

Mayuree glanced at Gwen’s fingers.

“An exceptionally master-crafted device.” The Magus stepped up. “May I take a closer look?”

Gwen extended her fingers, fancying herself performing the mafioso gesture of one looking to have a signet ring kissed.

A brief glow flashed across the Magus’ eyes. “From the Royal House of Asscher?” The Enchanter snapped back, punctuated by a sharp intake of breath. “Mistress Mayuree! Is your friend of noble lineage? Are we in the company of a noblewoman?”

“No, no!” Gwen withdrew her hand quickly. “I am just a nobody from Sydney’s redneck south coast.”

“Impossible! You are too modest.” Magus Maymaruya was shaking with excitement. “The Royal House of Asscher are jewellers given the title by the Dynasty of Queen Juliana herself. They were and continue to be the foremost Enchanters in the field of gemology. They pioneered the spellcraft behind Contingency magic, the basis of which is the Royal Asscher 17-facet algorithm. Yours is an incredible historical heirloom. From the cut, the clarity of the core and the glamour applied to it, Goddess, it could be worth a hundred thousand, without question!”

Oh, fuck. Gwen felt her hand immediately grow sweaty, as though the ring might slip from her fingers at any moment. Gunther gave her a ring worth enough currency to buy… a lot of things! Hadn’t Jonas and Paul, Alesia’s crew, joked that Gunther’s ring was like fifteen thousand HDMs? Why was it worth ten times the amount now?

“Maymaruya…” Mayuree pulled back her Enchanter.

“Of course, you may trust my discretion, noble mistress,” the Magus announced, placing a hand on his chest. “By the Naga Goddess, I will keep your heritage a secret.”

Gwen wanted to say there was a terrible misunderstanding. Having the Magus in awe, however, wasn’t a bad thing. She had told the truth; the man’s opinion was his own business.

“Thank you, Maymaruya.” Gwen smiled regally. “Now, your suggestions?”

“We possess several useful patents,” the Magus continued. Swiping his hand across the table, he produced four intricate jewellery boxes.

“Ooh!” Gwen’s eyes sparkled.

“The first is a Band of the Lamassu.” Maymaruya opened one of the boxes, revealing a ring in the form of a lion biting its tail. “It performs several auditory functions. The first is the ability to project your voice, which can be used at will. The second is the ability to generate a tier 3 shatter effect against hard shields three times per day. Finally, once per day, it can be used to project a sonic cone at tier 5, as per Cone of Cold. Used with Lightning, I would mark the shatter at tier 6.”

“How useful is it?” Gwen turned to Mayuree.

“There’s no casting cost, no need for incantation and the effects happen at will,” Mayuree advised her friend. “It’s for use in one-two combos, for example, a shield-shatter effect followed immediately by one of your Void Bolts.”

“Oh, ouch.” Gwen made a face. “That’s a little lethal for my taste. Are there items made for monster hunting?”

The Magus chuckled, then opened the second box. “A Dungeon earring,” he announced quickly.

Gwen burst into snorting laughter at the “pun-ishment”. Who’d thought the Magus was into fatherly humour? “Great for Dungeoneering, I bet,” she said.

“Yes, indeed.” The Magus laughed. “These come in sets of five: a Master and four Slaves. The Master, when attuned to a Diviner, boosts the Diviner’s message range. When used by a non-Diviner, it generates a message relay at tier 1, with an effective range of twenty metres without LOS and up to two hundred meters with LOS. It allows free communication between the master and the slave units.”

“Now that is useful.” Gwen picked up the scintillating, ruby-like Creature Core mounted atop a sterling silver setting.

“Indeed. And there’s this.” The Magister opened the third box. “A staple—a Ring of Mind Shielding with Mind Lock, Resist Glamour and Illusion. It will vastly improve your resistance to Mind Magic, Suggestion and external Glamour. It works against both human and non-human phenomena.”

“I could use one of those.” Gwen pinned the tear-drop crystal against her ear. “Mia, how does it look?”

“Beautiful.” Mayuree beamed. “It brings out your eyes.”

“Aw, thanks.” Gwen gushed. Who knew having a family jeweller was so awesome?

“And the final one.” The Magus opened the final box. It was a necklace pendant with a thumb-sized opal.

“Oh.” Gwen’s eyes sparkled. The stone was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Crafted from the core of an elder Foglet.” Maymaruya allowed the light to play through the stone, showing off every facet of its scintillating beauty. “A Ghosting Amulet—a Contingency item. Should you suffer a catastrophic Shield Break or become injured, you will be Dimension Doored to a safe location. At the same time, if you are an Illusionist, it will further draw upon your sigils to create two mirages per tier of illusory simulacrums who will ‘fight’ your opponents while you escape to safety.”

“Wow!” What else could Gwen say other than being awed? She was a simple country girl. The Ghost Amulet was the Mercedes S-Class of magic items.

“The rarity of Foglet Cores aside, that one consists of Maymaruya’s blood and tears. It took him close to three months to craft,” Mayuree added. Also, it’s mine.”

“Oh?”

“He asked for it to be used as a sample.”

“Ah.” Gwen returned it to Mayuree awkwardly.

The Magus seemed embarrassed. “Those cores you brought can be used to make the earrings, the Lamassu Ring, and the Mind Shield. If you want an amulet, we’ll have to barter for one from the Eastern European Fog Lands.”

Gwen ruminated about her options. The shatter-shield ring was useful, but she could manage without it. The Dungeon earrings were very useful, but she had so far managed without them. The Mind Shield was a godsend. She never wanted to be dominated or have her mind invaded again, ever, by anyone.

As for the Ghosting Amulet, Gwen felt very much tempted. In addition to her Contingency ring, it could serve as another buffer. If her ill-gotten wealth can save her from expending Gunther’s ring, it could be well worth it.

“I want the Mind-Shield and the Ghosting Amulet,” Gwen declared.

“Would you accept two tier 3 Draconic-deer cores for the Mind-Shield? As for the Ghosting Amulet, I knew you were going to want one, so how about a one-to-one trade with the Earthen Core from the young Drake?”

“Sure.” Gwen did a few quick calculations in her head. She was trading away about thirty thousand HDMs worth of cores for a rare and a near-unique magical item that could save her life. Money was a priority, but one had to be alive to spend it. She was also glad that Lulan wasn’t here to witness her spendthrift. The price of these rarified items alone would drive the girl into a berserker frenzy.

“Deal.” Mayuree stuck out a palm. Gwen offered her companion a low-five, and then the two shook on the deal.

“I’ll leave the rest up to you,” she said. “Sell it or make items with it. I’ll trust your judgement.”

“The two Draconic Carp Cores should sell well,” Mayuree noted with a smile. “If you need currency, deductions will be taken from your account with the House of M, where all your future proceeds will be deposited.”

“Future proceeds, huh?” Gwen mused. “Am I a part of your elite clientele yet? Do I get a black card?”

“Of course!” Mayuree hugged her friend by the waist. “You’re a V-VIP! What’s a black card?”

It was now Gwen who tilted her head. “The House of M has spending tiers for clients but no executive service branch?”

“Well, not formally.” Mayuree laughed. “We can offer front-row seating at auctions, priority bidding and all that, as well as advice on items and ingredients. What else do you want?”

Gwen drew back in awe. She knew that this world’s financial practices were repressed. The methods of her old world had yet to penetrate the virginal economics of Terra. To Gwen, this was the symptom of a market where continental economic imperialism never quite took hold. As such, surely she could make a few dollars by offering insight into business structuring.

“Mayuree, I wouldn’t normally ask this. But how big is your organisation? What’s your turnover? Do you have many clients who break ten, fifty or one hundred thousand HDM strata?”

Mayuree turned to regard Maymaruya.

“I cannot provide an exact figure, Miss Song.” The Magus cleared his throat. “Our clearance from our auction division alone is almost a quarter of a million HDMs last financial quarter.”

“Who are your largest competitors?”

“That would be the Hong Kong Shanghai British Corporation, the Dai Nippon Trade Consortium and the state-sponsored Shanghai Wildland Auction Commission.”

“Is there a Citibank? American Express?”

“The Americans do not operate within our sphere,” the Magus replied. “They are too far, not to mention they have their hands full. Last I heard, Chichen Itza was not going to take the Americans’ southern expeditions lying down.”

Oh yes, of course, Gwen reminded herself. Thanks to limited communication and the fragmentation of human city-states by Frontier zones, globalised banking had been stunted. The lack of a Cold War, deferred by the common threat of magical beasts, prevented the global dissemination of social democracy, laissez-faire capitalism and communism. Had the Tower system not been established, there would have been no coalition of humanity.

Gingerly, Gwen stood from her chair, pried Mayuree from her waist, then squared her shoulders. Her expression grew severe and serious. “Is the House of M looking for a business consultant, by any chance?”

Mayuree and Maymaruya looked at Gwen as though she had spoken in tongues.

“Don’t answer yet. Just give me five minutes. Promise me that whatever I tell you won’t leave this room. And if you choose to take my advice, I would like a stipend, assuming my proposal is successful, which I am confident it will be.”

“Okay, sure.” Mayuree gazed upon her friend with as much perplexity as admiration, patiently waiting for her to deliver yet another “Gwenism”.

“Miss Song, I am listening.” Maymaruya played along out of apparent curiosity if nothing else.

“Thank you.” Gwen took a deep breath. She channelled a little Draconic Essence into her presence. Her two captive audience members inclined backwards as though she had suddenly grown in stature.

Then she began, her voice commanding and assured. She moved with such conviction that Mayuree and her Enchanter felt compelled to listen.

“Mia, Magus Maymaurya, I want you to imagine yourselves attending an auction organised by the House of M. It’s 7:00 p.m. on a Saturday, and we’re deep inside the historic Waldorf Astoria. Tonight is going to be an amazing night. Rumour has it that there are Draconic Cores for sale.

“The rich and famous are gathered to see who’s who and what they’re willing to pay. They turn to see you, a vaguely familiar face. You know of them and they know of you. For now, you’re just one of the many faces here.”

Her audience looked confused.

“That is, until you reach into your breast pocket. Slowly, meticulously, without excessive endearment, you produce an ID card. It’s ‘invite only’ and made from anodised Orichalcum, darker than black, so dark that it sucks in all light. A single imprint, briefly visible, displays your personal glyph.”

Mayuree and Maymaruya regarded one another.

Gwen opened her hands as though unleashing an unholy power. “But that’s okay. After tonight, everyone will know your name—and the fact that you’re an august member of the Centurion Club.”

Chapter nine

Trouble in Paradise

It was 8:00 p.m. before Magus Maymaruya left the apartment with a ring chocked full of loose notes and a data slate stocked with the future of the House of M’s Centurion Customer Service Division.

“Oof—I’m going to sleep.” Mayuree yawned. “I can’t believe the two of you went at it for six hours!”

“Well, when you’ve got the working bug, time just flies.” Gwen chuckled. She was still flushed with vigour, the complexion of her face pink with excitement. Her eyes were swollen, her lips were cracked and her throat was parched, but watching Maymaruya falling over himself had been orgasmic. How long had it been since she had a “sit” with a client? For the better half of the day, it had felt as though she was back in the old world.

“How do you even know this stuff?” her friend asked. The “stuff” had given her friend a mana overload.

Silver, Gold, Jadeite, Mithril and Centurion-Orichalcum membership.

Annual fees.

Minimum spending.

Cash flow. Period.

Privileged point-exchange programs.

Personal assistants.

Reserved travel at ISTC stations.

Priority reservation of rare ingredients.

Words stranger than eldritch magic kept pouring from Gwen’s lips.

“The more they spend with the House of M, the more selective the reward. Trust me when I say that it’s not the value of the service or the money they save that will distinguish the House of M’s branding. It’s the fact that you care. To you, the client is a valued family member. To make their life infinitesimally easier is the existential creed of the Centurion Executive Service.”

Maymaruya had nodded like an acolyte at his first meeting with a Magister.

“Why do I know? My family grew up poor,” Gwen confessed, hugging Mayuree close to her chest conspiratorially. “Therefore, I promised myself…”

She stretched out her right arm in a grand gesture toward the magnificent view of Fudan below. “That as God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again!”

“Aw.” Mayuree slipped from Gwen’s overstimulated intimacy. Gwen’s Draconically-imbued embrace possessed a crushing, suffocating grip. “Poor you. Well, I am glad Maymaruya liked your ideas.”

“I am up for salary negotiations anytime.” Gwen grinned.

Mayuree chuckled. “What makes you so confident it’ll work?”

“Oh, you’ll see.” Gwen left her companion lounging on the sofa. “All right, I better head down as well. It’s going to take a few months but keep me updated on the cores. And the CCS Division proposal. Likewise, I’ll let you know if I need a currency advance.”

Mayuree assured Gwen that her purpose, heart and person were all open to her benefactor.

“Say, where’s Kitty? Or Marong?” Gwen looked around.

“Brother’s still got problems back home. Well, in Yangon, since now you know. We’ve got constant problems with border disputes, poachers and the occasional Rogue Mage out in the Orange Zone. Kitty’s away questing. She’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“I see. Here’s hoping they’re both safe, hey? I better go. Petra’s feeling lonely, I’ll bet.”

“Good night, Gwen,” Mayuree bowed.

“Ciao!” Gwen left but was instantly compelled to return. “Mia, can you give me a doggy bag of the leftovers? I am bloody starving.”

By 4:00 a.m., Gwen still couldn’t sleep.

Wide awake from the excitement of having her new items made and having her proposal heard, she slinked into the living room to call Elvia.

BEEEEE—Bo-keeeeee—The Message device screeched like a Night Hag.

Elvia’s dorm matron answered the LR Communication Device. After a quick exchange, the kind woman relayed the Message.

Five minutes later, Elvia appeared standing before Gwen in a nightdress.

“OH MY GOD!” Gwen gushed, her eyes growing hot. “That’s so British!”

Quickly, she calmed herself. Earlier, she had told Petra all about her arrangement with the Magus, repeating herself until her cousin escaped into her bedroom to sleep off the economics-induced headache.

Her friend, her dearest Elvia, twirled. “Hi, Gwen. Do you like it? It’s from Bluebirds!”

“I love it! I love the lace.”

“Hahaha. So, what’s happening?” Elvia settled closer to the screen.

“Oh, tons of things. Things you cannot begin to imagine. Do we have privacy?” Gwen asked.

“Yep, but let me switch to silent.” Elvia returned a few seconds later.

Her angelic little Evee had grown her hair out and now had it falling about her slim shoulders like a golden waterfall. Elvia must have made good progress in her Biomancy. Her erstwhile companion appeared younger despite being nine months older. Whatever they were feeding the girl, the Nightingale School had done Elvia right.

“Wow, I haven’t talked to you in a month, How are your funds? I’ve recently acquired a windfall.” Gwen recalled what she could.

“Me too. I worked tons!” Elvia pouted. “Five days a week and I am volunteering as well.”

“That’s wonderful. How’s work at Ormond Street?”

“It’s going well.” Elvia’s voice took on an ambivalent hollowness. She did this whenever she tried to mask her discomfort with a white lie or avoided a particular topic of conversation.

“Evee.” Gwen leaned in. “You can tell me. If you do, I’ll show you Ariel’s super-adorable new form.”

Elvia stared at Gwen critically.

Gwen shirked back, wounded. Had Elvia grown up? Was she immune to Ariel’s charms?

“Okay.” Elvia moped.

As it turned out, Elvia had been bullied.

Gwen’s mood grew increasingly more dangerous as her friend’s account continued. The gist of it was that Elvia was interning at the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children when they received a young Mage from a prominent family who had been severely burned, suffering both internal and external injuries. Elvia’s mentor, Lady Astor, had been assigned to the case, and things had initially gone as well as expected.

A day later, Elvia had the night shift. She attended to the young man, struck up a conversation and even convinced him to take a sponge bath to discard the peeling, old skin that had fallen off after the treatment.

However, Elvia’s popularity at GOS, especially regarding Lady Astor’s intimate interest, had also brought ire and envy. A few of the younger nurses and even one of the ward’s physicians accused her of inappropriate behaviour with Lord Allen of Liverpool. Lady Astor was alerted when Elvia’s accusers cornered the blonde healer in the staff’s break room, at which point Elvia panicked.

The no-nonsense director stood her ground and informed Elvia’s accusers that they had five seconds to confess the truth and retain their jobs with a pay cut before she commissioned a formal investigation.

“Elvia, will you subject yourself to a Truth Geas?” her mentor had asked.

Of course, there was no need for such a ruse. Lady Astor’s word was law, not to mention one of the nurses had snitched on her co-conspirators as soon as Elvia agreed. Her accusers were caught out and even the young Lord Allen put in his two cents. The nurses lost their positions and the nasty tattletale disappeared from GOS.

After that, Elvia had thought her troubles over, but not so. Three weeks later, she “screwed up” the medication for another patient. When she adamantly refused to confess that she had made a mistake, Lady Astor again stood up for Elvia. At the lady’s behest, yet another investigation took place. She called in the hospital’s Master of Medicine, who testified in Elvia’s favour. This revelation then led the staff to suspect malicious action or even assassination, even though the victim was a young girl from a regular Mage household.

In the end, Scotland Yard arrived. Their swift deployment of Forensic Diviners revealed that one of the staff had “accidentally” taken Elvia’s cart and had been too afraid to fess up once Lady Astor was involved.

Another public firing later, the junior staff had a new name for Elvia—The Bundle of Trouble. Though grievous mistakes rarely happened at GOS Children’s Hospital, the culture was to let bygones be bygones. Conversely, Lady Astor had torn a scabby gauze from a bloody wound, revealing to the world that even the best support staff at the best medical institution were only human in their pettiness.

“I’ll come over there and fuckin’ rip ‘em a new one!” Gwen shouted at the Projection Crystal. “How do I get to London? Caliban’s got a brand new form and ever since that Wyvern, it’s got a real hankering for assholes, let me tell ya.”

Gwen’s vitriolic passion made Elvia reel with fright. “No, stay in Shanghai!” The petite blonde girl shook her head and waved her hands. “I’ve got it sorted; it’s no big deal.”

“You can’t take this shit lying down!” Gwen fumed, the amber of her eyes hot with Draconic Essence. “I am calling Alesia. She’ll send that guy … what’s his name again? Dominic Lorenzo? He’ll take care of it!”

“But it’s taken care of,” Elvia pleaded with her. “I don’t want more trouble, please, Gwen?”

Gwen growled, her frustration low and rumbling. A continent away, Elvia visibly shivered.

“Show Ariel,” Elvia said. “Kiki, look. It’s Aunty Gwen!”

“Dear Gwen,” Gwen snapped.

“Dear Gwen,” Elvia corrected herself.

“Kiii? Kii-kiii!” A bobblehead appeared.

Gwen felt her ire drain away.

Kiki had grown since she’d last seen it. Where the creature had been a little weed-like seedling a few months ago, it was now evidently humanoid, with well-formed limbs and a bulbous head like a large chestnut. Its hair, like Sufina’s, was a tangle of trellises filled with little white flowers.

“Wow,” Gwen spluttered. “Put it closer. Ariel!”

She likewise presented her pseudo-Kirin.

“OH MY GOD!” Elvia gasped. “Ariel’s got horns!”

The two girls gushed over their mutual Show and Tell. Caliban made the rounds as well, but there was no way Gwen could show Elvia its Stag form.

“Kikiki!” Kiki put on a little dance routine.

Unlike Gwen’s conjured Familiars, Elvia’s Spirit existed not as a part of a complex spell but as a part of an agreement between Dryad and Mage. Even empowered, Kiki merely looked a little larger, growing into a fair-proportioned Barbie. In so far as Dryads went, Kiki had a long way before it could even begin to mimic Sufina’s grandeur. Gwen’s Familiars, however, had their full complement of forms from docile Marten plushy to its pseudo-Kirin guise to its full-fledged Draconic-Chimaera likeness.

“Incredible!” Elvia marvelled. “How did this all happen?”

After the exchange, Gwen told her own story about her father, Hangzhou, Uncle Jun and Percy, omitting only what was necessary. She was bound by the number one and number two rules of the Per-secrecy club.

“I am so sorry.” Elvia fought back her tears of sympathy. “Mr Song is a terrible man.”

“I feel sorry for their new kid.” Gwen sighed. “But making up with Percy was pretty good.”

“I spoke to Yue last week.” Elvia changed the subject again. “She’s up in Queensland at the moment.”

“Covered in fish guts and lizard spawn, I’ll bet.” Gwen chuckled.

“Yeah, she and Paul and Taj and Jonas. Billy is there too. You remember Billy?”

Gwen recalled the stuttering Diviner. It was cute that he was the youngest of the original group, fresh out of university and already assigned to Alesia. That had to be a nightmare.

“They got a whole party going.” Gwen wondered when she would have a regular Mage Flight.

“I know, right? Alesia is staying and helping Gunther with his work in Sydney now, so Yue inherited her old Adventuring party. She says she’s getting a promotion at the end of the year as well.”

“Oh?” Gwen was impressed.

“She’s going to be Warrant Officer Class II.”

“We’ll have to salute her the next time we see her then.” Gwen made a mock salute with her hand, which was returned by Elvia. Seeing their Masters performing the salute, Kiki and Ariel did the same. Caliban had no arms and so could only wistfully watch.

By now, it was almost 6:00 a.m. Gwen was finally feeling the desire to sleep.

She technically had nothing planned for the day, though there was arguably a lot on her plate. There were new Hound spells she had to learn, inscriptions to copy and incantations to practice. Then there was the matter of her end-of-semester marks, which had been given out in her absence.

“All right, Evee, it was lovely talking to you.”

“Likewise, Gwennie. We’ll catch up later. What are your plans for Christmas and New Year?”

“Honestly?” Gwen bit her lips. “I have no idea. Maybe something with the family? I don’t know if they celebrate Christmas here in China. As for New Year’s, maybe a dinner or something.”

“Okay! For Christmas, I’ll be volunteering with Emily, our Student Council president, and Sylvie, my roommate, at the refugee shelters. Lady Astor has invited me to a ball on New Year’s. Emily and Sylvie are going as well, so don’t worry. Emily will be attended to by her Knight; it’s all perfectly safe.”

“That’s all right.” Gwen gave Elvia a phantom hug. “We’ll talk beforehand anyway. I want to see lumen pictures. Don’t pick your dress without showing me first!”

“Hahaha, all right.” The girl moved away from the lumen-sensor.

After a few more XXes and OOes, Elvia hung up.

Gwen closed her eyes to rest for a moment.

And woke up with Petra standing over her.

“Oh, God! You gave me a fright!” Gwen spluttered. Petra’s husky-blue orbs had a predatory quality, particularly when she was upset or unhappy.

“I know you can’t catch the flu.” Her cousin tsked disapprovingly. “But that doesn’t mean you sit out here comatose with your belly in the cold.”

“I had insomnia,” Gwen confessed, tucking her belly with her shirt. “So I talked to Elvia for a bit.”

“Go back to bed,” Petra advised. “When did you sleep? I heard a commotion at like 5:00 a.m.”

“Sorry,” Gwen said.

“Off you go, then.” Petra pulled her from the couch.

Heeding her cousin’s advice, Gwen went back to bed.

Ding! DING! DING!

Gwen shot awake. She pawed the bedsheets for her device. “Yes? Gwen here?”

“EE-E!”

In her haste, she had grabbed Ariel. “Shit! Sorry,” Gwen murmured.

“SHAAA!” Caliban complained of her trespass.

“Arrgh! You drooled on me. Sleep in your own bed!” Gwen wiped the slime from her face.

“Gwen Song.” A stranger’s voice came across the Message. “This is your dean speaking. Can you see me in my office this afternoon?”

“Yessssir.” Gwen attempted to make herself as alert as possible, but her sleep-deprived tongue refused to cooperate.

“Young lady, it’s 11:00 a.m.” Her dean sounded displeased.

“Yer sir!”

The voice sighed. “Your appointment is at 1300. I know you’re young, but have some discretion. Remember, always use protection and see the Medical Mages if you have to. Drink moderately.”

“Sir?” Gwen felt there was a misunderstanding.

The Message clicked shut.

FUUUUU— Gwen kicked herself.

After five minutes of self-loathing, she forcibly circulated her Draconic Essence until the desire to go back to bed was kept at bay.

“All right, I am up!” Gwen slapped her cheeks and threw on her best blouse from Hangzhou, once more making use of her Hermès.

Along the way, she picked up two Taiwanese crepes from a local vendor for brunch, as well as a taro milk tea. At ten to one, Gwen arrived at the dean’s office, once again marvelling at the intricate beauty of the Zibinyuan, the sole colonial building in Fudan’s old Handan campus to have escaped the Purge unscathed.

“Ellen?” she addressed the vacant gaze of the Spirit at the door.

Dean Luo Jiang’s “secretary’ met her gaze. The Air Sprite wore a business getup or, more accurately, she was garbed by Luo’s Illusion in a bell skirt and a frilly avocado blouse. The garb wasn’t very creative, but it suited the pale-faced Spirit. From afar, Ellen perfectly resembled a regular human female… if an air-headed one.

“Gwen! Come in!” The dean’s voice summoned her.

Again, Gwen noticed Ellen hadn’t greeted her. The Sprite was keeping her distance, looking wary and apprehensive. Given more time, Gwen would have tempted her with a mote of her Emerald Essence, though now she had to wait before ensnaring the dean’s Familiar.

Inside the office, the dean sat at his table, inundated by paperwork as usual.

“Sit! Sit!” a voice called out from behind the pile. “No, wait, I’ll come out.”

The friendly face of the middle-aged dean appeared from behind the table. His eyes swept over her new appearance. “Hmm.” His expression took on a contemplative mood. “Lovely shoes.”

“Thank you, sir.” Gwen curtseyed. “Would Ellen like a pair?”

“I spoke to the Secretary-General this morning.” Luo cut to the chase, coughing, probably to hide his awkwardness. “As well as Magister Wen.”

Gwen stiffened, her remaining fatigue dispelled by a sudden surge of adrenaline. After a dignified recovery, she gave the dean a bright and dazzling smile, flashing the man with her pearly whites.

“Draconic Essence, huh?” The dean walked a circuit about her person. Was he trying to see past her skin? “Ellen, the door.”

The door shut of its own accord.

“A demonstration, if you could? My room is heavily warded.”

“Of course, sir.”

Gwen understood that this was a chance to appeal to the dean directly. If she could receive a personal commendation from the man, her position in the IICU team would be assured.

“Ariel!”

First came Ariel’s many forms, which drew applause.

Then it was Caliban’s turn.

The dean was suitably impressed and commended her on her supernatural growth. Ellen was also supremely delighted with Ariel’s Kirin form. Gwen supposed that it was because of their mutual affinity for Air, which induced a certain sense of kinship. As for Caliban, the Sprite kept her distance.

“Caliban’s got a new likeness, sir,” Gwen explained. “It’ll cost a significant volume of vitality, however. Additionally, Caliban’s new combat form may prove to be extremely taxing on the er… psyche.”

“You’ve piqued my curiosity, good girl.” Luo dismissed her warning. “Are you suitably provisioned to demonstrate the creature’s prowess? Shall I call for Magus Kumiko?”

“I should be, sir. Though I would propose we push Caliban’s feeding schedule from Saturday to later today or maybe tomorrow.”

“Of course.” The dean straightened his vest. “Let’s see it.”

“Please step back, sir.” Gwen took a deep breath.

The dean took half a step back.

“Caliban,” Gwen commanded her Familiar. “Stag form!”

A torrent of obsidian mana pumped into Caliban even as her creature tapped into its internal stores. Gwen’s face paled, her veins filling with ice as Caliban took the pound of flesh required to trigger the transformation.

“SHAAAAA!”

Caliban’s serpentine torso extended, its carapace ripped and torn. Pink and purple tendrils joined the sound of snapping bone and mangling flesh as Caliban polymorphed into its three-metre X-rated visage.

“Mao’s GHOST!” Dean Luo stumbled back, hit by the aura of vertigo and the inexplicable existential terror emanating from Gwen’s Familiar.

“Master! Watch out!” Ellen teleported right beside her Master and took a defensive stance. Now, in its Elemental battle form, Ellen reminded Gwen of Lea, a humanoid female silhouette filled with just enough condensed mana to manifest a physical body. “Gwen! What is this thing?”

“It’s Caliban,” Gwen said.

“It’s a roving mass of hunger!” Ellen pushed Luo backwards. “It desires only to consume!”

“Yes.” Gwen nodded confidently. To her, that was indeed Caliban. “Void’s got a bit of Air in it, right? Caliban’s a good sort. Think of it as Ariel but hungrier.”

“Abomination!” Ellen formed a wall of shimmering air between Caliban and her Master. “This thing should not be!”

“SHAA—AA!” Caliban bathed in the praise.

“You got that right.” Gwen admired her sweet old Caliban. It was a bloody terror all right. In its Stag Form, Cali was an absolute unit.

“Ellen, it’s perfectly safe.” Luo’s voice was a gentle lull. “Gwen is in control. Are you in control, Gwen?”

“Caliban, sit!” Gwen ran through her routine.

They were lucky that the dean’s office was one of those generous Victorian studies and not, alas, Fudan’s modernised glass and concrete cubicles. Caliban carelessly swung its faceless mien to and fro, dangerously swinging its sixteen-pointers. Its needle-point front legs dug into the floor, cracking the herringbone inlay. Eventually, as promised, it sat.

“Shaa!” The smooth facial carapace emitted a muffled cry more akin to a strangled babe than any sound that should exist in the material realm.

“Hand!”

Caliban raised a metre-long needle lance. Gwen took the “hoof” by the ankle, where the girth was just right for her hand to envelop. The chitin was smooth obsidian, seamless and polished, as though machined into existence by some old, tenebrous power with an eye for minimalism.

“Excellent, Miss Song.” Dean Lou dismissed his Familiar, commanding her to stand down. “Have you tested Caliban in combat?”

“Not yet, sir.”

“I see. I would do so at the first opportunity.” The dean took a step forward, then placed his hand against Caliban’s face. Gwen nodded, hoping that, unlike Carp-liban, Stag-liban didn’t secrete Void-ooze.

“Sir…” Gwen kept a tight leash on her pet. Touching Caliban took balls.

“I would have thought the carapace oily or at least wet,” the Dean replied, his voice filled with profound wonder and genuine interest. “It’s dry! A little cold to the touch but quite pleasant. I am touched, young lady. Quite touched!”

“Yessir. Cali’s a cutie, sir.” Gwen insisted.

Ellen moved closer, her ethereal form flickering in and out of vision. The Sprite likewise reached out with her arm.

Caliban turned to regard the Air Sprite. Gwen felt a surge of excitement and interest passing through her empathic link.

Oh shit! Gwen suppressed Caliban’s curiosity, but it was too late.

As Ellen placed one hand on Caliban’s faceless head, one of its sixteen horns lost its rigid form and attempted to give Ellen a lick with its pink, barbed tongue, tipped with a lamprey’s maw.

Ellen froze as an arm-thick rosy tentacle slapped her wetly across the forehead. Dean Lou also froze, evidently stricken by the torrent of emotions ravaging his Empathic Link.

Ellen’s lips parted.

“AEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEAAAA!”

Chapter ten

Dances with Deerhounds

Dean Luo unsummoned his Familiar the moment his paperwork began to disintegrate. There was a brief exhilaration in seeing his workload disappear, and then Luo realised that requesting the faculty to re-submit their proposals was a far bigger hassle.

He looked over to see how Fudan’s prized Void Mage was handling Ellen’s Aural Vortex, finding Gwen sheltered behind a double-glazed Mana Shield. It was no surprise to Luo that the girl was in possession of such a unique Abjuration. Knowing her history, he would have been disappointed had the Morning Star not endowed the girl with his Signature Shield.

Overlooking the two Mages each nestled in their barriers, Gwen’s Stag-monster placidly loomed. It had lost a layer of its chitinous exoskeleton to the sonic blast, though its expressionless head showed no acknowledgement of being flayed.

Of greater interest to Luo was the fact that the Stag had shielded Gwen with half of its body, forming a make-shift barrier with its protruding tendrils, one of which had broken off, obliterated by Ellen’s innate ability.

“Are you all right, Gwen?” the Dean enquired. It was his duty, after all, to ensure that the students were safe.

“Yessir.” Gwen brushed off a few motes of plaster.

The office was in ruins.

“CAO!” Luo approached his obliterated alcohol cabinet. “My four-decade single-malt!”

“I am terribly sorry, sir.” Gwen bowed in apology as the wind died down.

“It’s not your fault, Gwen.” Luo held a shard of shattered crystal in his hand, his face a picture of devastation. “I wasn’t ready for Caliban’s prehensile friendliness either. It was probably too much to expect Ellen, whose instinct was fight or flight, to rationally assess both context and circumstance. Let that be a lesson. Many young Mages freshly endowed with Spirits think that the IFF is universal, but it is correlated with the Spirit’s innate erudition.”

The girl stood awkwardly beside Luo as he made an increasingly grim assessment of his historical office. The walls were warded, the windows shielded, but not so his collection of baubles and curio that he had put up for flavour.

Luo dug out a shredded manila folder. “I had your results here as well,” he said, feeling suddenly tired. “I was going to commend you on achieving your first HD average. Well done, Miss Song.”

He handed her a pile of mangled paper.

The girl expressionlessly received the tattered shreds in her hands. Stoically, she stowed them in her ring. “Thank you, sir.”

Luo beamed happily. “Thank you for coming in, Gwen. I eagerly await your participation in the 2004 IIUC in August.”

Upon hearing of the IIUC, the girl raised a hand.

“Yes, Miss Song?” Luo asked.

“How did the current year of students progress, sir? There’s been nothing in the student paper.”

“The field of competition is rather stiff, I am afraid,” Luo lamented. “Fudan was knocked out in the second round. It happened while you were away. We’ve decided not to make too much of a fuss. You know, student morale and all that.”

“That’s unfortunate, sir.”

“Unfortunate is the right word,” Luo continued. “They were up against the regional champions from last year, the team from Kyoto University. I am ashamed to say that Fudan lost fair and square. Outmatched, if you will. Nippon’s Shikigami Arts is nothing to scoff at; alas, we had a good crop this year, but…”

The dean’s feverish gaze rested on Gwen’s face. “Next year, with you and I am hoping Mr Huang, a few talented third-years and a roster of support Mages, there will be an underdog uprising.”

“Of course, sir,” the girl extended a delicate white hand. “I am from Australia, where the underdog always wins.”

“That’s what I’d like to hear!” The dean laughed heartily, taking her hand gladly. The two shook firmly. For a little girl, her supple fingers felt like an iron vice.

“Let me know if there’s anything you need or if anyone troubles you.” The dean flexed his tenderised hand contemplatively.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Song.” Luo gestured for the door.

Gwen bowed, then exited the dean’s office.

Luo looked at his office and felt a deep regret descend.

Gwen felt sorry for the dean as she left the general chaos of his room. Outside, several staff members had gathered, clearly wondering what had happened.

“Is he injured?” one faculty member asked eagerly. “Maybe out of commission?”

Gwen regarded the gathering of old men surrounding her with wonder. What she saw on their face wasn’t worry but expectation and vain hope. “No, the dean is fine,” she informed them.

“Oh.”

“Bah!”

“What a waste of time.”

“That man’s a cockroach.”

The various chairs and heads of Fudan’s faculties dispersed.

Behind the dashed door, she heard the dean lament. “Ellen, tell the Chair of Abjuration and the Bursar that I need another copy of their reports on my desk by this afternoon.”

Outside the hallway, Gwen was met by Magus Kumiko, who had also been summoned by the dean on short notice.

“Shall we?” The Magus had apparently been in the middle of something before the dean had demanded her immediate presence. Her face spoke loudly of how annoyed she was with him.

“I can wait,” Gwen offered. She could use a breather as well.

Kumiko declined. “No need. It’s best we keep your health up.” She smiled. Quickly, she changed her tone. “Not to mention, I want to see this Kirin of yours. Did you know that in my country, we worship them?”

“Uh-huh. Yes, Grandfather. Percy will be safer than my stock portfolio. Yes, Lulan and Kusu will be joining us. No, of course not. What’s a portfolio? It’s … Look, I’ll take a spell in the gut before he loses a single hair, haha. All right. Thanks, Yeye. Cheers!”

Gwen dismissed the Message.

“Okay.” She turned to her companions. “We’re good to go!”

“Sweet.” Richard gave her a thumbs up. “Our Quest is not that safe, you know. We’re going on an unmapped Dungeon crawl.”

“Ah, he’ll be right.” Gwen chuckled. “Mina and Tao can’t make it, but Babs said she’d load up Petra with healing spells.”

“So who’s coming?” Lulan butted in. “You, Me, Kusu, Richard, Petra and your brother Percy? Is he cute?”

“Very cute,” Gwen joked. “He’s a real lady kill… er, never mind.” Gwen cleared her throat awkwardly and sipped from a cup of water. Petra rolled her eyes at her cousin’s unintended slip.

“I understand rearing the younger members of your house.” Kusu put his mind on the table. “What if he receives a mortal injury? Are you sure bringing an Acolyte is the best course of action?”

“Bringing Percy is indeed the best course of action,” Richard said. “When Gwen has Percy with her, there’s a convergence of stars. Creatures will start dropping cores more often than not.”

Kusu regarded Richard with scepticism. Everyone knew Richard always gave Gwen what she wanted.

“That’s amazing.” Lulan’s guileless innocence made Gwen guilty.

“That makes no sense,” Kusu pointed out.

“Well, you’ll have to trust me.” Her cousin grinned at Kusu. “When have I ever been disappointing?”

“Fin.” Kusu conceded. Gwen felt guilty again that Richard had been their saviour in more ways than herself, who, after District 109, had abandoned the siblings like a wealthy stepmother with endless social commitments.

“Ah, Kusu, lighten up.” Richard opened both hands expansively. “Look. The bounty is five hundred HDMs, with two hundred CCs shared amongst the members, with a bonus two CC for every Monkey we eradicate. Assuming we kill, say, two hundred Water Ghosts and some big bugger at the end, that’s six hundred and twenty CCs, tops. That’s a hundred-odd CCs, but what about the HDMs? Even if Gwen doesn’t need her share and Percy forfeits his, that’s one hundred and twenty-five among the four of us. Barely enough to pay for our training. What we need is a real source of income, and that’s where the Cores come in.”

“Jesus, we don’t have to stow the corpses, do we?” Gwen remarked. “I use my storage ring for food.”

“We can use mine.” Lulan flashed her ring finger. “I got a large one as well. Usually, I do the butchering in the party.”

“They’re all yours.” Gwen grimaced, picturing Lulan hacking happily away at a mountain of corpses, giggling maniacally. The very idea that a hundred eyeballs, scalps and other “materials” could be kept besides packets of Spam and Shin-Ramen was abhorrent, not to mention that Gwen kept her outfits in the same ring space!

“When do you want to go?” Richard asked.

Gwen counted her fingers. Currently, it was Wednesday night. She could arguably squeeze out a Hound Pack by Sunday. Ever since Gunther had told her that Ariel could lead the pack, she had been looking forward to it.

“How about we leave Sunday first thing?” Gwen suggested to the party. “Richard, you’ll be leading, right?”

“I’d say so. I know the area, the people and the lay of the land,” Richard said. “Passenger trains are usually booked out well in advance, though. We’ll hitch a free ride on the express cargo trains heading that way with the NoM labourers.”

“The NoMs won’t mind?” Gwen asked.

“I’d say the NoMs are far happier for it.” Richard chuckled. “Imagine getting ambushed by some critters in the countryside. Wouldn’t you want a team of crack Mages sitting next to you when that happens rather than rely on the train’s armoured engine to plough through blood and bone?”

“Right, of course.” Gwen nodded sheepishly. “Sunday?”

“Lulu? Kusu?” Richard turned to the others.

“We’re fine,” the siblings agreed.

“Pats?” Richard asked.

“I should be fine going for a few days. How long do you think it will take?” Petra said.

“A few days.” Richard cocked his head. “I’d say our itinerary is as follows: Get to Nantong. Get our passes stamped. Go to the site. Clear the lair over two days. Return with our ill-gotten gains. Be back by Wednesday evening. If anyone wants to check out the Nantong District we can stay longer, but there’s not much to see. It’s all construction at the moment.”

“All right. I’ll ask for Monday to Thursday off,” Petra concurred.

“Gwen?”

“I got nothing,” Gwen said. “Give me three days to get Morden’s Hound and Hound Pack running. I want to show you guys something extraordinary, haha.”

“Nice.” Lulan gushed. “How many dogs can you summon?”

“No idea.” Gwen hoped for the best. “We’ll see!”

It was 2:00 a.m.

Gwen lay in bed, wide awake, thinking about dogs.

Would her dogs look like Basset Hounds? Dachshunds? Or perhaps Rottweilers? In her old-world childhood, she’d had a Maltese-Shitzu. But in the heart of hearts, she had always fancied something bigger and more huggable, like a Golden or something incredibly handsome, like a Weimaraner.

Whatever her dogs were, the trip was an excellent opportunity to gauge her future spell list.

In her mind, there were three scenarios a Combat Mage would face on the regular:

The first was a Mage’s primary vocation—the defence of human life and property against Magical Creatures. A successful Mage must possess the means to contribute to the extinction of threats to human cities via fire and fury. She was, Gwen proudly confessed, rather good at this.

The second was the expansion of human-held territory. This involved clearing Dungeons, ones with actual cores, as well as lairs, pseudo-Dungeons with powerful monsters. Arguably, Gwen had experience in both. What she had not undertaken was a Purge, Yue’s mainstay.

The third was Duels—contests of ego. Though entirely futile and even counterproductive to the well-being of the human race, it was a necessary evil to attain prestige and power amongst Mage kind.

Most Mages were specialised for one purpose or another. But she was unashamedly unique. Gwen felt narcissistic to the core, but there was no denying her achievements.

She had a solid, if unimaginative, shield. She was working on additional mobility. She had arguably absurd damage-per-spell. And soon, incredible AOE potential, thanks to Ariel’s IFF. And now, she had supernatural stamina, both physically, mentally and in the magical sense.

In other words, she possessed the looks, the will and the means to assume the mantle of a young adult fiction protagonist. All she needed was a catchy whistling jingle.

In her esteemed opinion, the best way forward was to have a baseline tactic augmented by unilateral access to secondary Schools of Magic.

Persistent spells would form the basis of her spellbook, for she was already a Creature Mage through and through.

Ariel.

Caliban.

Warding Bolt.

Call Lightning.

Tentacles.

Bloodhound.

Hound Pack.

Some spells, such as Warding Bolt and Tentacles, could be doubled up. Call Lightning she did not prefer, for the spell attacked her targets indiscriminately. The last thing she wanted was someone yelling out “I yield!” and then take a randomised bolt to the face.

Furthermore, with increased proficiency in Conjuration, she could also add Planar Ally to that number, bringing her concurrently active spells to eight, excluding her Familiars. Of course, spell fatigue was a thing, and only so many effects were dumb-fire or seeking, but milling an opposing Mage down to the stump as she had done with Golos was a solid strategy.

For Monster hunting, she would augment her Conjuration with Evocation AOEs and Divination, such as Hunter’s Mark and True Strike.

As for Abjuration, she would pick up Resistance and Mage Armour, then augment her abilities with magical items. There were single-use items, such as Shielding Pebbles, that expended themselves as reactive barriers. She could additionally invest in a suit of combat armour, something akin to what Golos had destroyed.

If she could push Conjuration to such a point that Dimension Door was at-will and near-instantaneous, survival was guaranteed, especially considering her possession of Gunther’s ring.

As for the rest, mastery was a matter of time.

Additionally, perhaps as a side project, she wanted to hash out Illusion with Tao. Even if she had no intention to use Illusion in combat, she could likely manage a few of the lesser image spells to bring to life a few exciting and notable elements from her old world. Ideally, she would like a visual method used to deliver data for TED Talks.

Finally, having her mental checklist completed, Gwen welcomed the embrace of Hypnos.

Thursday, Upper-campus Training Hall

“Miss Song!” A member of the administrative staff accosted Gwen before she could swipe into one of the student training rooms. “We prepared a warded staff room reserved for your use.”

“Okay, cheers,” Gwen replied happily, not one to say no to privilege.

The room had been left for her at the dean’s behest. Now that Fudan was no longer catering to its disappointing 2003 university team, he was free to splurge on more hopeful ventures.

Inside, Gwen marvelled at the spacious training hall. Hers was one of the larger staff rooms, second only to the one Wen had employed. Furthermore, the room had an in-build Cognisance Chamber that she could peruse at her leisure, drastically saving the time she would have spent on introspection and meditation.

“All right, let’s do this!” The echo of her voice answered her.

She retrieved the two scrolls from her storage ring, opening them side-by-side.

Tier V Morden’s Bloodhound originally involved forty-eight major and thirty-three minor incantations.

After augmentation with her Master’s signature Morden’s Hound, it now involved seventy-two major incantations and only nine minor incantations, significantly pushing up the casting time. Furthermore, the somatic component involved drawing a glyph in the air, a segment taken from her Master’s personal magic.

Observing herself in the reflection below, Gwen replicated the incantation, mouthing each movement to achieve a better understanding of the spell’s somatic and verbal orientation. She ran the routine a dozen times, taking just over an hour.

With practice and expertise, thirty seconds of continuous casting was needed to manifest Morden’s Bloodhound. In a team battle, it was entirely viable. A one-on-one was much harder to say.

Still, she was satisfied.

Her hound looked like an Irish Wolfhound, or more precisely, the Scottish variant. With supernatural grace, her Draconic-Deerhound pranced on all fours. It possessed a noble mien, handsome like an old-timer gent, sporting a spindly coat of white fur tinged with mottled cobalt highlights. Its ears, strangely, were pointed backwards, resembling twin horns, twitching back and forth as it listened for her command. The Deerhound’s form was sleek like that of a Greyhound but heavily muscled in the chest and legs. As with Ariel, it had a white mane running the length of its spine, though ending with a Whippet’s tail, barbed with carapace.

And it was huge. Standing on its hind legs, it was taller than Gwen.

She inspected its superior physicality with a critical eye. The Deerhound likeness she could understand. It stood to reason that a Scottish Arch-Mage who hunted Giant-kin would conjure the most iconic quasi-magical canine of his homeland.

A casual observer would happily note from afar that this was a Deerhound … until the creature came closer, at which point they would freak. Curious enquiries would beg uncomfortable answers.

Why does your dog have a lizard tail? What’s with the crested, scaly brow? Where did its tapered cobra snout come from? How did you get a bitch to mate with a Draconic beast without it being eaten?

She had pondered giving the dog and all her subsequent conjurations names until she unsummoned the creature then practised summoning it again. When Morden’s Bloodhound re-emerged, it wasn’t the same. It was stockier the second time and sans brow ridges.

“Buck?” That’s what she had called the last one. The dog came to her but without evidence of self-awareness.

Alas, the Deerhounds were neither summoned beings nor manifestations of her animus. They were temporary elemental phenomena coaxed into existence.

“Ee-ee!” Ariel commanded the creature at Gwen’s behest, relaying her mental commands.

It sat.

It rolled.

It could offer its hand and Gwen could safely rest her hand between its jaws. The Deerhound was wholly obedient and happily self-destructive if need be.

“Guess I’ll be calling you guys by the number,” she remarked with disappointment, having imagined herself at the head of a pack of hunting dogs. She had hoped to christen them with names like Buck and Old Jack and Silver and White Fang.

Bummed by reality, Gwen took a break for lunch.

Outside, she was joined by an old familiar face—Instructor Chen Hufei, the senior Magma Mage with a Salamander Spirit.

“Sir!” Gwen bowed her head, showing respect and meaning it. Master Chen had taught her everything she knew about keeping her creatures safely out and about in public.

“What’s this I hear about a Kirin?” Chen folded his arms. “You went to Huangshan, didn’t you?”

“I am not at liberty to say,” Gwen said. She respected her cynical instructor, but the buck stopped at anything related to her family’s secrets. “I can show you Ariel’s new form if you like. First of all, it’s not a Kirin.”

“A pseudo-Kirin,” Chen grunted. “Meaning Draconic Essence. What did you and the Ash Bringer kill? You’re not going to bring Hangzhou trouble, are you?”

“No, sir,” Gwen answered defensively. “You knew I was with Uncle Jun?”

Chen grumbled. “Dean called me in this morning. Told me to check up on you, so here I am,” her instructor explained. “As for the Ash Bringer, we’ve met a few times on the Front before I retired from combat tours. Can I see your Familiar? Is now a good time?”

“Of course, sir.” Gwen smiled sweetly. “I could indeed use some advice with a few of my new Creature spells.”

The stoic Chen nodded, making for the door.

“I have a staff room booked.” Gwen directed him to the right.

“Luo’s giving it his all, hey?” Chen scoffed. “You’d better not disappoint come August.”

Gwen assured her instructor that he would be well-satisfied.

The two of them re-entered the private sanctum. “All right, show me what you’ve got.”

Gwen brought out Ariel and introduced her new Kirin-Marten.

“Fascinating.” Chen ran a hand through Ariel’s undercoat. Unexpectedly, Ariel began to purr thunderously, emitting the loudest, most heart-melting thrum imaginable.

“Ha, still got it.” Chen parted Ariel’s spiky mane and pointed to a protruding nub of flesh. “Flying Draconids tend to have a ‘reverse’ ridge where their shoulders and wings meet. Your pseudo-Kirin’s got Winged Dragon Essence, from the looks of it. I take it you and the captain took down one of the Yinglong’s spawn and got lucky with the core?”

“Something like that,” Gwen confessed. “I thought most Familiars couldn’t consume cores to evolve themselves, sir.”

“You’re running a Signature Conjuration by Henry Kilroy.” Chen shrugged. “But I wouldn’t know anything about that. I am just an old soldier. I can tell you where Ariel likes a scratch, but I can’t tell you why it can eat Dragon Cores.”

Gwen gave Ariel’s hidden nub a little pat as well, eliciting a chest-rumbling purr from her Marten.

“I am also working on this new spell, sir.” Gwen showed Chen her scroll for Morden’s Bloodhound.

“Mao’s tomb! You’ve bought the augmented variation already?” Chen regarded her with disbelief. “Damned thing cost me ninety-four CCs just the other week!”

So Chen was one of the many Mages who’d contributed to her CC-pool. Gwen felt guilty that she was doubly benefiting from the instructor.

“I’ve got the Hound Pack as well, sir,” Gwen confessed.

If Chen had been toking on a cigarette, he would probably be having a coughing fit. “The two of them together would be two hundred and forty CCs,” the Creature Mage remarked. Like the Dean, her instructor paced around Gwen, inspecting her for wounds or some other signs of doubtful competence. Even a torn sleeve or a mote of dust on her shoes would do.

Finding none, he scratched his head. “You’ve done how many quests?”

“Hahaha.” Gwen laughed cringingly. “None, sir.”

Her instructor’s inquisitive mien fell away, revealing the gruff old sergeant who loathed young Mistresses and Masters. From the look in Chen’s eyes, his opinion of her as a hard-working, down-to-earth straggler from the Frontier was curdling like sour milk.

“So, what’d you want to know.” Chen’s raspy voice grew annoyed and impatient. The old soldier was anything but brutally honest. “I got places to be.”

Gwen wondered if it was worth explaining herself. “I would like to know,” she tried to think of a better way to phrase her enquiry so as not to appear to humble-brag, “what I should do after I’ve summoned a pack of Draconic Deerhounds. Ariel’s a Spirit now, so it can command them via telepathy.”

“D-Draconic Deerhounds?” Chen’s bark made her flinch. “Ariel’s a SPIRIT? You found a Draconic SPIRIT core? How many creatures did you kill under the Yinglong’s nose?”

If expressions could kill, Chen would have triggered her Contingency ring. “It’s a long story, sir.” She tried her best to calm the old soldier. “Let me start by stating that I’ll have to omit some details…”

Chapter eleven

Six Degrees of Separation

Eventually, Gwen explained that not only was everything cool, but the matter also had been blessed by the highest echelons of the Party.

“You expect me to believe that a girl of eighteen…” Chen appeared insulted.

“Seventeen, sir.”

Chen glared at Gwen, who bit her tongue.

“Seventeen, possessing two unique Familiars convoked via a Signature Familiar Conjuration now imbued with a Draconic Spirit, met face to face with the Secretary-General of the CCDI—arrived in Shanghai as a nobody from a Frontier?”

“You forgot tier 6 Lightning, sir.” Gwen went for broke. At this point, she may as well buckle up and break in Chen entirely.

Chen pinched the bridge of his brow while breathing dejectedly.

“I haven’t succeeded in manifesting Morden’s Hound Pack yet, sir,” Gwen confessed. “Can you teach me?”

Chen glanced at the exit, then back at Gwen’s sweetly smiling face. The old soldier relented. “Are you using the augmented variant?”

“Yessir.”

“Operator!” Chen Messaged the front desk. “Cognisance overlay, Instruction Mode, charge the crystals to the dean’s account.”

The floors thrummed as the inbuilt Cognisance Chamber activated.

“Observe.” Chen took a stance. With meticulous care, the old Conjurer ran through the necessary verbal and somatic components.

First, her instructor drew the glyph in the air, leaving behind a sulphur-scented imprint akin to a light drawing. Then came the major incantations, shaping the nascent Magma Mana coursing through his conduits. Gradually, a steady flow of red-hot arcane energy filled the flyph.

“Hound Pack!”

Chen finished off with the minor incantations in a flurry, concluding with a flourish. The entire process took just over two minutes.

A Magma-Hound slipped into existence, a little smaller than Gwen’s Deerhound, less defined and far more abstract. Rather than any specific breed, Chen’s animal was a dog-like Elemental.

Then another.

And another…

Until nine of the hounds were lined up, one after the other, smouldering gently as their Magma-enriched skin sizzled the air, filling the limited space of the practice room with eye-watering sulphur.

“Gust!”

A low-level Evocation ensured both student and instructor avoided asphyxiation by monoxide.

“Sir,” Gwen pointed out. “Your dogs, they’re a little different from mine.”

“That’s because I am not also a Transmuter.” Chen ordered the dogs to form into two rows. “Conjured creatures are altered by a Mage’s affinity with other Schools of Magic, your Elemental Affinity, and any other factors that may influence your astral body.”

Gwen thought of her Abjuration, her Transmutation and her other sigils. There was also the fact that her astral body had three elements: Lightning, Void and her Almudj’s Essence.

“Transmutation gives definition and flexibility in form,” Chen continued. “Abjuration gives greater toughness and resistance. Evocation boosts your creature’s elemental attack. Enchantment gives resistance to glamour, while Illusion bolsters Familiars or Spirits attuned with obfuscation abilities.”

“Just like how a Healer’s Familiar can deliver AOE healing?” Gwen pointed out, thinking of Kumiko’s lesser Spirit Familiar, Onibi.

“Not always, but yes, in addition to self-regeneration. Also, if you ever see a Necromantic Conjurer, they have the most infamous Familiar ability of all.”

Gwen was all ears.

“Life-drain and Vampirism,” Chen stated grimly. “We had to fight them back on the Shenyang Front. Let’s just say it took a Creature Mage to fight a Creature Mage. As the Abjurers found out, you can banish a flock of Corpse Crows, but you can’t unsummon the decomposing body of a risen Behemoth Beast.”

“God, that sounds awful.” Gwen failed to imagine the smell.

“More than you can imagine,” Chen snorted, his mood improving. “But they burn all the same. With your Lightning, that would be a sight to see!”

“I am glad to hear that.” Ariel’s abilities were a battlefield shoe-in, but Gwen had little faith that Caliban’s Consume wouldn’t be mistaken for Necromancy. The effects were eerily similar, after all.

Chen unsummoned the hounds. “Can you keep up? Shall I slow down?” he asked.

Gwen replayed Chen’s incantation in her mind, then shook her head slowly. “I’ll give it a go,” she assured the instructor.

Chen scoffed with cynicism.

Gwen stood back from her instructor and imitated his stance down to the last inch. Having Chen beside her amidst the glow of a Cognisance Chamber reminded her of how Henry used to teach her the same way. Back then, her theory work had been so lacklustre that all she could do was parrot her Master’s flow of mana. It was funny that despite possessing no knowledge of advanced Conjuration theory, she could Dimension Door back and forth like a seasoned veteran.

As a tidal flood of mana circulated through Gwen’s astral form, her instructor squinted, a smirk touching his wizened old face.

“First!” Gwen mimed her teacher. “We inscribe the Glyph…”

Gwen alternated between Faithful Hound, Blood Hound and Hound Pack over the next few days, readying herself for the monster lair ahead. Thanks to Chen’s timely intervention, she averted a process of precariously experimenting with delivery and cadence.

The result was that after three days, she could wrangle a tier 5 Bloodhound with absolute confidence. As for the Hound Pack, she managed the tier 6 spell with a one-in-three chance of success.

That was where her VMI, combined with her Lightning affinity, met in beautiful confluence.

A run-of-the-mill Senior Mage casting tier 6 spells usually rocked a mana pool of sixty to one hundred or so VMI. Intuitively, Gwen felt that a pack of Bloodhounds cost her about one-seventh of her two hundred and thirty-odd mana pool. In the event of spell failure, she suffered nothing worse than a headache. Had she been the aforementioned Senior Mage, a feedback loop exceeding half of one’s maximum allowance would have knocked her out cold.

Gwen added resistance to spell failure to her accumulative list of advantages. Considering that her first Magic Missile had had her vomiting all over the rooftop, it was comical that she could now shake off catastrophic fuck-ups with a smile and a catnap.

With this in mind, she noted that her Evocation could use a dose of hyper-tier magical training as well. Boosting her Evocation to five would up her direct damage and the damage of Ariel’s spell-channelling. Maybe, Gwen conceived deviously, she could coax the dean into lending Magus Young to give her a few serendipitous lessons on Blizzard and other Evocation staples.

Sunday morning, the crew assembled. Richard, Lulan, Kusu, Petra, Percy and Gwen herself lined up outside Guoding B1.

“Gear check!” Richard inspected the troops.

Gwen reported having a full complement of potions and clothing, including her elementally-attuned skin suit, Boots of Flying, paired with casual summer attire and a portable habitat.

Beside her was Percy, hand-delivered by an anxious Guo first thing in the morning. He wore military cargo pants in the PLA style, likely chosen by their grandfather, and a dark T-shirt tapered to his waist and shoulders. His boyish face had taken on a masculine likeness of their father, oozing smugness. Though half a head shorter than Gwen, Percy carried himself with quiet competence.

Besides the boy, Lulan’s inquisitive face suggested to Gwen she might be trying to discern her brother’s lady-killing proficiency.

“I’ve got potions and supplies in my storage ring,” Percy rattled off a list of must-have items, feeling neurotic as one of Gwen’s companions licked him from head to toe like a piece of meat. “Grandfather got me a localised Contingency ring as well, so I wouldn’t be in mortal danger.”

Gwen inspected the glamoured band on Percy’s finger, noting its simplicity. As Magus Maymaruya had explained, two factors determined a teleportation ring’s worth. Mechanically, the denser the core, the further the teleportation. Contractually, the more influential the patron of the commission, the more Towers were willing to accept the ring’s displaced owner. Gunther’s Asscher cut Contingency ring worked almost anywhere in the world, provided she wasn’t stuck in another dimension.

On the matter of rings, Gwen wondered if the Towers had ever found an elegant solution to Elizabeth Sobel’s method of infiltration. Considering that she had received no CCs for exposing the loophole, the solution was likely highly censured and dealt with internally.

“… Cure Moderate, three Restorations, two Cure Serious, Antidote, all cubed,” Petra ran through her inventory with Richard. “I’ll be leaving damage-dealing to Gwen and Lulu.”

“That’s fine.” Richard made sure Petra had at least a few spells left to protect herself.

“I got potions and myself,” Lulan announced proudly.

“I’ve got her supplies, her change of clothes and our food.” Kusu flashed his medium storage ring. “Lulan brought her bike… and a bed.”

“Hey, I like my bike and I can’t sleep without my mattress. And I have to leave room for the loot!” The Sword Mage protested.

“You don’t need a bike in the Dungeon. Gwen’s got beds in her habitat,” Kusu growled.

Richard left the siblings to bicker.

Opposite Gwen, Mayuree stood on the sidelines, moping miserably. She had wanted to come, but the House of M had forbidden her from needless danger. As a countermeasure, Gwen took a teleportation beacon with her so that should the need arise, Mayuree could summon aid.

“I think we’re good.” Richard nodded at Gwen.

“All right, gang,” Gwen declared. “To the public bus!”

Sunday morning, the crew assembled. Richard, Lulan, Kusu, Petra, Percy and Gwen herself lined up outside Guoding B1.

“Gear check!” Richard inspected the troops.

Gwen reported having a full complement of potions and clothing, including her elementally-attuned skin suit, Boots of Flying, paired with casual summer attire and a portable habitat.

Beside her was Percy, hand-delivered by an anxious Guo first thing in the morning. He wore military cargo pants in the PLA style, likely chosen by their grandfather, and a dark T-shirt tapered to his waist and shoulders. His boyish face had taken on a masculine likeness of their father, oozing smugness. Though half a head shorter than Gwen, Percy carried himself with quiet competence.

Besides the boy, Lulan’s inquisitive face suggested to Gwen she might be trying to discern her brother’s lady-killing proficiency.

“I’ve got potions and supplies in my storage ring,” Percy rattled off a list of must-have items, feeling neurotic as one of Gwen’s companions licked him from head to toe like a piece of meat. “Grandfather got me a localised Contingency ring as well, so I wouldn’t be in mortal danger.”

Gwen inspected the glamoured band on Percy’s finger, noting its simplicity. As Magus Maymaruya had explained, two factors determined a teleportation ring’s worth. Mechanically, the denser the core, the further the teleportation. Contractually, the more influential the patron of the commission, the more Towers were willing to accept the ring’s displaced owner. Gunther’s Asscher cut Contingency ring worked almost anywhere in the world, provided she wasn’t stuck in another dimension.

On the matter of rings, Gwen wondered if the Towers had ever found an elegant solution to Elizabeth Sobel’s method of infiltration. Considering that she had received no CCs for exposing the loophole, the solution was likely highly censured and dealt with internally.

“… Cure Moderate, three Restorations, two Cure Serious, Antidote, all cubed,” Petra ran through her inventory with Richard. “I’ll be leaving damage-dealing to Gwen and Lulu.”

“That’s fine.” Richard made sure Petra had at least a few spells left to protect herself.

“I got potions and myself,” Lulan announced proudly.

“I’ve got her supplies, her change of clothes and our food.” Kusu flashed his medium storage ring. “Lulan brought her bike… and a bed.”

“Hey, I like my bike and I can’t sleep without my mattress. And I have to leave room for the loot!” The Sword Mage protested.

“You don’t need a bike in the Dungeon. Gwen’s got beds in her habitat,” Kusu growled.

Richard left the siblings to bicker.

Opposite Gwen, Mayuree stood on the sidelines, moping miserably. She had wanted to come, but the House of M had forbidden her from needless danger. As a countermeasure, Gwen took a teleportation beacon with her so that should the need arise, Mayuree could summon aid.

“I think we’re good.” Richard nodded at Gwen.

“All right, gang,” Gwen declared. “To the public bus!”

“Really?” Kusu listened to the old men’s flights of fancy, caught in the revelry of their blustery anecdotes.

“Truly.” One of the middle-aged men passed him a cigarette, which Kusu accepted out of politeness. Another man helpfully lit the soggy tobacco stick.

“I heard from folks living in the districts that the Worm Handler cleared out a whole level in D-109,” the original speaker continued. “Broke through the gate, she did, rammed right in there, Worm and all. Massacred her way through the outer perimeter.”

“Blood, guts, bodies all over the place. That Worm left nothing alive.” Another joined in. “I hear that her Worm grows larger with every man it eats.”

“That can’t be right. I heard the handler was on the hunt for a man-eating Carrion Worm,” someone else said.

“Naw,” a third spoke as though he’d witnessed the bloody ordeal. “I have it on good authority that she’s taming them. That’s why she’s the Worm Handler, see? She tames worms and uses them for her foul magic. I hear she rides them, too.”

“Ah, yeah.”

“That makes sense.”

“Mao, the gall!”

“What, like, clutched between her legs?”

The men all horse laughed.

“I don’t think that’s right.” Kusu swallowed nervously. Why was it that Gwen’s exploits around the out wall sounded exactly like what Lulan had done? Furthermore, the thought of Gwen riding on Caliban was heating his face like a furnace.

“Yeah, she’s a real femme fatale, she is,” the first man uttered sagely. “Don’t let her pretty face trick you. She’s a gobbler.”

“I don’t think that means what you think it means.” Kusu scanned his company of grinning NoMs nervously. “Maybe a better choice of words would be wise.”

“How about the Swa—”

“GOOD AFTERNOON!” Kusu stood. “All right, it’s nice talking to all of you. I have to go.”

“What’s a good one then, hey? All the great Mages got nicknames.” The NoMs demanded.

A vision of Gwen devouring half her weight’s worth of vitality-rich ingredients flashed across Kusu’s inward eye. That was during yesterday’s lunch, and two days ago at dinner, and…

“How about,” the words came to his lips unbidden, “The Devourer?”

Gwen had wanted to talk to the NoMs on the freight train about their jobs and living conditions, but the men seemed to be averse to her presence.

“Leave them be,” Richard advised, wearing his usual poker face. “They’re just NoMs. They’re the same everywhere. Food, shelter, safety, a chance to get better food, shelter, be safer, that sort of thing.”

An hour later, the train pulled noisily into Nantong Central Railway Station. Kusu had rejoined them halfway, though the Sword Mage strangely kept to himself.

The primary platform held two lines for passenger trains, while the third and fourth were set up with a wide berth for cargo. The NoMs shuffled off the rear carriage and formed a line for inspection by one of the transport officials. Not far from the friendly labourers, Gwen and company proceeded unmolested.

“See you on-site, Ju.” Richard waved at the foreman, who casually saluted him. “All right, everyone, this way.”

The station itself was more akin to an enormous warehouse, with a vaulted ceiling of latticed steel forming a gargantuan oblong shape. After registering with the officials at the checkpoint, they proceeded down a stark corridor, which eventually led to the main atrium.

As the double doors opened, a blast of hot air odious with human sweat blew into the inner terminal. Unlike the station’s interior, the atrium was a hive of human activity. Thousands of NoMs, seemingly all wearing cotton jackets in garish colours and bundled from head to toe with backpacks and other travel accessories, lined the ticket counters a hundred deep as far as the eye could see.

“It’s gotten worse.” Richard grimaced as he pushed through the crowd. “Gwen, Petra, be careful.”

“Why?” Gwen asked, following her cousin closely.

“You’ll get pick-pocketed,” Richard warned. “Or worse. They can get grabby. The people here are simple folk. The menfolk especially are used to running things, so they don’t think much about respect for the women. Added to the fact that until recently, they had rarely seen Mages and certainly not Gweilo, you get the idea.”

“Some guy tried to grope me once,” Lulan stated proudly. “But I didn’t maim him.”

“Thanks to me,” Kusu added hastily. “Just be careful. Gwen, I’ll take the rear and Richard will take the front. Percy, take the side. You girls can walk between us.”

“That seems excessive,” Petra pouted, evidently offended.

Gwen’s thoughts immediately fell on her propensity to attract all kinds of creepy weirdos. Already, she could see that their group was drawing looks from all over. As countless pairs of eyes centred on her, she began to regret not wearing a burka. With her keen perception, she could already sense several figures converging toward them.

Her Divination pinged her spine. For once, her foresight affirmed the need to take immediate action.

“Caliban!”

Her Void Worm slithered into existence. “Shaa!”

At once, the crowd fell away from the party, overwhelmed by an inherent aura of existential dread. In Caliban’s docile form, the vertigo was barely perceptible to her companions. For the NoMs, however, she knew it would seem as though the circumference surrounding the party had become a bottomless pit.

The tingling in her spine faded.

That was one crisis averted. Gwen gave herself an imaginary pat on the back. Caliban, the eldritch deterrent of pickpockets and deviants!

“Showing off?” Richard joked as the party sliced through the crowd. “Cali is hardly subtle. Now the world will know you’re in Nantong.”

“Is that so bad?” Gwen searched the crowd. Everywhere she looked, people averted their gaze.

“Who knows?” Richard shrugged. “You could ask Mayuree to throw some bones.”

“Nah.” Gwen made sure the others followed closely. “Where are we going now?”

“I booked a truck to the site.” Richard indicated to the exterior of the station.

Like all public transit spaces, the entrance to the station was six storeys tall and inundated with red ribbons. Across the top row, Gwen read a sign that said, ORDERLY EXIT AND ENTER. On an adjacent banner, she read, MOVE QUIETLY AND ORDERLY. Closer to the door, she almost did a double take when she came across another sign:

DO NOT DEFECATE ON THE PLATFORM

Her nose wrinkled.

A second sign read:

NO PEEING IN THE ATRIUM. USE THE BATHROOM AT EITHER END.

“What?” Gwen directed Richard to the warnings. “What happened to the euphemisms? Shouldn’t it say something like public health for all and clean environment for you and your family?”

“It’s the countryside.” Richard snorted. “What, you think people have flushing toilets and running water out there? Filtration units don’t grow on trees, you know.”

“But,” Gwen protested, “you said Nantong was a part of Shanghai’s redistricted outer zone!”

“Oh, Gwen…” Petra squeezed her squeamish cousin’s hand. “That began only two years ago. The Tonglv Canal’s just started this year.”

Gwen felt scandalised. From all she had heard of Nantong and the Nantong Fungs, she had been expecting some sort of palace city. Thank God she’d come prepared.

The massive gates to the station interior slid open. Humid air rushed in, inundated with a mana miasma so thick that spent particles were visible to the naked eye. Next came the stink of stagnant water, urine and construction waste. Furthermore, a tidal wave of sound washed over Gwen, the thrumming of earth-moving golems so offensive as to jar her bones.

“WHOA!” Percy gazed upward at a massive, vaguely humanoid construct hoisting piles of rebar onto trucks. A dozen similar constructs were shifting all sorts of cargo onto flatbed trailers.

Richard opened his arms expansively, the dust billowing about his ankles. “Welcome to Nantong!” he shouted above the din. “The fastest growing district in Outer Shanghai!”

Chapter twelve

I Have Become…

Once they were outside the station, Richard wandered off to locate his truck driver while the rest of the crew stood under the shade of the colossal transit station.

Thanks to Caliban, her party remained unmolested by either paupers or guards.

“Was it like this the last time you guys came?” Gwen turned to Lulan and Kusu.

“Not as such.” Kusu pointed at the mass of bodies still attempting to press into the station’s interior, stopped only by olive-uniformed guards with dangerous-looking batons. “It’s getting close to the end of the year and farm work is winding down. Without jobs here, the NoMs apply for permits to work in Shanghai proper. For these folks, the redistricting of Nantong was a real game changer.”

“How so?” Gwen enquired, full of questions for the curious mass migration. Most of the labourers appeared to be men, but there were women too. She even spotted a few children.

“Being included in the Shanghai Special Economics Zone means their Hukou moves up a rung. These guys are no longer rural peasants, haha.” Kusu laughed. “I suppose they’re urban folk now. Just look at them!”

Gwen felt that it was a bit rich coming from Kusu, but the young man was right. The peasant-turned-city folk were all bundled up in their Sunday best. Nonetheless, as they were from a redistricted zone like Nantong, this meant that they were indistinguishable from the homeless wandering through Shanghai’s industrial rim.

“We have that in Moscow as well,” Petra chimed in nostalgically. “Outside of the big city, it’s all Frontier from St Petersburg to Perm and then onto Novosibirsk. Westward of the Eastern line, things are tenable. Beyond that, there’s nothing but Black Zones. Every winter, the rural folk try to get into the cities for safety, warm meals and menial employment.”

“It’s all Black Zones?” Gwen raised an arched brow. “What, all of Siberia?”

Petra nodded.

“Are there Dragons?” Gwen persisted out of curiosity. It seemed to her that every country had their Dragon-sized problems. If China had a Yinglong and old Burma had a Tyrant, why not Siberia?

Petra shrugged. “No one knows. Or at least, no one knows who’s in the know.” Her companion snickered. “My ex-Master once said that the powers in Moscow had cut a deal with whatever governed its Siberian domain. If rumours were to be believed, I’d say our Baba Yaga is something akin to a Zmei.”

“Is that a type of Dragon?”

“I suppose.” Petra raised a hand. Using her palm as a platform, she created a three-headed crystalline Magic Beast half-Hydra, half-Dragon. “There, that’s a Zmei, the most infamous of which is Chudo-Yudo. It’s all fascinating and mythic, of course, but unproven.”

“Hey, the Yinglong is very real.”

“Ah, but Chudo-Yudo hasn’t been seen, not in the flesh, ever.”

“Never been witnessed, you mean. All who see Chudo-Yudo must have perished,” Gwen proposed.

“Well, there’s that,” Petra conceded.

“If every place has a Dragon,” Gwen noted. “Maybe we’re living in the Dragon’s world and humans are just getting in their way.”

“There’s a good reason they are the universal mythos,” Petra suggested in a scholarly tone. “Name me a culture without a Dragon.”

Gwen didn’t know enough to comment.

“Egyptians?” Percy dropped his two cents.

“Oh! Good work!” Gwen patted her brother’s head. Indeed, she couldn’t recall seeing Dragons on her trip to Egypt back in the day. No bearded crafter sold Draconic memorabilia as far as she knew and she had browsed Khan El Khalili for days.

“Nope.” Petra grinned with an air of superiority. “Apep the Chaos Serpent. Primarily Cobra, partly divine, and most definitely Draconic.”

“Bugger.” Percy scratched his head.

The conversation then turned to more mundane matters.

“Caliban, where are you going?” Gwen noticed her serpent tugging at the edge of her mind. Out of curiosity, she followed it rather than recalling her Familiar. “Pats, I’ll just be over there.”

“Want me to come with?” Percy peeped up.

“Naw, stay with Pats.”

“Over here, little brother, talk with us.” Lulan indicated to a spot next to her.

Her brother stayed a respectful distance away. Gwen knew he had caught the girl staring several times already so Richard had told him about Lulan’s special condition.

Gwen, meanwhile, stalked her slithering serpent toward a branching street not far from the station. In a few years, perhaps, it would likely develop into a trendy, gentrified alleyway full of eateries, though now it was filled with dubious, banged-up little shop fronts, half-abandoned and falling to pieces. Some workmen were having lunch, a few others napped and a group of old men played Chinese checkers.

“Shaa!” Caliban indicated with its snout.

What little activity in the street had instantly ceased. All eyes turned toward the lithe Mage standing beside her monster by the entrance.

“Caliban, to me,” Gwen commanded.

Her serpent twisted and turned upon itself with surprising agility, coming to a stop at her ankles.

Her Familiar tugged at her mind. It wanted to go deeper.

With meticulous care, Gwen surveyed the scene. The crowd looked away wherever she set her gaze, not daring to meet her eyes. “Shaa! Shaa!” Caliban urged her.

The duo proceeded through the alleyway until they reached the other side.

The roar of machinery deafened her. It was the main street, still under construction.

A crowd had gathered near a series of box-shaped containers, though now they were staring at her and her monster.

Out of morbid curiosity, Gwen edged closer. First, there was a dour odour. Her monster sniffed the air.

“Shaa!” Caliban welcomed its mistress to its discovery.

Then Gwen saw it.

The spectacle had eluded her at first because there was a huge red banner slung across the cages. The words, embossed in black against the dusty red fabric, read:

PROGRESS AND PROSPERITY, LOWERING CRIME, IMPROVING LIFE.

Earlier, she had wondered why there were no beggars outside the station and had praised Caliban for deterring vagabonds. Now, she found her answer amidst crate-like enclosures surrounded by an acrid haze of urine and despair.

It was a terrible day for having eyes. Beggars in cages?

A few were men, most were old women, though a few young children were present as well, both boys and girls. A few old men, missing a limb or two, lay on their backs. The cages were low, reaching only her waist, forcing the inhabitants to slouch. She wasn’t sure how long they had been in there, but from the looks of their attire and the filth clinging to their soiled clothes, it had been some time.

Outside the cages, just within reach, were begging bowls.

“Shaa!” Caliban wiggled its tail.

Gwen glanced between her Familiar and the beggars. The panhandlers had noted her presence, a few of them already reaching for their bowls. Perhaps it was her attire, her transparent display of wealth and comfort or maybe it was Caliban’s aura. She didn’t know why, but the beggar began to bang their bowls collectively against their iron rails.

Clang!

Clang! Clang!

Clang! C-clang! Clang!

Clang! C-clang! C-clang! CLANG!

An abominable cacophony filled her head.

“SHAA! SHAA!”

Caliban sang to the music of abject hopelessness and desperation, thrilled by the aberrant dissonance. As for Gwen, she tasted a mouthful of bile. Not even in the hopelessness of D-109 had she seen such a sight as this. Beside her, Caliban’s exhilaration extolled her with an unpleasant thought—that perhaps the greater mercy for these folks was to answer the call of the Void. What was it that had drawn Caliban to this place? Her curiosity was no longer keen for answers.

Without a word, she dropped a fistful of LDMs, then fled the scene, un-summoning her fiend.

By the time Gwen rejoined her party, Richard had returned, accompanied by a minivan and a friendly-looking labourer.

“The boss did us a favour,” he informed the party. “I was wondering how we were going to make it on a flatbed truck.”

His companions filed in one by one. Gwen was the last to get on.

“Gwen?” Richard looked concerned; he must have noticed her pale complexion. “Did you use your Void spells?”

Gwen shook her head. “I’ll tell you in the van.”

Tonglv Canal existed for a singular purpose—to streamline freight shipping from Shanghai’s industrial zones to the South China Sea while bypassing the CBD.

Measuring two hundred metres across and ninety metres at the thalweg, the yet-to-be-filled man-made valley cut a straight line across the landscape, carving through plains, forests, valleys, hills and wetlands with equal impunity.

When their van first pulled up at the industrial zone, Gwen thought they’d arrived at the foundation of some epic monument, at the base of which concrete covered every conceivable space. Within the valley, gargantuan golems, a dozen or so each, four to five storeys tall, manipulated sheets of crisscrossing rebar or towed cables across the newly established canal.

At its extremity, two dozen Mages of varying talents worked in tandem. Earthen Transmuters shifted soil and stone aside, pulling apart roots and vines from the sub-tropical flora, while Translocation Mages dealt with the debris, conjuring it away. Above and beside them, standing on platforms, Evokers blasted away at quasi-magical critters as the freshly excavated earth crashed over the grey ferroconcrete, as well as denotation sections of hardy granite.

“Gwen, look. It’s a Class III MITSUBISHI Construction Golem!” Percy blurted out, his eyes alive with excitement. “I’ve only ever seen them in lumen-pics.”

Depressed but nonetheless curious, Gwen regarded the lumbering giants labouring below.

Vaguely humanoid, the golem reminded her of power loaders from the movie Aliens. Standing on iron-wrought stilts and apportioned like a dwarf, the golem was stout of body, with broad, iron-wrought shoulders sporting a plethora of hissing pistons. Painted a comical construction-yellow, it towered over the Mages working below. Just above its shoulders, where its head should be, was an operator cage, within which was the pilot. Behind the driver’s cage was a load-trailer where the golem deposited what was dug up.

“Wow.” Percy was beside himself. “Are you seeing this?”

Gwen chuckled; boys and their toys. It was in moments like this that Percy acted his age. Just seeing her brother so filled with exuberance dispelled her earlier ire.

“Sure am.” She rested a hand against her hip. “Richard, do you know any of the drivers?”

“Yeah, I know a few,” her cousin replied.

“Do you think Percy could take a look inside?”

“I don’t see why not.” Richard shrugged. “As long as Junior won’t be a menace.”

“I won’t.” Percy turned back to the machines, his eyes gleaming.

Gwen chuckled. Indeed, what fifteen-year-old boy wouldn’t be in ecstasy when seated within a full-scale Caterpillar heavy-hauler? These golems were essentially bipedal Bagger 288s mated with a Tonka Truck. If she had to draw a pop reference, they reminded her of gritty ‘90s cartoon Transformers.

The party watched as the golem knelt with one of its excavator arms, shovelling up to its elbows into the loam. A Transmuter below then collapsed the upper section perfectly into the digger. With a mighty roar of its Japanese-made engine, the giant retreated, taking out a near-perfect rectangle of elementally compressed soil and displacing the load onto the canal’s banks.

Gwen had to admit, watching a ten-metre robot moving earth had a simple, hypnotic quality. This world might not have basic social safety nets or OSHA, but they had iron giants at their beck and call.

“Look there.” Richard tapped Gwen’s shoulder, pointing at a sudden eruption at the base of the excavation. “Those are River-Gobs!”

The new excavation had inadvertently revealed a warren system, exposing its interior to air and light. As Richard spoke, two midget-like Goblins leapt from a collapsed section of the mud bank and made for the Transmuter.

“CONTACT!” someone yelled.

The Transmuter must have had an armour spell active, for the first Gob bounced off while the second hung onto his arm without damaging anything. The Evoker atop the escarpment seemed lost as he waited for an opportunity to strike, waiting for a Shield or perhaps the Transmuter to throw the Goblins a safe distance away.

The Goblins, possibly understanding that their lives depended on their adhesion to the Transmuter, clung on for dear life.

“Gwen.” Richard nudged her. “What’s the range on your Lighting Bolt?”

“Enough.” Gwen gauged the distance: the Gobs were a little far, but she could manage. “Ariel, assist me!”

She raised both arms.

“INCOMING! DON’T MOVE!” Gwen called out, her voice ringing across the construction space, empowered by both her essence and a vocalised Clarion Call. “Lightning Bolt!”

The party below was a hundred-odd metres away.

A blue-white arc of lightning struck the first ball-like Goblin, penetrating its body, before it enveloped the second. Where the electricity would have concurrently assaulted the Transmuter, it instead grounded itself, completing the circuit between Gwen and her target.

The first pot-bellied Mer-Goblin exploded in a shower of guts and bone. The second convulsed, its overtly large eye sockets boiling before it fell limply to the floor.

Percy stared at his sister, as did an electrified Kusu.

“WOW!” Lulan clapped happily.

Gwen retracted her finger and blew on it as one would the nozzle of a pistol. The gesture was a little strange to her peers; it wasn’t as though Gwen used a ray subtype or a wand, but the implication was clear.

“Well done!” Richard clasped her shoulders.

The construction golem turned its cage upward and waved at the party. They waved back.

The Transmuter shaped a protruding block of soil into a thumbs-up. Gwen’s companions laughed heartily at the acknowledgement.

“See?” Richard smiled at Gwen, full of confidence. “Nantong’s not so bad, right?”

On cue, more Riven-Goblins poured from the warren.

Gwen’s hair flared with concentric halos of blue-white electricity.

After what Caliban had found, she could use a good fight to blow off some steam.

The encounter ended as quickly as it had begun.

In its aftermath, they had been joined by the Transmuter crew Gwen had saved. Perhaps more surprisingly, the pilot of the rig was a NoM and a woman, shocking Percy as well as Gwen. The pilot thanked Gwen and her companions, leaving them a gift of rice wine from Xian. Percy got to have his ride, going as far as walking the golem around, moving several metric tons of dirt to and fro.

“The controls are manual,” Richard explained later, sensing Gwen’s confusion. “At least that’s true for Construction Golems. If you’re wondering about Mage pilots, they’re exclusive to the military. Did you know Military Golems can be linked to the driver’s talents? It’s very interesting Magi-tech, mostly from Israel and the USA.”

“Abominations.” Lulan appeared wary of the giant constructs. “I hear the Dwarfs who invented the original golems have souls sealed into them. That’s got to be Necromancy.”

“Which is why humans use the piloted variety,” Richard stated. “I’d love to see a Battle Golem up close, though.”

They were a little behind schedule now, though that didn’t worry Richard. Thanks to Gwen’s portable habitat, there was no need to fret over day cycles. Combined with Petra’s Warding expertise and Lulan’s Stone Shape, they could set up a discreet shelter anywhere, even deep inside the Dungeon.

The party’s de facto leader laid out the marching order. First and foremost was Richard himself, joined by Lea. Then came Lulan, whose swords could counterattack through the soft Water Shields. Gwen, the artillery Mage, took up third place. In the middle was their VIP, Percy, who was advised to stay put, followed by Kusu and Petra, bringing up the rear.

The team affirmed their positions.

“If we had a Cleric, we could get some group buffs,” Gwen noted, thinking of Elvia.

“No worries there,” Richard advised. “Petra’s brought buffs.”

“Once we’re inside or when we’re close,” Gwen’s cousin advised, “I’ve also got two Heroisms cubed.”

Lulan gave Petra a thumbs up. “I could do wonders with a buff like that.” The girl grinned from ear to ear. “Keep me topped up and I’ll solo anything.”

“Now, now,” Ricard placated the cheerfully murderous Lulan as she hopped from foot to foot. “We don’t know what’s at the bottom. It could be a big-ass Water Ghost or it could be something nastier. Our job is to kill it, not to put ourselves in unnecessary danger.”

The Sword Mage nodded obediently.

“Lulu, be a good girl and listen to Richard,” Kusu said.

“Chii!” The girl clicked her tongue at her brother. “You’re not the boss of me.”

Kusu shot Richard a look of agonised constipation. Gwen read it as, Are you seeing this shit?

Thinking of her brother, she burst into laughter, vaguely aware that her offence over Percy’s sins had grown diluted and distant. She could only guess that amongst such a company of excellent and competent companions, her conscience had grown comfortably numb.

“Gwen, can you drop the Hounds now?” Richard diverted Gwen’s train of thought before they entered.

“Of course.” She had been looking forward to this moment. “Let’s get some dogs out!”

Chapter thirteen

Who Let the Dogs Out?

“Let’s dog it up!” Gwen announced to the party. “If I screw it up and start barfing all over, nobody laugh.”

Lulan clapped, her eyes full of anticipation.

“We won’t,” Richard promised, his legs casually crossed as he leaned on Kusu’s shoulder.

“Ariel!” She started with the commander.

“EEee!” Ariel presented itself with a flash and a flourish, swishing its tail.

Gwen drew an iris-searing Conjuration Glyph in the air, first beginning with the major incantations, then moving on to minor adjustments before finishing with the final invocation.

“Morden’s Hound Pack!”

The first Deerhound emerged, sleek and semi-Draconic, shimmering with static electricity. Then another, a more robust copy of the first, with long, blade-like ears. Another and another arrived until all seven were facing Gwen’s astounded companions.

“Draconic Hounds?” Kusu blurted, his jaw failing to re-hinge itself as the Hounds began to sniff the party members, recording the scent of their allies.

“Seven?” Richard said.

“I can’t seem to get past that number,” Gwen confessed. “Instructor Chen said it’s a matter of experience. Maybe when I actually reach tier 6, I could manage more, but that’s all I’ve got for now.”

Gwen drew another glyph in the air. “Bloodhound!”

An eighth Hound emerged, heavier than the others. The Deerhound’s noble mien reached Lulan’s shoulders. When it breathed, two jets of electrified air shot from its dark nostrils. Its eyes were two cobalt orbs of vivid lightning with a dark slit at its centre.

She saw Kusu’s body violently seized when Lulan carelessly embraced Gwen’s alpha Hound with an open-armed, full-bodied hug.

“It’s so silky!” Lulan rubbed her cheeks against the dog’s forehead as it licked her hand. “Oooh! Its jowls are super soft as well.”

“Lulu, that’s not a toy.” Kusu’s warning fell on deaf ears.

“What beautiful animals.” Petra patted a dog with each hand. She seemed to enjoy the warmth radiating from the beast’s scalps. “It is hard to believe that they are Elementals. Why are they so real?”

“Chen says it’s because I am concurrently running Transmutation,” Gwen remarked helpfully. “That and I love dogs.”

“You used to have a dog?”

Caught by her own disinformation, Gwen rummaged through her memories for an answer.

“Dad used to take me to the Greyhound races in Australia.” She couldn’t possibly inform Petra that she had religiously attended every Easter Show, window shopping for canines while speaking to their breeder-owners, fantasising about rearing a big Wolfhound or a stout Dane. Even now, she could recall the sensation of running her hand over those big, beautiful canines, feeling the warm drool dripping down their paunchy jowls.

Percy gave her a dubious look.

“EE! EE!” Ariel commanded the dogs with dignity. Her hounds stood to attention, then formed into a wedge with Ariel at its centre.

“Oh my GOD.” Her brother mouthed, his eyes glimmering with awe and desire. “Sis, you’ve killed me.”

Gwen sniggered, her hands gripping her brother’s shoulders, hysterically gloating with pleasure. There was a particular euphoria that tickled the brain when others praised one’s pets or children, and Gwen was drowning in a pool of it.

Kusu was the only one whose brain still operated at peak efficiency. “Can you incant Void Hounds?”

Gwen shook her head. “I’ll need a lot of vitality for that,” she informed her companions. “Also, I’d rather not risk Void-burn. I had those a few times in the beginning, and each time I was knocked out for hours.”

Just imagining a mana burn that involved both Void matter and vitality was enough to make the party grimace.

“So what can your dogs do?” Richard paced around the alpha, inspecting its handsome features.

“Ariel!” Gwen commanded. Showing was worth a thousand words.

As one, the dogs formed into a W. The pack sat, rolled over, then swapped places as though in a marching band, responding to each ‘EE!’ from Ariel with mechanical efficiency.

Clap! Clap! Clap! Clap! Lulan was beside herself.

Ariel rose into the air. “EE—Ee!! EE!” It gave the order to move out.

“They’re going to scout for prey, see what’s in the surrounding area,” Gwen declared boastfully. “Originally, the pack was supposed to be led by the Bloodhound. That’s what Morden intended, although I’ve got Ariel.”

The party looked upward.

Ariel levitated above like an airborne general, resplendent even in its mundane combat form.

“Hah-hah-hah-hah.” The panting dogs fanned out into the knee-high bush, their sounds growing fainter as they crashed through the hilly peat.

“Let’s proceed.” Gwen pointed northward. “So good. No more stupid orienteering!”

Her companions stopped in their tracks.

“Gwen.” Richard implored his cousin with great gentleness, placing both hands on Gwen’s shoulders before turning her leftward toward a northerly direction. “Your dogs have gone the opposite way.”

“That’s not north?” Gwen pointed a rudely erect finger toward the direction her dogs had gone.

“That’s east,” Richard informed her with great solemnity. “Come, we’re headed this way.”

The euphoria drained from Gwen’s face.

“Lea!” Richard summoned his Spirit. The Undine couldn’t “fly” in the spellcraft sense. Instead, she levitated at will with complete freedom of movement.

“Teehee!” The Undine flittered about Ariel playfully, mocking its master’s directional blindness.

Below, Gwen grudgingly redirected her hounds. “Ariel.” Gwen moped. “Follow Lea’s direction.”

“EE-EE!” The sharp trill of her Familiar rang out.

“Contact!” Gwen translated for her creature.

An hour in, the Water Ghost’s lair could just be seen, buried under a massive mound. The strange landscape reminded Gwen of a colossal ant hill disrupting the flat expanse of the muddy peat bog.

When Gwen had asked Richard why the bog had evaporated, her cousin informed her that the PLA had drained it in anticipation of the canal’s final stages, which required the ground to be thoroughly dried and compressed.

After half a minute, two of Gwen’s Deerhounds came running, pursued by Water Ghosts.

“Gods, they’re ugly!” Percy cried out as the Ghosts came into view.

Gwen mouthed a silent Strewth! in turn. Ugly wouldn’t even begin to describe these simian fiends.

The leading male was a specimen almost five feet tall, broad of chest, hulking in its bearing with steel-cable arms. Its face was a bedraggled mess of fur, moss and other unnamable growths, hiding two beady eyes glowing with dark maleficence. The creature had the gait of a biped, though it ran expertly on all fours, using its elongated arms in the same fashion as gorillas to propel its body forward.

The second was a male as well, though smaller, begging the question of whether or not it was an adolescent or an inferior specimen.

The party fanned out, with Richard taking the lead, attended by Gwen and then the others.

“Wanna try out your dogs?” Richard enquired.

“Sure,” Gwen agreed. “Ariel!”

Her dogs sallied forth.

About a hundred metres from the party, the two Water Monkeys stopped. The alpha sniffed the air, then turned directly toward Gwen and her company, half hidden in the ankle-deep sedge.

“See that? They have poor vision but possess a keen sense of scent,” Richard pointed out. “There’s no ambushing these bastards.”

The Water Monkeys turned to flee, but by then, it was too late. Three of Gwen’s Deerhounds closed in behind their prey, growling dangerously.

The first two dogs made an about-face to turn against the Monkeys.

“GRRRRRR!”

A throaty confluence of bone-throbbing growling filled the low valley, masking the presence of yet another three dogs hidden in the shallow sedge. The stink of ozone radiating from Gwen’s electrified animals was overpowering.

“Did you teach ‘em that?”

“Chen trained Ariel.” Gwen smirked. “Ariel’s the top dog up there. I suppose that makes me the sheepherder.”

Indeed, from up on high, Ariel shimmered gently, commanding Gwen’s Hounds. “EE!”

“Rrowff!” The foremost Hound feigned an assault.

“SHREEEIII!” An unexpected howl pierced the soggy air, rippling from the Water Monkey’s chest like a banshee’s wail. “YIP! YIP! YIP! YIP!”

The smaller of the two began to beat its chest, emitting an awful racket from its peeling lips, baring inch-long fangs set into pink, mangled flesh.

“They’re calling for the rest of the pack.” Richard cracked his neck. “Lea, shields on everyone. Maximum repulsion. We’re forcing them toward Gwen’s dogs!”

Gwen’s irises gleamed with excess Lightning as she loaded up a tier 5 Evocation.

Lulan fell into a defensive stance, her pupils turning a vivid ochre.

“Dagger Wall!” A swarm of dagger-like implements materialised around Kusu, floating placidly above the party, ready to intercept whatever came their way.

“Crystal Skin!” Petra’s silhouette shimmered, becoming wreathed in a brilliant shell.

Percy hopped from foot to foot, trying to spot the incoming pack.

Down on the bog flat where the two Monkeys were cornered, Gwen’s pack met their quarry. After a feigned snap to the neck, the alpha’s second quickly nipped at the larger of the two targets, trying to hamstring the adult. Dextrously, the first Water Ghost dodged, only to be met with a third dog, who had anticipated its sidestep.

The smaller Monkey attempted to assist its companion but was bodily checked by yet another growling Hound. As it dived for cover, a shadow leapt from the sedge, barrelling into its chest and pinning it against the soggy turf.

Beside the fallen Water Ghost, its companion fared no better. The sneak attack ripped into its calves, forcing the Monkey to its knees while another ambushing hound tore out a chunk of its arm.

“SCREEEEEEIIII!”

“SCHEEEII! YIP! YIP! YIP!”

A series of bone-chilling screeches polluted the air.

“SCEE!”

Its battle cry was suddenly cut short as Gwen’s alpha hound made its move, assailing the larger Water Ghost from behind, sending it crashing into the mud.

The rest of the pack fell upon the shrieking simian, tearing at its abdomen and torso as it frantically struggled. One of the dogs took a blow to the chest before snapping back, catching the Monkey’s paw in its jaw.

“Shii… shii…” The creature attempted to cover its face with a mangled limb. Gwen’s alpha wouldn’t have it. Instead, her Gound tore away at the Ghost’s forearms with an enthusiasm that would have made a starving Gwen proud, ripping out rags of bone-white sinew.

“OH MY GOD!” Percy paled, watching the dogs at their terrible work. “Gwen, they’re eating the damn thing alive!”

“SHUT UP!” Richard shouted over Percy’s incredulous utterance. “STAY DOWN! THEY’RE HERE!”

And they were.

The waterlogged wetland surrounding the party bulged like diseased pustules before erupting into full-sized Water Ghosts.

“Their elemental teleport is kind of like a Blink!” Lulan shouted over the sound of splashing water. “They can’t use it unless they’re ambushing. It’ll get worse when we’re indoors.”

“LULU!” Kusu screeched. “Don’t let the water from their fur touch your lips. It’s poisonous!”

Diseased, Gwen corrected Kusu mentally. Virulent bacteria likely inundated the water cascading from the damned thing’s mangy fur.

“Ariel!” Gwen channelled a spell into her Familiar. It was far easier launching spells from up on high than at her eye level, especially when they were ankle-deep in mossy turf. “Warding Shield!”

A total of six adult Water Ghosts emerged about two metres from the party’s right, taking advantage of the momentum of their innate Water-Blink to throw their bodies into melee range.

“Sis!” Percy fumbled with his Salt Bolts. The boy was beginning to realise that competitive duelling was distinctly different from half a dozen disease-laden barrelling baboons frothing at the lips.

Richard waited until the last moment before activating his shields, driving Percy up the wall, or at least up Petra’s crystal-coated backside.

Thunk!

Splash!

Forward-facing semi-dome barriers swiftly negated the Monkeys’ momentum, catching four of the creatures in mid-air. A hidden jet of water caught the victims as they spun, turning the shield into a cocoon.

The remaining two broke through.

“Lulu!” Kusu called out.

“Got it! BROAD STROKE! SWEEP!”

Lulan’s gleaming Iron Blade caught the first Monkey across the chest, biting viciously into flesh and bone, stopping the creature’s momentum cold. Her second strike proved a second too slow, nicking the Monkey across the shoulder as it dextrously contorted its upper body.

“Ball Lightning!” Gwen had been nursing her tier 5 Evocation with meticulous care. Jacked up on adrenaline and fuming with thunderous wrath, she channelled the spell through Ariel’s horns.

Her first Ball Lightning caught the last Ghost that had slipped their defences, erupting into a white-hot sphere of plasma as its latent energies unleashed.

The remaining four, likewise thrown from Ariel’s incandescent horns, erupted where Richard had momentarily immobilised their quarry, ripping through their targets as the liquid cocoon turned into superheated steam.

“Caliban!” Gwen materialised her second Familiar. Now was the perfect time to stock up on vitality.

“SHAAA!”

There was no need for elaborate transformations. Caliban slithered straight for the most wounded creature, pinned by Lulan’s sword into the ground like a kabob, opening its carapace with gleeful abandonment.

“SCREEEEEEIIII!”

The lame Monkey thrashed against the slab of iron, ripping its wound; its flailing claws scored bloody gashes all over Caliban’s pulsating purple flesh, spraying ichor over the dark turf.

But as with the proverbial honey badger, Caliban didn’t give a shit.

Caliban’s lamprey lips launched for the Monkey’s face and the rest was history.

It all happened so fast.

Percy stood in the midst of splashing water, exploding lightning, crushing blades of iron, the yipping and growling of dogs, throngs of screaming, insane Monkeys and a yawning Petra.

His sister was strong and her friends weren’t bad either; that had been the intellectual understanding he had brought to Nantong. Seeing the gory ordeal come to life, however, opened his eyes to a reality he could scarcely comprehend.

How could they even tell what the hell was going on? Percy’s mind revolted. There was so much chaos, a concourse of light, colour and sound concomitantly occurring amidst spurting blood, snapping bones, howling Familiars and screeching monsters.

“Lightning Bolt!”

“SWEEP! THRUST!”

“PIERCE!”

“Lightning Sphere!”

“SHAAA!”

“Shield!”

“SWEEP! Iron Strike!”

“E-EE!”

“Lulu, careful. CAO!”

“GRRR!”

His amulet glowed red-hot, subsuming the escaping essence of dying creatures all around him.

A few times, he tried to help, but before his incantation had even finished, a sword had lopped off a limb or a blast of lighting erupted, leaving nothing but smouldering flesh. Whenever a creature got too close, a barrier of water sent it reeling backwards or Kusu protected him with a wall of steel implements. More often than not, stragglers were dragged off by Gwen’s dogs.

“Salt B—”

“SHAA!” Caliban tackled Percy’s target.

In a feeding frenzy, Caliban was fully fluffed, more terrifying than Percy had ever seen the jovial Worm. Ignoring all wounds and feeling no pain, it crashed bodily into the largest of the Water Ghosts. The simian beast kicked and scratched at the Familiar’s body while Caliban hung on face-first, a comical addition to the monster’s anatomy.

Oh my God! Percy felt sick to his core even as his amulet recharged.

The Monkey’s simian head slipped into Caliban’s maw, then inch by chomping inch, Caliban took the damned thing into its gullet. Even when half of the Monkey’s torso could no longer be seen, it thrashed and kicked, sending out vivid sprays of purple-black ichor that polluted the yellow-green undergrowth.

“Percy!” Gwen’s cheery voice called for him. “You all right?”

Percy glanced up to see his sister, her face flushed with the passion of the hunt, her cheeks rosy with thrilling violence.

“Gwen, keep moving!” Richard commanded his sister.

After another ten minutes, the combat died down and the earlier chaos was reduced to the sound of whimpering resistance.

Gwen’s Deerhounds approached, six of her dogs dragging two simian victims between them. Percy stared in horror as the Hounds deposited their quarry.

One of the Water Ghosts could barely be recognised as such, now missing most of its furry dermis and half of its face, with one eye hanging loosely by a few precarious vessels.

The smaller one was whole, though it was bleeding out via a missing chunk of its throat.

The rest of the party convened upon the bloody spectacle.

“Percy, go for it,” Richard directed him toward the twitching aberrations. “Your first Monster Kill, buddy, tier 3, maybe tier 4. Not bad! I had to start with bloody Yabbies, you know.”

His sister appeared behind Richard, looking apprehensive.

Percy could hardly breathe. He looked down at the creature below him. A pair of mangled jaws, even a metre away, reflexively snapped at him.

“Salt Bolt!” The incantation came naturally to his lips. Percy watched as a razor-sharp shard of Salt sliced into the creature’s skull.

His sister winced. Percy wondered what drove Gwen to want her little brother to deliver the coup de grâce.

“Salt Bolt!” The second strike proved likewise unerring, taking the creature with a single hit.

“Well done!” Richard slapped Percy on the back. “Nice control you’ve got there, Percy. Next time, your targets will be moving.”

Percy looked up to see his sister smiling at him. The amulet burned as the creatures’ essence entered the Kirin Stone’s soul well, just as his face was a glowing furnace fuelled by adrenaline.

“Holy shit.” Percy cracked a forceful smile, his mind a deluge of emotions after bearing witness to such competence. “Sis, you guys are insane.”

“You know it!” She hugged him. “You did so much better than me when I was put in the position. I couldn’t even look at my targets, even knowing that I had every right and that they deserved nothing better.”

Percy awkwardly returned the embrace.

“ALL RIGHT!” Richard spared no time for sentimentality. “Petra! Lulan, it’s time!”

“Resist Disease!” Petra dropped an essential protection spell on Lulan. At the tier in which his cousin had acquired the stowed spell, it would remain active for days.

Lulan kicked over a Monkey corpse. From thin air, two iron blades fell like meat cleavers, taking the body apart and splattering her from thigh to elbow.

She reached down and ripped open the ribcage, searching for the promised prize. Not far, Gwen was coaxing Caliban to return any cores the creatures may have stowed by stroking its mid-section.

“Gwen.” Lulan triumphantly emerged, scarlet from her elbow to the tip of her fingers, her white face crimson with viscera. “I found one!”

“You’re kidding me!” Kusu sounded shocked. “A core? Really?”

“I’ve got one here, too.” Gwen pushed on Caliban’s torso, coaxing a slimy orb from its lamprey lips. The core landed with a plop.

“Four more bodies.” Lulan skipped happily to the next body and once again began her merry butchery. A wayward spleen ruptured, filling the air with a foul odour.

Behind Lulan, Percy reached his limits. His sister, their cousins and her friends were insane.

Turning away from the Nantong Ripper, Percy cleared the contents of his breakfast.

Richard nodded with satisfaction as Percy looked up. “Good sport.” His cousin gave him a thumbs up. “Kusu, you owe me fifty HDMs.”

“Cao!” Kusu cursed. “You would think Gwen’s brother was made of sterner stuff.”

Four Cores later, Kusu asked Gwen for a reality check.

“I am not going to ask why, I only hope you come with us every time,” the crystal-starved ex-clanner professed, handing her brother a towel.

“Thanks.” Pale-faced Percy wiped his lips.

Gwen’s dogs fanned out again, directed by Ariel.

“Prestidigitation!” Gwen ran the quasi-magical laundry device over Lulan. The girl’s tolerance for ultra-violence was mind-numbing. Even Gwen, who had personally seen a Mage eaten from the inside out by an eldritch horror, was sickened by her gory labour.

Earlier, she excused herself to digest her newly acquired vitality somewhere dark and out of sight. Having her friends, not to mention Percy, seeing her shudder from the excess vitality was beyond awkward, so she had forced herself to remain against a wall while her innards rearranged themselves.

After a minute of heat flushes, Gwen could once again breathe. The Monkeys were robust, but their vitality was low tier at best, maybe scraping into mid on the Nephres scale. Really, it was their ambushing, pack-hunting tactics that made them so dangerous.

On another note, Gwen was gaining a renewed appreciation of just how potent Draconic Essence could be. Compared to the earth-shattering, eyes-rolling-to-the-back-of-her-head ecstasy in Huangshan, her mortal meal of Monkeys was like stale beer to Mao-tai.

After her return, Lulan emerged from her butchery, smiling from ear to ear.

Eight Water Ghosts. Sixteen CCs so far.

Fortuitously, Gwen had packed enough LDMs to dry-clean Lulan’s entire wardrobe and then some.

“EE! EE!” Ariel reported back.

“All good.” Gwen passed on. “Nothing of note within half a kilometre.”

“Marching order!” Richard barked. The Water Mage was a born drill sergeant. Her cousin inspected his troops and their condition before giving the command to keep moving. “Gwen, get the dogs! All right, now onto the lair!”

Chapter fourteen

Silence of the Apes

Having gotten a taste of the Water Ghosts’ peculiarities, the party proceeded with care as they made for the lair.

There were no more ambushes, indicating that the creatures had retreated to the advantage of their subterranean abodes.

“Any chance we can just excavate the damned lair?” Gwen noted the intimidating size of the den as they approached. Judging by the outside, a medium-sized shopping complex would fit under the thing.

“You’re going to need a Magister-tier Earthen Mage for that.” Richard commanded Lea to displace the water as they proceeded, allowing the party to avoid any unpleasant surprises. “That or earth-moving golems. Good luck transporting them here. It’s cheaper to pay five hungry uni students, hahaha!”

“There sure are a lot of beasties here,” Gwen noted, watching Caliban slither about, eating every other thing it found. There were colourful frogs, viscous-looking water bugs, and other devious-looking fauna all over the place. Ariel reported that Gwen’s Hounds were constant victims of harassment by the local fauna, though it wasn’t anything their Draconic constitution couldn’t handle.

“Is the lair underwater?” she asked.

“Nope, Water Ghosts are air-breathing.” Richard sent out a blast of water, removing a clump of stubborn turf, revealing a host of red-spotted white worms slithering this way and that.

“Yuck!” Percy circulated a layer of Salt over his body.

“Scarlet-tailed leeches.” Kusu leaned in closer for a better look. “Better not have an open wound.—They’re drawn to blood… and are used in Chinese medicine.”

Her brother paled, shivering uncontrollably.

Oh my, afraid of bugs? Gwen chuckled. It was true. Percy was a city boy through and through. She had at least camped in the outback and had an extra decade or two’s experience.

Perhaps sensing the fount of vitality that was Gwen’s delicious, essence-filled body, dozens of leeches leapt for her exposed skin.

“FU—LIGHTNING BOLT!”

A line of lightning cut through the peat marsh, displacing a linear row of water before spreading forth as a jagged fissure of scorched earth.

“Christ above!” Gwen caught her breath. It was strange how Caliban could be a cute little horror from the Void, but these slimy white worms set her teeth on edge.

The others chuckled.

They continued, with Gwen blasting off bolts every hundred metres or so.

“I am frankly surprised your spells aren’t attracting more Ghosts.” Richard looked up at Ariel and Lea floating up above. “Got anything?”

“EE—EE!”

“Nothing,” Lea reported back.

By the time the party arrived at “base camp”, by which Richard meant the entrance to the lair, they were losing sunlight. As the lair was pitch black anyway, the loss of light made little difference.

“How’re we feeling?” Richard turned to his party. “Got enough stamina to start on the lair?”

“I’m fine.” Gwen raised her hand. “Percy?”

“I am all right.” Percy had worked up a good sweat.

All of them had endured the humid weather as the chill from the soggy marsh permeated their bodies. Combined with the hostile flora and fauna, it was evident that without significant terraforming, the sodden landscape could not sustain human habitation.

The reality, however, was that only Gwen was untouched by fatigue.

“Let’s take a breather anyway,” Richard advised. “We’ll break for supper, refresh our heads, then head in.”

He gazed upward. “Ariel, Lea, set up a perimeter, please.”

“EE!” Ariel swished its tail. Lea nodded, then drifted away to survey the perimeter. The Hounds fanned out.

Gwen stared at the cavern’s entrance. Had she not known it was there, she would have thought it a moss-strewn split in the risen landscape.

Beside her, Richard materialised a portable stove. “So, what flavour of ration do you guys want?”

The party had barely eaten when Ariel and Lea reported that they had Water Ghosts coming out of the cavern.

“They’re attracted to Spam?” Gwen spluttered.

They had enjoyed the peace until Gwen, displeased with nutritious mana-infused military rations, had added a few blocks of Spam to her bubbling pot. Soon after, the salt-soaked meat sent up a delicious scent.

Richard stared at her Spam. Gwen protectively held the block of grilled mystery meat close to her chest.

“Gwen, give it to me. I have an idea.” He ordered the party to collect their things.

“My Spam!” Gwen protested feebly.

Richard mercilessly tore it from her hands, then dunked the formless flesh into the bubbling pot before ordering a retreat.

A hundred metres away, the party watched two blocks of simmering fat melt into Richard’s pot.

“Lea!” her cousin commanded his Familiar.

Lea manipulated the water vapours, stirring the salty soup so the bubbling scent wafted into the cavern’s mouth and permeated the waters below. They left Ariel floating above, just out of sight, confident that the remarkable scent of processed meat would overwhelm the Monkeys’ desire to look up.

“Gwen, get ready,” Richard whispered.

Still mourning her ration of Spam, Gwen channelled a sliver of Almudj’s Essence into Ariel, transforming her Familiar into its quasi-Draconic form. Ariel seemed to possess a far better command of the essence than she did, quietly transforming herself without the Kirin aura’s palpable effects.

Gwen then preloaded an Elemental Sphere. The party waited.

It didn’t take long for the water around the campsite to roil and churn, bursting apart violently to reveal a dozen demi-humanoids. With her eagle-eyed vision, Gwen baulked when she spotted a specimen with drooping, dried-up breasts beneath its mattered fur. There was another, a youngling, suckling on the teat of a younger female. From their gait and body language, they appeared famished. It was no wonder the creatures were drawn to Spam.

Gwen’s mind blanked out, accosted by an unpleasant and dubious acknowledgement.

A hand landed on her shoulder.

“Let’s do this!” Richard grinned. “Good thing you brought the Spam. Kusu, take the left, wall them in. Lulu, you’re on the right, don’t let a single CC escape. Percy, Petra, you’re with me. Gwen, engage as soon as we’re in place!”

Gwen’s companions charged ahead.

Her mind numb with unbidden solicitudes, Gwen commanded Ariel to prioritise the area of effect.

“Barbanginy!”

Two globes left Ariel’s stag-horns, guided by its tentacle whiskers. In a split-second, the blinding orbs grew in size, taking on the guise of a twin star-fall, hellbent on obliterating the Spam-stealing culprits.

Before her companions struck, the spheres connected, growing in radius until they encompassed the entire campsite.

“SCEEIIII!”

“SCARRRRG!”

“YIP YIP Yi—”

Twin novas of viridescent lighting rang out, blighting the landscape, splitting the peat, rending flesh, blasting bone, peeling skin and fur.

The shrieks of the Monkeys suddenly grew silent.

“Caliban!”

Gwen’s second Familiar burst through the bog. Though she could taste her dilemma like oxidised iron on the tip of her tongue, she knew better than to let the Monkeys escape.

Together with her friends and family, her serpent joined the fray in a frenzy.

“Salt Bolt!”

“Strike!”

“Piercing Dagger!”

Her brother, now more confident, quelled his share of singed, gurgling simians. Lulan directly dispatched her share of babbling beasts with broad sweeping strokes to the head and neck. Kusu swept through the rear, his daggers unerringly finding their marks, penetrating softened flesh flayed by Gwen’s lightning.

Richard walked up beside Gwen as she struggled with her conscience. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What’s wrong? There were females and younglings amongst those Water Ghosts!” Gwen complained. There was no need to be coy with Richard. “They’re sapient beings. Don’t deny it. You said they were sapient back in Shanghai!”

Richard took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. “They’re sapient.” Her cousin shrugged, his tone entirely objective. “Yes. These creatures feel, have complex social units and are even known to perform the occasional act of altruism. What’s the matter?”

“Excuse me?” Gwen shuddered. “Richard, must we exterminate them?” “Well, it’s only expected,” Richard scoffed. “They’re dangerous adversaries. Like the Goblins. Or Centaurs. Or the Undead.”

Gwen swallowed twice in quick succession. Richard wasn’t wrong, but she was reluctant to concede the point.

“Think about it.” Richard pointed at the enormous female Lulan was crudely vivisecting like a lioness ferreting for offal. “How can creatures whose primary occupation is to feed and reproduce co-exist with us, whose primary occupation is to ensure our continued dominion? Don’t you think peaceful co-existence with monsters is contradictory to the very society we live in?”

“But…” Gwen sighed. She had no persuasive answers, not when her old world gleefully engaged in genocide over trivialities like minor differences in religious texts. Human history had rarely, if ever, conspired to deliver compassion. If there was a single immutable truth that defined humanity, it was that scene from Full Metal Jacket, the one where a colonel told the altruistic Private Joker:

“You write ‘Born to Kill’ on your helmet and you wear a Peace Button? What’s that supposed to be, some kind of sick joke?”

The scene had stayed with her all these years. The duality of man—the Jungian thing. Was it that simple, though?

“Yes. It’s that simple,” Richard appeared to have read her mind. “Don’t fret your pretty tier 6 Lightning body about it.”

Gwen snorted bitterly. Not having a conscience was easier said than done!

“You overthink.” As if to make his point, Richard patted her head.

Gwen annoyedly brushed off her cousin’s intrusive hand. “You know, I wonder.” She pointed to a charred corpse. “What do you suppose happens when we’re on the losing side? Mercy, perhaps?”

Gwen felt a bucket of swamp water douse her heated head.

“Six cores!” Lulan’s voice echoed through the night. “Good work, little brother!”

Kusu turned to Gwen. “Percy’s our lucky charm, huh?”

“Yep, you got it.” Gwen cracked a bitter smile, shaking herself from her stupor. “My brother brings all the cores to the yard.”

At nightfall, the team camped atop the swollen lair, with Petra setting up wards and Gwen arranging her dogs for guard duty. She had to retrieve Ariel as they entered the portable habitat, meaning the alpha Deerhound was now in charge of the pack.

According to Chen, her inexpert Conjuration should last a good twenty-four hours, meaning there were at least another twenty or so hours left; more than enough for the team to get a good night’s sleep.

Without complaint, the gang settled into the habitat, the girls sharing the master bedroom, Richard having a guest room to himself, Percy having the other, and Kusu offering to sleep on the couch.

As the boys prepared dinner, Gwen meditated for a short while, inspecting her gains for the day.

Though individually robust, the Water Ghosts were essentially demi-human simians with an affinity for Water. After snacking on six or so of the buggers, Gwen’s vitality had reached a satisfying state of satiation, albeit nothing like the brimming, supernatural haleness she had gained from the Draconic creatures. For a moment during their last fight, she had considered the dangerous idea of having Percy use his Drain Life, but ultimately, the number one and two rules of the Persecrecy Club reigned.

“Time to eat!” Richard called out after half an hour.

Gwen found herself at the head of the table.

“Our MVP.” Richard chuckled, raising a glass. “To Gwen!”

“TO GWEN!”

“Good work, Gwen!”

“Thanks, everyone.” Gwen toasted back, well within her element. “You guys are the reason everything is going so well. Here’s to you.”

“Cheers!” the group toasted again.

“Sis, your artillery spells are amazing.” Her brother sighed dreamily. “Lightning is the best.”

“Hey, your Salt is only going to get better. You didn’t see Dad kick ass in Singapore. He was very impressive, more powerful than me, certainly.”

“That sounds good, especially coming from you.” Percy raised his glass.

“Ha!” Gwen snorted. “Did your elite high school teach you to be a flatterer?”

Richard soon passed the giant pot of curry. Gwen spooned out enough to fill her bowl—an impressive salad vessel half-filled with rice. Even though she was feeling happily vital, her boosted metabolism had woes of its own.

The group chatted about the events of the day, discussing how they would proceed tomorrow. Richard told them he had mapped out the first level or so of the lair and that they would be advancing straight to the second. All in all, he suspected six layers of criss-crossing tunnels and caverns.

“It’ll be Lea and Caliban’s turn to shine,” Richard said. “Lulan, too. I don’t think Ariel’s earth-shattering AOE is going to do us any favours in a tunnel system. It’ll be two abreast at best.”

“I’ll have Ariel on follow,” Gwen said. “Let’s hope the ceiling’s not too low.”

“EE!” Ariel was eating from a bowl, though the curry was proving excessively pungent for its sensitive nose. It kept sneezing, which was adorable indeed.

“Here.” Lulan materialised something in her hand and threw it at Ariel. The offending object was a length of knotted meat in the shape of a generous shank.

“You brought meat?” Gwen was surprised because Lulan had explicitly stated she had brought no supplies.

“It’s from those Monkeys.” Lulan wiped her hands, returning to her bowl as Ariel tore into the flesh.

“Ah.” Gwen took a few more spoonfuls of curry.

Watching Ariel chow down, a nascent paranoia began to build in her chest. “Richard,” she stirred her curry softly, “what meat is this?”

Richard blinked. “Bushmeat,” her cousin replied.

“Oh, thank God.” Gwen breathed out. “For a moment there, I was sure you were going to say M—”

She noticed her party was staring at her strangely.

Petra pulled herself from her seat.

“I’ll get the napkins.” The Russian reached for the paper towels.

Gwen looked down at her curry gumbo. In her haste, she had eaten half a salad bowl. She should have known. Only curry could overpower the smell. A vision of a Water Ghost’s babe clinging onto a pair of hairy old teats flashed across her mind.

“Dimension Door!”

Gwen reappeared inside the kitchen, projectile vomiting into the sink.

“You see that?” Richard remarked to Percy. “See that control? Now that’s fuckin’ impressive Conjuration!”

The next morning, Gwen gleefully ate three servings of Spam.

Glorious ignorance! Such ambiguous taste! Not even the ingredient label divulged its secrets. The processed meat put her mind at ease despite Lulan and Petra having spent the night convincing her eating bushmeat wasn’t cannibalism.

Gwen switched to her elementally attuned skinsuit, ensuring she wouldn’t blind Percy and scar him for life if she had to Void Skin.

When the party re-emerged, Gwen’s Deerhounds greeted them. The dogs were almost at their limits, so Gwen dismissed them in order to re-engage the spell. Unfortunately, her lack of sleep had taken a toll on her concentration and she only succeeded on her third try.

“Sorry,” Gwen said. Her recovery time meant the whole party had to wait for her.

“It’s fine.” Richard tapped his temple. “But from here on out, focus. Our lives are in your hands.”

“I know,” Gwen promised. “Petra, if you would, please.”

“Bless! Aid! Resist Element! Water Breathing!” Petra buffed the party. She had enough spell cubes for two forays, more than enough by Richard’s reckoning.

“Alright folks, here’s how we proceed…”

With Gwen’s dogs now in play, Richard decided to change up their initial strategy. The Deerhounds would lead scouting incursions into the splits and partitions that made up the lair, telepathically reporting back to Ariel if they found anything interesting. Meanwhile, the party would proceed as one down the main artery as far as they could before Lulan had to Stone Shape and Earthquake to create new paths. The idea was to pick up as many Water Ghosts as the party could manage in a round trip.

The interior of the cavern grew spacious once Lulan Stone Shaped the entrance, widening the granite so they could pass easily. Gwen’s dogs disappeared into the dark, the soft pattering of their paws splattering like pelting rain as they streamed through the cavern.

As expected, the Water Ghosts were exceptional ambush predators. Utilising their innate Blink abilities, they erupted from the sodden walls and mossy undergrowth to attack the party. Concurrently, the tunnels were filled with traps: envenomed barbs, diseased spikes, saplings tipped with malignant growth, as well as toxic fauna that made nests in small crags.

Every so often, Ariel reported that the dogs were bringing back a host of their simian quarry, too incensed by the Hounds’ presence to remain in hiding. The party laid an ambush by having Gwen ward the entrance with Lightning Tentacles, or when there was enough time, Petra set immobilising Warding Glyphs.

Their progress remained fruitful for the better half of a day, harvesting dozens of Monkeys during each encounter, which Gwen disturbingly acknowledged as family units within the tribe. There were a few precarious calls as well, such as when a section of the cavern suddenly collapsed, sending Gwen and Lulan tumbling. Thankfully, Gwen had on her Boots of Flying, and Lulan was an acrobat.

Another time, the Water Ghosts attempted to flush the party into an ambush by sacrificing one of their own as a lure. Taking Richard’s advice, Gwen sent a Barbanginy Elemental Sphere into the adjacent chamber, collapsing the entire thing altogether.

After each fight, Lulan collected body parts via her Stone Shape.

“Lulu, open a passage downward from here. Let’s see if we can go deeper; we’re getting close to the centre,” Richard commanded.

“Okay.” The Sword Mage obliged.

The party advanced steadily. Percy’s amulet shone in the dim light. Beside him, Lulan’s large storage ring bulged with reclaimed heads and harvested cores.

Their pace persisted until one of Gwen’s dogs returned with a souvenir.

“EE—ee!” Ariel notified the party.

“Shaa!” Caliban sniffed what the Deerhound had dragged back.

“Oh no.” Lea floated closer to the Mages. “Ariel says the dogs found a person.”

Where the endless slaughter had numbed the party, the unwelcome news now reinvigorated their interest. A person? Gwen knelt to see as her hound padded toward them.

Plop! With a wet thunk, her Deerhound deposited a limb.

It was a human hand.

“Fuck!” Gwen took a step back, her nerves taut enough to play a sound. The hand looked like it had been gnawed off. Did her dog do it? Were her Draconic Deerhounds man-eating?

“EE!”

“No, not the dogs,” Lea translated, with Gwen gladly exhaling. “They found someone another layer down.”

The party regarded one another cautiously.

“We need to find out if there are people down there,” Gwen said. “Maybe they’re alive. Victims captured by the Water Ghosts?”

“That’s unlikely,” Petra pointed out. “The ghosts we saw were starving.”

“Waste of time.” Kusu appeared adverse to detouring as well.

“Okay, we vote.” Richard pointed downwards. “Who wants to see if there’s someone alive down there?”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Nay.”

“Nay.”

Petra and Kusu’s “Nay” made Gwen recoil.

“A good rule of thumb,” Petra said to her companions, “is to never deviate from a planned route in a Dungeon. We need to work through the warrens systematically, not go traipsing after a dead man.”

“I concur.” Kusu shrugged off Lulan’s bulging eyeballs. “Keep to our task. We’ll find this man or woman or not; it’s just a matter of time.”

“I shall abstain.” Richard nodded. “By majority, we find the owner of this hand. Objections?”

“None,” Petra answered without hesitation.

“I am fine with it,” Kusu conceded as well.

Even as the tension in her chest yielded, Gwen noticed the heat in her cheeks. There was a bit of guilt, a dash of pride and a mixture of less-than-cordial sentiments lashing out at cruel Kusu and his partner in crime, pragmatic Petra. More worryingly, she knew that had the nays won, her first reaction would have been to launch into oratory rather than affirm the consensus. Did that make her a terrible team member? If the party could not proceed without her, could she then hold that over them, driving them into danger?

She was overthinking again, Gwen realised. But she couldn’t help herself.

Such a test was sure to arise one day, especially if they were to work with seniors from Fudan for the IIUC. Could she handle it if they told her to act otherwise in a morally ambiguous circumstance? Was team cohesion more critical than principles?

“Stone Shape!” Lulan’s mastery of the Earthen element was as impressive as ever as they descended.

Now moving to a lower system of caverns and warrens, Gwen’s Deerhound took the lead, followed by Lea parting the water, dismantling the traps and blasting lines of lightning down dark holes. Caliban brought up the rear with Kusu, shielding Petra and Percy from harm. Finally, Ariel floated above their heads.

Along the way, three other dogs joined the march. By then, the remaining Hounds had strayed too far from the party and were ordered to stay put.

After a few more stray Monkeys and a dozen booby traps, the party came to a small cavern with clear signs of industry. To their surprise, Gwen recognised the evidence of crude furniture, stone tools and other stolen bits of flotsam and jetsam collected from the Water Ghost’s victims.

“Grrr!” her Deerhound growled.

The rearmost Hounds pushed past the party and took up their positions at the fore, joined by Ariel and Lea.

“Invisible Familiar!” Gwen added insurance.

“Lea! Vapor Form.” Richard followed suit. Lea dispersed herself to effect a pseudo-invisibility, while Ariel took its cue from Gwen’s Illusion incantation.

The two familiars entered the dark cavern while the party readied offensive and defensive spells.

“There’s a pile of equipment in there, clothing and such,” Richard reported, possessing the sole Familiar capable of both empathic link and human speech. “Looks like a larder to me. A rather fruitless larder.”

The party held its breath.

“It’s not looking good.” Richard breathed out after a while. “Lea says she’s found the owner of our wayward hand. He’s dead.”

A solemn air descended over the group.

“There are a few more victims in there. Emergency supplies, I guess.” Richard turned toward the party. “I think it’s best not to go in. Nobody wants to see this stuff.”

How rare for Richard to be so sensitive—the same Richard who delighted in opening her eyes to every horror from faux-cannibalism to mass murder. If so, what the fuck could be in there?

“I want to see,” Gwen insisted. “Richard, I think I need to see this.”

Richard stepped aside.

“You knew I was going to say that, didn’t you?” Gwen chided her cousin, her accusation cattier than she’d anticipated.

In a work environment, the advantage of knowing someone too well could be a complication in itself, especially when it came to situations like this. Gwen had suspected that Richard did give a shit about her giving a shit about the simian women and children and that he was trying to deliver yet another one of his corrective therapies.

“Just prepping you for the big one,” Richard said. “I am serious, though, it’s a fucked up display. The choice is yours, but no one can be ready for shit like this. With your sensitivity, I don’t know…”

Gwen suppressed the irritation engendering in her chest. How presumptuous of Richard to think—

Her thoughts seized.

They had entered a large, airy cavern.

As anticipated, it was a pantry of sorts. But the place looked to Gwen more akin to a torture chamber. Or perhaps, an abattoir.

Crude hooks had been fashioned out of rusted farming implements. Upon the hooks, hanging like a slab of beef at a butcher’s window, was the owner of the hand. The corpses were expertly dressed—an arm here, a leg there. The torso was butterflied, the body split with a sharp implement.

A thick layer of salt covered the dark flesh, like jamón serrano.

In the darkness, all Gwen and her companions could hear was the sound of their breathing.

“Grrr!”

“Grrr! Grrr!”

“GRRRRR!”

Her dogs’ growling grew in intensity until their throaty warning filled the cavern.

“We’ve got company.” Richard readied his multiple shields. “Petra, Wall up. They were probably waiting for us. If so, this is the big one, likely the ruler of the cavern. Lea, clear all the water in a twenty-metre radius.”

“Crystal Barrier!”

A semi-dome of crystal blossomed into place, its exterior lined with jagged, glassy teeth, enveloping Petra and Percy.

“Caliban!” Gwen commanded her Familiar. Caliban oozed a coat of Void slime, then sunk into the wall, coiling its body.

“Void Tentacles! Lightning Tentacles!”

Gwen’s Deerhounds were now in a frenzy.

SPLASH!

Twenty metres away, a small tidal wave of water leapt from the cavern floor, rushing toward the party with enough force to dash apart their formation.

“LEA!” Richard gave his all. The wall of brackish white water parted as if commanded by the Prophet Moses, passing the party and leaving them unmolested.

Immediately following the chaotic deluge’s passing, figures formed in the darkness. A dozen, no, two dozen Water Ghosts surrounded them, both back and front, having Blinked into existence in the wake of the deluge.

“It’s their Water Shaman,” Richard spat. “Finally, we’re getting somewhere. This is the big one!”

“Petra!” Lulan called out.

Petra was way ahead of Lulan. “Mass Heroism!”

The golden glow of the Enchantment School suffused the party, dissolving all fatigue, strengthening their bodies and dispelling all fear. Precariously, the application of Heroism was a double-edged blade, for the Mages would remain fearless until the spell’s resolution.

“Caliban—” Gwen started.

“Wait.” Richard halted Gwen before she could give the command for Caliban to take Stag form. “Save Cali for the Priest. Creatures possessing magical abilities are far more likely to produce cores with a Spirit.” “But what if—” Gwen didn’t want to endanger her crew.

“Don’t worry. Lea is here.” Richard smirked with confidence. “As am I. We need to show these animals the price of hunting humankind.”

At the thought of the preserved corpses, concentric halos of electricity circulated brightly over her head until her body shimmered in the dim darkness. With great pain, the Lightning sorceress forced herself to look away from the slabs of human flesh.

“Suffer not our enemies to live!” Lulan spat vehemently; the girl had been doubly affected by the horrid sight, so much that she was sprouting CCP propaganda slogans.

“Yes.” Gwen heard her voice take on a cold, unyielding edge. “Not a single one.”

Chapter fifteen

Monkey in the Middle

Four Ball Lightnings erupted amid the screeching swarm, expanding until they compassed the entirety of the chamber’s passageway.

“SCREEIII!”

“YIP! YIP! EEEIII!”

“SCRIIIII!”

Insane, baboon howls pervaded the cavern, rebounding across every nook and cranny.

Even under the robust influence of Heroism, Gwen’s bones shivered. She could see why the expedition was considered so dangerous. The psychological pressure exerted by the Monkeys became amplified in the cramped, confined space and could even unnerve hardened Battle Mages.

In retribution, Gwen sent a swell of Almudj’s Essence into Ariel, suppressing the simian horde’s howling with a burst of Dragon Fear. Much to her dismay, the frenzied Water Ghosts surged past their fallen comrades undaunted, suds dribbling from diseased gums.

“The Monkeys have a Battle Buff active!” Lulan placed herself as the group’s spearhead, her lithe figure silhouetted against the frothing bodies bull-rushing the party.

“Wall of Water!” Richard erected his barrier at once. Since arriving in Shanghai, he had been tinkering with both Conjuration and his Abjuration. “Warding Tendrils!”

Using two Schools of Magic, Richard fully utilised his Conjurer-Abjurer companion to its maximum effect.

As the first of their assailants broke through the Wall of Water, the creatures’ passage became impeded by viscous tendrils snapping at the creature’s arms and legs, dragging the Monkeys backwards.

“Lightning Bolt!” Gwen incanted, then concurrently fired off a second volley through the empowered Ariel, careful not to collapse the overhead cavern “Barbanginy!”

The surging horde finally wavered, initially on behalf of the Dragon-Fear flooding through the chamber like an invisible tsunami, then doubly so when two viridescent bolts, thicker than Lulan’s waist, impossibly bent around the Sword Mage’s body to strike into the midst of their assailants.

“Good job!” Lulan hollered, leaping past Gwen at her foes. “SWEEP!”

Following her hyperbolic gesture, an enormous hunk of gleaming iron carved through the howling horde of Water Ghosts, splitting two of the weakened creatures in half before sending a third fatally into the wall.

“DIE! DIE! DIE!” Lulan somersaulted into the fray, a whirling dervish of bladed death, all caution diminished by the pulsing Heroism filling her body with fiery adrenaline. “SWEEP! PIERCE! HA!”

“Lulu! Control yourself!” Kusu hollered from the rear. He and Petra had no problems keeping four Monkeys at bay while Percy peppered them with Salt Shards.

“Lulu! Be careful!” Gwen said.

But Lulan couldn’t care less about Kusu’s warning. Buffed by Heroism, Aid, Blessing and her innate assortment of secretive enhancements, the Sword Mage knew no fear as she dashed, flipped, Misty-Stepped and twisted through the air, dismembering enemies left and right.

“Worry not, champ. I’ve got her covered,” Richard assured Lulan’s paranoid brother.

Two more Monkeys broke through the wall, heedless of the horde’s losses. Immediately, Gwen’s Deerhounds engaged the creatures.

“Damn, that’s useful.” Richard focused instead on forcing the creatures toward Lulan. That had been their pair’s usual tactic before Gwen had joined. Lulan acted as the meat grinder, while Richard used his battlefield control to throw tasty morsels to be sliced and diced.

“Richard!” Gwen’s Divination pinged. “Eleven o’clock!”

“LEA!” Her cousin must have been waiting for the Priest to act. He couldn’t see the incoming jet of super-pressurised water, but Lea could.

“Shield STACK!” Not one but two shields opened up in quick succession. Richard initiated the first layer, then Lea the second.

A jet-blast of brackish water hammered the foremost shield, shattering its liquid membrane. Lea’s thick and fast-flowing under-layer caught the remaining draft, diverting it downward—deflecting the stream back into the Elemental Plane of Water.

Taking advantage of the Water Abjurer’s industrious defence, three more Water Ghosts managed to flank the party. One attempted to sneak attack Lulan as she contended with two snarling specimens still stuck in Richard’s tendrils Wall of Water.

“Void Bolt!” Gwen’s lethal bolt caught the ambushing Monkey in its lower torso. Unlike higher-order beings, lowly demi-humans such as the Water Ghosts lacked the magical resistance of genuinely powerful Magical Creatures. Her Void matter consumed itself as it struck, shearing off the creature’s lower body, leaving a pair of dangling limbs to travel comically before clattering wetly onto the granite.

“Richard, the Priest is making his move!” Lea warned.

“Losing Barrier! Careful!” Richard’s Wall of Water exploded, overpowered by the superior control of the demi-human caster. The trapped Monkeys, half a dozen of them, scattered toward the party, some rebounding from the ceiling, others leaping forward, thrown by the momentum of the blast.

Gwen’s dogs moved to engage.

“Dagger Wall!” Kusu blocked off either side of the party’s flank with a swarm of magical implements, swimming through the air like shoals of silvery fish.

“Petra!” Kusu called for support.

Petra had things well in hand.

“SHARD WALL!” Petra released a spell from her cube.

The four Water Ghosts attempting to waylay the party’s rearguard escaped death when Kusu’s daggers moved elsewhere, only to be caught in a wall of whirling crystalline shards. Curiously, the incantation originally belonged to Kusu. Petra had been experimenting with cubing the clanner’s spells, as she had always done when new styles of magic became available. Unfortunately, her spellcubes were sporadic at best when working with magic outside the Imperial System. After weeks of trial and error, only Kusu’s Dagger Wall managed to fit into one of her crystalline cubes.

With both Mages’ spells active and the Hounds in melee, the party’s rear had been secured; their flanks likewise warded for the moment.

Gwen knew the opening would last only a few brief seconds. “CALIBAN!” She felt weightless as the vitality stowed in her body fed into her Familiar.

Caliban burst from the ground directly behind Lulan, sailed overhead, and then began its polymorphic transformation into an avatar of the Dark Goat who must not be named.

Behind Gwen’s Familiar, Caliban’s companions continued their bombardment.

“SWEEP!”

Lulan flung an enormous hunk of polished iron into the Monkey’s midst before Misty Stepping into the aether, appearing behind Richard a split-second later.

“Lightning Bolt!” A line of lightning cleared the path ahead.

Caliban’s serpent-form bloated, needle-like legs sprouted, and a nova of tenebrous energy expanded from its body. Fresh obsidian carapace snapped into place, and spiralled horns grew like thorny saplings. As Caliban lowered its head for the charge, ebony Void matter flowed beneath the semi-opaque armour like inky blood.

Without a sound, Caliban plunged into the wall of cascading water, skewering three of the hooting Ghosts with its horns.

Gwen desperately circulated Almudj’s Essence, attempting to reclaim her pound of lost flesh. She had enough remaining to sustain herself, though the magnitude of Caliban’s toll inferred that a Dragon Stag was best fuelled with Draconic-tier Essence.

“Lea! Do it now!” Richard commanded his Familiar. The Water Mage had been waiting for this very moment.

Lea materialised in her Undine form, drawing greedily from her owner’s reserves.

The risen crest of brackish swamp water, which had acted as the Water Priest’s shelter and vehicle, parted with a violence that surprised both Caliban and its target. In the next split-second, every mote of free-flowing liquid returned to the Elemental Plane of Water.

Richard staggered to one knee. Gwen knew his mana pool would have tanked. A mana potion injector appeared in his hand, violently stabbing downwards.

There was no respite for their enemy. The now exposed Water Priest was a corpulent sight, a fat, bloated Water Ghost covered from head to toe with shells, riverweed and algae, wearing a necklace of blue-green orbs of unknowable origin. Completely caught off-guard, its rotten maw opened wide, issuing forth oily spittle.

“NOW!” Gwen commanded. She had no idea how much an actual activation of Caliban’s new ability would cost. “ONSLAUGHT!”

Caliban carried through the momentum of its charge, cleaving into the Water Priest with the same gusto it had shown the foot soldiers.

“SKAAAAARK!” The Priest shrieked. The orb necklace at its chest gleamed. The air grew heavy with moisture. Beads of limewater began to form all over Caliban’s smooth carapace.

“SHAA—AA!” Caliban made a muffled shriek halfway between a neigh and a scream. Its tentacle horns shot their payload, penetrating the Water Priest a dozen times over. There was a moment of tension, then the Priest’s body lost all vigour.

With a wet smack, Caliban tossed its quarry and its precious victims against a wall. It reared, then stabbed downward with its stiletto forelegs, ramming into the creature’s chest with such force that the Priest transformed into a butterfly collector’s specimen.

“SHAA!”

Caliban’s horn tendrils hatched into bloodworms voraciously ferreting for the flesh, bloating the Priest’s chest cavity and swelling its stomach. Revoltingly, the massive Water Ghost suddenly became pregnant.

“Petra, get Percy closer!” Richard said. They had to salvage their loot.

Gwen hung onto consciousness via a thread of Almudj’s Essence. Caliban’s new onslaught wasn’t something as simple as a melee assault, such as in its spider form; it was a simultaneous shape-shift involving sixteen lamprey-tipped tendrils.

“Get close to it?” Ger brother baulked. “That thing?”

The remaining Monkeys appeared stunned by the sudden death of their worshipful leader, their frenzied enhancement diminishing at once. Taking the opportunity, Lulan Misty-Stepped toward the four that had harassed their rear, hewing away while her brother provided cover, corralling the beasts into pens consisting of swirling daggers.

Gwen’s dogs made short work of the survivors.

Caliban, meanwhile, acknowledged its master’s desire. With a kick of its powerful hind limbs, it withdrew its stiletto hooves. It then trotted back toward the party, wearing the dying Water Priest like a trophy crown.

Percy’s legs were chow mien by now, partly because of the rag-doll Priest and partly due to the dozen or so writhing lamprey’s mouths popping in and out of the Priest’s carcass like a game of whack-a-mole. Gwen sensed that his amulet hungrily drank in the extract provided by the simian Priest’s passing.

Looming above Percy’s ashen face, Caliban hollowed out the body of the grotesque Water Ghost, crunching through blood, bone, sinew and viscera with equal ease. Furthermore, as if performing the rite of an old priest, Gwen’s Familiar swung its head to and fro, sending out sprays of blood like incense smoke from a censer.

Then it began to sing.

“SHAA! Shaa—AA! SHAA!”

The remaining Water Ghosts routed.

“Oh no you don’t!” Richard had recovered enough mana to reactivate his tendrils, pulling the Water Ghosts back toward the party.

Half-covered in gore and half-blinded by blood splatters, Lulan burst through Richard’s shield and set to work. Kusu joined from a distance, ensuring that the beasts could not take advantage of her carelessness.

A hot flush of vitality injected into Gwen’s body. Caliban’s payload from the Priest was now inside her.

“Oh shit.” She turned toward Petra. “Help me!”

Understanding Gwen’s plea, Petra caught Gwen in her arms just as her sister-in-battle began to convulse, shaking with the infused vigour.

“I am okay,” Gwen spat between clenched teeth. “Hold me up. Ah—”

She almost bit her tongue. All she could now was ride the lightning and wait for it to pass. The Water Priest had been potent indeed. Though its essence was low-born and contemptible, the sensation registered at least a five on her Nephres index. To Gwen’s supreme embarrassment, she couldn’t even hide her scarlet face.

Luckily, Caliban had an MBA in providing distractions. Having finished its meal, it deposited a Water-Priest skin suit, largely intact, at the feet of an aghast Kusu, an impressed Richard, and a pant-shitting Percy.

“Strewth!” Richard cursed. “Fuckin’ oath.”

“Wocao.” Kusu looked like he was fighting back his breakfast. “Lulu, don’t look!”

Lulan returned, sweaty perspiration mingling with Monkey blood from head to toe, plastering the sheer fabric of her dress to her iron-enamel skin. She panted heavily, her chest rising and falling. Her hair oozed a viscous, wine-like fluid that could only be congealed core.

Behind her, they could see Gwen’s dogs tearing the rest to pieces.

“That,” Lulan cooed, “was amazing.”

Not knowing if the Water Priest was the master of the lair or if something greater lurked in the depth of the Dungeon, Richard counselled the party to rest. There was a toll to Heroism, the least of which was aching bones and knotted muscles.

“Are we heading back up?” Gwen enquired.

Richard shook his head. “We rest here.”

In the interim, the party took account of the Sword Mage’s gory harvest.

“Eureka!” Richard said.

A Spirit-Core!

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the core of the Water Priest, a sizeable fortune at tier 6, but rather the strange necklace it wore. After a quick Identify, Petra informed the group that the necklace was crafted entirely from the core of its kin.

The group stared at the necklace, aghast. What could lead the demi-humans to self-cannibalise one another for cores?

“The power is concentrated here.” Petra’s finger indicated to the central orb.

They had no idea if an item crafted by demi-human could be disassembled and sold, but it was sure to be worth a pretty penny, especially if Mayuree and the House of M were involved.

“We made a lot of commotion. Are you sure it’s safe here?” Gwen wasn’t convinced they were done and dusted with the Dungeon.

“The stragglers won’t dare.” Richard pointed at the pile of decaying corpses. Gwen’s cousin had been fiddling with some contraption the whole time Lulan looted. “I made a no trespassing warning.”

The party’s attention turned toward a dark shape situated atop the pile of bodies discarded by Lulan.

“Dancing Lights!” Feeble, watery lights danced around the small hill of mutilated corpses.

“Holy hell!” Gwen cursed her flawless vision.

Both horrified and fascinated, the group silently scrutinised the eerie visage of a stuffed scarecrow made from the discarded skin of the Water Priest. It had been hung on a crude iron cross, its loop-sided face ghastly and grinning.

“I made the cross.” Lulan raised her hand, clearly expecting praise.

Percy let loose a gut full of ejecta once again.

“I’d say we’re pretty safe here,” Richard said. “I am exercising the Water Ghost’s tribal customs. When the families go to war, the winner often takes the losers from the opposing tribe, then dresses them as totems to mark territorial boundaries.”

“When in Rome, huh?” Gwen chided her grinning cousin. “Is this place safe? From other monsters?”

“Of course. We’re in a natural cathedral; it’s all ancient limestone.” Richard pointed a finger upwards. “Lulan can Stone Shape a ledge, we’ll make a cavity like so, then we’ll pop your portable habitat. We can rest up for a few hours to restore our mana.”

The party collectively regarded the scarecrow once again.

While Gwen understood the logic of the boundary totem, she couldn’t bring herself to swallow the fact that Richard had crafted such a thing without so much as a grimace.

“Are we in agreement?” Richard remained in high spirits. “We can vote as well, any takers?”

Standing beside Gwen, Petra whispered in her ear. “Perhaps Richard should take a break,” her cousin advised. “He’s like a factory spring about to snap.”

“He is a little high-strung, I agree.” Gwen watched her cousin go about his business. Richard was a little ruthless and his idea of ethics was skewered, but he had always done her right. Hopefully, once he’d made good on his promise to his parents, he could unwind. “But maybe not now. Whatever happens, his heart’s in the right place.”

Petra looked away with a sigh. “Sometimes I don’t understand how you recover so fast.”

Petra Kuznetsova, cousin to the girl who consumed Dragons, watched Gwen tussle with her Familiars as an unexpected epiphany slowly blossomed within her mind like a rare flower.

For a while now, Petra and her Master had attempted to pinpoint the physiological and psychological traits of the Void Element. Their initial hypothesis was that a supernatural hunger was the root of the Void’s Mage’s Affinity, a sort of insatiable desire to fulfil a perpetual sense of emptiness. Magister Wen had even pointed out, rationally so, that Gwen possessed an unusual appetite for affirmation and acceptance, bending herself backwards for recognition.

Jokingly, Petra had once asserted that an undeniable streak of masochism shrouded Gwen’s philosophy.

Take the incident of when they’d first worked together on Hengsha Island. Some stupid yokel had attempted to harm Richard, resulting in Gwen taking off her head. The girl then berated herself—and that was when Petra had felt sympathetic enough for her cousin to share something of herself.

After that, there was the incident with Babulya’s husband, Gwen’s grandfather. No matter how much Guo browbeat Gwen, she came back begging for more.

And when her brother, the snide little worm, had stabbed Gwen in the back, what did she do? Instead of anger, she wore his disloyalty like a badge! She was happy about it! Happy that she hadn’t cut him off like a gangrenous limb!

Like reeling a fish, Petra felt her thoughts snagging something just out of sight.

When they’d taken Gwen to Tianlanqiao, she could have killed the old man and gotten the hell out, but no! She had to subject herself to ten minutes of agonising, eye-watering carnage before she let herself go.

Then her father! Petra reminded herself of the loathsome Hai Song. Gwen had inexplicably returned to her selfish moo-dak of a father and subjected herself to a level of humiliation Petra could scarcely imagine. Wearing that scandalous dress, fighting for the Songs, putting herself in danger over and over, all for what?

And she was doing it now as well! Feeling sympathy for the female simians and their young. Didn’t she know that these demi-humans ate people? Then, when they’d seen the poor sods made into salted flanks, didn’t Gwen fly off the rails? It was as though the girl delighted in agony.

“Hold up.” Could it be? Petra wondered. Is it that simple?

SELF-HARM!

Was that the trait afflicting Void Affinity?

Gwen suffered debilitating Negative Energy drains whenever she used her abilities, offset only by her unnatural luck in acquiring a Divine Essence! When the girl had fallen into her arms earlier, convulsing and quivering, Petra had considered the answer there and then.

Suffering and pleasure. It was all starting to make a sick sort of sense!

No wonder Void Mages killed themselves more often than not. The Void! The fucking Void’s physiological and psychological phenomenon, she’d figured it out! It wasn’t hunger! It wasn’t gluttony either!

It was self-induced masochism!

Her mind felt aglow with recognition as she observed Gwen, who had been roused from her Familiar playtime and regarded Petra strangely.

“Pats?” The girl cocked her head.

Filled with sympathy, Petra reached down and hugged her cousin about the shoulders, even as another disturbing thought rose to meet her conscience.

How did one ethically go about ratifying her findings, knowing Gwen was a glutton for punishment?

Gwen felt that Petra had engendered a significant misunderstanding.

When she’d said that Richard had a heart, she wasn’t defending her cousin’s lack of compassion or empathy, but rather pointing out the factual reality that Richard had never done anything to endanger herself or the party and that they should forgive his sometimes off-putting idiosyncrasy.

“Pats?”

Unexpectedly, Petra reached over and embraced her warmly.

Aww, how sweet. Gwen hugged her cousin back. Petra continued to warm up to her nicely and that made Gwen happy.

Looking around her habitat, she saw that everyone else was taking a break as well.

Lulan was taking a shower. This, Gwen had insisted on.

Richard remained his usual spotless self, probably thanks to Lea, while Kusu meticulously cleaned his implements, a ritual the Sword Mage carried out after every battle.

“You all right, Percy?” Gwen caught her brother staring at the grey expanse outside.

“Yeah.” Percy watched her for a second before his brain kicked back in. “I guess I never realised your battles were so … intense.”

You think that’s intense? You should try fighting a Thunder Wyvern! Gwen chuckled internally, smiling a secret smile. “Blood and guts aside, are you enjoying yourself?”

Percy touched a hand to his amulet. “I suppose I am.” He beamed back at his sister. “I am learning a lot. Thanks, sis. I appreciate what you guys are doing for me.”

“Hey, you’re helping us as well. Just wait till we get back with the loot. I wonder how much that Spirit will sell for.” Gwen thought warmly of all the HDMs they would receive.

“Assuming someone can still use it,” Percy said.

“Of course.” Gwen poured herself a cup of tea, offering one to Percy, glad that finally, they had shared a proper session of sibling bonding.

“Ee—! EE!”

A sharp stab at the base of her skull tore Gwen from the calming zen of her astral meditation. Ariel was lividly gesticulating in front of her face, huffing and puffing madly. She could feel its anger gnawing at their empathic link.

“Shaa—” Caliban, seeing Ariel’s agitation, grew excited as well.

“What’s happened?” Petra opened her eyes. The girls were meditating together in the master bedroom.

“Trouble?” Lulan stretched, making spirit fingers.

Gwen herself was incredulous at the news relayed by Ariel. “Someone destroyed one of my Deerhounds!” she spluttered in disbelief.

“A Water Ghost?”

“No!” Gwen spat. “A MAGE!”

Chapter sixteen

What Lies Beneath

The party assembled outside, restored and refreshed.

Gwen packed the portable habitat before listening to Richard’s proposal.

“I took the Quest,” Richard explained to his companions. “Meaning until we’re back or reported missing, no one else can take it for at least two weeks.”

“Quest poachers?” Petra hypothesised.

“Likely.” Richard wore a carefree expression, though the coldness in his voice may as well be the fathomless depth of the Elemental Plane of Water. “You know, I’m curious as to who dares infringe upon our CCs and HDMs.”

“What’s the jurisdiction if they’re poachers?” Gwen asked.

“We poach ‘em, broil ‘em and grill ‘em.” Lulan was all teeth. “At least that’s what my clan used to do to Rogue Mages.”

“I prefer robbing ‘em blind.” Richard gave Lulan a thumb of approval.

“She means we have to confront them, confirm their intentions, then choose to escalate or retreat,” Petra butted in. “If we fight them off, the Tower’s rulings are likely going to be on our side. If we retreat, we can lodge a formal complaint and the Tower will deal with them as well.”

“What if they don’t care? Or do they agree and then carry on?” Percy asked. Gwen knew from what he had seen from school and high society, he could hardly imagine a confrontation like this ending with a handshake and a heartfelt apology.

“Ha!” Lulan was evidently an expert on the matter. “That’s where I come in.”

“If they’re Rogue Mages, the clan will use them to test our Acolytes. If they know what’s good for them, they’ll play along and come out with a broken arm or leg,” Kusu explained sheepishly. “In the case where the intruders are from another sect or clan, we take them prisoner and exchange them for crystals.”

“That sounds reasonable.” Gwen motioned with a hand for their attention. “Everyone, please let me deal with this. Richard, do you mind if I take this one?”

“Go ahead.” Richard stepped back. “If you do decide to engage, though, don’t hold back.”

“I won’t. Oh, the Hounds are coming back,” Gwen passed on the message from Ariel. “I dare say we’ll be seeing our poachers soon.”

The pitter-patter of pawed feet soon filled the cavern as her dogs slinked back into view.

Not wanting to be mistaken for a hidden ambush, the party assumed a defensive position, with Gwen’s Hounds fanning out, forming a semi-circle.

First, the sound of human footsteps arrived, and then the shadowy contour of a large man in his forties appeared, stepping into view from the smooth granite carved out by millennia of subterranean water.

“Greetings.” Gwen raised a hand. “We’ll wait for the rest of your party.”

The man performed a double-take as soon as his eyes adjusted to the dancing lights illuminating the cavern’s interior.

“Cao!” he spat.

Behind him, three more men and a woman soon appeared. The woman was younger by far, while the men were all middle-aged.

“Get inside,” the woman snapped, ordering her companions into the cavern without care.

Gwen ran her eyes over the group. Her Detect Magic identified the first man as an Earthen Abjurer, the second and third as a Fire and an Ice Evoker. The woman appeared to be an Enchanter of sorts, while the final man had an indistinct aura akin to Lulan or Kusu, marking him as a bloodline Mage from a clan.

“Miss.” The Abjurer swallowed nervously. “I guess we found that other party.”

“You mean they found us,” the woman retorted cattily. “Uncle Wang, can you go and parley?”

Gwen and her party watched as the Clanner Mage peeled from the group.

“Hail.” Gwen stepped forward.

“Noted,” the clanner replied imperiously. “Who are you?”

“We’re Fudan students assigned to the Quest in this Dungeon,” Gwen’s expression was polite but not kind. Their opposing party seemed to relax at her words, or at least, at the visage of a young woman. “Which begs the question, who are you and why are you here?”

“Rrowff!”

“Grrr!”

“Rowf! Rowf! Rowf!”

Gwen’s annoyance with the arrogant Mage directly translated into raw hostility from her dogs.

The young woman caught sight of her hounds. “You, the Summoner,” she announced from the back. “Are those yours? One of them attacked us!”

“Rrowff!”

“GRRRRR!”

Gwen’s anger instantly leapt to an eleven. Attacked her party? What a stupid, blatant lie! Her dog wouldn’t harm a soul unless provoked, and even when it had been attacked, her Hound had attempted to return to her before it succumbed. Ariel wouldn’t lie!

“EE—EE!!” Ariel’s whinnying echoed across the chamber.

The Hounds silenced at once.

Striding on invisible footfalls, Ariel walked from near the ceiling until it was standing directly above Gwen’s party. Her Familiar’s mane was majestic and rippling as it swished its tail, drawing the viewer’s eyes toward its twin Stag horns.

The woman’s eyes bulged with astonishment, then burned with desire as she searched Gwen’s party for the Spirit’s Master, stopping when it reached Gwen, whose pupils glowed with Divination.

“That Kirin is wasted on someone like you,” the woman scoffed. “Where did you find it?”

A fit of palpable affront circulated through Gwen in the form of sizzling displeasure discharging as Lightning. A part of her snickered with the knowledge that a Spirit could only be passed on between two intimately-connected casters and almost never via force or coercion. The prideful part of her mind then fumed over the woman’s callous remark.

“Richard, note that the offending party has refused my parley. I shall now exercise our right to defend our claim to this lair and the Quest assigned to it. As a last reprieve, you have five seconds to present yourselves.” Gwen cut in abruptly. “One.”

“How DARE YOU!” the peevish woman snapped. “Do you know where you are right now? Do you know who we are?”

“Two.”

“Wang! Silence this insolent whelp!”

“Three.”

“WANG!”

“Four.”

“Wait! We’re from the Nantong Fungs,” the clanner interjected. “This is milady Yuhua Fung, third to the Household of Fung. We are her retainers.”

Yuhua glared at the man who would be her Clan Elder, looking furious that the old man had lost her “face”.

“That doesn’t mean much to us.” Richard smirked. “Prepare your storage rings. We’re not holding back.”

“YOU LITTLE—” The woman was foolish enough to step forward.

“EE-EE!” Ariel neighed, letting loose a whinny half-roar, half-shriek, joined by the howling of her dogs. A burst of Dragon Fear radiated from Ariel’s pseudo-Kirin figure, mimicking the Monkey’s tactics; she filled the cavern with endless howling, smothering all speech.

Even knowing her intent, Gwen felt a shiver up her spine. Opposite, their intruders looked as though they’d witnessed the Undead rise from the ground.

The two Evokers threw up, the Abjurer took on a deathly pallor and their mistress’s contingency item triggered, forming a halo of amber Enchantment atop her head. Only the clanner, Wang, bore the Dragon Fear with dignity.

“Hold!” Wang said. He placed himself between Gwen and his party. “Mistress, you promised to leave things to me.”

Yuhua turned away, her knees shaking. “A-As you say, Uncle Wang.”

Wang turned to Gwen’s party. “We’re searching for a missing adventuring party. My mistress’s cousin is among them,” Wang explained. “Please, we mean you no harm.”

“How long have they been missing?” Gwen did not believe the man one bit.

“About three days,” the Elder said. “Three young men, a young woman and a Senior Mage in his late thirties.”

“Ariel!” Gwen halted her Almudj’s Essence.

Ariel floated over Gwen’s head and laid its snout over her shoulders, its tentacle whiskers playing with her hair.

“If that’s the case, we have no conflict of interest,” Gwen stated diplomatically, telling her dogs to tarry a safe distance away. “Richard, do you have the bodies we found?”

Richard summoned Lulan. “Lulu?”

Lulan materialised the carcasses the party had found the night before.

The young woman from the Clan of Fung ogled the suddenly obscene sight, then despite a clear fight against throwing up every inch of her stomach’s contents, she vomited on the floor.

Approaching with both hands for them to see, Elder Wang gingerly lifted one of the eyeless heads by the hair, bringing it up for examination.

“It’s Jiao.” The old man sighed. “I dare say we have Weng and Qilu accounted for as well, which leaves us with Master Xie and Miss Lihong.”

“There’s a chance they’re still alive,” Gwen continued optimistically.

“Is there a reward for finding your Senior Mage?” Richard asked shamelessly, cutting Gwen off before she could offer their service for goodwill. “Water Ghosts don’t kill themselves, you know. Frankly, I’m surprised Miss Fung even made it this far. Were you going to do all the leg work, old man?”

“Richard!” Gwen snapped. She suspected he was trying to goad the Fungs. “I’m sorry, Miss Fung, Master Wang. You may retrieve the remains of your clansmen as you see fit.”

Wang nodded solemnly, storing what remained of their clan members.

Gwen shot Richard a warning glance. He scratched his nose, looking elsewhere.

“We will continue with our Quest,” Gwen informed the Nantong party. “How do you wish to proceed?”

“May we join you?” Wang carefully enquired. “We can compensate you.”

“That’s right. You can work for us!” Yuhua said. “We’ll hire you.”

“I am afraid that is not possible.” Gwen shook her head as well. “There are precise tactics and methods we employ which would endanger you and Miss Fung. It would be to your detriment, I assure you.”

“I see,” Wang acknowledged. “That’s a shame.”

“Uncle, we need to find Lihong!” Yuhua said. She turned to Gwen’s party. “What do you people want? HDMS? CCs?”

“Gwen?” Richard tapped Gwen’s skin suit. “Currency is without sin.”

Gwen could not refute her cousin’s wisdom.

Yuhua and Magus Wang both waited patiently, likely wondering why the promise of CCs and HDMs would move a Mage of such unfathomable talent and possessing such a rare Familiar.

“Look, I’ll offer your party a Search and Rescue Quest for four hundred HDMs and fifty CCs right now,” Yuhua declared. She then spat in her hand. “Well, shake on it?”

Embarrassed, Wang urged his young miss to clean her hand. Gwen suspected the young miss had read too many novels. No one wanted to shake a spit-laden palm.

“I am happy to look for your missing clan members, but my one condition is that you remain here until we return. Is that agreeable?” Gwen said.

“EE!” Ariel gave another warning. The sound of her Hounds’ panting filled the cavern.

“Understood,” the Magus said. “We will wait here for the good news.”

“Deal.” Gwen shot Richard a sympathetic look before shaking the girl’s gobbed hand after all. She mentally praised Ariel for playing its part so well. Here was the first time she had truly tried out her militant pacifism and the result proved more than promising. “I will have every Hound searching every nook and cranny. Rest assured, Miss Fung, Master Wang, we will find your companions.”

Gwen returned to her party. “All right, everyone, let’s move out.”

“SHAA!” Caliban slithered forth from the dark.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?” The Fung girl screeched, holding onto her clan’s specialist for dear life.

Gwen paused by the cavern’s edge. “That, Miss Fung, is the last thing you would have seen if you had fought us.”

“Who is that Sha-bi?” Yuhua accosted her tutor and guardian with indignity, still shaking from her traumatic encounter with Caliban. “Doesn’t she know who we are? We own this place.”

Her party had set up shop in the cavern after the girl had left. After the Magus moulded from the limestone table and chairs, the group settled down to recuperate from the Dragon Fear. The Abjurer poured Yuhua a hot cup of jasmine tea to settle her nerves, not that she cared, continuing to rage loudly to her companion.

“The girl with the Kirin?”

“Yes, the one with the Kirin!” Yuhua seethed. “Lucky wench! And what the hell was that other thing?”

“I would be wary of your tone.” Magus Wang looked his ward in the eyes with a seriousness she rarely observed in her teacher. “That young lady is not someone you want to be on the wrong side of.”

“Well, who is she?” Yuhua grumbled.

“I believe that’s Gwen Song,” Wang spoke the last two syllables softly.

“Never heard of her.”

“No, but you will.” Wang sipped his cup of tea. “Master Dai knows her. In fact, he was one of the very first to make her acquaintance in Shanghai.”

“Brother did?” Yuhua snorted. “Don’t tell me she’s one of his girls?”

“No, nothing of the sort.” Her instructor shook his head. “From what I recall, she’s a dual-elementalist in Lightning and Void. Her uncle is the Ash Bringer and her grandfather is the old hound of the Confidential Communications Committee. Recently, she single-handedly defeated Magus Wonsoo Liu in Hangzhou.”

“Wonsoo. The one from the Northern Front?” Yuhua gulped.

“The very same. We received the report a week ago.”

Yuhua sucked in a breath of the cavern’s cold, stale air. “And Void Magic? Actually?”

Wang nodded solemnly. “Her Void Familiar may be more powerful than even the Kirin. That, I believe, was the strange worm creature that tried to nudge you.”

Strangely, Yuhua felt her ire and jealousy evaporate. What remained was only awe and a sense of grudging respect. Envy was a funny thing. When someone possessed something that one thought one could attain, the mind became filled with desirous energy. When the object of one’s desire became so far as to be unreachable, what one felt instead was a sort of distant reverence and worshipful respect.

She slapped the table, making the teacups jump. “Wang, why didn’t you say so? We could have offered her double the HDMs and CCs, and made a friend!”

With the Water Priest dead, the rest of the lair seemed to have lost its malicious atmosphere. The few Water Ghosts they encountered seemed entirely incidental, engaged either via blind luck as Lulan Stone Shaped into new passages or flushed out by her Hounds.

The party arrived at what appeared to be the lowest section of the lair, a large cavern waist-deep in filthy water.

Petra blew the rest of her Resist Disease as they waded into the filth, taking care to anticipate any ambushes by the Elementally-Blinking Monkeys.

“Dancing Lights!” Gwen sent her cantrips into the darkness, illuminating the cavern. She marvelled at the sight of the marked walls. “It’s a mural?”

The crude paintings were artful in simplicity, communicating the artist’s meticulous care. From what Gwen could see, the images depicted a great tribe and its daily life, filled with visions of Water Ghosts gathering swamp fruits and hunting for fish and crustaceans. There were other images, too, of female Water Ghosts nursing children and male and female ghosts procreating, and procreating, and procreating, all in different positions.

Yikes! Gwen had to look away for a moment. More than half of the images were bestial-kama-sutra. The Water Ghosts were true evangelists of going forth and multiplying.

The party progressed until the water receded and the ground beneath them began to rise. They soon found themselves in a natural amphitheatre.

“Rowf! Rowf!” Gwen’s dogs fanned out.

An enormously hairy humanoid being sat at the centre of the descending steps, at the lowest point, half-submerged in water. From a distance, it resembled a tremendous, shaggy carpet draped over a stone throne.

“What is it?” Gwen turned to Richard, who was more knowledgeable in the matters of Wildland fauna.

“It’s their chief,” Richard replied. “Or king? It depends on how many ghosts once lived here. The Water Ghosts have a complex hierarchy, I know that.”

“Ariel, check it out,” Gwen commanded her Familiar.

“I can take it from here,” Lulan informed Gwen. “One Sword Toss and it’ll be in two bits.”

“No, it’s not attacking us,” Gwen said. “I wonder why.”

“Could be dead already,” Richard noted, as the thing had barely moved.

Ariel flew closer as Caliban slithered into the dark water, disappearing in the murk.

When Gwen’s Familiar was about five metres away, the shaggy orangutang opened its eyes. Unlike the Water Monkeys they had encountered so far, there was a softness in the creature’s gaze, one that possessed a benevolent wisdom as it looked straight toward Gwen’s party.

“EE—ee!” Ariel reported no danger.

“It wants to parley?” Gwen spluttered. “It can speak Marten?”

“It can speak a little Elemental, the language of the planes,” Lea informed them. “It says that it’s dying. It would like to speak to our war leader.”

“Why bother?” Lulan cut in. “Let’s be done with it.”

“Lea, ask it if it knows where the other two Mages are.”

Drifting across the bay, Lea conversed with the creature in a way the human Mages could not even begin to comprehend.

“Yes, he says he will tell us.”

Gwen, Richard and the other exchanged furtive glances. “I want to speak to this thing,” Gwen announced.

When the others protested, she cut them off. “Please. I have to do this.”

“Your call,” Richard said before turning to his Familiar and requesting that she kept Gwen guarded at all times.

“Percy, stay here,” Gwen commanded her brother. “The rest of you as well. Lulan, I’ll be very careful, I promise. If it attacks, I’ll pop right back.”

“Can’t you talk to it from it here?” Percy asked. “Get Lea to pass the message?”

Gwen shook her head. It wasn’t the same. She wanted to look into the chief’s eyes, speak to it vis-a-vis, understand what made these creatures tick.

At Kusu’s insistence, Gwen waited until her dogs had paddled through the water and took up defensive positions.

“Gwen, don’t get caught up,” Petra warned her.

Gwen nodded.

There was another reason why she refused to bring her peers. From their conversation, it was clear that her companions didn’t register the ghosts as anything akin to beings capable of feeling or rational thought. If she were to regard the chieftain’s words with weight, her friends may yet again interfere, thinking that her compromised conscience had hoodwinked their companion.

Petra dropped a Water Walk so that Gwen didn’t have to swim through the muck.

The first thing Gwen noted as she approached the old Water Ghost was the smell of mouldy carpet from its fur. When she was within a few metres of the shaggy thing, she further realised it was wounded and that its injury had been festering for some time. From the smell it engendered, the creature was likely septic.

“You’re hurt,” Gwen observed, translated by Lea.

“I dying,” Lea had the words down pat, but her tone was strangely cheerful. “Child of man, why do you listen? Others of your kin know only death-dealing.”

“Call it curiosity,” Gwen listened to Lea translate, then responded in kind. “Where are the other two Mages? Our kin?”

“In the closed cavern. Below us.”

“Are they alive?”

“Yes. Not injured or eaten.”

“Why did you capture them?”

“Hostage. For safe passage.”

“Where and with whom?”

“Too late.”

“Too late for what?” Gwen asked.

“The tribe. Too many kin perish. Not enough now—is ended.”

“How come?”

“You come.”

“We killed your kin?” Gwen felt her heart sink.

“Too many, you have sent back to the water. No. Matter not.”

“It doesn’t?”

“They choose war. We wanted trade.”

“Who are ‘we’?”

“Others. They have fled now—scattered. Only I remain.”

“What happened?” Gwen felt her chest grow constricted.

“My son—Lao’lok—he is guardian of tribe. Hot-headed. Want fight kin of the stone forest. I parley. He challenges—took the tribe from me.”

The old thing rocked its head, drool dropping all over its chest.

“All folly—tribe go wrong. Tribe could have moved, long ago, when your warriors came with fire—but no. I too think we fight. Then food grew scarce—the fish belly up—the water dwindle. We knew then that there was no win against the kin of the stone jungle but Lao’lok was too deep in the frenzy. He want only revenge—satisfaction—not continuation. He lost his brothers—his mate too—to your iron giants. From you, man-kin, Lao’lok has learned hate—what our tribe of the Shui had never known. Lao’lok killed our kin for power—to kill your kin. But land God is just. Taboo is taboo. Now, no more.”

Gwen remained silent for a short while, digesting the old chieftain’s story. It made sense. When the CCP began their expansion into Nantong, they started by clearing the land and draining the swamp. They ran into the Water Ghosts; losses were sustained on both sides. Mages were deployed and more bloodshed was ensured.

All the while, the local flora and fauna dwindled until the local tribes of demi-humans began to starve. They got desperate, causing more clashes, kidnapping and looting for food. The humans then sent more powerful Mages until Richard had caught wind of the opportunity and brought Lulan into the fold. Gwen distinctly recalled that Richard’s crew had been butchering their way through the Nantong Frontier for weeks, making HDMs from blood and bone.

Gwen sighed, both internally and physically. How many Water Ghosts had they exterminated on the way in? Lulan had almost a hundred heads in her ring and about sixty cores, including that of the Priest. Presumably, that was this guy’s son, Lao’lok.

“I can give you a quick death, end your suffering.” Gwen offered. “But first, I am going to leave you alive, just in case.” Gwen took a Healing injector and punched it into the weakened creature. “I have more questions for you, but first, where are the captives?”

“The entrance is behind the gathering chamber. You are curious one, Godling.”

Gwen frowned. What the hell is a Godling?

“Gwen, over here!” It was Lea who helpfully located the entrance to the tunnel.

“You two, with me. Caliban, stay here. Ariel, cover my six.” Gwen picked two of the larger Hounds to take the lead. She then Messaged her companions across the murk. “Richard, Pats, I am going to check the captives. It should be safe to cross. I am leaving the rest of the dogs with you. Take care of Percy.”

“You’re killing the damned thing, right?” Lulan’s voice came across the Message.

“Eventually. Leave it alone for now. I need to verify where the Fung captives are.”

“I’ll be close by,” Percy joined in the communal Message. “To offer my luck, of course, when the big one dies.”

“Hahaha!” Richard slapped the boy on the back with approval.

Across the swamp water, the rest of her party broke into careless, snorting laughter.

Gwen suppressed the depressing emotions rising in her chest. Instead, she focused on the path ahead. “Ariel, give me some light.”

She didn’t have to go far. A dozen metres later, the narrow tunnel opened up to an enclosed chamber walled off with what looked like stalactites. Before her entry, the room had been dark, but as Ariel came around, Gwen began to take in its modest dimensions.

Two figures were immediately apparent, though the scene was hardly what she had anticipated.

Gwen froze. Her mind attempted to process the horror show in front of her.

The first figure was a man wearing what looked like half-discarded combat gear, now mangled and bloody. He laid on his back, eyes wide open in terror. Dark blood seeped from his eyes and nostrils, his hands curled, his fingers frozen in rigour mortis. There were two wounds visible, one just below his chest and another near his abdomen. A pool of congealed blood had already formed around the corpse. It looked as though the man had tried to shove his intestines back into the wound.

Against the wall was a woman in a catatonic state, her eyes wide open and staring into the middle distance. Her face, which Gwen could see was once exceedingly delicate, was badly bruised, with one puffed eye and blood running down both of her nostrils. What was worse for Gwen was that her clothes had been torn asunder, revealing one breast and exposing her lower body. She also sat in a pool of blood, though from Gwen’s vantage point, it could only come from one place.

A taste of bile filled her mouth. An innate revulsion filled her body and she could hardly breathe.

Rape?

The malignant word reverberated through her head like a thunderclap.

They raped her! She recalled from Jun that the simian demi-humans were known to have a taste for human women, and now she was seeing its aftermath first-hand.

THOSE FUCKING APES!

An arc of lightning shot from her finger, scorching the walls.

She couldn’t think straight.

She herself was no stranger to sexual harassment, not since she’d hit puberty, but the reality of the scene now presented in front of her eyes was burning a smouldering hole in her brain.

It seemed so real. No, she had to remind herself. This is real.

Her mouth opened and closed a few times, but still, she couldn’t utter a single sound.

Back in the amphitheatre, Richard sensed Lea’s disquiet.

“Gwen is angry.” Lea materialised before her Master. “Very angry.”

“Whoa!” Richard braced himself against his watery Familiar as a wave of Dragon Fear rippled through the floor, permeating the porous limestone.

“Mao!” Lulan circulated her heart-ironed mana. Beside her, Kusu did the same.

“AwoooooOOOoo!” Gwen’s Hounds began to howl in unison.

Percy sat on the floor to meditate, warding his heart and mind against the terrible music.

“SHAA!”

Caliban, who had been coiled beside the old Water Ghost Chief, suddenly stood to attention. It suddenly grew in size until it took on its Gila form.

The old Water Ghost rose from his seat.

“What’s it doing?” Richard opened up shields, covering Percy and Petra.

“Looks like it’s offering itself.” Richard knew Petra would have the easiest time against Gwen’s Dragon Fear. As an Enchanter, a Mind Mage and a Mineral user, her consciousness was well-fortified against all mind-altering effects.

Caliban stabbed four sabre-thick claws into the old simian’s torso, drawing the breath from its body. Then, with a mighty heave, it stuffed the thing into its distended maw, head, torso and all. Its jaws closed with a sick, slurping gulp, and then the old master of the lair was no more.

“What the hell happened?” Richard turned to Lea.

“She’s coming up,” Lea said. “One of the Mages is dead and the other one is wounded. Gwen is really upset.”

The party turned to regard the tunnel, where they could just make out her shadow. Already not even fully emerged, her silhouette gave Richard shivers.

Chapter seventeen

Favour of the Father

“Good God,

Gwen unwrapped the bedsheets she had used to bundle the girl.

“Gwen, give me your Decanter of Everlasting Water.”

“Here.”

Petra washed away the blood from the girl’s body. “Heal Moderate Wounds!”

Lihong Fung’s bruised and mangled flesh mended.

“Those fucking animals.” Gwen gritted her teeth. She had to undress the girl before they could heal her and her ire boiled with every bloody strip of torn cloth peeled from Lihong’s skin.

Percy, Kusu and Richard were sent away, so it was just the three girls tending to the battered adolescent. “To think I felt sorry for the old bastard.”

“They’re known for this sort of thing,” Lulan spat, watching Gwen as she wiped away the blood from Lihong’s lower body. “I want to exterminate every single one.”

“Shut up, both of you,” Petra snapped. “Lulan, go get the other body. We need to hand it over to the Fungs.”

By the time Lulan returned, Lihong had been tidied up.

“She’s still in shock.” Gwen recognised the aimless stare. “Lihong, can you hear me? My name is Gwen Song. We’re here to rescue you. You’re safe now. We’ve defeated all the Water Ghosts.”

With agonising slowness, Lihong turned her face. Her bruises had faded, though the girl’s eyes remained vacant.

Gwen groaned inwardly. She was delicate and beautiful, evidence of the sheltered life she had led. She would have had a wonderful life ahead of her and now this happened. From the girl’s aura, Gwen guessed her to be an Ice Mage, likely a Transmuter with a smidgen of something else.

“Lulan.” Petra gazed into Lulan’s face. “Look at me.”

“Yes?” Lulan swallowed. Why was Petra staring at her?

“Can you keep a secret?” her cousin whispered.

“Sure I can.” Lulan eagerly nodded as Petra reached past Gwen’s arms to turn the girl’s gaze toward her own.

“Calm Emotion.” A dull aura of Enchantment circulated through Petra’s husky-blue eyes, turning her pupils golden. Besides her, Lulan opened her mouth in amazement. “Petra! You’re a Mind—”

“Lulu,” Gwen waved the Sword Mage away, “not now.”

In her arms, Lihong blinked.

“I need to go deeper,” Petra informed the others.

Gwen’s cousin bore into the girl’s vapid pupils, channelling the Charm Person glamour.

As if a cord had been pulled, Lihong’s body reanimated. Tears began to well in her eyes, flowing freely down either side of her face as a moan haunting to hear bled from her lips.

“It’s okay.” Gwen embraced the poor girl. “It’s fine now. You’re safe. I killed them. We killed them. They’re all dead.”

Lihong clutched Gwen’s torso and then began to wail.

Lulan spat. “I want to obliterate another hundred of those bastards right now!”

Petra motioned for their Sword Mage to shut up. “Lihong,” the Mind Mage spoke softly, her husky voice low and commanding. “Who assaulted you?”

Lihong’s face left Gwen’s tear-soaked shoulder, taking on an expression of heart-rending sadness as an irresistible compulsion compelled her to speak.

“Yuan Xie.”

By Lihong’s second syllable, Gwen’s mind was white with static. Lulan stared at Lihong, her lips agape enough to encompass a hen’s egg.

Petra acknowledged the confession wistfully.

“As I suspected,” she lamented before turning to Gwen. “Her injuries are not consistent with an attack by any of the ghosts, not to mention that Water Ghosts are an entirely different kind of creature to the single-sexed mountain Jūefu. They’re not known for violating human women as they prefer their own. I doubt a tribe on the verge of starvation would have copulation on its list of priorities.”

“But…” Gwen took Lihong’s cold hands in her own. The girl’s fingers were icicles.

Petra’s eyes retained their golden glow. “Lihong, tell us what happened.”

“I couldn’t see him in the dark,” Lihong confessed. “The water was filthy and we hadn’t had food for days. I was growing delirious.”

“You didn’t bring food in your storage rings?” Gwen asked.

“The Water Ghosts took our rings. We resisted, but one of them gnawed off Qilu’s fingers. They made us take out all our rations, but we’d only brought three days’ worth. They caught us by surprise. Master Yuan escaped by himself, leaving us to our fate, but they caught him anyway.”

“You weren’t brought to the prison at the same time?”

“No.” Lihong shook her head. “The four of us were caught the first time. The Monkeys took Qilu after his wounds festered. Then they took Weng and Jiao, one after another. That’s when Master Yuan joined me in prison.”

“I am sorry.” Gwen warmed the girl’s hands by circulating a mote of her Almudj’s essence through her fingers. It was too bad she couldn’t share it with other humans. “But your companions have died.”

“They ate them?” Lihong looked up, her eyes brimming with suppressed emotion from Petra’s Enchantment.

Gwen nodded.

“Master Yuan was right then, even in the end.” Lihong sobbed. “He said they’d eat them and that they’d eat us too.”

“Tell us about Yuan Xie,” Petra’s iron voice demanded. “Why did he attack you? How did he die?”

Lihong appeared to battle Petra’s Suggestion. It took a moment for her expression to relax.

“Master Xie was infatuated with me,” the girl stated. “When they threw him in there with me, he apologised for running away to call for reinforcements. He told me that he was going to be back as soon as a Message had gotten to Nantong. I forgave him then. I was so scared. I didn’t know what else to say. Qilu and Weng and Jiao were all gone.”

“Then what happened?” Petra continued.

Gwen held the girl tighter in her arms, cupping her maternally and feeling endless empathy well up in her chest.

“Magus Xie kept a Dancing Light on, but the Monkey-men made him dispel his magic. We sat in the darkness, listening to my stomach growl. I was so thirsty. We didn’t dare drink the filthy water. I grew more and more delirious. We were sure that no help was coming. We’re not supposed to be here. We didn’t tell anyone because we were Quest Poaching. It’s stupid, I know, but I just wanted to see what it’s like to do a Quest. The training at home was always so boring. Master Yuan said this was a good opportunity, so close to home as well.”

“Focus,” Petra said. “What did Yuan do?”

“I lost track of time in the darkness. Hungry and thirsty, I tried to sleep. Yuan woke me up and said there was something he wanted to tell me. That was when he confessed to me that he had always been in love with me, ever since I was a child, and that he wanted to be with me. Since we were both going to die, Yuan Xie said he would make an honest woman out of me. He said the Monkeys would have their way with me anyway, then eat me after. If that’s how it’s going to be, it may as well be him, who had devoted a decade of his life to me—”

“An honest woman!” Gwen fumed. The bastard. The paedophile bastard.

“I was groggy by then, but I knew he was wrong. I promised him I would never speak of this again if he would leave me alone.”

“And then what happened?” Petra said.

Lihong’s voice quivered, her words coming more rapidly. Her eyes stared into the distance as she recounted Xie’s final moments.

“I blacked out. When I woke up, Xie was on top of me. He was undressing me and—”

“Okay.” Gwen arrested Petra’s interrogation. “I think we can guess the rest.”

“How did—”

“Petra, that’s enough,” Gwen begged her companion.

Under the dim light, Petra’s golden pupils sent shivers down Gwen’s spine.

“Lihong, rest now.” Petra invoked a Forgetful Slumber. Gwen knew the spell would remove the last hour of Lihong’s memories. “Things will be better when you wake up. Your loved ones are looking for you.”

“I understand.” The girl tucked into Gwen’s bosom, then promptly fell asleep.

The three girls regarded each other with heavy hearts.

“You all right?” Petra asked.

Gwen cradled the girl in her arms, feeling the tremors running through Lihong’s body as she slumbered.

“I’m too exhausted to think,” she confessed. “In fact, I don’t want to think about it.”

“Okay.” Petra glanced at Lulan, who had nothing to add. “Let’s meet up with the Fungs. Gwen, pass me something loose and comfortable for Lihong.”

Petra studied her cousin as she dressed Lihong in slacks and bundled the girl with towels. Gwen felt lost as she carried Lihong to the chamber’s entrance. Petra then turned to Lulan.

“Lulu.”

“I saw nothing,” Lulan said. Then she leaned in closer. “I don’t understand. Why did her bodyguard assault her? Isn’t she like a daughter?”

Petra’s whole body seemed to deflate. “I don’t know, Lulu, but a long time ago, my teacher taught me a stern lesson about trust.”

“What’s that?” Lulan asked.

“Don’t trust anyone, my little devotchka.” Petra spoke in a tone that did not belong to her. “Who knows what wickedness lurks beneath the amiable mien of smiling men? Don’t trust anyone, devotchka, not even me.”

“Lihong!”

Yuhua ran from her party to encompass her kinswoman.

“You found her! Thank Mao!”

“Where is Magus Xie?” Magus Wang enquired. “Is he safe?”

Gwen’s party remained ominously reserved.

“I need a moment of your time,” Gwen said. “Miss Yuhua may join us as well, but what I am about to tell you is a sensitive matter.”

Wang looked at each of them before turning to his party. “Bian, Fan, Xiao-Mao, look after Miss Lihong. Give her food, water, whatever she wants. Yuhua, come with me.”

“Huh? Why? What’s wrong?” Their grave expressions made Yuhua’s heart skip a beat. “Wocao! Magus Xie died, didn’t he?”

“When Father hears of this,” Yuhua wiped an angry tear from the edge of her eyes, “the entire line of Yuan will pay!”

It was absurd to Gwen that one man’s crime could lead to the punishment of his whole family, but she wasn’t in a position to judge, especially after her blunder with the chieftain. The demi-human had demonstrated every aspect of humanity she had come to expect, and yet she had butchered the old king like a dog. She had promised him a quick, clean death. Instead, she exercised the excruciating torture of having one’s existence erased from the Material Plane.

Lihong’s mental condition appeared to have regressed after Petra’s compulsion had faded. Once the fortification provided by Petra’s Mind Magic wore off, the girl turned inward, becoming both deaf and dumb.

According to Petra, if the clan was willing, a Rewrite Memory of the last few days was enough to ensure the girl went on with her life oblivious to the truth. The origin of such magic, however, would be scarce indeed.

After handing over Xie’s corpse and Lihong’s bloody dress, they were ready to depart.

“Miss Song, as Miss Lihong is unable to validate your findings, is it at all possible to invite you and your party to enjoy the hospitality of the Clan of Fung for a few days?” Magus Wang bowed respectfully, ensuring that there were no misunderstandings. “I am certain Master Dai would be more than happy to make your acquaintance once more.”

“I need to get back to training in Fudan,” Gwen said.

“Of course, once the matter is resolved, we would very much like to reward your party for your part in recovering Miss Lihong. She is a favourite of the patriarch, you see. Despite this tragedy, the young miss will continue to be cherished and protected like a delicate pearl. As for her saviours, there will be ample reward in the form of CCs, HDMs and whatever treasures our clan can offer.”

“A few days in Nantong sounds like just the ticket,” Richard said before Gwen accepted altruism as a currency. “Don’t you think so, Gwen?”

She quickly glanced at the rest of her party. Petra was eager to return to Shanghai. Lulan and Kusu were desperate for resources. Percy shrugged, leaving the decision to her.

“I guess we can take up your hospitality for a short while. Pats, are you all right with that?”

“I’ll head back myself.” Petra wasn’t one to mince words or suffer in politeness. “Don’t worry about me.”

“We are happy to deliver Miss Kuznetsova to the Shanghai ISTC Interchange,” Magus Fung offered. “If so, would she consider staying for a banquet?”

“Pats?”

“That is agreeable,” Petra said. Apparently, she had decided that a short delay wouldn’t disrupt her schedule.

“Excellent, that’s settled then.” Magus Wang visibly relaxed. “Let us return to the city.”

A small fleet of dark sedans met Gwen’s party on the half-built highway, a half-an-hour trek from the Water Monkeys’ lair.

“Japanese imports?” Gwen noted the familiar sight of the three diamonds-in-a-triangle she had seen earlier on the golems. Not even in Shanghai were imported vehicles all that common. The new District of Nantong was surprisingly wealthy.

“We’re a trading port.” Magus Wang convened in a vehicle with Gwen, Percy and Petra. Lulan, Kusu and Richard took a separate vehicle. “The Japanese supply much of our magi-tech in exchange for foodstuff, agricultural goods and raw materials.”

“How interesting,” Gwen noted, happy for the mental distraction. According to her research, the geographic trade dynamic of the tier 1 cities differed from her old world. Rather than transatlantic trade, the exchange of freight was restricted to geographic neighbours.

The Asian-Pacific nations formed an inner circle of commodity exchange via shipping lanes. The Commonwealth possessed strictly coastal supply lines around the world, connecting its old colonies. The US principally traded with its northern neighbour, Canada, sporadically with antagonistic Mesoamerica and warily with the Incan Empire centred on Cuzco.

As Gwen conversed with Wang about Nantong’s canal, she realised there was a great opportunity here. The land around Nantong was as cheap as chips for the time being. With the city’s development, there were bound to be new habitat blocks for NoMs, apartments and hotels for Mages, warehouses and factories—everything necessary for a thriving trade hub.

Once the topic of trade was exhausted, Wang continued to explain the grandeur of his clan.

“The character for our house is the Xia Dynasty pictogram for Harvest,” the Magus explained. “It represents that which is abundant, lush, bountiful—an auspicious name indeed. Fung was the capital of the scholar king Zhou Feng, from which the nation took its name. Today, we know it as Suzhou.”

“It’s an auspicious name,” Gwen said.

“For five years now, our clan has been working closely with the leadership in Shanghai, prepping the region for the opening of Tonglv Canal. Without major calamity, the region should complete its infrastructural upgrade within the decade, with the Fung Group leading the way.”

“Once completed, the lion’s share of shipping from Singapore, Japan, Korea and Northern China will be routed through Nantong, correct?” Gwen asked.

“Indeed, you are very astute, Miss Song.” Magus Wang said, probably playing off a perception of her inexperience.

“How many TEUs will you be expecting?” Gwen said. TEUs were shipping units, each denoting a six-metre container.

“About twelve million units,” Magus Wang stated proudly, clearly expecting Gwen to respond with open-eyed wonder. Instead, she knitted her brows.

But it wasn’t understanding that Gwen lacked. She was aghast that Shanghai’s Port Authority would only get twelve million units. Assuming an average of two tonnes per six metre container, this meant the volume of freight moving through Shanghai barely exceeded one-third of her old world.

“Will Nantong be operating its own cranes, golems and berths?” Wang affirmed her enquiry with a nod.

“How will you charge for administration, storage and maintenance? What economic model will the port be using? How are you tying manifest and admin costs to freight flow rates? How competitive are your fees per tonnage?”

“I am sorry. What?” Wang faltered, assaulted by Gwen’s torrent of jargon. “The port operates at a loss. We’re hoping the canal’s income would change that.”

“Oh?” Gwen blinked at the ageing Magus. “The port doesn’t turn a profit?”

“Ha.” Magus Wang smiled at her. “The Nantong-Shanghai anchorage is a state enterprise. We’re merely its custodians.”

“But Singapore turns a profit, surely.” Gwen remembered the bustling scene she had seen when travelling there. “ I am certain the city thrives on its deep-water anchorage. Economically, Singapore is on par with tier 1 cities like Shanghai.”

“A different governance with different circumstances, perhaps,” Wang answered evasively, unable to provide Gwen with a convincing explanation. “I am sure Singapore has its secrets.”

“I see,” Gwen agreed. She had to turn away because her lips were trembling.

Holy shit. She felt on the verge of asphyxiation. The bloody CCP was running the port like a World War II operation. Cargo went in—freight went out. Ships paid for repairs and customs, and a small portion of the money went to maintenance and admin.

They have no idea! They had no FUCKING IDEA how the finance of a 21st-century harbour operated. In her old world, Singapore increased its GDP per capita from half of Malaysia’s to that of six times its neighbour thanks to its world-class freight hub.

Screw digging at Nantong’s infrastructure! Not when she could tap the vein itself. Her business instinct was on fire. But who could she speak to?

Gwen took a moment to calm her nerves. The serendipitous opportunity was an excellent distraction from the genocide they had just carried out. She expertly boxed up the nasty feelings haunting her insides and instead, looked outside at the canal—the object of her ascension.

The countryside had been stripped bare in anticipation of the massive canal and its parallel highways. Bottomless pits, the foundation of soon-to-be mega-districts like the ones in Shanghai, would quickly engulf the terraformed landscape.

From the rear seat, Gwen inspected the banalities of a trading port absolutely mismanaged by the House of Fung, squirming with anticipation.

“One last question,” Gwen said. “Who’s in charge of the port and the canal? Who can speak for the Port Authority?”

The Magus knew the answer to this one. “A triumvirate. Our patriarch, Shen Fung, will be abdicating his role as the police commissioner of Shanghai to become Governor-Secretary of Nantong. He will be joined by Vice-Chairman Tu Guangshao of the Shanghai Economic Exchange and Magister Chen Quin, formerly a president of Jianqiao University.”

“I see.” Gwen memorised the names. “Thank you, Magus.”

“We’ll be arriving soon. Please make yourself comfortable.” The Magus turned away.

Their motorcade took another half an hour to reach the city centre, delving into one construction zone after another, strewn with NoM labourers milling about like ants, aided by construction Mages here and there.

At the western junction of the new city, Gwen noted an enormous, half-constructed shielding station reaching for the sky.

“A new design,” Wang stated proudly. “Did you hear about what happened in Sydney? All the Frontiers worth their crystals are switching to the newer modulation as a result.”

“I am from Sydney,” Gwen said. “Richard and my brother as well. We are survivors of the Mermen invasion.”

“Ah, my condolences.” Magus Wang said, looking contrite. “I hope your loved ones are safe.”

When Gwen didn’t answer, Wang spoke no more.

In the back, Gwen mumbled to herself, surely confusing Percy with words like tariffs and freight deposits, drowning in a chamber of her own thoughts.

The Fung compound, much to Gwen’s surprise, was a skyscraper.

It was a modern glass and concrete structure styled with modern decor embossed with the Harvest Group logo, rising thirty storeys into the air, marking it as one of the tallest in the new commercial district.

“I am speechless,” Gwen told Yuhua and the small contingent of men and women who came out of the lobby to greet them. “Not an estate or a compound, but a high-rise?”

“We have to get with the times.” The Fung heiress laughed, threading her arm through Gwen’s elbow in an overtly friendly gesture, a complete one-eighty from their first meeting. The Fungs were very good at that, Gwen noted. They could change their position in a heartbeat, whether it was Dai, Lu or Yuhua. “Did Wang give you a pre-tour?”

“He did an excellent job.” Gwen beamed at Wang, who acknowledged Gwen’s praise sheepishly. “How’s Lihong fairing?”

“Same as before.” Yuhua bit her lower lip. “We’ll go see the patriarch first. Wang, can you take us up? Tell Lihong’s father to come as well. Also, not a word to anyone else.”

Wang left to make the arrangements while Gwen’s party, accompanied by Yuhua and the ashen, shawl-clad Lihong, entered the building.

Once inside the spacious lift, they ascended to the twenty-ninth floor, where the door opened directly onto a loft. Two guards in dark suits asked them to halt, greeting Yuhua with a cordial ‘Miss’. After a quick diagnostic of Gwen, the guards’ mannerisms assumed an air of respect.

Wang reappeared a minute later, directing the group from the lobby into the adjoining antechamber, then into a spacious office overlooking the city.

“Lihong!” A man with delicate, almost feminine features rushed toward his daughter. “Mao! What’s happened to you?!”

Gwen parried a stab of sympathy. Now was not the time; if she wasted this meeting with Shen Fung, she might not receive another unless she dated Dai or something shallow like that.

“Uncle…” Observing Gwen’s silence, Yuhua seemed unsure how to broach the matter either.

Thankfully, the presence of Lihong’s father seemed to have flipped a switch in the girl. With an utterance of secret agony, Liong fell into her father’s arms in a fit of flooding tears and torrential wailing.

“What’s wrong? Did someone bully you? Tell Father! I’ll make sure they wish they were never born!” The man’s rage was matched only by his worry.

Gwen’s party collectively winced. If only retribution could fix what had been wrought.

“Jeishin, take Lihong to see Magus Ong.” Gwen’s attention turned toward a second man standing behind the overlarge executive’s table.

“Doctor Ong? Why? What’s wrong with Lihong?” The girl’s father, perhaps not wanting to believe the truth, was slow to respond.

“Go.” The baritone voice possessed an air of command. “Take your daughter and rest. Tell Ong to report back as soon as possible.”

Gwen’s attention shifted toward an unassuming middle-aged man wearing a coarse mandarin jacket. What is it with these power-types wearing humbling peasant garbs? The Secretary-General also wore the same ill-fitting cotton attire. Was it a power-status thing? Why was it that when a Mage reached a particular stratum in the CCP, they let go of the material things in life and assumed the guise of a peasant leader?

“Wang, close the door. Has Yuan’s family been rounded up?” The leader of the Fungs stated without emotion.

“Yes, Sir Shen, they’re in suite 2234. I don’t believe the family knows, Patriarch.” Wang replied.

“Hmmph.” Shen Fung, lord of the Nantong Fungs, turned to regard Gwen and her team. Unlike his position, the apex politician in Shanghai’s newest district was an unassuming middle-aged scholar. He studied her group, his eyes scanning her party until finally resting on Gwen’s face. “You’re Guo Song’s granddaughter?”

“Yessir.” Gwen bowed.

“If someone told me that someone with Guo’s mug could have a granddaughter like you, I’d strike them for lying.” Shen’s tone softened.

“I take after my grandmother, sir.” Gwen smiled sweetly.

“Yuan’s family, sir,” Wang gently implored his Master. “Should we…”

Shen’s gaze remained focused on Gwen. “I believe there is a Western saying from the European Sect of the Jesuits which suits our purpose well—’The Sins of the Father’—I believe. Are you familiar with it?”

Her party glanced at one another. Petra indicated that she knew.

“Yessir.” It was Gwen who answered. “I believe it’s from Exodus in the Old Testament, stating that their old deity is a jealous god, desiring to visit the iniquity of fathers onto his children to the third and the fourth generation.”

The Patriarch of the Fungs walked a little closer to Gwen.

“A scholar of esoteric theocracy!” He carried a formidable bearing equal to a Magister. “But then again, you are the infamous Worm Handler of Fudan.”

It took all of Gwen’s fortitude to keep her face in check. “A nickname circulated in jest, sir. Just Gwen, please,” she pleaded.

“Dai has been whispering in my ear about your accomplishments since you met him in April,” Shen stated ominously. “Do you know my son Dai?”

“He owes me a favour.” Gwen took another half-step forward, circulating a mote of Almudj’s Essence through her body to fortify her bearing. A windbreaker worn over a skin suit was hardly an imposing costume, a good impression on Shen possessed immense value to Gwen.

“A favour he is unable to repay.” The patriarch chuckled. “A foolish child playing at guan-xi. I hope you are not offended, Gwen.”

“The favour of the son, sir, may very well be a favour from the father.” Gwen decided to go for broke.

Shen paused, then burst into laughter. “Very good! You’ve got me there, young lady.”

DING! A Message spell bloomed beside the man’s ear. “Excuse me.” Shen walked to the panoramic windows overlooking the city.

As the Message silently played, the patriarch’s face grew increasingly dark until Gwen could feel the room’s temperature dropping, enough to make Percy, the weakest of them, tremble.

Gwen, her party, Wang and Yuhua patiently waited for the Patriarch to finish.

“Magus Ong tells me that Lihong is indeed… sullied.” The old Mage had to close his eyes for a moment to recompose himself. “Tell me, Gwen the theologian. Should I punish Xie’s unknowing sibling? His father and mother, who even now reside below us? What do the Western texts dictate?”

“The sins of the father…” Gwen felt her mouth grow dry. Why is the man asking me?

“Should be visited with extreme prejudice, should it not? Even upon his ten-year-old brother, a total innocent?” Shen’s voice was unyielding steel.

“No, sir.” Gwen’s retort surprised them all, considering her earlier quip. “It’s a misunderstanding. The correct passage later found in Deuteronomy states that, ‘Lo, fathers shall not be put to death because of their children, nor shall children be put to death because of their fathers. Each one shall be put to death for his own sin.’ That’s how it is, I’m afraid.”

“You advocate mercy?” The patriarch’s voice possessed a dangerous edge.

“Gwen…” Her cousin coughed politely. “A father must have his satisfaction.”

Gwen brushed off her cousin.

“Nonetheless, Xie’s parents are innocent of their son’s crime, and so are his brother and sister,” Gwen spoke out loud for all to hear. “I do not mean to assert that you or Lihong do not deserve retribution, Patriarch. The wisdom of the biblical texts is often contradictory and the selection of the passage is less a commandment and more so a choice. Magister Shen, if you believe the lesson of Exodus more compelling than that of Deuteronomy, then you are well within your rights. But in the end,” she stabbed a thumb into her bosom, “it is we who choose the right message.”

“What would you do, Miss Song?” Shen sighed. “My granddaughter… the poor child.”

“I would make the culprit pay ten thousand times over. I would flay his Astral Soul,” Gwen declared.

“But the man is dead,” Shen said.

“Then inform his family of his crimes, tell them the source of their misery, then exile them from your sight,” Gwen advised.

“You would not kill them?”

“Where’s the satisfaction in that?” Gwen felt wicked and cruel. “I would be no better than a butcher. This way, his family lives, knowing that their bastard has doomed them for generations. Cursing his name every day of their wretched lives.”

Silence reigned as the Patriarch Shen ruminated on her proposal.

Gwen retreated a step. Beside her, Percy shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Yuhua stared at her with her mouth half-open. Gwen guessed that even as Shen’s darling daughter, she had never spoken with such eloquent confidence in her father’s presence, much less advising the patriarch on the matter of retribution when one of his favourite grandchildren had been defiled by a man sent to protect her.

Finally, Shen appeared to have reached a decision.

“Yuhua.” The patriarch exhaled deeply. “Send Magus Yuan’s Apprentice, his parents and his relatives to the Front. I want them gone by tonight. Inform Colonel Zheng. If they fail to present themselves on the Xian Front within the week, put out a desertion bounty, double the reward. From this moment forth, the line of Yuan Xie is expelled from Nantong!”

“Yes, Father!” Yuhua left immediately to execute her father’s will.

Shen moved behind his oversized table, finally taking a seat. “So.” He appeared to have brushed the chip from his shoulder. “Gwen. What manner of reward do you desire? CCs? HDMs? Land? Perhaps, knowing your ambition, people? Would ten thousand NoMs migrating to a demesne of your preference suffice? Perhaps a Mage of your own, sworn to your service for a decade?”

An excited murmur broke out between Gwen’s companions.

“Nothing of the sort,” Gwen replied.

Richard and company grew silent. Gwen quickly gave her companions a reassuring nod.

“What I want, Sir Shen,” Gwen appeared more imposing than when she had emerged holding Lihong, “is a favour.”

Chapter eighteen

Many Jasons in Pursuit

“You don’t think you’re asking too much?” Shen’s voice lost a measure of humour. “Are you familiar with the Chinese idiom about the python that choked trying to swallow an elephant?”

Gwen weathered the patriarch’s intimidation like a robust Waratah, unyielding against the wind.

“Nothing of the sort, sir. I call my request a ‘favour’, but in truth, my actions can only serve to benefit yourself, Nantong and your clan. There are no winners or losers here, only mutual benefit.”

The two locked eyes. Gwen was sure that the gathering had seen no stranger sight than a secretary in his late forties having a stare-down with a seventeen-year-old girl.

“What is it then?” Shen’s knitted brows formed a deep chasm across his forehead.

“I would like an hour to make a case to you, Vice Chairman Tu and President Chen. All you have to do is listen to a proposal, after which the favour is repaid.”

Patriarch Shen raised a bushy brow. “A curious gambit, Gwen Song. What makes you feel so confident? Are you so compelling that the three of us, who hold between us seven million lives between the South China Sea and Shanghai, would be compelled to act on the say-so a girl-child?”

Gwen dipped her head, maintaining her gaze. “Then you have nothing to lose other than sixty minutes of your time, sir, perhaps a veneer of ‘face’ between you and your colleagues. If anything, I would be squandering my grandfather’s reputation.”

“Not to mention your uncle, the war hero.” Shen’s expression softened.

“Yessir.” Gwen grinned. “In the unlikely event that I embarrass myself.”

The Patriarch of the Nantong Fungs rapped the table, drumming away with his fingernails. Gwen remained still as a statue, waiting for the result.

After a minute, he spoke. “If nothing else, lass, you have distracted me from the incident involving Lihong,” he confessed candidly. “Very well. I shall ask the other two to attend our banquet tonight. After which, you have half an hour.”

“That’s more than enough, sir.” Gwen grinned like the fox who just took the hen house. In all honesty, she had expected the patriarch to make life far more difficult.

Shen caught Gwen’s rapscallion demeanour, then began to laugh.

“Go and clean yourselves up.” His gaze lingered thoughtfully. “You and your friend can take the guest penthouse on level 27. There will be servants there to help you. If you need anything—tell the staff. The banquet will start at 7:00 p.m. I’ll send for you when the others arrive.”

Watching Gwen curtsy comically in her combat-suit and a mismatched parka, the patriarch looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped himself.

“Go now.” He commanded the staff to clear the university students from the room. “I’ll send Dai over once he is back. I am sure you two have some history to catch up on.”

“So, what are you going to suggest?” Petra was all ears as the girls changed. The VIP suite was enormous; the main bathroom the size of Gwen and Petra’s apartment. Presently, Gwen was having a good soak in the bubble bath while Petra dried her hair, wrapped in a towel.

“What about this one?” Lulan ducked through the door with a pink dress that made her look like a sausage sock puppet.

“Horrendous!” Gwen shook her head. “Lulu, you’re an athlete. Go for cocktail dresses, something dark, A-line, short sleeves, just above the knee and high-waisted.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Lulan tugged at the tube-dress, disappearing through the door in a flurry of frustration. “I need a Translation Stone.”

“Pats, have you decided?”

“No skirts.” Petra eyed the wardrobe Gwen had provided for her, laid out on the bed. “You know I loathe these things.”

“Well then, I’ve got a suit that’s just your style,” Gwen assured her cousin. “I’ll help you in a bit.”

She slipped from the bath, soapy and slick with foam. A quick shower had cleansed away the milky-suds, followed by a hasty robe.

“This one?” Lulan appeared once again, this time with an embroidered off-shoulder dress tapered at the waist and flared just above the knees.

“Wonderful.” Gwen gave Lulan the OK with her fingers. “Wait in the living room. I’ll do your eyes and hair.”

Lulan skipped away, looking furiously feminine. Once Kusu saw her, Gwen suspected her brother might blow a gasket.

“As I was saying…” Petra was thankful that finally, Lulan’s interruption had ceased. “What’s your plan?”

“It’s less a plan and more a whole system.” Gwen carefully made up her eyes. “I am going to present a mutually beneficial offer they cannot refuse regarding Nantong port.”

“The port?” Petra appeared taken aback. “I thought you were going to Purge the place.”

“Yeah-nah,” she replied with a Gwenism.

“It’s a state project. Why should they listen to you?” Petra asked.

“They might not,” Gwen said. “Or they could steal my idea. If so, I’ll make it public, tell the world. Publish it via Fudan’s network. Tell Gunther to sell it to the Commonwealth. Trade it for CCs. But, if we do pull this off, it’ll solve their capital shortage for the next decade, longer, if they manage fiscal responsibility.”

“Why the favour then?” Petra raised a hand.

“One—to arrange a meeting. Two—to get Shen on my side. Three—to impose on them that none of this will happen without my guidance.”

“I am still not fully understanding any of this.” Petra shook her head. She was a brilliant spellcraft theorist, but Gwen’s half-baked explanation was clearly driving her in circles.

“It’s a little complicated.” Gwen scratched her chin. “Not to be cocky, Pats, but explaining it might confuse you even more.”

“Try me.” Petra pointed at her scholarly head, which was elevated by a rather eye-catching face.

“All right.” Gwen briefly explained the notion of flowing capital. Using short-term continuous deposits made by freight moving through Nantong to establish a stock-backed sinking fund. The fund could then be utilised on behalf of expanding the port, training staff, repairing ships and offering short-term loans for misadventure. With future revenue, the fund would grow exponentially, assuming good governance was observed, and that her ‘partners’ didn’t cook their Golden Goose because of greed.

“That’s what I call ‘Venture Capitalism’.” Gwen nodded sagely.

“St Peter. I need an Ioun Stone Translation as well.” Petra touched a hand to her temple. “Your idea sounds like some ancient, forbidden magic for turning lead to gold! How do you know all this?”

“Well, Pats,” Gwen replied seriously, “you know how we’re born with the ability to tap into Elemental Planes?”

Petra nodded.

“As it happens,” Gwen grinned, “I was born tapping into the Material Plane of Currency.”

“Gwen!”

“Hahaha.” Gwen dodged Petra’s scowl. Retreating to the bed, she picked out a gleaming white silk pant suit. “Here, put this one on. And those white heels.”

“Saint Peter! You could kill somebody with those.” Petra wobbled a bit before she stabilised.

“Then try not to step on any toes.” Gwen stepped back and observed her work. “Wonderful. Take a seat while I’ll do your face. You can’t unbutton that, by the way.”

“I don’t know.” Petra touched her waist.

“Do me! Do me!” Lulan said, returning. “I want the thing that makes your eyelashes thicker.”

“All right.” Gwen rubbed her hands. “Kusu is going to lose his mind.”

The banquet took place in the grand ballroom on the third floor, attended by most of the influential folk in the Fung building, as well as some of the local movers and shakers. Poor Lihong was expectedly nowhere to be seen, nor was her father, though Yuhua was there, and so was Dai.

Gwen descended the stairs, covered from neck to ankle with a sheer silk dress in brilliant ivory, hand-printed with porcelain floral accents. She wore her hair in a messy bun, allowing casual strands to fall elegantly about her face, accentuating make-up that made her look older.

Escorting Gwen was Petra, wearing an antique-white silk pant suit. In contrast to Gwen’s bun, Petra wore her hair loose, falling over her broad shoulders like a waterfall. Petra’s husky-blue eyes, made more prominent by thickened lashes and her thick, ambitious lips, held the room hostage.

Behind the two, like an adopted little sister, Lulan walked with teeth-jittering care on her kitten heels, taking every step as if her first.

The boys, in contrast, lacking Gwen’s guidance, looked like the waitstaff. Richard at least looked the part with a maroon vest and striped charcoal pants paired with brown Oxfords. Percy wore a borrowed tuxedo, with Kusu in a mismatched pair of dark pants and a dark blazer with a black bowtie, looking like a disgruntled valet.

“I should have just stuck with the tuxedo,” Kusu moaned, looking too embarrassed to follow the girls too closely.

“You looked like a funeral director!” Richard snorted. “Don’t worry about it, mate, let the girls shine. We’re just background characters. Besides, check that out.”

The boys followed Richard’s gaze over to a group of local girls wearing what could only be described as nouveau-riche couture, exposing more skin than cloth. Just beyond the smiling girls was a buffet table full of Wildland cuisine.

“I see.” Kusu rubbed his hands. Gwen knew he couldn’t afford such fare back home in Shanghai.

“Oh, they have turkey legs.” Percy looked more smitten with the food than anything. As a growing boy, he couldn’t say no to protein.

“Lea, keep an eye on Gwen. I’ll be… preoccupied,” Richard informed his Familiar, gravitating toward the free food.

Lea drifted lazily across the six-metre ceiling, coiling around a set of priceless chandeliers.

Below Richard’s watchful guardian, Gwen entered the fray, becoming surrounded by young men who desired to know more about the hazel-eyed beauty from Shanghai.

Petra, meanwhile, became inundated by young women wishing to know more about the sveltest human being they had ever beheld.

“GWEN!” Dai called out. As a testament to the young man’s influence, a path opened like the Red Sea.

The two met. The two shook.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again.” Dai’s voice quivered with emotion. “I’ve been thinking of you since that last time we parted on a sour note. Allow me to apologise again for any offence.”

Gwen caught the sticky-beaking women giving her daggers. “I’ve learned to think of it fondly.” She leaned in, then brushed Dai across the cheek with her lips, giving him as much “face” as she could muster without feeling excessively disgusted with herself. “I’ve been thinking of you as well. “

“You have?” Dai touched a hand to his face. “I am honoured.”

“It’s true. Whenever I think of you, I think of the favour you owe me. It plagues my sleep.” Gwen grinned mischievously.

“Ha!” Dai snorted. “Of course, I dream of fulfilling it. It’s affecting my sleep as well. I think about our… exchange nightly.”

“Losing sleep? Hardly. You look well.” Gwen backed away, sensing that at least half of Dai’s words were no longer attempts at playful humour. “How’s life?”

The young man looked less contrived than Gwen recalled. Attired in a cream tailored suit with a dark vest, he appeared significantly less douche-like and far more agreeable.

“Still single,” Dai stated a little too quickly, brushing off death-stares from those around him. “Introduce me to your friends?”

“Petra, this is Dai. Dai, this is Petra, my cousin and one of my best and closest companions.”

Petra beamed at Gwen’s announcement, her lips parting to reveal pearly teeth. The young Russian woman was taller than even Gwen, making her one of the tallest people in the room, not to mention she was outfitted with four-inch peep-toe stilettos. With her bold and uncommonly handsome facial features typical of Eastern Europeans, her couture factor was off the charts.

“Hello,” she replied in that husky voice of hers, cool as chilled cucumbers.

“And this is…” Gwen gestured, only to find that their petite companion was gone.

Kusu was on his second plate when he noticed his sister holding a pheasant drumstick by the foiled knob, gnawing away beside the buffet table.

“Lulu!” he hissed, quickly approaching her. “Don’t just eat it beside the tray. Take a plate, go to a corner, eat it out of sight, then come back for more.”

Lulan scooped a drink from a startled waiter.

“Put that down, that’s alcohol. Don’t make trouble for Gwen.”

Lulan knocked back half a flute regardless. “Eww.” She spat half a mouthful back in, then placed the glass next to the condiments. “Mao, it’s white vinegar.”

The traumatised waiter stared at Lulan until Richard intervened. “Ah, let her have her fun,” he said. “She needs to learn how to mingle. Just look at Percy.”

Percy was busy chatting up a group of younger girls who all wanted to know more about his sister and her pants-wearing companion. Gwen’s brother appeared entirely in his element, chattering away without so much as pausing for breath, eliciting bell-like laughter from his rapt audience.

“Not keen?” Richard observed. “If you’re willing, I’m sure one of the girls here would be happy to warm your penthouse bed.”

Kusu kept glancing at Lulan.

“K-dog,” Richard borrowed some of Tao’s endearing vernacular, “the forbidden fruit is tempting, but it’ll only bring grief.”

“What?” Kusu was watching the interaction between a middle-aged man and Lulan.

A clanner in his forties was accosting her. From the look of his scarlet mien, it was probably the wine talking. “Where are you from? You look kind of familiar. Do you like the food here?”

“Delicious.” Lulan nodded, chewing away on her drumstick.

“Want to come with Uncle?” the man asked delightfully. “There’s even better food on the other table.”

“There’s another table?” Lulan blinked.

“It’s a dessert table,” the man assured her.

Lulan followed the nice uncle without hesitation.

“Hey!” Kusu said, charging toward them.

Studying Kusu’s face, something must have clicked within the man’s mind.

“Hey, aren’t you two the siblings kicked out by Huashan?” The man chuckled, struggling to fight back the alcohol. “Ha, you’re moonlighting as a waiter now?”

“What? No!” Kusu lowered the claws. “We’re guests.”

The man gave him a look of pity.

“Look, we’re all clanners here,” Kusu said. “A bad turn could happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone say that Meng of Kunlun bullied a waiter from Huashan just because his chips were down.”

“Good man.” Richard gave the guy a thumbs-up as he caught up.

Nodding, the clanner turned to Lulan. “Eat up, lass.” He leered at her. “You won’t eat like this again for a while. Don’t worry. Uncle will keep your thieving a secret, eh? Just between you and me. If ever you need some cultivation resources…”

“Get out of here!” Kusu growled.

The man laughed out loud before snatching up a cloudy flute of wine by the condiments, wandering away unsteadily.

Richard observed the whole thing with captive interest.

“What?” Kusu angrily bit into a Nordic crab claw.

“It’s alright, K.” Richard patted him on the shoulder. “As long as you stick with Gwen and I, we’ll do ya right.”

“They’re waiting for you inside.” Wang stopped outside the adjacent smoking room, waiting for Gwen. The old Magus then turned to the Fung heir. “Master Dai, you are to remain here.”

“I am?” Dai had looked surprised when Wang came to spirit Gwen away. The young man was probably doubly surprised that it was his father who was interested in Gwen. The old man wasn’t thinking of having a young mistress, was he? His mother was no pushover. If his parents had had a falling out, they might need to rebuild the Fung Group Sky Tower. “I mean, as he wishes.”

Wang acknowledged his young master’s piety. “Miss Song should rejoin you after thirty minutes, I would imagine.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it.” The object of Dai’s affection turned on her heels. “Petra, can you keep me company? I imagine I could use some of your crystals in my demonstration. Master Wang, is that acceptable?”

“Of course, Miss Song.”

The door opened just enough for the two girls to pass. He watched his smiling teacher close it behind them.

Dai was now alone, consciously so. He had spent the better part of the evening entertaining Gwen, neglecting his usual social circles.

“Feeling lonely?”

Dai turned to see the tall Eurasian cousin and Gwen’s brother, the grandson of Secretary Guo Song.

“Not anymore.” He called a waiter over to hydrate the trio while he changed out the flute of wine for a tall neck of Tsingtao. “I still haven’t thanked you for your service to Nantong, not to mention saving my cousin, the poor girl.”

“It’s a tragedy.” Richard reached for a fresh bottle. The two clinked. “I hope she recovers.”

“She will,” Dai said. “She’ll have the whole clan behind her.”

“That’s good to know,” Richard said.

“How about you, young Master Song, are you enjoying the evening?” Dai asked Percy, who stood beside them.

“I am, thank you, Master Fung.” Percy bowed his head.

“Call me Dai, please.”

“Elder Brother Dai,” Percy said.

“Brother Percy,” Dai replied, then snorted to himself. Percy appeared confused by his quip.

“Ah, a potential suitor for our princess.” Richard raised a toast to Dai. “One of many Jasons come in pursuit of her, haha.”

Dai paled. “Does Gwen have many lovers?”

Richard took a casual swig. “You don’t think she would?”

“Well, of course, someone of her calibre. I mean, how many are we talking here?” Dai stammered.

Richard chuckled, evidently enjoying his growing discomfort.

“It’s an expression,” Percy hurriedly interjected. “Jason was the leader of the Argonauts. “

“A Mage from the Western world?” Dai remained confused.

“No, no.” Percy seemed as uncertain as he was. “It’s a myth, you know, Jason the hero, chasing after a golden treasure to woe Creusa, the daughter of King Corinth?”

“Oh, so an expression of speech?” Dai glared at Richard accusingly.

“She’s never had a boyfriend,” Percy stated with absolute confidence.

Dai looked at the grinning Richard.

“Not a single one?” Dai turned to Percy.

“None.” The boy looked sheepish.

Dai took a liberal swig of his beer, his heart now much lighter. “Thanks, little brother.” He smiled. “If there’s anything you need in Shanghai, just let Big Brother Dai know, hey?”

“Petra, if you would?” Gwen’s voice echoed across the conference room.

The tea had long since cooled as her captive audience listened with mouths half-open.

Petra had constructed a model of Gwen’s proposal. “Let me explain again so that we’re on the same page.”

“Please,” Vice Chairman Tu said.

“Yes, once more. I too am lacking in comprehension,” said Magister Quin.

Gwen had drawn a pie in the sky that was impossible by definition. Nonetheless, it was right there in front of them, clear as the crystalline display. “I am happy to clarify.” She exhibited a dazzling smile sweet enough to give the old men tooth decay.

“As I was saying, your port is running at a loss. The administration—that’s you, gentlemen—fears that having costs subsidised by fees would make the venture unattractive for overseas shipping. To remain competitive, the port loses money every year to the tune of just under a million HDMs, made even via trade surplus.

“Yours is an unsustainable model. How long can you run the place before it collapses under its weight? The more successful Nantong’s Tonglv Canal becomes, the more crystals it burns. The only advantage the CCP currently possesses is the fact that labour is cheap and China has massive internal consumption, but that won’t help increase the efficiency of the port, which desperately needs more transport golems and freight staff, not to mention skilled administrators to manage tax and accounts.”

She gestured to the pie hovering between them. “ Petra, can you empty the pie chart? Thank you.”

Gwen skirted around the circular shape constructed from Petra’s crystalline mineral. “I propose abolishing the port fee altogether. Instead, we implement a new system utilising a mandatory deposit, plus a flat, marginal administrative fee.”

“I still don’t follow how getting rid of the docking fees will make the port currency.” Magister Chen folded his fingers.

“It’s the deposit,” Patriarch Fung added helpfully. Gwen was glad at least one person understood her ingenious proposal.

“Indeed, the deposit is key. What we will do,” she allowed Almudj’s Essence to circulate, “is to create a venture fund using an assurance system. When a ship arrives, it needs to ‘deposit’ ten percent of its manifest in crystals, stock or a promissory certificate with Nantong’s Port Authority, kept safe as a bond.”

The men nodded.

“Vice Chair Tu, what is the average turnaround for a freight ship?”

“Three weeks for the short haul, up to six for the long haul. Varies pending on crew numbers, as well as country of origin. Danish ships have the fastest turnaround, followed by the Americans and the Singaporeans and so on. Some ships stay for as long as three months if there are complications.

“Now, here’s the clincher. If a ship is capable of completing its transit without incident and if the declared manifest and deposit pass scrutiny, then the ship receives a one hundred percent refund on its bond. If a ship falsely reports on volume, displacement and/or freight, then a penalty is extracted from the bond. If there is contraband, they will lose their deposit pending appeal. In the case of piracy or smuggling, the entire cargo is forfeit and we can seize the ship.

“This way, there is a great incentive for freight carriers to perform their tasks as quickly as possible and as lawfully as possible because the port will service them for free, barring, of course, a negligible admin and customs.”

“Then how are we making crystals?” Vice Chairman Tu furrowed his brows. “They’re getting serviced for free!”

“Petra?”

Petra grew more crystals in the pie-chart.

“This is the deposit in our venture fund. It comes from the ships using Tonglv Canal.”

They watched as the chart filled with blue and pink crystals.

“The blue crystals are time-sensitive. The pink crystals are long-term. The blue crystals will disappear after thirty seconds. The pink, sixty. Using the information provided by Vice Chair Tu, I am splitting the ratio sixty to forty.”

As the earlier injected crystals began to disappear, new ones replaced them.

“What do you see?” she asked.

“The crystals are ever-present. The volume persists as long as the shipping doesn’t cease,” Magister Chen replied.

“Yes. Petra, can you increase the overall volume?”

The pie on the table grew to double its size.

“The growth of Nantong, as you can see, does not impact the flow rate, only the volume.”

A look of understanding began to spread on the faces of Vice Chairman Tu and Magister Chen.

“So you’re saying, as long as there’s this ten percent deposit in our coffers at all times, it’s as though the crystals are ours to spend? Due to the sink fund’s possession of these circulating deposits?”

“Under careful management, of course,” Gwen said. “The sink fund’s capital flow cannot fall below a certain threshold. Petra, if you please.”

Half of the container was emptied. The state of decay remained constant and a portion of the funds existed perpetually.

“The model is sound as long as the amount paid out each day is sustainably supplied by the income.”

Gwen then moved to the opposite end of the table. “For now, I am going to assume that we are in possession of fifty percent of the sink fund, which Patriarch Fung estimates to be…”

“It’s 1.4 million HDMs.”

“Thank you. Patriarch. You are very helpful.”

The patronised Shen beamed like a model student.

“Now, we establish a second fund—the Nantong Port Authority Venture Fund. The fund will service the Port Authority directly. I’ll stick with fifty percent of the sink fund.”

Gwen portioned the half-slice, separating a sliver of about ten percent.

“This is our initial cut. Three percent to each of you and one percent for me. This will be our administration strata, levied against the fund.”

The three men regarded one another carefully.

Gwen felt they needed another push. “Let’s not have a misunderstanding,” she explained. “What I am proposing isn’t something as corrupt as skimming crystals from a government project. We have to earn our keep. Petra, can you make me three rectangles in three sizes, please?”

Petra performed her duties without complaint.

“This largest block,” Gwen raised the brick, “is the venture fund, the forty percent. Think of it as our onvestors’ assets. We borrow currency from this fund to invest.”

She took a marker and drew a line between the large block and a smaller one. “This is our venture firm. We will direct what investments the fund will make. Our initial income is the ten percent consultancy levied on the fund. New levies will apply pending performance.”

Gwen then laid her hand on the smallest block. “This is a portfolio under the venture fund, owned by the fund but invested by us. This one is called warehouse. Petra, can I get a few more of those? Thanks.”

Gwen drew a line between the fund block and the smallest one, labelling it “warehouse”.

“This one is freight. This one is machinery. This one is real estate. This one is staff and training. This one is for rest and relaxation. This one…”

Soon, the structure was evident for all to see.

“Let me explain how each of these portfolios will generate wealth for the venture,” she continued. “Take real estate for example. Once built, a warehouse can be rented out to increase the revenue of the port itself. Shipping companies are always in need of storage. What’s the rental on a one-twenty feet equivalent unit warehouse?”

“About ten HDMs a month in Singapore,” Vice Chair Tu answered.

“How many is Nantong hoping to build in its 2004 Expansion?”

“About five hundred.”

“That’s five thousand HDMs per month of income, less the cost of operation. What’s preventing the expansion from happening?”

“Tied-up funding from the Central Bank?” Magister Chen made an O with his lips. “I see!”

Gwen picked up another block. “This portfolio we can execute very quickly. How much are golem rentals?”

“Twenty-five HDMs for standard cargo-mover unit per five-day cycle, excluding pilot and fuel.”

“How are we for pilots?

“There are more pilots than golems in Nantong.”

“Cost of machinery?”

“About seventeen hundred and fifty HDMs for a Mitsubishi unit.”

“In three hundred and fifty days or seventy cycles, the golems would have paid for themselves. Not to mention, if they wish to hire our pilots, that’s an additional charge. Give it a three-year cycle and we’ll refresh our fleet—yes, gentlemen—Nantong’s fleet of Construction and Freight Golems! Sell the old loaders or trade them in. Again, the operation is scalable.”

The men were nodding so much that they were beginning to resemble chooks bobbing for feed.

“And that’s stage one. Stage two,” Gwen continued, picking up more crystal slabs. “Nantong is a port city, but the city itself is closed off to our overseas visitors, all lonely seamen with currency to spend. Stage two will be the construction of a free economic zone within the port itself. Souvenirs, hotels, restaurants, bars! Whatever those sailors are earning, they should leave at least thirty percent of their pay packet in Nantong. The employment this could provide for the local NoMs would also greatly reduce strain on the governor’s coffers.”

The men’s faces grew as red as pippin apples. As Gwen said, if Central was willing, stage two would proceed even faster than stage one.

“And all of this,” Gwen pointed at the model, “is scalable. Think of it, gentlemen, what is the best course of action for any freight travelling through Nantong toward Shanghai? To report manifest honestly and abide by our laws legally. If so, they will suffer no charge at the end of the day. Who wouldn’t want that?

“Furthermore, once our shipyards begin operation, the port will repair and service their ships at a rate just below our competitors. We will be able to use the sink fund to subsidise our labourers better than any other port in China. If freight-carriers want to employ a port that doesn’t impact their bottom line, all they need is provide ten percent of their honestly reported manifest, at the end of which, they get back in full. Who wouldn’t want that?

“Now, in addition to reduced operating expense from encouraging best practice…” Gwen told Petra to grow a mass of green crystals. “…we have the gains from our portfolios, owned by the venture fund.”

She added the green crystals to the fund. “Time passes. Expansion continues. After stage one…”

More and more green crystals piled onto the fund.

“…proceeds are fed back into the venture fund.”

The fund that had consisted of pink and blue crystals now possessed more and more green as it continued to expand.

“As the port grows, so does the fund. The more traffic we service, the larger our liquid capital. The more capital we have to provide extra services, the more customers the port attracts! Furthermore, the withdraw ratio from the sink fund can be increased as long as currency outgoing matches incoming shipping plus portfolio income.”

Gwen then apportioned green crystals in front of each of her audience members, as well as a tiny sliver for herself. “And if you wish to play it safe, our fees can be extracted from the proceeds rather than the fund itself.”

Magister Chen touched a hand to his face. “Mao, I am sweating!” The old Mage laughed. “I am lost for words.”

“I am in awe.” Vice-Chairman Tu wiped a trail of drool from his lips.

“Well done, Gwen.” Patriarch Fung looked like a man who had endured an hour-long sauna. “My word. Look at the time!”

The men stared at the clock. Thirty minutes had turned into two-and-a-half hours.

“The inner workings of our economic model must be kept confidential,” Gwen warned them. “Our competitors will learn of it eventually, but by then, we would have stolen their customers and locked in our clients with loyalty service and membership discounts.”

“A closed-system ecology?” Patriarch Fung said.

“A closed-loop ecosystem,” Gwen corrected him. “Well done, sir.”

“Hahaha! This old man isn’t senile yet,” Patriarch Shen gloated.

“Well, gentlemen?” Vice-Chairman Tu turned to his partners.

“I’m in.” Magister Chen nodded at Gwen. “I cannot see why we should not proceed.”

“I was ready the moment I called the two of you,” Patriarch said, winking at Gwen. “Guangshao?”

“I am happy to be a part of this venture.” Guangshao Tu was a picture of agreement. “I must say, gentlemen, if Nantong becomes the ‘new miracle’ of southern China, it will completely demolish all expectations set by Central. That the operating expense of the port may even turn a profit would blow the minds of our respect Masters. If I ever receive a chairmanship among the twelve Vice General-Secretaries, I shall not forget this day.”

“Nor I, when our clan can finally raise our heads against those older enterprises in Shanghai,” Patriarch Fung said.

“I just hope the two of you will still remember me and the young lady here, hahaha,” Magister Chen said. Gwen knew he had been brought on as a technical consultant on international trade and to serve as the CCP’s inside man on the matter. “Perhaps one of you could donate a portion of the proceeds to the west wing of our library?”

As Petra dispelled her crystal display, Gwen relaxed. For almost three hours, astronomical numbers had been tossed back and forth between herself and the men as though they meant nothing at all.

What would they call her now? Maybe she’d be freed from her Worm-based monikers. Maybe now they’d call her Gwen Song, the Money Tree.

Chapter nineteen

Loftier Ambitions

The men each extended a hand.

“For our mutual benefit, I shall abide by our agreement and keep our methods confidential,” Gwen said, shaking Patriarch Fung’s hand. The man winced when his rough palms enveloped Gwen’s own, making her realise she had applied too much strength.

“Well said,” the patriarch concurred.

“As will I.” Chairman Tu shook Gwen’s hand, then Shen’s as well, paling at the firmness of Gwen’s dainty fingers.

“I will abide by our accord.” Magister Chen shook Gwen’s hand, then shook out his fingers. “My word, you have a firm grip.”

“Sorry,” Gwen said, giving the men a coy look. “It’s the excitement, you understand.”

“Understandable. Gwen, what are your immediate plans?” Patriarch Shen enquired. Gwen could see the man’s body still jittered from the sheer amount of money to be made.

“I’ll be going back to Shanghai,” Gwen informed them. “I’ve got to train for the IIUC. Perhaps leave a liaison with me so I can continue to refine our venture. The devil, as they say, is in the micromanagement. A workspace where we can discuss matters in private would be ideal.”

“I’ll send Dai with you. The rascal could stand to learn a few things.” Shen snorted. “All he does is socialise all day. It would make me very happy if you could straighten him out.”

“I’d appreciate that, Patriarch.” When Gwen expressed no particular prejudice against Shen’s blatant ploy, the other partners laughed.

“I’ll send someone from my office as well.” Vice-Chairman Tu pinched his double jowls. “I have a young protege who could benefit from broadening his horizons.”

“No need for intermediaries. You can contact me directly.” Magister Chen was already speaking to her casually. Of the three men, he possessed the least wealth, though he enjoyed greater seniority when it came to the trust of the CCP. “Here’s my glyph. Anytime, Gwen.”

“An old goat grazing on tender grass, hey, Quin?” Patriarch Shen shot back a punch to avenge his son.

“Hahaha!” the Magister parried Shen with a look of disdain. “Gwen’s far too talented for the likes of me. You’re a braver man than I am, sending out your heir as bait. Be careful, little Dai doesn’t get eaten.”

Patriarch Shen ignored him, sending a Message instead. “Dai! Get in here!”

It took ten seconds for the door to open, revealing Richard, Percy and Dai. Richard looked his usual composed self. Beside him, Gwen’s brother and the Fung heir had a hint of colour on their faces from being caught red-handed listening at the door. The banquet was long over by now and the three had clearly been killing time by translating snippets of conversation drifting through the gaps.

“Sorry for the wait,” Gwen said. “Did you have a good meal? Where’s Lulu and Kusu?”

Dai floundered into the room, circulating mana until he appeared entirely sober. “Father. Uncle Tu. Uncle Chen.”

“Dai,” the patriarch said. “You are to stay with Gwen in Shanghai.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.” Dai glanced at her, grinning broadly. “I’ll be in your care, Gwen.”

“Same here, Dai.” Gwen smiled back, realising the young man had gotten the wrong idea entirely.

“Ahem!” The patriarch cleared his throat when Tu and Chen both took on taunting expressions. “Gwen is very precious to me, your Uncle Tu and your Uncle Chen. You’re to make sure she’s perfectly safe while in Shanghai.”

Gwen knew that Dai had caught the mockery in her eyes, juxtaposed against his father’s awkward attempt at preserving face. “Yessir.” Dai bowed. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

“Anything happens to her,” Patriarch Fung grumbled, “I’ll have your head on an iron pike.”

“It’s a silver platter, sir,” Gwen said politely.

“I stand corrected.” Patriarch Fung gave Gwen a curt nod. “Teach him well; he is my heir, after all.”

Dai looked at her, then at his father and back again. Whatever alcohol had inundated Dai’s bloodstream was now coming through his pores. Gwen felt for the first time in the young man a sense of disquiet, joined by a smidgen of fear.

“When do you leave?” Dai enquired of her, taking over his father’s mantle. “Let us show our hospitality for a few days.”

“I am afraid I have to train.” Gwen shook her head respectfully. “The selection for the IIUC is getting close.”

“I’ll put in a good word,” Shen stated firmly. He then rose from his seat to face his son. “Dai, respect her wishes.”

That was the second time Shen Fung had made it very clear to his son that Gwen was beyond reproach. Though dismally confused, Gwen knew that Dai was a good boy who dared not challenge his father’s decree.

The young man appeared to swallow his wounded pride. He turned toward Gwen, then bowed as if she were the senior. “I’ll be in your care, Miss Song.”

“Just Gwen, Dai. We’re friends, are we not?”

Dai looked at his father for affirmation. The patriarch’s brows knitted, forming a barely perceptible wrinkle of frustration on his forehead.

“Good lad,” Magister Chen chimed in happily. “Gwen, I am tempted to send you my Apprentice as well, but that would be a conflict of interest. He’s a part of the Jianqiao IIUC team. If the two of you meet, please be gentle. His name is Lianchen Yen. He also goes by Lachlan.”

“I’ll be sure to greet my senior.” She playfully made a mock swoon. “Now, if you don’t mind, I am famished.”

“I’ll have the kitchen prepare something fresh.” Dai retreated from the room.

As he passed Richard, her cousin stuck out a hand. “Welcome to the team, mate.” Richard grinned.

As they shook, Gwen read Richard’s lopsided grin.

Another stray added to the pack? her cousin seemed to say. This one might need a bit of training, though.

“She has too many secrets we’re not privy to. Be very cautious, Dai. Master Wang’s right in that she might just eat you alive.” Yuhua Fung, Dai’s sister, warned him earnestly.

“She’s just a girl,” Dai said.

Once Gwen and her party had been sent to their suite, Shen had gathered his two children to confer upon them the dangers of being besotted by outward appearances.

“That doesn’t mean much coming from you. Mao, the information you gathered is completely out of date or wrong to begin with,” Yuhua said. “I was there, Dai. The girl’s Lightning Beast is the closest thing to a Kirin I have ever seen. Her Void Worm as well is far more potent than you give her credit for.”

“My information is three months old!” Dai sulked. The first thing Yuhua had done was to check with their Master of Records, only to find that Dai’s collated information on the girl was leagues away from what she’d observed in the dungeon. She’d followed up on him behind his back. He didn’t appreciate that.

“Her Hounds were Draconic, Dai.” Yuhua illustrated her point by swimming a hand through the air. Earlier, their father had made Yuhua give a detailed account of the Water Monkey Dungeon. “That Kirin commands them via some sort of telepathy as well. It’s a Spirit, and a Draconic one, at that.”

“What do you want me to do then?” Dai growled.

“Dai.” Shen stood over his heir. “Without venturing into the Ruìshī’s lair, one will never acquire a Ruìshī cub. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.” Dai’s outward appearance as the dutiful son betrayed his seething sense of shame. In truth, he struggled to reconcile Gwen’s striking face and her dancer’s figure with the terrifying story told by his sister. He had known Gwen since her arrival in Shanghai. He knew she was prideful—all Lightning Mages were prideful—but for him to be subordinate to the girl?

“You must not provoke her.” Shen stood with his back toward his son, his mandarin jacket an ironic mask of the man’s lofty ambition. “From Yuhua’s story, we know that she is a sentimentalist. Touch her with your generosity. If not for herself, then for her brother, her friends, her family. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father.” Dai bowed deeply. His father’s words sent shivers down his spine. The most difficult debt to repay, after all, was the debt of generosity.

“Dai? Dai!” Gwen politely nudged their newest companion.

“I am listening,” Dai said. Gwen wasn’t sure that was correct.

After Gwen and her party had retreated to their penthouse suite to rest up for the night, Dai had personally brought up her late supper and she had chosen to induct Dai into their little circle.

The others didn’t much like him, but she saw in the man a valuable asset. Though the patriarch’s intent was evident, Dai was nonetheless a useful body to place in the way of potential trouble. The silver-spooned jackaroo was a triple threat: he was a wealth-cum-power Ppogeny and a bonafide clanner. Clothed in his family connections, Dai was a human-shaped skeleton key to Shanghai’s high society. Furthermore, as long as Gwen and Shen’s economic interests aligned, she was confident in his loyalty.

Of course, that loyalty was itself ephemeral. Gwen didn’t doubt that when the numbers came in, her partners were bound to regret agreeing to that seemingly innocuous single percent of the venture fund’s revenue.

But Gwen had a plan for that eventuality as well—one that reached fruition after the IIUC, when she could finally declare herself her Master’s Apprentice and the sibling-in-craft of Alesia and Gunther. Likewise, Nantong needed at least a year or two to grow into its new-found wealth, if not longer.

Gwen reminded herself that regardless of her venture’s success, her material investments were temporary. Ultimately, when she left the country, it was far more likely that the CCP would attempt to usurp her share. Likewise, her deal with the House of M could be a hit or miss. Mayuree was a sweetie, but she was one of many. With that many siblings, it was unlikely she would have much sway if they refused to pay Gwen her due.

Perhaps this was why Mages, in general, had such a disdain for finance, just as her babulya had held so little regard for currency. The accumulation of magical prowess, raw power, was much more important. The more power, the less likely others would bother you. Wealth, on the other hand, could be pilfered, stolen, usurped and squandered. And, as a lyrical maestro once rhymed, “Mo Money Mo Problems”.

Over on the couch, Dai sat rigid as a sculpture as Ariel and Caliban kept him company. Her Void fiend coiled itself beside Shen’s first-born son, sniffing his tailored suit and dribbling grey drool over his tailored pants. Ariel, meanwhile, sat on its haunches, molesting Dai’s tie, occasionally poking his face with a prehensile whisker. Caught between a Kirin and an all-devouring nightmare, Dai had chosen the path of petrification.

Earlier, he had sidled close to Gwen and placed a hand on her arm and another around her shoulders. Though she possessed championship-level patience, her Familiars were far too sensitive to her repressed loathing.

“I’ve Messaged you the preliminary staff roster.” Gwen tapped a data slate.

The rest of her party had gone to bed or were meditating in the privacy of their rooms. Lulan had chosen to make full use of the building’s facilities and gone down for a massage, joined by a paranoid Kusu, who seemed fearful that Lulan might KO the masseuse.

“Why so many?” Dai glanced over the numbers, scowling at the chart, which spread out like a dyslexic spider web.

“Lawyers, accountants, auditors and managers. We’ll need to segregate the departmental work as well. I suggest your father takes care of the auditing since he’s the Governor-Secretary of Nantong. Vice Chair Tu can take care of the accounts and day-to-day administration. Magister Chen should be in charge of the of the investment portfolios, with individual managers reporting to him directly.”

“So many divisions and sub-divisions!” Dai spluttered. “Wouldn’t that make running the business even more complicated?”

Oh, you poor lamb. Gwen groaned inwardly. “Checks and balances,” she instructed her novice companion. “Think about the inner strata of the CCP. You’ve got the MSS, which oversees the districts. Then you’ve got Internal Service, which oversees its secretarial departments. On top of that, there’s the CCDI, which oversees the MSS and Internal Security. All separate entities—each independent from the Party’s operations. We’re going to be dealing with a lot of crystals, Dai. What do you think is going to happen if we leave it to people we ‘trust’?”

“So we shouldn’t trust anyone, not even people from my clan?”

We, Gwen noted.

“Trust is too strong a word.” She coaxed Ariel into her lap. Dai’s eyes flitted between her lower body and the soft fur of her white Kirin. Catching Dai’s ogling, Ariel wiggled its serpentine body, taunting the man with its soft tummy. Amused, Gwen kissed Ariel’s forehead.

“Dai, what we’re doing is venture capitalism. We’re making crystals from the void. When there’s that much profit, people are bound to go crazy. I would not be surprised at all if our operation became riddled with fiscal parasites.”

“Preposterous!” Dai snarled. “Heads will roll!”

“You can bet on it.” Gwen kneaded Ariel’s front hooves as it waved its paws at Dai. “Don’t tempt fate. Or else, by the 2005 financial year, there may not be a Clan Fung left.”

Dai’s expression implied stubborn disbelief.

“People are going to steal from us, Dai,” Gwen assured her protégé. “My job is to make it harder. Your job is to make sure they never steal from us again.”

“You can trust me,” Dai stated bluntly.

“I know I can. You’re my second in this matter. First things first, though. We need to parcel out future duties. Believe it or not, I won’t be around Shanghai forever. I’ll be prioritising the IIUC.”

“Why?” Dai was incredulous. “You’re going away? You’re standing to make hundreds of thousands of HDMs! You could buy yourself a position in the Party with my father’s help.”

“Not interested,” Gwen said. “What if I told you that I have loftier goals?”

“You mean a Tower? Is that why you’re collecting crystals?” The young man remained in disbelief.

“Among other ambitions.” Gwen smiled mysteriously. “I am only seventeen, Dai. Think of it as preparing for an uncertain future.”

Her companion seemed to understand, though only in an abstract sense. For someone such as him, becoming a part of the CCP’s inner circle during his middle years was par for the course. It was the reason for his youthful indiscretion. His university days were a period of rare freedom: he could party, date beautiful women, go on adventures and act the young master. When the time came, he would be tied down by a political marriage, inherit a position within the clan, and then embroil himself into a life of realpolitik. His was a gilded cage—one Dai had clearly long convinced himself happy to inhabit.

“Your father has a lot riding on you, Dai.” Gwen stabbed a finger at his gut, her face growing a little hot. “If you can pull this off—if you are of help to me. If you can hold the fort even after I’ve gone back to Sydney, then your father will recognise you.”

Dai scratched his chin.

Gwen decided to push in another direction. “Look, because I trust you so much, I’ll be honest.” She lowered her pitch. “We don’t need you.”

“What?” Dai turned to glare at her menacingly.

“SHAA!” Caliban snapped the space directly in front of his nose.

“Cali! Be nice!” Gwen pulled her obsidian python back.

Dai sat back down.

“But,” Gwen continued, amused by the boy and the man jousting for control within Dai’s head. “You know what? I think this is a test from your father. If you can’t even take care of a little business, how can you stand to inherit the Clan of Fung? For how many years does your father have to labour? How old does Patriarch Shen have to be before he can rest? Where is your filial piety, Dai?”

Dai’s expression grew tense.

“Don’t take my word for it. I’m nobody important,” Gwen assured the young man. “This is your task to fuck up, Dai. I can’t imagine how disappointed your father will be when you do.”

“I not going to fail!” Dai snapped. He looked betrayed by her terribly domineering attitude. Gwen knew she was unscrewing his head in ways he couldn’t discern, but she needed him with his head screwed on tight.

Then, in a rare burst of passion, the truth escaped his lips. “If you don’t want me beside you, just say so!”

Ugh—the glass ego of a spurned child. Gwen subtly rolled her eyes.

“Prove me wrong.” She met his eyes, leaning closer. “Make this work.”

Dai met her stare head-on.

“So, can I trust you?” Her lips moved with firmness. “You won’t be swayed by guan-xi?”

“Of course!” For a moment, she thought the man trustworthy—then he leaned in with both eyes closed, his lips puckered.

“Shaa—”

A mouthful of tasteless grey goo greeted him. Something slimy withdrew with a sucking sound. In her lap, Caliban snapped shut its carapace at having been kissed by someone other than Gwen, feeling like a virgin, touched for the very first time.

“I need to go.” Dai stood so fast he almost head-butted Gwen in the nose, sending Caliban tumbling from the couch. “Goodbye.”

“See you in Shanghai!” Gwen waved.

The door slammed shut.

“Thanks for the save, Cali.” Gwen patted her pet.

“Shaa!”

“EEee?”

“No, Ariel, you could have triggered his Contingency ring.”

Gwen yawned. Below her window, a vista of Nantong stretched out, revealing countless labourers working under the illumination of Daylight spells. Touching a hand to her Familiars, she cautioned herself. Dealing with the Fungs was like wrestling with eels—one false move, and she’d have a slippery situation on her hands.

The next morning, after a buffet breakfast, Gwen and her party arrived at the newly built Nantong ISTC station. The oval structure remained under construction, albeit a subsection was being made operational for government business.

Two hundred or so HDMs later, the party arrived at the Shanghai ISTC interchange. A guard examined their papers, apologised to Dai for the delay, and then escorted the group to the transit terminal. Dai then called for a minibus to taxi them to Fudan.

Arriving after only two hours, Gwen thanked Dai for the Fungs’ generosity.

“I’ll find a place to set up an office.” Dai looked around Gouding B1. “This place looks serviceable. Any vacancies?”

“You’ll have to speak to the real estate.” Gwen pointed at the agency whose shopfront, illuminated by a large VMR logo, was visible even from B1’s lobby.

“I’ve got an apartment near The Bund, so I am only thirty minutes away,” Dai returned thoughtfully. “You’ve got my Message Glyph?”

“I do.” Gwen tapped her bracelet. “If you can’t find me, talk to Richard.”

“If I am out Questing, talk to Kusu.” Richard pointed to their erstwhile clanner.

“Yep. I’ll be around,” Kusu answered awkwardly, looking unsure of how much use he could possibly be.

“Kusu is very reliable.” Gwen came to her companion’s rescue. “You can trust him.”

Dai measured their newest companion from head to toe, unimpressed. “Do I know you from somewhere? Kusu?” Dai rubbed his chin.

“Lulan and I are ex-Sword Mages from Huashan,” Kusu confessed bashfully. “If you recall, we met during last year’s gathering of the clans.”

“Sorry,” the heir of Clan Fung shrugged. “I don’t recall.”

“You remember my sister, right?” Kusu pointed at Lulan.

She plucked out a flower from B1’s garden. The girl looked up and gave them an enormous smile.

“Nope.” Dai waved back. “I’ll remember her now, though.”

“She defeated a prodigy from your clan! The Water Transmuter, what’s his name? Qianli?”

Dai’s gaze darted between Lulan and Kusu; recognition dawned. “She’s Huashan’s berserker?” He bemusedly studied the Sword Mage with a baby face.

Kusu recalled that, indeed, Lulan had carried that infamous moniker for many years.

“She’s… pretty cute,” Dai remarked contemplatively. “So you’re telling me she’s no longer insane?”

Noting their attention, Lulan looked up, beaming.

“Nope, nothing’s changed. She’s a total psycho,” Kusu quickly stated. “When Lulan gets going, she’s a complete maniac. We should lock her up.”

“She seems fine to me.” Dai beamed back.

“She’s an unsheathed blade,” Kusu assured their newest companion. “If you anger her, she’ll cut you, no joke.”

Dai motioned for Gwen to join him. “You’re friends with this man?” He frowned. “Such disloyalty to his own family! How can you trust him?”

Gwen had been watching the whole thing with captive interest. “Don’t be so quick to judge, Dai. Kusu’s a good bloke. He is loyal to his sister without being an idiot about it. He’s level-headed and risk-averse. We need someone like that around here,” she assured him. “And Kusu, be nice to Lulu.”

“Whatever you say.” Dai observed the two. “I’ll contact you once I have the office set up.”

“You got it, champ.” Gwen sent the man away.

Her party breathed out a sigh of relief when Dai finally departed.

“What now?” Kusu looked conflicted about the ordeal.

“We’ll go and cash in our loot at Tower Two?” Gwen pointed at the two buildings visible from B1. “Lulu’s carrying about a hundred collectables in that ring. You can leave the cores with me; I’ll take them to Mayuree. When do you need the crystals?”

“Soon,” Kusu confessed. “January rent is due soon, and there’s next semester’s tuition, textbooks, training hall bookings, Cognisance sessions…”

Gwen patted Kusu on the shoulder. She gazed at the guileless Lulan, who wouldn’t have minded even if she had to live in a portable habitat, awakening each day to that maddening grey expanse.

“We’re going now?” Lulan bundled the flowers she had collected.

“Yep,” Gwen replied, giving her first genuine smile as she thought of the money to be made. ”Let’s collect some loot!”

Chapter twenty

Figuro Magnifico

Gwen requested an extra-spacious inspection room at the Fudan Tower to house the ill-gotten gains they had acquired in Nantong. Dubiously, she recalled that back in Sydney, their student-issued device could be used to log kills. If so, why was a tier 1 city using such primitive methods?

While they waited for the clerk, Petra elucidated that, indeed, the Tower had employed kill counters via Magitech bracelets for a decade. Unfortunately, a string of rotten apple Enchanters resulted in the Tower reverting to the medieval method of having Appraisers sort through trophies manually to verify totals. It was an imperfect system, but it functioned without major incident.

The body count took the better half of the day, tallying finally at a hundred and eighteen Water Monkeys, plus one Priest and one Chieftain. Gwen wasn’t herself too exact on the number, but Richard seemed satisfied.

Additionally, Yuhua Fung came through with her promise, with Nantong signing over four hundred HDMs and fifty CCs.

Ultimately, the party left the Tower with nine hundred HDMs in currency chips and a total of five hundred and thirty-six CCs, having received thirty CCs for the Chieftain and twenty for the Priest. With Gwen forfeiting the HDMs to her peers, each member thus received one hundred and eighty HDMs and eighty-nine CCs, with the extra going to Richard for arranging the trip.

The party then took the liberty of having lunch in a European-style cafe under B1, with Gwen shouting her friends to afternoon tea.

Once settled, Gwen mentally reviewed her account, arriving at two hundred and ninety CCs—more if enterprising Mages had since forked out for Morden’s modified spells.

“How about you, Richard?” Gwen was curious as to her cousin’s progress. “How far along are you?”

“I am sitting on four hundred and fifty or so,” Richard confessed. “You’ve given me a windfall. Without your involvement, Quests tend to be much more mundane, haha, and, of course, far less rewarding.”

“Oh, you know me. I am a vortex for trouble,” Gwen joked deprecatingly. “That’s a remarkable amount, Dick. You’ve been here barely a year and you’re already a quarter of the way there! Ever thought of taking a break? Don’t burn yourself out.”

“I’ll rest when I hit two thousand CCs,” Richard said. “You got more lucrative ventures lined up?”

“Potentially. I’ll do whatever I can to help,” Gwen promised, full of admiration for Richard’s ceaseless work ethic. Though she waxed no sentiment for Aunty Tali and was even less fond of Uncle Kwan, she knew their elevation was necessary for Richard’s emancipation.

“Enough about me,” Richard said. “How about you? You’ve got a shitload on your plate, but you keep stacking it.”

“Richard’s got a point,” Petra said. “I take it you’re going ahead with this ‘consultation’ for the Fungs?”

“And for the House of M.” Gwen’s reply surprised them all. “I’d imagine they’d be up to their necks in enquiries by now.”

“What about your training?” Kusu cut in, always the voice of moderation. “There’s not that much time until the IIUC. I would be begging for instructions and perfecting my spells, day and night.”

“I’ll manage.” Gwen smiled. “I can’t be training every waking hour. Taking breaks and switching it up will do me better than living like some hermit sage.”

“Don’t neglect your utility spells,” Petra warned her cousin. “But I suppose you’re not wrong. From what I’ve heard, the IIUC selection isn’t wholly combat-focused, albeit the inability to fight your way through a scenario is itself disqualifying.”

“I’ll make sure I don’t miss anything.” Gwen brushed a few loose strands from her face. Outside on the avenue, she noticed that the mulberry trees were already bare and skeletal. Out of the blue, she felt overwhelmed by a sense of diaspora.

“What’s wrong?” Petra noticed the sudden change in Gwen’s demeanour.

“You know what I really miss? The Australian summer,” Gwen said.

“How so?” Her cousin was a winter girl; Shanghai’s blanketing December snow likely reminded her of simpler times in Moscow.

“Back home,” Gwen stretched out her body, wiggling against the soft fabric, “December’s the hottest month of the year. Blue sky, aqua seas, red earth, flaming galahs, olive blood gums and golden sand. You slap on some sunscreen, slip into a swimsuit, and then loaf under an umbrella. When the Tasman Sea blows in at high tide, all your fatigue just disappears.”

“That does sound wonderful.” Her cousin of winter seemed to be trying her best to imagine the Gwen of summer. “You know, I’ve never been to a beach like that.”

“Are there beaches here in Shanghai?” Gwen perked up.

“There are artificial ones for the well-to-do.” Kusu pointed a finger at the southeast. “To my knowledge, there’s an artificial one in Jinshan that’s open in the summer.”

“Do you have a swimsuit, Petra?” Gwen wondered what style would suit her leggy cousin.

Petra shook her head.

“Lulu, you bought one last time, right?” Gwen asked their Sword Mage.

“I’ll buy another one. I want one that’s tied with strings!” Lulan raised her hand.

Her brother immediately looked uncomfortable. His swimming eyes begged Gwen to end the topic. The last thing Kusu needed was for Lulan to start swinging iron blades at the beach, especially one made for the wealthy, indolent scions of the powerful.

“I guess I am in the same boat.” She made a subtle pivot. “Something for the future, then. I do miss the beach.”

“Did the two of you go to the beach often?” Lulan enquired innocently.

“Oh, all the time!” Richard chimed in, grinning from ear to ear. “Gwen would be lying down on her beach towel, topless, and she’d look around for someone to rub creaming sunscreen into her back. The day’s hot as anything, so she’s pretty much drenched in sunlight, getting a tan. Then there’s the sand, it gets everywhere, you know, on your feet, the towels, on her butt cheeks; the tanning lotion makes it stick.”

Percy pulled a hood over his head in an attempt to stop the pure bull bursting from Richard’s lips.

“Richard, stop it!” Gwen punched her cousin.

Richard nursed his shoulders. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”

“You deserved it,” she scolded him. “Don’t listen to him, Lulu. We did no such thing. I was too young to hang out with him in Sydney. Think about it. I’d have been fourteen at best.”

“Kusu,” Richard slowly turned to Lulan’s eerily quiet brother, his eyes flashing, “Why are you so quiet?

“Mia! I AM BACK!”

The Worm Handler of Fudan Dimension Doored into Mayuree’s penthouse, fancying herself Cosmo Kramer bursting in on Elaine and Jerry. After half a year of showing up uninvited for dinner, she was beginning to appreciate the genius of Seinfeld’s humour.

“Oh, Marong, when did you get back?” Gwen stopped at once. She couldn’t actually see Marong from the lobby, but she could smell him. Though Mayuree’s penthouse had a double-storey ceiling, it wasn’t so spacious as to negate the stench of tobacco permeating the open living room.

Their eyes met. Marong stared at her with open-mouthed horror. Gwen immediately examined her attire to ensure there wasn’t a wardrobe malfunction.

“Fu—!” To her bewilderment, Mayuree’s half-brother leapt from the couch, kicked the sofa, flipped it over and then dove behind the L-shaped barricade.

“What the h—”

“Smoke Screen!” Marong, Gwen recalled, was a Smoke Mage.

“Wha-? Oh, God. Erg… cough! Cough!” She choked and spluttered, too confused to be angry.

A blast of smog spread across the bottom floor, obscuring all sight. It was just as well that Marong had stripped out the smoke alarms or else the whole building would be screaming for evacuation.

“Who are you?” Marong’s voice came through the smoke. “Reveal yourself, bastard!”

“It’s me, Gwen! MIA! Where are … cough! Your brother has gone INSANE.”

A door banged open on the second level. Mayuree ran out in hastily donned pyjamas. Another door opened and Lei emerged from the pantry, coughing and gagging.

“Marong! What in the goddess’s name are you doing?” Mayuree complained.

In the smokey murk, Gwen could make out Puff the Smoke Mephit fading in and out of vision. Whatever the hell Marong thought he was doing, he was definitely on the defensive.

“Mia!” Marong warned his sister. “Stay back! The Tyrant has taken your friend’s form! I can smell her stink from here!”

My stink? Gwen was sure she had changed before teleporting over. Catalysed by the man’s rudeness, her anger barometer shot from white to red, exacerbated by Lei’s distress. First, he reeked the place like a coal chimney and now he was accusing her of being a stinking Tyrant while suffocating her favourite cook! If anything, the bugger must be inhaling from the wrong pipe.

“Ariel!” Gwen called on her Familiar. A little Dragon-Fear should inject some senses back into Marong’s head.

“EE!” Ariel cleaved through the smoke, blasting apart the obscuring miasma.

“KAAA!” Puff the Mephit shat acrid smoke all over the floor.

“Gwen, NO!” Mayuree came between them, leaping from the interior balcony and landing via Feather Fall.

“Mia! Get out of the way!” both of them shouted.

“STOP IT!” Mayuree screeched, the pitch of her voice vibrating the windows. “Both of you! Dismiss your Familiars. NOW! Else I… I’ll tell your futures!”

The smoke faded, albeit grudgingly.

“What are you?” Marong stood to one side, clothed in smoke and ash, no more than a silhouette of a man.

“Before that, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” Gwen growled, her expression was thunderbolt and lightning and very, very frightening.

Mayuree stood in the middle, a poor girl caught between the two.

“Why do you have the stench of a Dragon-kin?” Marong demanded of her. “What’s your business with us?”

Gwen had half a mind to blast Marong with a bolt of Barbanginy.

“My business is none of your damn business.” Gwen eased her combative stance. “I am here to see Mayuree.”

“Not anymore, you’re not,” the man growled back.

“Marong!” Much to her brother’s ire, Mayuree sauntered toward Gwen, then reached over and hugged her about the waist. “There! See? She’s perfectly safe.”

Gwen could see a vein throbbing on either side of Marong’s temple. His accusatory eyes charged her with subverting his obedient sister via foul drugs, enchantments and potions.

It took a while longer for Puff to collate the smoke and for the building’s ventilation to clear the air, which gave them the chance to finally sit and talk.

“… and that’s why I’ve got Dragon Essence,” Gwen finished her explanation in as few words as possible. According to her censored narrative, she and her uncle had battled Draconic beings in Huangshan, after which “redacted” happened, and now she was in possession of a tidbit of Draconic Essence.

“That makes no sense,” Marong blustered. “You acquired Draconic Essence after eating too much?”

“And took down a Thunder Wyvern to boot,” Gwen said, refuting Marong’s freedom of information request. “If you weren’t Mia’s brother, I wouldn’t even bother explaining, much less tell you a cool story.”

“Not only that, Gwen’s been advising us on a new tier-based membership program for the auction house,” Mayuree said proudly. “The Elders are very impressed.”

Marong appeared lost for words.

“But enough about me,” Gwen steered the conversation away from herself. “How’s the old country? Is that why you’re so spooked?”

“You told her about Myăma?” Marong accused his half-sister.

“Master Maymaruya did.” Mayuree shrugged.

“That old coot.” The Smoke Mage knitted his brows.

“Well, how’s progress recovering your city?” Gwen asked. “If you must know, I promised Mia that if I ever become a Tower Master, I’d teleport it over and lend you a hand.”

Marong stole a glance at Mayuree, who nodded imperceptibly. The Smoke Mage just looked tired.

“Yangon is not looking good.” Marong exhaled, ejecting two jet streams of Marlborough Red. Within the smoke, Gwen could spot an anorexic humanoid figure with wings flitting about, keeping the smoke contained. “We’ve got rebels stirring up trouble in the south and east of the country. Construction projects disrupted, shipments delayed, assassinations in broad daylight, the whole Bristle-back Hog.”

“Jeez, Louise.” Gwen touched a finger to her collarbone. “Sounds like you’ve got a civil war brewing down there.”

“War, yes. Civil war, no—nothing of the sort,” Marong said. “We’re the only functioning government. Our enemies are brazen but not organised. They have no goal beyond personal profit. They’re bandits, brigands and thieves. Mayuree told you our war-torn land lacks the presence of a Tower, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“No Tower,” Marong said, “means no CCs, no rule of law. Rogue Mages do as they please. They rape and pillage their own kind and harass demi-human settlements. Outside of Yangon, where we have our intern government, it’s the Wildlands.”

“That’s terrible!” Gwen was very sensitive to certain keywords. During her university days, she’d visited neighbouring Cambodia. There, she’d seen the atrocities of the Killing Fields first hand, and through swarms of beggar children, experienced the ramifications of war on the young and the destitute.

“We’re doing our best, but Yangon is a crystal sink without a bottom,” Marong lamented. “If it wasn’t for the jade, I’d say we burn the damn thing and leave it to the Tyrant.”

“Don’t let grandmother hear you say that,” Mayuree warned her brother.

Marong sullenly glanced about the apartment, making sure an angry old Matriarch wouldn’t leap from the shadows. That the gruff Smoke Mage could be so skittish made Gwen wonder about this mysterious grandmother.

“I need a drink.” Marong exhaled. “Lei!”

Lei emerged from her pantry, having changed to a new outfit. “Good evening, Miss Song. Master Marong, what would you like?”

The fact that a lady as sweet as Lei lived in the fucking pantry stiffened Gwen’s jaws every time. It was like some sick, servile magic, one that never lost its horrid charm. What further boggled her mind was that when she’d asked Lei about potential emancipation, the maid grew terrified, insisting that she genuinely possessed the best job in the world.

“Whiskey on stone, leave the bottle. How about you?” Marong indicated Gwen.

“Sparkling water, thanks, Lei.”

“I want fresh coconut juice,” Mayuree was at least polite. “Thanks.”

Lei went about retrieving their drinks, additionally putting together a lovely little fruit platter. The trio sipped their drinks as Gwen snacked on logans and lychees.

“I’ve got a question.” Gwen raised her hand. “How does the Tyrant feature in all of this? Does it fund the brigands or something?”

Marong swished the expensive-looking whiskey in his mouth before swallowing. “Not directly. It keeps us penned up in Yangon,” the Smoke Mage explained. “As a result of its presence, we can’t project force outside of the capital and put an end to the raids on our mines in Tawmao and Khansee. Our convoys, as well, are a constant target. After robbing us, the scoundrels portion a part of their loot for the Tyrant, who takes great delight in our suffering.”

She wondered if there was meaningful advice she could give. Her old world was no stranger to insurrection. As with Afghanistan, with Iraq, with DR Congo, it was impossible for a country to heal without at least a decade of centralised power. In this world where monsters lurked, peaceful reconstruction was doubly painful when there was a Dragon involved. After all, what would even be the course here?

Killing the Dragon was only the beginning. First would come a great Purge of the land. Then the rebuilding. Then the inevitable corruption. Then a gradual balance of power. If a country could survive that, and if it could ward off foreign interference, then it could finally thrive.

Across the coffee table, Mayuree’s brother extinguished a cigarette against his palm before stowing the stub in his ring. “I am going to sleep. Got an early meeting tomorrow.”

“G’night Marong.” Gwen waved him off. She waited until the Smoke Mage was out of sight and earshot before excitedly waggling her brows at Mayuree. “I’ve got another shipment of cores!” She giggled.

“More Draconic Cores?” Mayuree said. “You’re insane! The Yinglong has only so many children. It’s going to skin you alive at this rate.”

Gwen materialised a Water Monkey’s Core. “What do you think about this?”

“Not Draconic, thank the goddess.” Mayuree took the core from Gwen’s fingers. “Identify!” Her pupils glowed with a pale cast of Divination, scanning the elemental shard with her diagnostic magic.

“A little cloudy.” Mayuree chewed her lips. “Well-preserved, negligible fracturing. Hmm, impurities present throughout the inner stratum. How many do you have?”

“Like this? About twenty. And forty other lesser specimens.”

“The House of M can offer about a hundred HDMs for the larger ones, assuming a twenty percent margin for us. They’ll make decent trinkets like Ring of Water Breathing and Water Walking, Ever-flowing Decanters as well as low-tier affinity boosters. As for the others, we can bundle them into bulk sales.”

“Sounds good to me.” Gwen let loose a small pile of cores on the coffee table, which Mayuree promptly collected. Raw creature cores came in all shapes and sizes, unlike the polished products one saw at auctions.

“To confirm, sixty-five ungraded cores, Water Affinity, correct?”

“Yep. Then there’s also this.” Gwen materialised the necklace they had looted from the Water Priest. “Any idea if it’s worth anything?”

“Whoa—lavish!” Mayuree hefted the heavy chain of some seven Water Ghost orbs. “Who made this?”

“A Water Ghost,” Gwen briefly explained the Priest they had encountered.

“A demi-human?” Mayuree shrunk back.

“Is that bad?” Gwen asked out of curiosity. “Are they getting too smart for their own good?”

Mayuree scanned the heavy ornament with her Divination-vision. “I’ll have to take it to Master Maymaruya,” the Diviner confessed. “It looks like an affinity booster to me, though I’ve never seen them daisy-chained like this before.”

“Let’s hope it’s worth something.” Gwen toyed with the orbs, running her fingers over the smooth, misshapen spheres. “You’ll be surprised how desperate Kusu, Lulan and Richard are for crystals.”

“Your latest haul should keep them going for a while. I’d say you’re looking at three thousand HDMs. That’s about the annual upkeep of an upper-tier Tower Magus.”

Split five ways between Richard, the siblings, Petra and Percy, Gwen made a quick calculation in her head. It would be more than enough to cover the spring semester’s expenses.

“Could I get that as an advance? You can charge me the difference.” Gwen asked.

“Sure, I’ve got the currency cards in the safe. Once sales are complete, you can review your accounts and make up the difference.”

“Thanks, Mia,” Gwen relaxed. “How’s interest on our Draconic cores?”

“A little intense, but that’s not a bad thing. We’re considering saving the bulk for the Chinese New Year rush at the end of January. After the initial sales, we’d save the rest for an invite-only event.”

“Sounds good. Say, do you know a Dai Fung?” she asked.

“The Nantong princeling?” Mayuree raised a curious brow. “He’s a customer. Why? Is he bothering you?”

“Not exactly.” Gwen ruminated on how to best present her case without infringing on her commitment to corporate confidentiality. “Over the weekend, I’ve had an opportunity to speak to the Patriarch Shen Fung, a vice-chair named Tu Guangshao, and a Jiantiao Magister called Chen Quin. We’re in business now, with me in the position of their financial advisor for the running of Nantong Port.”

Mayuree’s expression was one of incomprehension. “What do you mean? Like what you’re doing for us?”

“Not exactly,” Gwen explained. “I can’t give you the details, but let’s say I’ll have significant sway in the future success of Tonglv Canal. To that end, I was wondering if your clan could benefit from having a safe and profitable port of entry on the East Coast.”

Mayuree’s eyes glowed. “That’s incredible!”

“Well,” Gwen articulated haughtily. “It is impressive, I’ll confess to that.”

“We usually route things through the Guangzhou Frontier,” Mayuree confessed. “Shanghai’s tariffs and inspection are way too stringent. Too many people with too many fingers in the rice pot.”

“There’s no rush. The port won’t be accessible until Tonglv is operational,” Gwen explained. “Just thought I’d let you in on some of that insider information. I would highly advise investing in construction materials, utility golems, and raw materials. When the first stage expansion kicks off, there’s going to be a market spike for sure.”

“Thanks, Gwen.” Mayuree grinned. “I’ll pass on your advice to the house. Another thing, Master Maymaruya’s been asking for you as well. He’s unsure about your ‘vertical integration’ of merchant-provider services.”

“Too easy.” Gwen battered a hand at her companion. “Get him to Message me directly, or if he can wait, I should have a consultation office up and running in the next week or so. I’ve got a few lackeys running the show for me here in Shanghai. Guess who’s one of them? The one and only Dai Fung.”

“You’re going to have an office of your own?” Mayuree’s mouth again formed an “O” of astonishment. “And the princeling of Nantong is building it for you?”

“I’ll be splitting my time between there and my training,” Gwen replied smugly. “I figured it’s time I took an interest beyond the IIUC. It’ll only be between now and February, anyway. After that, the semester will start, and my time will be constrained further.”

“You’re amazing.” Gwen suspected that Mayuree’s semester schedule consisted mostly of sleep, sleeping through classes and dozing through house meetings. She chuckled at the sighing Diviner. Business, study and self-improvement—she had managed tighter schedules. With her Almudj’s Essence and her Lightning-induced insomnia, she might even have a few hours to spare.

Chapter twenty-one

A Step in the Right Direction

Gwen never thought there’d be a day she’d yearn for MS Office. For the fourth time, she threw the data slate onto the bed, then picked it back up with a sigh.

The bloody things were useful only in the sense that they were better than paper. Other than that, they possessed no interconnectivity outside of some arcane data-storage system used by the Tower, managed by lodging the slate with an administrative official. She had paid for an account, though the fact that her data bank was inaccessible from home and served only as a redundancy irked her to no end.

Was it possible to introduce complex word processing to this world? She would even accept the possibility of an annoying Familiar called Clippy.

But she knew she was daydreaming.

For all its supposed wonder, the data slate was a handheld projector. Beneath the papyrus “screen”, a crystal core recorded whatever the user transcribed. Other than that, the slate responded only to “record”, “show” and “next page” commands.

After tinkering with the device for some time, she realised there were no wires, no electronics, nothing to manipulate but inscribed scripts stowed within the core. Dislodging the core from its resin inlay ensured it died a permanent death, losing all its intellectual cargo, which made the devices fragile as well.

Gwen pinched her brows. With a word, she could summon a Lamprey from the netherworld beyond space and time to consume her enemies. In Nantong, Japanese-made automata lifted ten-ton slabs. Via an ISTC, she could Teleport from Shanghai to Australia in a matter of minutes.

But copy-pasting a fucking seven-day schedule was beyond the means of a magical world.

The next day, Gwen met up with the others and gave them their advance. Kusu and Lulan thanked her profusely, rushing away to fatten their savings account.

Percy conveniently came to “hang out” with his beloved sister, though Gwen knew her brother was keen to get his hands on some spending money to impress his mates at his elite high school. After being paid, when Percy exhibited a sudden urge to train at home, she instructed him to buy something nice for Guo and their babulya with his first paycheque.

“If you spend it all on yourself, I am never taking you out again,” Gwen warned him, wagging an authoritative finger.

Percy nodded obediently before bolting off faster than a Bottlebrush Bilby.

“Little rascal.” Gwen snorted, dropping a stack of currency cards in Richard’s palm. “Here ya go, Dick, enjoy.”

Richard stowed his cut. “I am thinking of buying a house,” her cousin declared.

“You’ve made that much?” Gwen raised both brows in surprise.

“I’ve got a few thousand that I’ve saved up from Quests and bounties. I’ve got the share you gave me from District 109, and I’ve received our bounty just now,” Richard recounted his finances. “I can buy something an hour away from the CBD, no problems.”

“Are you moving out?”

Richard shook his head. “Our rent is absurdly cheap. You know that, right?”

Cheap because Mayuree subsidised it, Gwen affirmed ashamedly. She hoped that whatever benefit the House of M gained from her ideas would make up for the Eland Core, the offset rent and the copious amounts of free dinners she was mooching off the Diviner.

“Thinking of renting out your new purchase?” Gwen asked.

“Nah.” Richard appeared unmoved by her suggestion. “I am saving it for my folks.”

A torrent of advice hammered at Gwen’s throat. Buying property and letting it idle was amongst the direst of fiscal blunders. “That’s wonderful,” she said, “but wouldn’t it be more reasonable to lease it until they arrive?”

“What, like Kwan?” Richard scoffed disapprovingly. It was rare to see him displeased, though any conversation regarding Richard’s father and their family’s money was bound to get the man scowling.

To Gwen’s knowledge, her crystal-obsessed uncle had built a small fortune on real estate, buying up ramshackle houses, repairing them and then selling them for profit. From Richard’s grievances, Gwen had learned that Kwan utilised an unscrupulous model, developing housing for low-rent Mages by demolishing areas close to the city inhabited by NoMs. His business partners happened to be councilmen, inspectors and certifiers, people he invariably bribed. The very same group who he was going to convince her to marry back in Sydney.

Of course, karma came in like a Leviathan.

“Well, not exactly like Uncle Kwan,” Gwen said prudently. She had once queried with Richard why he was so keen on immigrating his parents when he had so little regard for his father. His response was one that struck close to her heart.

“Whatever my opinions of Kwan may be,” her cousin had cooly said, “they gave birth to me, raised me, put me in Prince’s, gave me the best education Sydney offered and I am thankful for it. Realising their life-long dream of living comfortably in a tier 1 city is how I can pay them back.”

A man of principle! Gwen applauded him. Whatever Richard’s faults, his capacity to carry out his goals with single-minded devotion was, in her opinion, a rare bird in any neck of the woods.

“That may be, I could show you how to invest the money,” Gwen offered. “Something safe and steady, or you can piggyback on my ventures.”

“Yeah, nah.” Richard shook his head. “Once my parents settle in, I’ll finally push ahead with my spellcraft. I’ve got a lot to catch up on if I want to keep shielding you.”

Gwen cooed. “You’re my knight in shining armour, are you?”

“And you’re my crystal purse.” Richard laughed. “I hope you won’t leave me destitute.”

Gwen broke into a choked chortle. “Well, when my cockatrices come home to roost,” she solemnly promised her cousin. “I want everyone on board. It’ll be like a co-op. I’ll make a trust for the people I trust.”

“I’ll invest my trust in your Gwen-Trust?”

“God.” She cackled. “Really, Richard? You’re too young to be a dad.”

Rather than laughing at his terrible dad joke, Richard tapped her shoulder with a fist bump. “Thanks, cousin.”

“Hey!” she returned the favour by thumping his chest with the flat of her palm. “Stick with me, Dick, and you’ll never know want for crystals.”

Gwen found Petra in her lab atop the Heilong Building.

“Thanks.” Petra waved a hand over the currency cards. “That’ll tide me over for a while.”

“Are you often short on crystals?” Gwen enquired. “Is your stipend from the university insufficient?”

“A little, just personal projects and the like.” Petra shrugged. “Nothing urgent.”

“Any Magi-tech?” Gwen thought of her need for an iPad.

“Not my field,” Petra said. “Magi-tech is a hyper-specialised School of Enchantment, integrating concomitant energies from other schools. We have an entry-level course on it in Fudan, but to truly learn it, you have to go on exchange to Japan, the United States or Europe.”

“That sucks.” Gwen flexed her wrist, reeling from report-writing carpal tunnel. “I need better data slates and I needed them yesterday.”

“Maybe ask a Diviner-technician?” Petra pointed at the soaring spires of Fudan’s Guanghua Towers. “You can ask around, or if you’re desperate, why not put some of your CCs to good use? That’s what they’re for, you know.”

Holy shit! Gwen blinked. Petra’s right! Her prettier-than-thou cousin was absolutely right! Gwen had forgotten entirely about the whole point of CCs. All she had to do was put out a request, attach a CC and HDM reward and wait for results at the door. Eureka!

“So, what do you think?” Dai watched Gwen as she patrolled the breadth and depth of the hollowed-out office suite.

He had found her a place in under forty-eight hours. The suite overlooking the corner of Handan and Gouding Road was in an older building with a sandstone facade, once a colonial townhouse. Forty-eight hours ago, it had belonged to a researcher. Right now, it awaited its new tenant.

“Perfect.” The girl appraised him with approval. “Well done, Dai.”

“Don’t patronise me.” Dai lifted his chin, wary of Gwen’s encouragement. “Who do you think I am? This is the least I can do.”

“Should I ask what happened to the previous tenant?” Gwen tilted her head, allowing her hair to cascade.

“He left.” Dai shook his shoulders. What did it matter? “I was told he had a family emergency.”

“Of course he did.” Gwen put on a look of disapproval that made him scowl. “Look, it’ll do. It’s close, it’s roomy and it’s quiet. That ticks all my boxes. Who do I see to decorate the place?”

“You’re renovating it again?” Dai furrowed his brow. Did she really need to?

“Of course; it’s my office. I’d hate to work in someone else’s workspace. I’ll need a secretary as well, someone who takes care of visitors and paperwork while I am away. Know any good personal assistants?”

“You mean like a secretary? Sure.”

“Good knowledge of accounting is essential.” The girl was quick to complicate matters, as usual. “Don’t get me a pretty vase or some arrogant lout looking to make a quick buck. I need people to work, not to give me lip.”

Dai tapped his chin. His counterpart rolled her eyes, ignored his irritation and then paced back and forth, measuring the space with her stride. Dai studied her figure, his mind turning up blanks.

“We’ll need to add a bathroom. I’ll need to shower and change every other time I’m here.”

“I can ask them to send a team from Nantong. It might take a week, though,” he replied uncertainly.

“Don’t worry about it then.” The girl shrugged. “I’ll ask the Wangs.”

Dai’s expression soured. He’d forgotten Gwen’s relation to Wang Enterprises. Of the siblings, Mina was no threat. As for Tao, the idiot never entered the orbit of his thoughts.

Still, if Gwen could have gotten one of the largest developers in Shanghai to find her a commercial property, why in Mao’s name was she getting him to run around town looking for spaces? Didn’t she know how much of a hassle it was to get the City Guards to threaten the previous tenant? In the end, he’d had to ask the District Secretary to make a call before the stubborn idiot fled.

Was all of this a part of her game? A test?

“Say,” Gwen continued, “about my cousins…”

Dai noticed that the girl had this habit of glancing down before looking up. This was highly distracting because she made bedroom eyes every time she spoke about business or crystals.

“Dai, do you still talk to Mina?”

Dai flushed, recalling the first time they’d met. For some reason, he’d been simultaneously smitten and overwhelmed by a sadistic desire to bully her, akin to an immature playground romance, all while still dating Mina.

“Not since last time.” Dai shook his head.

“Why did you guys break up?” the girl persisted, her face full of curiosity. “If you don’t mind my prying, of course. You don’t have to answer.”

“Our parents don’t see eye-to-eye,” Dai replied candidly. “The Wang heir is a squib, and I would be a threat to his fortune.”

“Hey!” Gwen’s tone was suddenly sharp and uninviting. “Don’t say that about Peaches. He’s a perfectly fine young artist.”

“He’s a sha-bi.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Dai felt better. He had finally said something that triggered her. “Can you imagine that ‘thug’ running the Wang empire? Give the walking failure a few years and Mina’s share might be all that’s left of a conglomerate.”

Dai was right, of course, but the girl appeared reluctant to concede. She didn’t think she could reverse Wang’s downward spiral, did she? The little minx had enough on her plate as it was.

Gwen glared at him, a judgemental hand placed over a hip, drawing Dai’s eyes over her slim curves. For some reason, he felt strangely titillated by the girl’s displeasure. Nervously, he licked his lips.

“So,. you and Mina, for real this time,” the girl insisted.

Ah, a diversion! Dai patted himself on the shoulder for winning this round. Who’d thought all it took to stump the girl was a peach?

“We weren’t dating in the conventional sense.” Dai allowed the girl her pivot. “Mina is one of the most desirable bachelorettes, and I am, of course, the number one bachelor in Shanghai’s social circles. We met at a party, tongues got wagging and we’d thought we give it a try.”

“That’s so sad.” Gwen shook her head. “You’re not even attracted to her?”

Dai grinned at Gwen. “No, though I am attracted to you.”

“Oh?” The girl smiled. It was a very pretty smile.

Was this a break in the levy? With her hair tied into a thick ponytail and almost no make-up, there was a sense of youthful vitality about the girl, making her infinitely alluring.

Gwen placed a hand across the arch of her hip. “What about me do you find attractive?” She cocked her head, her vivid irises sparkling like opals.

“Everything. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” Dai confessed shamelessly. No, proudly!

The sorceress ran a finger along her perfect chin until her digit pointed at her head. “Shallow! I take it you have no interest in what’s in here? Is that how you’re going to answer your father’s expectations?”

She’s pretty even when she’s mocking! Dai marvelled, swallowing nervously. He adjusted his collar. “No, no, no!” he said, pondering his faux pas. “I love your keen intelligence. I am most definitely attracted to what’s in that head of yours. So many ideas! With my wealth and your head, think what we can achieve.”

“Bullshit!” the girl scoffed, giving him a critical glare. A commanding presence radiated from her body. “If what you said was true the first time, at least I could accept it as a compliment. But to change your tune so callously? I’m disappointed, Dai.”

Dai stared at Gwen open-mouthed. Her deriding glare preyed on his feelings, yet he felt a strange, fearful thrill. They said that love was better than hate, and hate was better than apathy. Did that mean he was halfway there? Mao! She sure looked pretty in her peevishness!

“Let’s talk it over dinner.” Dai pointed at the next street over. “I heard there’s a family restaurant there that does authentic Beggar’s Chicken.”

At the mention of supper, the girl relented. She had been training and Dai was aware of her increased metabolism. His cousin, Lu Fung, who sat next to her in class, had told him everything about her.

“Fine.” The girl regarded him suspiciously. “You’re shouting.”

“Woman, are you human?” Dai shouted.

Her dinner companion sat open-mouthed as Gwen polished off the chicken single-handedly. “What? Order one yourself if you want.” Gwen sucked on her fingers. “The stuffing inside is to die for.”

As usual, the shop’s patrons watched her eat, though this time, they were treated to a different spectacle.

“Is that Dai Fung?” someone whispered in the corner.

“It is!” another voice answered.

“To think the son of the Commissioner would be together with the Worm Handler!”

Gwen watched as Dai turned to her with a shit-eating grin split from ear to ear, wiggling his brows at her.

“Go and pay.” She wiped her mouth annoyedly with a paper napkin. “You waiting for dessert or something? Supper’s over. Go home!”

“So what kind of worms are you apt at handling?” Dai snorted, having finally confirmed that the rumours were real.

Gwen’s deathly glare was enough to synergise an audible ‘Shaa!’ inside Dai’s head.

“Good night!” She left as a whirlwind.

As she stepped out the door, she stole a glance at Dai. Just then, she had combined both a mote of her Void mana and her Almudj’s Essence, though, from the feel of it, Dai seemed to have grown tolerant to her use of Dragon-Fear. Perhaps she should up the dosage?

Shit. Her worried thoughts made her paranoid. Did I push him too much? I better not have accidentally awakened something in the prick.

“Within the week would be good,” Gwen spoke amiably into the Message spell. “I’ll be there first thing. I’ll bring prints and sketches for your foreman.”

Her correspondent was none other than Patriarch Wang himself.

“Tao will meet you there. I’ve instructed him to oversee the project personally.” Patriarch Wang’s voice came across almost like a bark. Gwen could envision Tao cowering in the corner, mumbling incoherently, attired in Adidas trackies while his father gave the orders.

“That would be fabulous!” Gwen said. “I want to consult Tao on the School of Illusion as well. I intended to pick up a few basic spells but can’t seem to get the nuance of it.”

“You hear that, Tao? Listen to how humble Gwen is, even though she can thrash you with her little finger!” The patriarch must have left the Message Device in the public setting.

Poor Tao. From the sounds of it, he had already been on the receiving end of a lecture when Gwen called through.

“Uncle, please be gentle with Tao. His talent as a musician is nothing to scoff at,” Gwen pleaded. “He’ll do a great job, I am sure.”

“You better not screw this up, else no more of your idiotic American fad!”

“Not true! Mah music is culture, with a K—, Dawg—DAD!”

“You little shit! How many times have I told you…” The patriarch began his lecture anew.

Gwen whispered a prayer for Tao.

“Thanks so much, Mr Wang,” Gwen shouted into the Message, then closed the link.

She invoked the glyph for Dai.

“Dai? Yeah, it’s me. I found someone.”

The next day, Gwen awoke after four hours of sleep. She slipped into her sporting garb, made herself a triple-decked Spam-cheese sandwich, and then caffeinated herself with Almudj’s Essence.

Outside, winter was beginning to invade the November autumn, dropping the morning temperature to single digits.

At 6:00 a.m., she left for a morning jog around the campus, followed by an invisible Ariel and a full-sized Caliban. There was no point hiding her Worm, for Caliban had by now become a staple feature of Gouding Road.

Occasionally, stall owners fed the Mongolian Death Worm dumplings and buns, marvelling as Caliban’s tentacles snatched the food out of thin air. At first, Gwen had been apprehensive, though she relented after consultation with Chen. The old soldier advised keeping a tight leash on her beast but otherwise allowing it to socialise on its own.

After a ten-kilometre campus circuit, Gwen stopped for a milk tea and then began her spellcraft practice. Swiping into the room reserved for her by Dean Luo, she ran through her pre-planned routine, exercising each School of Magic she possessed before prioritising high-tier Evocation and Conjuration.

At 10:00 a.m., she found Tao and a crew of gruff workmen unhappily awaiting her arrival.

“Sorry!” Gwen said, bowing deeply. She had told Tao 10:00 a.m., but the fear put into Tao by his father ensured that he had arrived just after 8:00 a.m. Additionally, Gwen seldom paid attention to her Message device during training, meaning Tao and his crew had waited in the cold.

However, seeing a lovely girl bow and apologise with such sincerity was enough to turn the men’s upset into forgiveness.

“All right, all right,” the foreman said. “Let’s see this office of yours. Master Wang said you got prints drafted up?”

The group arrived at level 3, 3001, where Gwen had her suite. She produced a blueprint sketch of the renovation she had in mind, drew in chalk on the floor to indicate what and where she wanted the installations, and outlined every detail, from vanities and tiles to the placement of plants and other decorative accessories.

“You got furniture?” The foreman asked.

Gwen already had specific decor ideas in mind, having seen the designs she desired when she’d outfitted her and Petra’s apartment.

“Ooo, this is not going to be cheap.” The man scratched his head. “Just that feature wall’s going to cost extra.”

“Money ain’t a thang, thug!” Tao volunteered. “My father said to do everything Gwen needs. We’re loaded, bitch.”

Bloody oath, Peaches, this is why you’re going to lose your father’s fortune. Gwen grimaced, noting a similar expression on the foreman’s face.

“Budget’s not a problem,” she said. “Thanks, Peaches. I appreciate your kindness, but I won’t need your generosity on this one. The quote’s fine, Foreman Du. I can pay you upfront for the materials if you’re not sure.”

The foreman rubbed his hands together. “You’re the boss. Let’s get to work!”

After making the necessary calls for the plasterers, carpenters, floor installers and Transmuters, he informed Gwen that the outfitting would take just under one week.

“One more thing, miss. Can you do something about that?” The foreman pointed a thumb at Tao.

The Patriarch Wang had instructed Tao to stay on site and learn, though the foreman made it clear to Gwen that his personal preference was for the princeling to be out of sight. After watching Tao at work, Gwen admitted the foreman had a point. It wasn’t that Tao was a bad technical supervisor, it was that his informative criticism came in the form of ‘that’s the wrong shade, bitch’ and ‘use the guides, motherfucker’. Not surprisingly, the workers wanted to sock him in the gonads with a plaster trowel.

Caught in the middle, Gwen promised to occupy as much of Tao’s time as possible, though the young man had to return to the site each evening to inspect the scope of work.

Gwen patted Tao on the shoulder sympathetically. “Come on, buddy. There are some questions I wanted to ask you about Illusion. Do you think Mina is free for lunch? Haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Minor Image!”

Gwen watched her magically projected cube float across the vaulted ceiling.

After a light breakfast with Tao, the two had arrived at Fudan’s campus, where Gwen logged herself and Tao as a guest into the training room.

“Dawg, yo cruising on tier 2 already?” Her cousin baulked.

Gwen decided it was best not to inform Tao that beyond Minor Image, she knew a total of one Illusion Cantrip and three tier 1 Illusion charms.

Her principal enquiry was how to construct vector-based projections so she could create tables, lettering, numbers and charts for her future presentations.

“Dawg, you gotta understand spells are dumb bitches,” Tao informed her. “You gotta make ‘em work for ya, dig? Take this bad boy for example. Major Image!”

Tao projected an image of his pal, Little Dog, for Gwen to examine. The semi-opaque holography gave Gwen flashbacks of her old-world rock concerts.

“I ma doing it slowly for yo eyes ta see,” Tao informed her. “Minor Image! Minor Image! Minor Image!”

The first image was an ambient background. The second was impressive pictogram graffiti that Gwen’s Ioun Stone couldn’t read. The third was a florid script of “Little Dog” written in Chinese, embossed in 3-D, hovering above the visage of Tao’s friend.

“How’s dat?” Tao smugly inspected his work.

“Wow, that looks incredible.” Gwen walked around the illusion, inspecting the optic visage. Was it a projection of the mind? Then she realised illusions couldn’t be mass hallucinations. It made more sense that these were mana particles bending light in such a way that they constructed images, much like a laser-projected hologram.

“How do you add sound?” she asked.

“Mo’ Illusion spells, dawg.”

Tao incanted a quick Magic Mouth. “Yo! Yo! Yo! Little Dog in the house!” The Illusory pup made a gangster sign.

“Wait a second,” Gwen said. “You’re telling me you are simultaneously running five persistent effects?”

“For shows, I gotta run ten ta twelve,” Tao boasted. “The hard shit’s when ya gotta pimp out sick rhymes at the same time.”

“WHAT?” Gwen cocked her head, looking Toa up and down in the same manner that so many of her seniors had regarded her. “What about spell fatigue?”

“Yo get used to da headaches,” Tao explained. “Jus booze up beforehand and go with the flow.”

Hold on to your hip-hoppity horses! Gwen stared at Tao as though seeing him for the first time. “Peaches, you’re telling me that during your shows that we’ve attended, you’re operating ten persistent spells while rapping, while pissed as a koala on fermented gum leaves?”

“Don’t know about koalas,” Tao said. “That a kind of dog, dawg?”

“It’s deadly fauna from Australia,” Gwen explained. “They eat a lot of eucalypti and the leaves ferment in their stomach after a while, so they’re constantly drunk. After that, they fall on you. Hence, they’re called Drop Bears.”

“Mah spirit-animal!” Tao declared.

Gwen took another gander at Tao. Could Peaches actually be an idiot-savant? “Can Little-Dog and Mack-Daddy do the same?” she enquired to satiate her curiosity.

“They can manage three or four. That’s why most MCs run with a crew,” Tao nonchalantly answered. “Cuz of my old man, I was forced to play with mah self.”

The vision of Tao playing with himself made her throw up a little. Still, Tao’s strange obsession with the arts was itself an immense pressure placed on him by his father. It was no different from the burden Helena had put on her to stay thin and attractive.

“So,” Gwen continued, “if I wanted to create a song using Magic Mouth or Auditory Hallucination, how would I go about it?”

“Yo gotta layer it, like I said.” Tao stooped as he spoke, throwing a few gang signs here and there. “Check this out…”

She listened to Tao’s “track” as he bobbed and weaved. Illusionary music, Gwen realised, was electroacoustic-synth achieved via magic! No wonder she couldn’t reproduce anything other than cat-like howling. Even for the most uncomplicated music, she had to separate each trackinto different spells, loop her samples and then activate them together in sync before mastering the product via a recording device. In essence, Illusionist-musicians were sound engineers and samplers!

Gwen’s respect for Tao entered a new stratum. Does Tao’s father know about this?

But then again, Gwen realised despondently, it wasn’t as though an enterprise could be inherited via hip-hop. What Patriarch Wang wanted, Gwen supposed, wasn’t ill-rhymes but someone more akin to Dai: ambitious, charismatic and motivated enough to strive for more wealth and power.

She looked over at Tao, his head weaving back and forth, and felt a curious sympathy for her cousin’s innocence. If her path was the Path of Violent Conflict, what would be the Path of Peaches?

Chapter twenty-two

Who Watches the Watchers

Two days after Gwen began refining her Illusion spells with Tao, Mina joined the duo for supper.

“Babulya misses you,” Gwen’s cousin began with a warning. Their babulya had asked about Gwen more than once.

“Arrgh! You’re right!” Gwen slapped herself. With so much going on, she had completely neglected their grandmother. “Should I call her now?”

“Do it after,” Mina implored her, then thanked the waiter for stowing her jacket. Mina was her usual adorable self decked out in branded attire. “I am not going, by the way. Can’t stand Gramps. The old man gives me hypertension.”

“Count me out too, dawg,” Tao said.

“Aww,” Gwen said. “All right, all right, I free you from your obligations.”

The conversation then turned to Gwen’s new office. The sibling’s father, the Patriarch Wang, had taken great interest in it.

“Uncle Wang is welcome to visit anytime,” Gwen informed the siblings. “In fact, in the future, I would love to work with him on a project or two.”

“Dad’s pretty taken with you.” Mina sulked. “He talked about you two days straight. It’s making dinner unbearable.”

“The hoss won’t shut it no matter what! No offence, Gwen,” Tao grumbled. “I reckon he wants us ta change places or sumfin.”

“Sorry. Sorry,” Gwen said. “To make it up to you two, let me shout dinner.”

“Then I’ll order the Deep Sea Lobster.” Mina grinned at her cousin.

“Help yourself. Order two, if you can finish it,” Gwen smirked back. She was rich! Finally, she was rich.

When she realised Gwen was serious, Mina studied her intently. “I can see somebody is doing well for themselves. Last time we met, you were struggling with rent. How come you’re so rich now? Did you rob a bank?”

“Ah, you know how it is,” Gwen answered humbly. “You win some, you lose some. I manage a few Quests, ran a Dungeon or two, sold some loot.” Plus a dozen Draconic Cores, business partners, profitable adventures and risky ventures, Gwen silently appended.

“What, took you a whole seven months?” Mina derided.

Gwen grinned helplessly. What else could she say? Opportunities came knocking and she took them by the proverbial balls.

Tao turned to their patient waiter. “Listen up, hoss! Abalone hot pot, Daliang school prawns, Qinhai Sea-Urchins and two Ginger and Shallot Deep Sea Lobsters.”

“Peaches!” Mina snapped at her cousin. Gwen realised she had meant the lavish suggestion as a joke.

“It’s fine. Make it three,” she informed the waiter. The handsome waiter looked doubly impressed by the Fu-er-dai high-rollers, although he looked Tao up and down with deep suspicion. “All with Wildland wheat-noodle base.”

“That’s a lot of noodles,” Mina pointed out.

“It’s fine.” Gwen patted her tummy. “I’ve got a hankering for gluten.”

Halfway through the lobsters, the topic turned to Dai.

“So, what’s your side of the story?” Gwen asked.

“Dai’s an asshole,” Mina stated blankly, forking a white-jade morsel.

“He’s a playa and yo got played!” Tao illustrated his point with a greasy finger.

Mina warned Tao with a lobster leg, threatening to stab him in his noodle-hole. “Peaches is kidding; it’s not like we had sex or anything.”

“WHOA! Too much information.” Gwen crossed two spindly forelegs to make a tasty “X”.

“Why are you thinking of dating him?” Mina asked.

“No way.” Gwen shook a juicy tail. “Just curious. Did you have feelings for him?”

Mina lowered her deep-sea crustacean. “If we do get married, it’ll be for politics anyway,” Gwen’s cousin explained. “The standard thing to do here in Shanghai is to get married, produce an heir, then do whatever you like. I can sleep around if I desire, as long as I don’t have children out of wedlock. He can plough as many sows as he likes, as long as he doesn’t bring one home. I’ve got married friends who haven’t spoken to their husbands for years. I suppose, in a way, that’s what passes for happy endings.”

A sow, huh? Gwen allowed the passive comment to slide.

“Would you have married him?” Gwen asked. “If he reciprocated?”

“Daddy wouldn’t have allowed it.” Mina chuckled. “You know how he and Mum are. They held a marriage meeting with Shen Fung. I am guessing they didn’t see eye to eye.”

Possibly, Gwen imagined that it was because Bao Wang wanted his daughter to be happy, while Shen Fung spent the entire meeting discussing Mina’s dowry.

“I envy you guys for having such a great dad,” Gwen lamented wistfully, stirring her noodles.

“My dad wishes you were his child.” Mina laughed annoyedly. “Maybe you can substitute for Tao. Then we can all be happier.”

“Can Dad marry Gwen into our family?” Tao proposed suddenly, sucking on a lobster claw. “She’s the daughter he always wanted.”

The girls dry retched at Tao’s lack of critical thought. Such was Gwen’s revulsion that she dropped her lobster, having lost all appetite.

“God, you’re an idiot,” Mina spat. “You disgust me. Go and die right now.”

“ADOPT!” Tao protested, stating that all this talk of lobsters had addled the lyrics in his head. “I MEANT ADOPT!”

After the dinner, Gwen made arrangements to visit her babulya on Saturday. When she asked about her father and Uncle Jun, Klavdiya informed Gwen that Jun had his hands full as the new envoy to the Dragon Princess, while Hai communicated that he was perfectly happy in Hangzhou.

“I guess I won’t be seeing Hai until his baby’s born.” Klavdiya sounded lost as she updated her granddaughter.

“It’s okay, Babulya,” Gwen assured her. “I am sure he’s thinking of you. A grandchild is a joyous occasion. I will have another little brother or sister; you can’t get happier than that!”

Her babulya agreed though Gwen could sense that her sentiments were ambivalent.

“Thanks for taking care of Percy,” her babulya added before ending the Message. “Your grandfather has had nothing but praise for you the last few days. Did you know Percy bought a pair of Soothing-Jade for us? Over a hundred HDMs! Your grandfather hasn’t stopped fiddling with it since yesterday!”

“They grow up so fast.” Gwen chuckled. “See you Saturday, Babulya.”

Friday afternoon, Gwen returned to her office after training to see Dai conversing with the foreman.

“I am very impressed with your work,” she overheard Dai say. “What say you come to work for us in the Fung Group? I’ll pay you ten percent over whatever you’re getting from the Wangs.”

“I’ll think about it.” The foreman’s rejection came in the form of diplomacy. “Thank you, Master Fung, for the offer.”

Gwen coughed audibly, then entered.

“Gwen!” Dai turned to her, his darkened face brightening considerably. “You’ve exceeded my expectations!”

The young man wasn’t lying, for he indeed had naught but praise for the new decor. The once mundane commercial space was now an open office. From the entryway, a frosted glass wall with a receptionist’s desk hindered the view of the interior.

Opposite the console, a drink dispenser flanked two fiddle-leaf figs in minimalist concrete pots, joined by four comfortable steel and leather tub chairs. Past the reception, a working area with three adjoining acrylic tables staffed by mesh chairs formed a workspace, beyond which was the director’s table.

Gwen’s desk, an overlarge waterfall table with an assortment of filers and pigeon holes hidden from view, stood in front of left-to-right, floor-to-ceiling glass panes overlooking the street below.

“Who’d have thought an office without partitions or walls would look so clean and beautiful.” Dai touched a hand to one of the three pendant lights hanging from the ceiling. “Take this thing. I know it’s useless but I like it! It somehow ties the front together.”

The floor was ash-blonde wood, extending up the far left wall to create a feature section.

“And that!” Dai stalked back and forth. “Incredible. How is it that the floor looks so good on the ceiling?”

“I, too, had thought you were crazy, miss,” the foreman admitted. “Come, let me show you the bathroom.”

If the office itself impressed Dai, then the bathroom blew the Fung heir away.

Gwen had requested a two-tone Scandic-style bathroom, a standard and contemporary option for the 21st-century apartment. The tiles were transmuted to resemble white ash wood, the cupboards were panelled with cedar, and a large round mirror had lumen globes installed to provide high visibility and soft light for applying makeup. To the right, an all-glass cage encircled a rain shower, with the bathroom throne discreetly nestled in a spacious alcove just out of sight.

“I am starting to think plating our executive bathroom in gold was needless,” Dai confessed.

Gwen recalled the gaudy bathrooms she had seen in the Fung Group’s building. It was very ‘80s Colombian Narco-chic. “Yeah, not a fan of your golden thrones,” Gwen said.

“All of this was your idea?” Dai kept touching the vanities. He was a man in hot pursuit of a certain quality of life, and Gwen’s simple modifications were drawing the ambitious heir down a rabbit hole.

“You could say that.” Gwen nodded demurely; she was nearing her limit. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First thing’s first.”

“Yes?” Dai brushed the polished walnut wood.

“Get out of my bathroom.”

Dai and the foreman stood silently in the lobby. Thankfully, the foreman had spared no expense on soundproofing.

Gwen rejoined them a few minutes later. “When’s your counterpart from Vice-President Tu’s office arriving?”

“A week or two? We’re way ahead of schedule,” Dai replied.

“How’s the recruitment coming along?”

“Could be better.” Dai appeared a little guilty. “I’ve sent a request back home. They’re canvassing the clan for people right now.”

Gwen frowned. Trying to dig up accountants and auditors from a family business’s internal members? That was a recipe for disaster.

“That’s not going to fly, Dai. Look, why don’t you leave it with me?” she informed her Guan-er-dai companion. “Did you read my organisational charter? Sort through the duties of each department and its members?”

Dai regarded her guiltily. She saw that this was a young man who had not done his homework.

Gwen sighed. Dai’s complexion burned.

“Can I leave now?” the foreman asked. He clearly did not want to be here if either of them started blowing up.

“Yes, thank you.” Gwen shook the man’s hand. “Give my regards to Mr Wang and send the bill to Mr Fung.”

The foreman fled.

“Now.” Gwen turned to Dai, her eyes flashing. She directed him to her desk. “Sit down. We’re not leaving until you know our charter down to the last dot point.”

Saturday

Gwen completed a follow-up session with Magister Wen.

“We are no longer collecting your Druidic Essence,” the Magister announced, punctuated by the snap of a shutting folder.

When Gwen enquired as to why, Wen saltily informed her that the upper echelon had explicitly forbidden further research into that particular avenue of Gwen’s prowess.

“Unanimous decision from both Towers,” Wen answered as she stowed no less than two cubes of Gwen’s Void matter. With Almudj’s help, she could tap deeper into her vital stores without harming herself, meaning a dozen Void Bolts and non-persistent spells should be relatively painless. “Your biometrics are superb, by the way. Resting heart rate of just under fifty. You’re as healthy as an athlete.”

Gwen thanked the Magister behind the curtains.

“Gwen, dear,” the silhouette of Magister Wen implored as Gwen shuffled into her dress. “Have you come to terms with Caliban’s abilities yet?”

“Ma’am?” Whatever Wen’s intentions, Gwen grew instantly uncomfortable.

Behind the veil, the scholar’s enquiry continued. “You lack the School of Enchantment, do you not?”

Gwen maintained her silence; no good would come of answering Wen’s enquiry.

“There’s a prisoner on death row, a suspect cult leader, tier 5 Mind Mage.”

Gwen hurriedly buttoned up her blouse. “Gotta go!” She took off at a bolt, not even turning to see if Wen acknowledged her goodbye. “I’ve got a date with Babulya!”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about Master,” Petra said, joining her cousin as they made their way to the Song compound. Originally, the girls had planned to catch a cab, but Petra convinced Gwen she needed at least twenty minutes of brisk pre-banquet exercise. “She’s not too happy right now. Ever since Secretary-General Miao met you, there have been sanctions on her research.”

“How so?” Gwen effortlessly paced beside her briskly walking cousin. Petra was already working up a sweat.

“I suspect it’s got something to do with Ayxin.” Petra huffed, picking up the pace. “You know how jealously the Dragon-kin guard their secrets.”

That makes perfect sense! Gwen realised. Ayxin was all thunder and lightning when Gwen started calling Almudj by name. If the Dragon-kin saw Almudj as something of a progenitor, there was no way they would let humanity harvest and research mana blessed with Almudj’s Essence. Though no doubt the CCP would desire to discreetly conduct their research, extracting it from Gwen like juice from a grapefruit was too glaringly an insult.

I should call Uncle and visit Ayxin, Gwen thought, then allowed the thought to slide. If only I wasn’t so damn busy…

“Gwen! Welcome back!”

Gwen noticed her grandfather’s rigidity when Klavdiya gave her a suffocating embrace.

“I am back, Babulya,” Gwen kissed her grandmother on the cheeks. She then turned purposefully toward her grandfather.

“Gwen,” Guo declared stiffly. “Welcome back.”

Gwen kept her arms wide open, making a come-hither expression.

“Guo.” Her babulya pushed Gwen’s grandfather forward.

With the unwillingness of a cat forced into unwanted affection, Guo resigned himself to be embraced by placing himself rigidly in between Gwen’s arms. As her arms enveloped the old man, Gwen realised Guo was all but bone-wearing skin. The frailty of her grandfather came as such a surprise that she kissed the old man on the forehead.

The CCP hound master flinched, touching a hand to his forehead in disbelief.

Gwen’s babulya broke into bell-like laughter beside them, soon joined by Petra and an uncomfortable Percy, whose cringe was as expected of a teenager.

After Guo hurriedly wiped the evidence from his forehead, the family made for the main hall, where a banquet had been set up, reminding Gwen of the very first time she had arrived in Shanghai.

Seven months on, how different things were! Gwen marvelled at the familiar table, its nostalgic seating and the juxtaposing atmosphere of jubilant bliss.

“Gwen,” Guo intoned solemnly, his bulldog face full of genuine concern that made her heart melt. “Tell me truthfully—are the Fungs taking advantage of you?”

Are they? Gwen found it difficult to answer, for if anything was true, it was that she was fleecing them like a herd of sheep.

Though Gwen had promised herself that Sunday would be a break day, she found herself returning to the training hall. After four hours of unyielding practice, she turned on her Message Device.

DING!

“Gwen, it’s James Ma. You said you wanted to speak to me. I am on campus now.”

Gwen quickly dialled in her economics professor’s glyph.

“Sir? It’s Gwen. Are you available for a luncheon? I need to speak to you regarding a great opportunity for your NoM students. I am serious. Great! How about Café Europa on Gouding, opposite the Furano candy shop? Lovely, I’ll see you there soon.”

With only a few minutes to spare, Gwen stripped off in the privacy of the training hall, spritzed herself with a Prestidigitation, and then slipped into something more professional. With some reluctance, she chose not to wear the Hermès for fear of offending the NoM professor.

A quarter of an hour later, she met him at the coffee shop, putting to rest the speculation of a dozen young men and a few women as to whom the infamous Death Worm Handler of Fudan could be meeting on a Sunday.

“Not very discreet, are you?” James Ma set down his coat. “I wish they paid this much attention during my lecture.”

Gwen chuckled. “Thank you for coming, sir.” She briefly explained her dilemma, redacting critical elements of their methodology.

“You’ve sold one of your economic theories to the Fungs?” Ma raised a bushy brow. “You’re not getting yourself into trouble, are you? It’s in a clan’s nature to profit off the state, you know. A parasite can’t help but exercise its nature.”

“That’s a little harsh, sir,” Gwen retorted. “If they directly steal from the venture, it’s lose-lose. The CCP would excommunicate them. If they succeed, where could they possibly spend that much money? Escape Shanghai for Singapore? The best thing for everyone is to play by the rules. That way, it’s win-win.”

“Perhaps in a Western country,” Ma refuted her good cheer. “Here, they’re far too used to escaping punishment.”

“Which is why I need your help.” Gwen brought out a data slate. “Here’s something I wrote over the last few days.”

Ma took the tablet and began to read. After the first abstract, he became glued to the tablet, devouring page after page, leaving his coffee to grow cold.

Gwen patiently waited for her professor to finish her fifty-odd page report, consisting mostly of diagrams, organisational charts and short-form notes taken from an old MBA Course on Corporate Governance, which she’d made good use of in her line of work. An unexpected boon of her Draconic memory was that she could pull old lessons from her head with relative clarity, assuming she had once crammed them into her brain. Moreover, re-imagining her old coursework for her new world seemed to invigorate an erudition she hadn’t attained as a younger woman.

After half an hour, Ma put down the tablet. “This is… audacious.” The professor breathed out.

“It’s a necessary evil, sir,” Gwen assured him.

Ma reread the title: “Independent Supervisory Roles and Regulations – Establishing an External Auditory Committee. You’re going to make enemies, Gwen,” he warned her.

Gwen fluttered her striking eyes at the professor, playing the coy and innocent student. “I was hoping you would be the one to make those enemies, sir,” she said.

“Me?” Ma snorted in ridicule.

“Yessir. Only you have the influence and clout to start something like this. You’ve said it yourself. The reason our spellcraft and economy are incapable of pushing past competitors like Seoul, Tokyo and the Americans is due to internal corruption. In my opinion, the CCP would love to enact an independent financial body.”

“But,” Ma’s fingers were white-knuckled, “you’re telling me to fill a department full of NoMs?!”

“Not NoMs,” Gwen strongly stipulated that. “Agents who are auditors, accountants and lawyers, whose actions and decisions must be supported by other departments like the MSS, Internal Service, or even the CCDI. Think of it, sir. NoMs, freed from the fetters of magic, in real positions of power as arbitrators and supervisors.”

“It’s impossible! You’re asking people to give up their lives!” Ma tried to keep his voice down, but even so, they were drawing eyes from all over.

“Let’s speak elsewhere.” Gwen’s eyes glinted. She knew she had him now. “How about we talk in my office? It’s about fifty metres down the street.”

Ma slid the data slate across the table, then cocked an eyebrow. “You have an office?”

Professor Ma sat opposite Gwen, quite speechless at the decor. “This is your office?” He spoke with disbelief.

“I just had it renovated. I’m sorry about the paint smell.” The girl’s heels clicked across the floor. “I brought you some tea.”

Her professor looked around Gwen’s resplendent workspace, which was so much more modern, comfortable and ergonomic than his cluttered workspace at the university.

The professor sipped his tea, savouring the scalding amber liquid. “I am still not sure what to think. You—a seventeen-year-old girl, is a part of the Tonglv Expansion Project’s top management?”

“I am.” Gwen nodded, crossing her legs and looking far older.

“All right. I suppose stranger things could happen, like a department where NoMs audit a Mageocratic operation.” Ma leaned back on a cantilever chair. “So, let me play the capitalist devil’s advocate. What’s in it for me?”

“Everything,” his student replied. “You’re a well-respected scholar, you’ve got pull within the CCP’s ranks, and you’ve got access to a well-trained, non-magical staff without affiliation to the Fungs, the Shanghai Economic Exchange, or Magister Chen from Jiangqiao University. You’re the only non-partisan person I know with the skills and the respect to act as an independent supervisory our three partners will trust. Don’t forget—they’re a triumvirate, they always doubt each other as well.”

She continued, cutting off Ma’s protest. “As to what’s in store for you, sir, the venture fund can pay you very well. Most importantly, I am willing to pay your NoM students a rate higher than the standard normally paid to Mages in the same role. Rather than working under the moniker of a NoM labour force, I want to establish your group of people as specialists, agents, operators and problem solvers. This project is merely the beginning.”

She opened her hands, then balled her fists. “As for you, sir. Succeed in Nantong, and you can start a company—an independent accounting firm—or become the head of a new audit department. I’ve asked Patriarch Fung to enact internal audits, but we all know how trustworthy that is. This way, everyone has a guarantee. So long as our venture succeeds, Nantong will be a southern miracle. Those in Beijing would be salivating over our methodology, the chief merit of which lies under your austere supervision.”

“What makes you think your doctrines are safe?” Ma pointed out, feeling his resolve soften. “Tu or Chen could just sell you out.”

“I wouldn’t doubt it. But until then, there are crystals to be made. I asked Dai to find me accountants, administrators and auditors, but you know what he did? He asked home to send him some. Preposterous! I suspect they’ll keep me in the loop for two years at worst, a decade at best.

“I am not here for the long haul, sir. I am not that deluded. I am only here for the IIUC and five more semesters of university. If I can graduate earlier and receive the title of a Magus, I would welcome it. Until then, these are opportunities to… diversify my investments.”

Ma tilted his head to regard the girl opposite, whose grasp of economics was inexplicably leagues above his own.

A part of him still screamed that all this was folly, and what lay beyond Gwen’s honeyed words was a maelstrom of greed, an economic calamity made inevitable by human gluttony. The astronomical numbers she was throwing around were sure to drive the Mages wild with crystal lust.

And this proposal of hers—this partition of powers to keep her brain-child safe—it was a bloodbath. When Ma and his cadre of auditors invariably unearth corruption, theft, larceny and nepotism, what would await the men and women who’d thought the Triumvirate dumb and deaf? How many would die to the Mages’ rage?

Even if Shen Fung played the merciful bureaucrat, the CCP possessed very little patience for those who sought to enrich themselves at the cost of the country’s progress. The Purge of ‘86 was evidence of that. Ma had been an assistant professor then, just an ambitious young man. He’d seen first-hand the massacres, the show trials and the hundreds of Mages, chained like cattle, led through Beijing toward the Northern Front. Behind them had been hundreds of thousands of NoMs: associates, servants, family members, loved ones and beneficiaries, likewise taken on the Long March, never to return to their homes.

What would happen if someone were to tear away the festering scab on the country’s corrupted wound? Could the next Purge have its origins here in this fancy office, issued forth from the plump lips of a girl-child in a too-short skirt playing at economics, stoking her too-big brain, believing herself a genius?

But the girl was right. Shanghai was growing stagnant and the Communist Party’s original Manifesto of raising the NoMs from poverty had fallen by the wayside.

As a squib, Ma dreamed of proving to the Party that NoMs were an indispensable part of the CCP and its future. If he could succeed, the Party, and especially the wise and all-seeing Secretary-General Miao of CCDI, would acknowledge the existence of an organisation uncorrupted by the clans, the Scholar-Bureaucrats, the Mage Houses and the power progenies of its secretaries. Without spellcraft to distract them, his fellow experts attained proficiency in accounting and bookkeeping far beyond the Mages.

If the state enacted protection for their devoted labour and elevated their positions, it would be the first step to integrating NoMs into their socialist society meaningfully, appropriating a place of influence and indispensable utility.

“Sir?” The girl’s voice was like a Siren’s. “Is that proposal to your liking?”

James Ma raised his head to meet his student’s eyes, taking in the extravagant visage of a girl who would change China.

“All right. I’ll do it,” he intoned with the fatalism of one told to hold the line against an Undead Tide. “I just hope you’re happy with the outcome.”

Gwen exhaled, her smile full of relief. “Sir, it’s all for the greater good.” The girl laughed, full of confidence. “We’re in the job-creation business! Not just for your NoM students. The Tonglv Canal will generate hundreds of thousands of jobs: sailors, harbourmen, machine operators, mechanics, service personnel and a hundred thousand more to support those jobs: food vendors, motels, restaurants, garment makers…”

Ma’s skin crawled with every job title Gwen carelessly rattled from her mouth. The girl had no idea! She hadn’t the slightest inkling what prosperity would bring! Progress was all well and good, but where there were crystals, the darkness that grew in the hearts of men held their secret cabals. From the highest Magister of the law to the lowest Neophyte, Nantong would attract them like a bloated Leviathan carcass attracting carrion!

“With your help, sir,” Gwen smacked her lips, “we’re going to enable a real economic revolution in Nantong!”

Ma said nothing as the girl continued to talk, rattling off her gospel of profit like a prophet at a sermon.

“One more thing.” Gwen smiled sweetly at her professor.

“Yes?” Ma looked up, feeling numb.

“Do you think,” Gwen cooed at him, “you could send me someone to be my PA? I’ll teach them everything they need to know, and I’ll pay them twenty percent above market rate.”

Chapter twenty-three

Credit Where Credit Was Due

“Gwen informed Dai about Professor Ma’s agreement to sit on an independent supervisory board, then left the Fung heir to schedule a meeting with the other members of their foursome.

She then returned home to rest, finally able to relax now that a significant buffer was in place to spurn the jaw-clenching reflex of the clans to defraud the state. Furthermore, Professor Ma had promised to send her his best student to be interviewed.

With her head resting against the soft pillow, she envisioned the web binding everything together.

The venture fund would have its three divisions and subdivisions, each presided over by paranoid men wary of each other’s excess, with Professor Ma’s external audit committee acting as a check on all three. So long as Nash’s equilibrium held, the men should arguably do what benefited themselves individually, as well as enact best practices to maximise collective gain.

Should a single individual shift the balance, what awaited them was cannibalisation. Within the scope of her proposal, everyone from the highest executive officer to the lowest plebeian had an active interest in the successful operation of the Tonglv Canal. It was trickle-down economics at its finest.

Her only question was, how long could James Ma hold back the tide?

If, under internal and external supervision, mutual interest and low-risk capital-borrowing, the venture still left the womb stillborn, then this country was ill-suited for economics. If so, she may as well park her future Tower in the middle of a well-grown patch of the Wildland crystals and command her minions to start harvesting.

Dreaming of crystals, she closed her eyes and welcomed the well-earned bliss of restful sleep.

The end of November brought a sudden chill that wiped the presence of autumn from the campus. The inundation of a mana-miasma over Shanghai exacerbated the change of seasons, extending the monsoonal summer and inviting an early winter as a compromised troposphere trapped cold fronts passing over the city.

On odd-numbered weekdays, Gwen’s self-imposed schedule began with breakfast at 6:00 a.m., followed by a jog around campus. She had a second breakfast from 7:30 to 8:00 a.m., followed by three hours in the training hall practising her magic. Provisionally, she attended the office after lunch, got changed, and then ploughed through paperwork from noon to 5:00 p.m. After that, it was back to training, returning home at 8:00 p.m. for her late supper with Richard, Petra or by herself.

On her even-numbered days, she began with meditation in the early morning, followed by breakfast and training. She then allocated herself some free time to do as she pleased, such as wandering the city and networking with her contacts. In the afternoon, she returned to training, alternating between Schools of Magic. Evenings involved another block of free time, which, for now, she spent ruminating on particular problems and burying her head in reports, proposals and accounting.

Saturdays and Sundays were free days, which Gwen split between other self-improvement activities such as research at Fudan’s campus library, getting her biometrics done with Magister Wen, training with Percy or spending time on various activities with her companions.

Throughout the day, she exercised Almudj’s Essence whenever she felt tired, inviting the primordial energy to refresh her astral and physical body. With repetition and practice, the clarity offered by her meditation quickly took on a subconscious ease. Aided by Ayxin’s scale, she could freely exercise the routine even mid-conversation. As an unexpected boon, her Draconic constitution resolved much of her indigestion.

On Wednesday, Dai returned with Vice-Chairmen’s Tu’s protégé, a power progeny like Dai with a round, friendly face and a plump body that reminded Gwen of a prosperous Buddha. Gwen arranged for the three of them to have dinner, where she asserted dominance by eating twice as much food as their new staffer, Ken Duan.

“We start with training and a project overview,” Gwen informed their starry-eyed intern. “I am still waiting on my PA, after which I’ll teach all of you together. Meanwhile, it’s your job to study up on our operations. Dai has a copy of our manual and charter. There is a protocol for filing, answering calls, dealing with enquiries that you must learn as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Ken inclined his head respectfully. As Dai had said, their instructions had been to treat Gwen as though she was one of the three—that and report back anything and everything of interest. Gwen was under no illusion that this Ken character was anything other than a pair of eyes for Vice-Chairman Tu, though she amused herself with the fact that just as Ken was watching her, he was far more interested in keeping tabs on the Fungs.

Either way, she received another body to throw at the paperwork.

Monday week, Gwen’s PA arrived. Professor Ma had personally called to give the young woman a commendation, which Gwen graciously accepted.

“So you’re Miss Li.” Gwen crossed her legs and swung her chair so that she could take a good gander at the NoM Professor Ma had sent her. “Ru-Yee-Li?”

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” the girl replied with a tone of apprehension. “It’s Ruì, ‘Rū’ and ‘Eè’, ma’am. My family originated from the Canton Frontier. I can speak English and Mandarin, Cantonese, of course, and I know a little bit of Japanese.”

“How lovely!” Gwen tapped her Ioun Stone. “I’ll get you one of these as well. I suspect we’ll see plenty of visitors speaking various languages and dialects.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl lowered her head demurely.

Though unassuming, Ruì’s resume betrayed her mundane exterior. She was a third-year graduate with a degree in commerce, averaging high distinction. Ruì had also served as the financial officer for Fudan’s Non-Magical Socialist Union, a sort of young communist club, receiving an accolade from Professor Ma and commendations from a dozen others for her outstanding work.

In her second year, she had exposed a third-year senior absconding funds from the Student Union. Though the young man threatened her, she nonetheless took the matter up with Professor Ma, resulting in the man’s expulsion.

“But that wasn’t the end of it,” Gwen noted, recalling that Petra had once mentioned the incident.

“No, ma’am,” Ruì explained meekly. The Evoker had attempted to get back at Ruì, and of course, Professor Ma had anticipated such a cliché reaction. After a fiasco on the lower campus and Ma’s insistence on making an example, the Evoker and his accomplices enjoyed an expedited promotion to the Frontier.

On paper, therefore, Ruì was the perfect candidate. Skills could be practised, knowledge cpi;d be learned, but that stubborn regard for ethics was an ingrained character trait.

“Dai, Ken, come here for a second.” The two Mages joined her.

Ruì tensed like a stray kitten.

“Working together will be a test for yourselves and Ruì,” Gwen began. The Guan-er-dai duo gave each other strange looks. Gwen guessed that a seventeen-year-old girl giving her senior Mages a lecture was strange enough on its own, but more so when she was making her point using a NoM.

“Ruì, I am not sure if you know Mr Fung.”

“I do, ma’am,” Ruì said, her complexion pale in the presence of three powerful progenies of spellcraft.

“Well then, this is Mr Fung and this is Mr Duan. They’re your co-workers. They do not have authority over you. Only I do. One critical aspect of your work, should you accept the position, is that you will be dealing with Mages—not just ones with arcane might, but political heavy-weights.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ruì bowed.

“Let me clarify—secretaries from the districts. Owners of manufacturing facilities. Sons and daughters of influential people, clanners…”

Ruì was either nodding or quivering violently, or both. Gwen wondered what Professor Ma had told the girl, but it seemed they were close enough to being on the same page.

“Here’s the thing,” Gwen continued, “you need to remember that as long as you’re my secretary, you do not need to fear them. Be polite, follow protocol and if a client bullies you, tell me, tell Ken or tell Dai. They’ll back you up. Right, guys?”

“Sure.” Dai shrugged.

“I’ll make sure she’s safe,” Ken Duan agreed. Unlike Dai, Ken was a born yes-man.

To emphasise the gravity of her demand, Gwen strolled around her three employees, punctuating her point with clicking heels.

“Let me make something very clear,” she stated with absolute seriousness. “It is entirely in your interests to keep Ruì safe. She is your buffer against the endless tedium of paperwork. Only because Ruì is here will you two have the minimalist volume of accounts to sign off. If something should happen to her at work, then all responsibility falls on your shoulders. Dai, you have two siblings and a dozen cousins. Ken, I am sure Vice-Chair Tu has hundreds like you under his care. I have only one Ruì. Do you understand?”

Gwen seasoned her last statement with a smidgen of Dragon Fear.

She watched Dai flinch while Ken froze on the spot, his body performing the natural response to an existential threat.

“I have the utmost faith in the two of you.” Gwen placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “You can go now.”

The two men returned to their desks.

“Now.” She turned her eyes to the shaking Ruì. “Let’s get to know each other a bit better.”

She introduced herself, then related a humorous tale of her family upbringing in Frontier Australia. After a few moments of light sharing, she migrated onto Ruì’s proficiency in business and accounting.

Dai and Ken listened with their bottoms on the edge of their seats, probably trying to discern her plans for the NoM auditor.

“I-I’ll be loyal, ma’am!” Ruì declared when Gwen asked her if she was willing to be a part of her team, looking as though she was on the verge of leaping from her seat to perform a kowtow.

Guiltily, she dialled down Almudj’s Essence.

“No need to pledge your allegiance,” Gwen assured the young secretary. “As long as you’re happy with your pay and do your job well, you’re welcome to stay as long as you like. If you become indispensable, that would make me happier than you know.”

“Indispensable, ma’am? What about you?”

“Ah, Ruì, my dear.” Gwen flashed her PA a confident smile. “The first lesson of any successful enterprise is the balance between supervision and delegation.”

Wednesday

Gwen met with Magus Maymaruya. After listening to the Magus’s enquiry, Gwen offered her continued cooperation for a percentage of the proceeds, refusing payment unless the Centurion venture succeeded.

The Magus readily agreed and then presented his enquiries.

As Gwen presented common-sense solutions to puzzling problems, the Enchanter clearly grew enchanted with her.

“… vertical integration.” Gwen pointed at a chart she had visualised through an elementary employment of Minor Image. “In essence, by generating a massive client roster, your service will lower costs due to upscaling of operations. Likewise, diversifying customers lowers overall risk.”

“But to reduce the top tier commission to eight percent? Our losses would be considerable!” Maymaruya said.

“It won’t, not when an economy of scale is applied to the lower tiers.” Gwen dismissed the first graph, then brought up two more charts sitting side by side, one an alarming red and the other a vivid green. “Look here. On the left, you’ve got the numbers from the old mode.”

Gwen zoomed into the left-most chart. “Let’s take this day trade sample as our example: 11,432 net transactions, averaging a commission of thirty HDMs at twelve percent.”

She then switched to the vibrant green chart. “Under a new, stratified membership system, the baseline commission for a silver-card holder is fifteen percent, gold-card twelve percent, Mithril-card ten percent and Orichalcum-Centurion-card eight percent.” Earlier, she had asked Ruì to crunch the figures, and her PA had not disappointed.

“As you can see, the average if we use the same number of transactions sorted into tiers based on the expenditure figures you provided, is thirty-three HDMs. Unexpectedly higher, in fact.”

“But to charge the silver customers a higher commission? Wouldn’t that dissuade them from joining?” Maymaruya looked doubtful.

“Not to worry. Silver tier is open to all,” Gwen assured the Magus. “The purpose of a stratified system is to filter customers upwards. To upgrade from silver to gold, all they have to do is exchange five hundred HDMs worth of inventory per month. From your interim report, the vast majority of the House of M’s clients are between the five hundred and twenty-five hundred strata, meaning they will enjoy the usual commission plus perks.”

“But…” The Magus fell silent.

Gwen conjured another chart, reminding herself to thank Tao and to shout him a few more dinners to thank him for the tuition. In the future, when this specific use of Illusion became standard practice, they would probably award her with the title of the Progenitor of the PowerPoint School of Illusion.

Her second chart was a table dividing the clients into their assigned strata.

“Imagine, Magus, that you’re a silver client. We’re charging you fifteen percent commission, and you currently have four hundred HDMs worth of goods to be auctioned, exchanged, or bartered. Fifteen percent commission on four hundred HDMs is sixty HDMs, and you only receive a few basic service perks like short-term loans with a modest interest rate. Now, here’s a clincher. Fifteen percent of four hundred HDMs is sixty HDMs. However, at the gold tier, at five hundred HDMs, the commission is twelve percent, meaning you pay a commission of sixty HDMs. Same fees, higher trade volume! Therefore, a silver-tier client will instinctively strive to reach gold-tier.”

“I see.” Maymaruya scratched his beard. “An attractive opportunity.”

“Good. Here’s where credit comes in. What if the client lacks the goods or funds to reach five hundred HDMs? In that case, the House of M can act as a short-term lender to the silver-ranked client. What’s more, you don’t even have to lend said client one hundred HDMs. Through the integration of loan, trade and client services, the House of M can take on the sixty HDM commission owed by the client as debt, with an overdraft of forty HDMs, all recorded on the client’s account. By borrowing, the client reaches gold rank, giving them better commission and a reduced interest rate on overdrafts. This we call the line of credit.”

“Our short-term losses…”

“Will be offset by clients striving to reach the next tier as soon as possible to receive better perks. The debt we hold will be paid off by interest collected from short-term lines of credit. Don’t forget, Magus, clients under this system can no longer leave our ecosystem without defaulting or paying off their debt. With ten, twenty, thirty thousand clients bundled up, the cash flow can readily offset accounting and debt collection.”

“Correct me if I am wrong. We’re still losing money on the Centurion clients, aren’t we?” The Magus was sweating.

Gwen smirked, her fingers tingled. Beside her, the ever-observant Ruì trembled.

“Magus, that’s a feature! The Centurion clients are an advertising cost, an ultimate goal for others to strive. As for reaching that goal? Sorry, invites only—the Centurion tier is exclusive. The minimum annual spending to maintain the Centurion card is only ten thousand HDMs. Why’s that? It’s because the card is not necessarily given to those who spend the most, but rather influencers who inspire others to spend—to give good will to the House of M! It’s also the reason why we keep the card invite-only. Expecting Centurion clients to turn a profit is impossible. It’s mathematically unfeasible without making the card uncompetitive. But no matter. Ruì, give me the numbers.”

Ruì passed over a sheet. Gwen visualised the data for the Magister as a pie chart, the lion’s share of which consisted of silver and gold members.

“As it stands, one hundred thousand clients whose transactions average five hundred HDMs from the silver and gold -ranked members will give us ten times the trade volume of fifty-plus high-roller transactions averaging ten thousand HDMs each. Though we currently have a dearth of low-ranked members, they are also the easiest to recruit. Remember, Magus, in the end, the low-tier members are the real currency makers. Never underestimate an economy of scale!”

Perusing the floating figures, Magus Maymaruya looked overwhelmed. Gwen waited patiently for him to catch up. While the House of M did not yet possess a hundred thousand members, that was because customers came and went irregularly. If clients could be persuaded to borrow crystals to pay their debt, remaining in-house to take advantage of perks and rates, then it was entirely possible that in a few years, their baseline clients would exceed hundreds of thousands.

If so, even losing crystals to placate the Centurion clients, the House of M stood to make a massive profit. Take the Draconic Cores, for example, each auctioning for between four thousand and twelve thodsand HDMs. How many could they sell a year? Twenty? How many shield-cores passed the hands of the House of M’s auctioneers? Less than ten per annum? Though each transaction reached new records for commission payments, they were too few to be profitable but impressive enough to serve as adverts.

“One more thing.” Magus Maymaruya raised a hand. “If we’re paying out membership discounts to restaurants and hotels, how can we—”

“Hold it right there.” Gwen stood from her table. Her NoM aide gasped, probably surprised that Gwen would interrupt a Magus as casually as one hawking beans at the market. “There’s a fundamental misunderstanding here.”

“Miss Song?” The Magus asked.

“Sir.” Gwen walked around the table and leaned against the table to make an imposing impression. “Who told you that the House of M is paying for the discounts?”

Magus Maymaruya appeared bewildered.

“Ruì, come here for a minute.” Gwen motioned for her aide.

Ruì presented herself demurely before the Master Enchanter, placing her minutes of the meeting aside.

“Magus, this is my personal assistant, Ruì. Magus, if there’s anything you need when I am not available, you can leave it with her.”

Ruì bowed deeply. The Magus waved the girl away.

“Ruì,” Gwen proposed to her PA, “you run a restaurant. A high-end on the Bund. I come in and tell you that I can potentially bring one hundred thousand customers who will frequent your restaurant if you’re willing to take a five perecent cut from your overall profit margin. Do you agree?”

“Of course, ma’am!” Ruì nodded. “A mundane fine-dining establishment operates with significant overhead, though a successful venture usually expects a gross profit between sixty and ninety percent For magically-inclined restaurants serving Wildland ingredients and whose chefs may prepare Magical Creatures, the gross can be as high as two hundred percent.”

Magus Maymaruya eyed the NoM girl with interest.

“Assuming one percent of my client-base—one thousand customers—will patronise your establishment every three months, will you accept a five percent discount exclusive to my customers?”

“Of course, ma’am!” Ruì nodded furiously.

“Well, too bad.” Gwen folded her arms. “I am not including your restaurant unless…”

“Ma’am?” Ruì looked confused, as did Magus Maymaruya.

Gwen pinched her thumb and fingers together in the universal gesture for currency. “… you pay me.”

“A commission, ma’am?” Ruì stared.

“Yes, for bringing you customers like Dai Fung, the Wangs, and others of similar fame and fortune, high-rollers, all of them.” Gwen grinned. “Savvy?”

“I don’t know what that means, ma’am.” Ruì baulked. “But I can surmise that I would wish to join your venture.”

Gwen chuckled to herself, then turned to an enlightened Magus Maymaruya, who looked as though he’d just been read the Diamond Sutra.

“I don’t know what to say.” The Magus had to wipe the sweat from his brow with a handkerchief. “They’re paying us to give our customers discounts? It’s illogical and yet, it makes perfect sense.”

“There isn’t much else to it.” Gwen returned to her seat, nipped at a crease in her pantyhose, then stretched out her fingers. “The devil is in the details, of course. It’s a numbers game. So, are we in agreement?”

The Magus fell silent, his expression entirely preoccupied with her modest proposal.

“And all you want,” he spoke finally, “is a one percent stake in the program? I am only saying this for Mayuree’s sake, not to mention the Centurion proposal was entirely your idea. Why not ask for more?”

Gwen felt an ironic pang of guilt. The poor man was asking her if taking one percent of Citibank’s client-service stock-value was cheating herself. A consultant asking for a one percent stake? The Board of Directors would take to her office and attempt to murder her with coffee spoons like Caesar. Of course, for the first year, her portion would be negligible. But if the House of M could succeed in running their faux credit system in South Asia, maybe even export the system, that one percent could grow to be an astronomical figure.

As for the likelihood of her client paying their dues, the House of M was different from the CCP in that it would depend on Gwen’s growing prowess and influence. If and when she returned to Australia and stood beside Gunther and Alesia as a pillar of power within the Tower, would a mercantile conglomerate dare rescind their agreement? Had not Gwen promised to one day end Myăma’s Dragon-infestation once and for all? To usurp her percentile stake would serve no one’s interest, least of all the House of M’s.

“Yes,” Gwen stated confidently, her eyes softening. “I am willing to take a loss for Mayuree’s sake. I hope the house will gift her a greater share of controlling interest in the future.”

The Magus bowed his head, blinking slowly to show his appreciation for Gwen’s self-sacrifice. “Then we are agreed.”

The two shook. Beside her boss and her client, Ruì looked like someone who had just seen a Dragon make a deal.

“I will deliver our contract to the House of M, and as per our agreement, I shall send a carbon copy to the Pudong Tower for officiation,” the Enchanter said.

“Thank you, Magus. It’s a pleasure doing business. Now, shall we put you in touch with Professor Ma?” Gwen asked.

“Please do,” the Magus grunted. “I will pass on your other proposal with our matriarch. A team of unaffiliated NoM auditors? What a novel concept!”

Gwen helped the old Enchanter to stand. “Are you going to see Mayuree now?”

“I am.” Magus Maymaruya wiped the sweat from his brow. “I would think she’d want to hear the good news. More than friends, the two of you are now partners in enterprise!”

Ruì escorted the Magus out the door.

“Tell Dai and Ken to come back to the office,” Gwen informed her PA. “Where the hell did they go? Have they even finished their paperwork?”

“I’ll find out, ma’am.” Ruì returned to her table and began Messaging her peers. Unable to stomach the paperwork, it appeared the two others had taken to truanting.

Gwen, meanwhile, relaxed at the desk, ignoring her mountain of accounts and reports for the moment. It was finally coming together: the Tonglv Canal, Professor Ma’s Audit Committee and The House of M’s faux credit card system.

There was only the Wangs left, but profiting off family was not her first preference. For now, it was time to refocus on preparations for the IIUC and to bring her spellcraft up another tier.

Chapter twenty-four

Dai Harder

“Misty Step!”

“Dimension Door!”

“Sweep!”

“Caliban!”

CLANG! Gila-ban caught Lulan’s blade with its torso, its scythe-sized claws missing Lulan’s thighs by an inch.

“Lightning Bolt!” Gwen incanted.

Lulan intercepted Gwen’s bolt with a hovering slab of iron, redirecting the current to the ground.

“Sweep!” Lulan’s counter came hard and fast.

“Dimension Door!” Gwen dodged.

“Misty Step!” Her partner followed.

“Cali, do it now!” Twisting sets of writhing tentacles shot from Caliban’s open maw.

“Pierce!” Blocking Caliban with the first, Lulan’s second slab of gleaming iron pinned Gwen’s Familiar to the floor, pulling the creature’s tentacles just enough so as to graze but not penetrate her iron-clad dermis.

Outside the duelling box, Richard and Kusu watched as the two girls thrust and parried one another’s spells. Lulan had the clear advantage at melee distance. Gwen dominated at longer ranges. Though Gwen could teleport rapidly, her tier 4 translocation took much more concentration than the Signature Blink utilised by the clanner. Were it not for Gwen’s prodigious Affinity for Lightning, it would have been impossible for her to keep up with a melee Mage like Lulan.

Of course, the Sword Mage’s advantage existed only in the confines of the Duelling Arena. Out in the real word, Gwen could displace herself as far as a hundred metrrs, while Lulan’s Misty Step managed twenty at best.

“Slash!”

“Dimension Do—Oof!”

THUNK! Lulan managed to catch Gwen on the tenth teleport, sending Gwen and her Non-Newtonian Shield skittering and sparking across the floor.

“Gwen, are you all right?” Lulan dispelled her swords, landing beside the winded sorceress.

“I’m fine.” Gwen nursed her left lumbar. Had her shield had been a split-second slower, she would have paid a visit to the infirmary. “Ouch.”

“Good fight!” Richard called out. “So, what’s your takeaway on fighting a dedicated Melee-Transmuter?”

“Run the hell away.” Gwen took Lulan’s hand, catching herself on the girl’s shoulders.

“I wouldn’t have won if you had Caliban and Ariel out at the same time,” Lulan pointed out. “Not to mention your Dragon Hounds.”

“Not in an ambush, I won’t,” Gwen replied. “Especially not the dogs. Also, Ariel’s melee talents are fairly limited, and I need concentration to activate Barbanginy.”

Her praise was overly humble, but there was a reason for that. Gwen wanted to build up Lulan’s confidence. If Ariel and Caliban had hasted charge attacks in their fully-empowered forms they would have made short work of the melee-caster, not to mention that her pseudo-Kirin could fly.

“Just shoot yourself with an Elemental Sphere,” Richard said. “Ariel’s got IFF. I bet that’ll dissuade anyone from getting into a melee with you.”

“What if they attack Ariel first?” Gwen pointed out.

“Immediately unsummon, then re-summon Ariel with as much altitude as possible,” Richard counselled expertly.

Gwen gave the matter some thought.

“You need to reconsider your techniques from the perspective of a Spirit-possessing Elementalist.” Richard patted his cousin on the head. “Watch my fight with Kusu; I’ll show you.”

“Wow, that’s evil.” Lulan winced. “I can imagine you hitting yourself with an Elemental Sphere.”

“Additionally, you could go in with Invisible Familiar.” Richard laughed. “I’d love to see that.”

“Suddenly, a Ba-ban-gin-ni.” Kusu shivered all over. “I can’t even imagine.”

“Barbanginy,” Gwen corrected her companions. No one seemed capable of pronouncing the Noongar word for Lightning, least of all her Asian counterparts.

“I don’t know, Gwen,” Lulan dispelled her physical enhancements, “I don’t think I am suited for the IIUC.”

“Nonsense.” Gwen hugged her protégé about her shoulders. “Confidence, Lulu. You’re the quickest caster I know. You weren’t even Hasted! If you can give me a run for my crystals, you’ll brutalise the others.”

Thinking of the IIUC ahead, Gwen had decided to induct Lulan into her and Richard’s group. She had initially asked Petra, though the Enchanter made an excellent case for her vacancy.

“One, I can’t use my Mind Magic in public. Two, I don’t bring a unique spell set; I can only replicate spells our team already possesses. It’s not like I can borrow spell cubes from Master or stow rare spells to take on Quests. That would violate the rules of the competition. It’s a test of competency and skill, not a test of who’s got the best backers.”

Instead, Petra had suggested that Gwen should groom Lulu as her front-line fighter.

Lulan looked over at Richard. Gwen’s cousin likewise affirmed her brilliance.

“Lulan, you’re exactly what we need,” he assured her. “My defence and battlefield control you can attest to, but when it comes to offence, your efficacy is leagues ahead of mine. No one can disrupt casting as well as you.”

Lulan beamed.

“All right, come on, Kusu,” Richard ushered the Sword Mage into the make-shift duelling arena. “I’ll make this easy!”

A week after she had submitted her application, Gwen’s Magitech “Quest” remained unresolved.

Her request was for an Enchanter with expertise in data slates to meet with her and discuss the possibility of additional glyph functions. The meet and greet itself would award ten CCs, with an extra twenty to forty CCs for each function the Enchanter implemented.

“It’s a strange request, so please be patient,” the doubtful clerk informed the infamous Worm Handler. “Assuming no one takes the Quest, your deposit of thirty CCs will be refunded after ten weeks.”

Gwen had to admit that the deposit was a nice touch. Quests rewarding CCs made by private entities must provide fifty percent of the payout as a deposit. Should the requester fail to pay the contractor, the Tower would award the deposit to the contractor and penalise the offender.

When she returned to the glass interior of her office, she saw her three employees, each at their private stations.

Dai sat aimlessly with one leg across his knee, hiding behind a pile of paperwork. He tossed a ball of water to and fro, watching it turn into different forms as it reached the zenith of each arc.

Across the table, Ken was earnestly making a futile attempt at the accounting homework Gwen had set the man, struggling to balance the accounts sent in by Patriarch Fung’s Construction Golem Division. The difficulty lay in that someone had stolen about three hundred HDMs worth of crystalline fuel and had written it off on overtime while simultaneously, another manager had underpaid the NoM operators. When Gwen went through the report herself a day earlier, she had spotted the missing fuel pushed onto maintenance while the schedules of at least a dozen NoM operators were fudged as “human error”.

But at least Ken was trying.

On the farther side of the open office, her PA seemed to have taken to work like a Mermaid to water. Ruì’s table, intentionally designed by Gwen to be larger than her Mage companions and curved to resemble a kidney, had neatly stacked paperwork in the manner Gwen preferred: “To Do”, “In Progress” and “Ready for Submission”.

“Ruì,” she greeted her PA first and foremost before turning Wher attention to the others. “Good work. Where did you get up to?”

“Almost done with the East Quadrant Warehouse Expense account, ma’am,” Ruì answered reverently. It made sense for her PA to be worshipful, for Gwen had taught her accounting techniques from another world. The manner in which Gwen had split the accounts into cash accounting for their smaller operations and accrual accounting for Tonglv’s construction was ingenious.

Now equipped with the ability to report revenue and expense every quarter, Ruì could generate periodic tax liabilities the Canal owed the state. This way, the smaller, for-profit operations could then offset their tax against the construction project, whose taxes were offloaded to the District Governor’s office for reimbursement by the CCP’s Central Economic Bureau. With just this one trick, the profitable operation paid less tax, while Governor Fung could keep a finger on the pulse of the project’s budget. “I can’t believe we’re making crystals through accounting!” she said.

“Ha, saving on taxes is no different from generating profit,” Gwen praised her PA “Any Messages for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ruì pulled out a data slate from under her table. “Professor Ma says that everything is proceeding smoothly with Secretary Fung and the others in Nantong, and they should be operational starting next year. He had some questions, which he will deliver to you via data slates. You’ve also got a Message from the House of M requesting a time slot for later in the week. Also, someone called Tao Wang Messaged in, saying he had free tickets for a ‘show’. That’s all I have for today.”

“Very good, Ruì. Good work,” Gwen golf-clapped. She then turned to the young men sweating at their desks. “Message Tao and thank him, but tell him I am busy. Ken, Dai? Got some good news for me?”

Ken sat sweltering in his ergonomic chair. “I’ll need another hour, er… make that two hours.”

“That’s fine, Ken. Keep it up. Dai?”

Dai blinked at Gwen, his face full of irritation. “What was I supposed to do again?”

Gwen pointed to the paperwork.

“You can’t be serious.” The Fungs’ heir rolled his eyes.

“You didn’t do it?” Gwen’s voice grew stern.

“Ruì can do it.” Dai waved at the NoM girl. “Ruì! Can you do this for me later?”

“Yessir,” Ruì answered demurely.

“See?” Dai smirked.

Gwen grinned back, flashing her teeth.

The temperature in the already Glyph-cooled room lowered. Dai sat straight as he dispelled his water ball.

“Ruì, Ken, leave us.” Gwen waved the others away.

Ruì ran for the door, joined by Ken.

“Dai Fung!” Gwen stalked toward her power progeny. She couldn’t believe that after all that pep she had to go through, the man remained as useless as a log. “Explain yourself.”

“What’s there to explain?” Dai sighed.

“Why aren’t you doing your assigned work?”

“I am beyond this bullshit. Give me something better to do,” Dai complained petulantly.

“How the hell are you supposed to manage Ruì or your future aides if you have no idea what they’re showing you? How useless do you hope to be? What did you promise me?”

Dai’s face changed from smugness to one of indignant ire. Gwen did not doubt that she was the first to accost him like this in twenty-two years of his useless existence. Nonetheless, she shamelessly stood on his toes.

“Cao! Who do you think you are, speaking to me like this?” Dai cracked his neck, standing over her.

“Dai, do you want me to call Daddy right now?” Gwen didn’t bother with the invitation to dance, choosing instead to go straight for the gonads.

Dai’s complexion reddened. “You go too far! Your audacity is unbelievable! I give you three colours, and you would open a paint factory under my nose?” He raised a hand as if to slap her, clearly expecting her to flinch or at least take back her threat.

“Try it.” Gwen stared back.

Dai’s body froze. “Still, you can’t just…”

“Hello? Fung Group Office? This is Gwen Song, connect me to Patriarch Fung, please. It’s urgent.”

“Ta—ma—de!” Dai’s hand was moving with a mind of its own. “Water Missile!”

A blast of water shot through the air and struck her squarely across her upper torso. Miraculously, the water did not injure the astonished Gwen but travelled up her blouse and her arm until it tore the Message Device, a thin gold bracelet, from her wrist, sending it clattering to the floor.

“What in Mao’s name do you think you’re doing?” Dai stood from his chair, his face suddenly drenched with sweat and oozing regret. “I didn’t mean that. You made me do it!”

Drenched in her silk blouse, Gwen wrung a handful of water from her hair. The jet blast had avoided her vitals, but the resultant splash, though harmless, had increased her anger ten-fold.

“I should ask you the same question. What do you think you’re doing?” Gwen’s voice was no longer kind.

Dai’s retort caught in his throat. He must have realised he was in the wrong, but instead of apologising, he stared at her neck, shoulder and chest.

“Erm… we should get the cleaners in,” Dai stammered. “The water will ruin the floor.”

“Clean it up,” Gwen commanded, her eyes glowing with supernatural aggravation. She was on fire and did not doubt that the essence had set her amber-green irises ablaze.

“That’s for the cleaners!” Dai insisted stubbornly, his eyes wide and staring.

Gwen had had enough. She crossed the floor in an instant, faster than Dai could blink. She caught his collar and, pulling his face within an inch of her demanding gaze, she cranked her Dragon Fear to eleven.

“Suiqi! Clean it up!” Dai croaked, his voice half-crying with quivering terror.

An aquamarine salamander, its body entirely transparent, slithered from Dai’s pant leg to lap up the water he had spilt, leaving no trace of it.

“Do you want to be here, Dai?” Gwen waited until the salamander dissipated before releasing the man’s tie. Her eyes softened, transmuting enough disappointment to stab Dai in the gut and twist like a Kitchen Aid mixer. “Am I forcing you to be here? Are you my prisoner?”

Dai’s whole body went limp. “N-no. I want to be here.” A rush of blood hammered at his face. The young man looked like he was drowning.

“Then am I not doing enough?” Gwen demanded of Dai. “Have I not done enough for you?”

Dai’s eyes told her yes, but his lips formed a no. A few inches from the man, Gwen recognised the stubbornness. Dai wasn’t just a regular idiot; he was a narcissistic, megalomaniac idiot.

“I made a deal with your Father, Dai.” Gwen moved her hands to his shoulders. With her grip strength, the man couldn’t escape without touching her, which she knew he dared not to do. “I told him I would take care of you, make you into someone useful for our operation. Instead, you loaf about all day, moping about this and that, playing the loser.”

“How dare—”

A single glare from Gwen was enough to silence him.

She sighed. As a man, a companion or a co-worker, Dai was a failure. For Tonglv to succeed, she had to put him to his proper use and harness Dai’s out-of-control testosterone. If she left him as he was, he would be a liability when she went away on the IIUC.

“Have you calmed down?”

Dai nodded.

“Then listen to me, Dai Fung,” she spoke slowly and meticulously. “My dearest wish is for you to be standing atop the Fung Group, leading your company, lording over your clan, being you, standing beside Vice-Chairman Tu, Magister Chen and Patriarch Fung. That was my intent when your father pleaded for your position. A condition I agreed to because I was very much full of hope for your ascension. ‘Wow, Dai Fung,’ I told myself, ‘What a catch. He must be an incredible guy.’”

Dai stared at Gwen with his mouth half open, looking flabbergasted by her sudden tenderness.

“So I come out here, working my ass off; for myself, of course, but also you. I got you to rent the office for me so you could show your father that you could do it, show him that you’re competent. Else I could have asked the Wangs. Look around. We built this place, Dai, and it looks amazing. Don’t you think it looks amazing?”

“Y-yes,” Dai confessed, his voice paralleling his confusion.

“I jog at 6:00 a.m.—did you know I start my day at 5:00 a.m.? I get up at 4:00 a.m., Dai, and I say to myself. ‘I better train myself because I need to be at the office, consulting, whipping you and Ken and Ruì into shape, answering mail, writing reports and drafting proposals.’ But I don’t gripe about it, okay, Dai? I am no bitch. I go home at 6:00 p.m., and you know what I do? I have supper, and then I train again. Training for the IIUC, Dai. No rest for the wicked. But why? Well, you know why. I took time out of my training to make sure that you have an easier time. But I don’t brag about it, how come? Why go to all the trouble?”

Dai’s lips parted. “I don’t know.”

“Because I want to do it—because I believe in you—because you’re worth it. Okay?” Gwen revved her Almudj’s Essence like a chainsaw.

“Okay,” Dai muttered, mesmerised by her oratory, paralysed by her Dragon Fear.

“So help me, Dai.” Gwen welcomed the climax of her speech. She could hardly contain her excitement. Who’d thought one of her favourite in-flight films would be so damn useful? Even parroting the line, she shivered with motivational energy.

“So help me help you. Dai. Help me help you.”

Dai nodded, finally sincere.

The two stood in awkward silence. Fuck. Gwen forced her face to remain impassive. Was it too much? The kid better not be too thick-skulled to take it all in.

“I am sorry,” her opponent suddenly exhaled, his eyes grew moist. “That’s the most touching thing anyone has ever said to me. I love you.”

Not the reaction I was looking for, but good enough. Gwen relaxed; if anything, she had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. What’s with these assholes who don’t appreciate their parents? What about your father, Dai? Didn’t he send you to me to make crystals and gain a reputation? If she had a father like Dai’s, she would have been ten times the man Dai was right now. Hell, she’d probably be the right-hand woman to Secretary-General Miao.

“Thank you, Dai.”

DING!

Her Message device chimed from the floor.

“It’s your father.” Gwen glanced at the pale young man before picking up her device.

Dai bowed. Probably for the first time in his life, the arrogant fool bowed wholeheartedly to someone who wasn’t his father.

Patriarch Fung had called to ask why she had hung up. Gwen apologised and told him she’d had another incoming call and that the matter was regarding Dai and if she could ask him to canvas Shanghai’s Fu-er-dai to find financiers for Tonglv’s second-stage expansion.

“If he’s up to it.” Patriarch Fung knew well his son’s ability. From his dubious tone, the man doubted Gwen’s grandiose projection of Dai’s competence.

“I have full confidence in his abilities.” Gwen flashed Dai with a smile but also held the praise to his throat like a rapier.

“Hee, you’re too generous.” Unlike Dai, Patriarch Fung wasn’t a man so easily taken in. “Good work bringing in Ma, by the way. It puts me at ease knowing he’s watching over Tu and Chen.”

The same to you. Gwen stifled a snigger.

“Anyway, keep me updated. If Dai acts up, tell him I’ll skin him alive.” Shen Fung terminated the Message.

Gwen was once again alone in the room with the patriarch’s darling son. Just as she was wondering how else she could bend the young princeling to her will, Dai bowed again, a full ninety-degree show of subservience.

“I’ll do it,” Dai announced, his eyes fervent. “Just tell me what to do.”

Gwen’s eyes moved toward the paperwork. Dai’s profile grew rigid.

Gwen felt a pang of sympathy. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to do it, he couldn’t do it. Was it Dai’s fault that he had spent three years in Jianqiao duelling, drinking, whoring and partying? It’s not like securing guan-xi and hooking up with the nouveau riche taught him how to balance and audit financial statements.

“I won’t ask you to do that anymore, at least, not until you ease into it.” Gwen threw him a carrot after the savage beating she had delivered. “Why don’t you do something that’ll benefit the both of us and carry out your father’s plans?”

Dai’s expression grew hopeful.

“With Professor Ma now overseeing external audits, we can afford a more rapid expansion,” Gwen stated. What she meant, of course, was that Tonglv was now a big old slab of braised pork dripping with fat, with every secretary and his dog wanting a slice. “You, my friend, are going to do what you do best. Did you hear what I told your father? You can do that much for me, right?”

“I’ll convince them to invest!” Dai expressed eagerly.

There it is! Gwen breathed out. Dai was finally getting it.

“Ha, I am not sending you out there alone! Take this.” Gwen snapped her fingers, producing an obsidian currency card made of a material so dark that it seemed to absorb light. “This an Orichalcum-Centurion Card.”

The card drifted through the air until it reached Dai’s hands. The moment his fingers touched its surface, it lit up with two pictograms that read “Dai Fung”, followed by the pictogram sigil for his clan beside his name.

“It’s heavy.” Dai hefted the card. “Mao, this is Dwarven Orichalcum! It’s so rare.”

“Of course it is.” Gwen snorted. “When you go out with your friends, make sure you present this card at each club and restaurant.”

“Why?” Dai asked.

“Because they’re worth your time and interest. That card is a limited-edition item from the House of M. At any establishment owned or affiliated with the House of M, you will receive VIP personalised service: private rooms, discounts, exclusive goods, the works.”

Of course, Dai knew of the House of M. He was one of their most frequent customers, although, like most of the power progeny, he was a VIP only in the sense of a fox borrowing the tiger’s terror.

“And at places not connected to the House of M?” Dai asked.

“You show the card anyway.” Gwen chuckled. “Remember, it’s called the M-Centurion Card. Or the Orichalcum-Card. There are only a few like it in existence at this point. Don’t lose it.”

“Why am I doing this?” Though he seemed suspicious, Dai pocketed the card anyway. He was too curious not to try it out, not to mention the damned thing was Orichalcum!

Gwen reached out a dainty white hand. “Give it back, I am sure that Peaches—”

“I’ll do it!” While Dai clearly knew he was not committed to the girl’s demands, whatever Gwen’s intent, he would have to pay his dues. It was the least he could do to show appreciation to the girl who thought of him so dearly.

Gwen glanced at the clock. They’d been at this for too long. Ruì needed to go back to work.

“I am glad we see eye to eye, Dai.” Gwen softened her stance. “Now take that card, and…”

“And?” Dai asked eagerly.

“Don’t forget to pay the balance at the end of the month.”

Chapter twenty-five

December Days

December descended upon the pearl of Asia, accompanied by the coming of the first snow.

From the East China Sea, Shanghai resembled a giant snow globe. Thanks to the city’s Super-Massive Resonance Barrier, downy flakes of ice crystal became trapped within the dome, swirling and drifting, carried by invisible currents.

Yet, despite the growing frigidity, Gwen jogged through Fudan’s Gouding Road, heedless of the cold, steaming gently in her thermo-tights and runners. She was by now a well-known sight, for beside her was a menacing Mongolian Death Worm, while above her, invisible, floated a Kirin-Marten.

Though she began her exercise in the dark, her eyes remained sharp whether dawn or dusk, another boon gifted by the essence exercise Ayxin had taught her.

As for Gwen’s new in-law, the woman had dominated her mind over the last week, especially when she grew hyper-conscious of the fact that her training-crutch, a Dragon scale regulating her essence, belonged to the Dragon-Mage herself, plucked from her neck.

Along the way, Caliban wagged at an aunty who had risen early, preparing the charcoal for making grilled buns. In return, it received a stick of fried dough.

Gwen bowed her head, keeping her pace. When she tried, she could neither contact Uncle Jun nor Ayxin, and she did not have time to pursue the matter.

In the interceding weeks, Gwen had finally picked up a tuned version of Ice Storm, learned free of charge courtesy of Magus Young at the behest of Dean Luo. At the same time, she began practising with Wall of Lightning, a spell well-provisioned by the depth of her mana pool. Unfortunately, a Wall of Void, with its proportional expenditure of vitality and mana to length, height and length, proved to be a precarious and highly conditional contingency.

Additionally, she took flying lessons with a guest instructor at Fudan, recommended by Jun. The Magus, Eric Dienhart, was said to be an Aerial Ace, retiring only when the psychological burden of the Front began to impact his mind.

When Gwen arrived at the lower campus training grounds, she was surprised to see Kitty, Mayuree’s guard from the Kunlun Clan, waiting for her.

“You’re the new student?” Kitty’s expression couldn’t have been colder.

“Hi, Kitty!” Gwen cheerfully waved at her. “Haven’t seen you around for almost three months.”

“I’ve been training.” Kitty’s complexion was as white as snow, a testament to her growing Affinity in Ice and Air. Gwen noticed that as she spoke, the girl drifted back and forth as though a strong breeze might blow her away. “We should duel sometime.”

“Oh, certainly.” Gwen grinned, wondering if Kitty knew about Caliban or Ariel or her recent growth spurt. “Looking forward to it.”

Kitty escorted Gwen to their instructor, a gruff old military type. Like Instructor Chen, Gwen’s Creature Mage mentor, Wing Commander Dienhart was the type to put up a front of good cheer.

“You two know each other?” The man appeared surprised by Gwen’s acquaintance with Kitty. “I’d thought Kit was a lone wolf.”

“We’re not friends.” Kitty seemed desperate to clear the confusion.

“We’re battle buddies,” Gwen reminded Kitty that they had Quested together. “We’re neighbours, even.”

Kitty hissed.

“Never forsake your battle buddy,” Dienhart chided Kitty. “All right, let’s begin with some basic exercises. Gwen, show me everything you got.”

Gouding B1

Nighttime

Gwen could scarcely believe her eyes and ears when the LRM Device pinged at dinner, revealing the caller to be Yue.

“Oh my God! YUE!” She squealed into the holographic Illusion, negligent of Richard and Petra’s aural trauma as they tried to finish their takeout.

Yue’s projection materialised head-first, with Gwen holding her breath until her companion’s robust bosom joined the fray, authenticating her friend’s identity.

“GWENNIE!”

“YUE-YUE!”

The two girls studied each other with a frightening intensity.

Almost a year on since rescuing Yue from Sufina’s Grot, the Fire Mage appeared older and wiser, having acquired a tan and cut her hair shoulder-short. Interestingly, Gwen noted that Yue wore a white-blue singlet in the shade of the Royal Australian Air Force, paired with matching cargo in camo.

“I’ve missed you so much!” Gwen gushed, finally catching her breath. “I’ve called Alesia a dozen times, but you were always away.”

“I know.” Yue’s voice was huskier than Gwen remembered, more mature. “Lots of Lizard-men drama on the Brisbane Line, so Alesia’s boys took me up north. It was supposed to be three weeks, but it ended up being a tour! Haha.”

Gwen’s gaze drifted to the rank Glyph Yue hung on a string between her shoulder blades.

“You got promoted! Evee was right!” Gwen gushed.

“That’s Cadet Warrant Officer Yue to you.” Her friend chuckled, snapping a crisp salute.

Gwen snapped back with one of her own.

“That’s a terrible salute,” Yue mocked Gwen’s feeble attempt. “Whatcha been doing?”

“Oh, projects. This and that. Trying to make ends meet, hee hee.” Gwen wasn’t sure exactly what to say first.

“Hmm, so I’ve heard. But, first things first, when are you coming back?”

“Ah.” Yue’s question caught Gwen flat-footed. With everything going on, from Uncle Jun to Mayuree to the Fungs, she hadn’t felt homesick in some time. “Not for a long while,” she replied with a measured voice, assuring Yue that she was indeed coming back when the time was right. “I’ve got the IIUC coming up, then three more semesters of university, and that’s assuming I pass my Magus exams. Did you know I am the subject of a dozen research papers?”

Yue snorted with laughter. “You’re a student and a specimen? So you’re engaged in self-study?”

“Well, you know what they say, ‘If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.’“

“Gwen?” Petra politely interrupted. “I am going to bed,” her cousin informed them. Petra disliked skulking in the corner while Gwen conversed on the LRM Device.

“Whoa, there’s your hottie cousin again.” Yue wolf-whistled, waving to Petra.

Richard took the cue to walk into the LRM Device’s field of view. “Yes? You called?” her cousin bowed. “I am at your service.”

“ARRRGH! Richard, ya old dog!” Yue laughed out loud.

“Yue, good to see you. Doing well?” Richard smiled.

“Better, I am doing good, Yue replied. “Joining us?”

Richard shook his head. “Naw, I am off to Nantong first thing in the morning. Don’t talk too late. Petra and Gwen need their sleep as well.”

“Night, Richard.”

“See ya.” Yue waved her cousin off.

“See you in a week or two.” The man left.

With Richard gone, Gwen and Petra remained for the moment.

“Are you the one dissecting Gwen?” Yue followed up with an inquiry of surprising abrasiveness. “What’s she like on the operating table?”

Petra and Gwen exchanged glances. Gwen recalled that she had indeed bitched to Alesia about Wen, Petra’s Master. The Scarlet Sorceress must have Chinese-whispered her displeasure, and now Yue was being forward with Petra. Like Alesia, Yue was the type whose heart and mouth were interconnected, bypassing the brain.

Gwen shielded Petra with her body. She gave her cousin an apologetic wave. Petra shook her head, then left for her room.

“Yue! That was very rude. Petra’s been nothing but kind to me,” Gwen reminded her friend.

“Hey, a girl’s got a right to be curious.” Yue shrugged. “The innocent need not fear guilt.”

The conversation stalled.

“So, you got a boyfriend yet?” Possibly sensing Gwen’s disquiet, Yue banked and barrel-rolled onto a safer topic.

“No, do you?” Gwen sighed, unable to stay mad.

“Nope. Nothing to fuck out there but seven-foot lizards. Did you know their dick’s got two knobs? It’s like a Y-shape.”

Gwen gagged, trying to dispel Yue’s vivid vision of reptilian phallus.

“Ew.” For some unknown reason, she was reminded of Ayxin, who could change gender at will. Egh, Uncle Jun better watch his ass. “First of all, you’re out there with hundreds of Mages, all beautiful human beings, amongst whom I am sure there are at least a dozen who have an active interest in shacking up with a well-endowed sorceress with many talents. Second of all, how do you know you won’t like lizard dick? Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

“Puhahahaha!” Yue was beside herself.

Gwen herself was surprised by how quickly she slid back into immaturity. Such was the terrifying power of Yue’s foul-mouthed charisma that all the tension she had collated over the last few weeks dissolved at once. “Lizard-amour aside, tell me about the Saurian Front. Give me some highlights,” Gwen implored.

“You want stories of lizard dick? We wrangled some giant mother-fuckers, I’ll tell you that.”

“God.” Gwen stifled another round of laughter. “Be serious! So, how was it?”

“Well.” Yue tilted her head. “Let me tell you about this village we hit up in mid-November…”

Yue’s descriptions lacked flare, but her simplicity was no less haunting than a well-told fable.

With Alesia in recuperation, the Scarlet Sorceress’s Apprentice patrolled up and down the coast with Alesia’s old unit, kicking ass, completing Quests and taking names. From week to week, she Purged new mining regions, defended coastal townships and hunted down particularly nasty Magical Creatures threatening the banana and mango plantations. The climax was when Yue dove into the canopied jungle in pursuit of a Saurian Priest who had sacrificed a cane processing station’s two-hundred-strong staff.

“Wait up, check this out.” Yue pulled up her singlet.

“Whoa!” Gwen instinctively averted her eyes. The illusory projection was very much three-dimensional. When she’d gathered the courage to look again, her eyes meandered past the utter madness of Yue’s shameless bravado and instead focused on the vitiligo marring Yue’s upper body.

Upon closer inspection, Gwen realised she was looking at a pale and supple patch of Yue’s body, sharply juxtaposed against the rest of her tanned and peeling dermis. If the effect had been reversed, Gwen would have thought Yue was suffering from a driver’s tan, but Yue’s exhibition indicated the opposite.

“Impressive as ever. Are you showing off?” Gwen fought back a sinking suspicion, disarming her paranoia with humour. “I am not taking off my top, by the way.”

“Looks weird, right?” Yue chortled. She pointed at her right arm and breast. “How about that, huh? New arm and a new boob.”

Gwen’s next words choked when she realised Yue was not talking about receiving a new bob.

“Yep, lost the old lefty.” Yue thankfully replaced her shirt, her tone inferring that she had suffered a stomach upset. “Let me tell ya, those lizards don’t fuck around. Got nabbed by one of their champions in the canopy. Jumped me from a tree. CHOMP! Cut through Taj’s shield just like that. Had a bite-force like a fucking foundry-press. Swallowed everything it could tear off. Fuck, it hurt like hell. Thankfully, Jonas had a Regeneration Scroll on them. Still, had to stay back at the Brisbane Tower for rehab, which took two weeks.”

“Jesus, Yue…” Gwen felt her eyes tearing up.

Yue flexed her arm. “Pretty interesting, yeah? Anyway, thought I’d let you know, always keep a Regeneration Scroll handy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks, Yue.” Gwen felt a sudden hatred for lizards.

“Anyway, I am sending you a souvenir. You should get it in a month or so.”

“Oh? What is it?” Gwen asked.

“You’ll see. Call me when you get it.” Yue grinned, showing her teeth.

Gwen felt immediately suspicious.

“All right, gotta go. Look forward to the package!” Not one for sentimental goodbyes, Yue cut the Message link with a finality that Gwen could never manage herself. Not yet ready, Gwen found herself suddenly alone in the darkness of her living room, overlooking the vista of Fudan below, her mind’s eye still thinking of Yue’s creamy left lumbar juxtaposed against the rest of her tanned body.

She wondered, at that moment, what life would have been like had she not gone with Guo’s men to Shanghai. Yue’s adventures were like a parallel journey, the road not taken. Had she fought tooth and nail to return home, it would probably be herself, Yue and Richard roving the east coast, building up their military credentials.

Gwen imagined a life without Petra, Babulya, Uncle Jun, Tao, Mina, and even Mayuree, Lulan and Kusu.

In hindsight, how could that be enough?

Split between paperwork and spellcraft, mid-December came on in a wintery daze. Each morning, come wind, rain or snow, Gwen persisted in her early morning jog, her Draconic constitution trivialising the extremity of weather.

Unlike her work, December saw the gradual shutdown of the university and its surrounding industry. With a diminished roster of staff and students, many of the eateries, cafés and street stalls reduced their opening hours.

Gwen’s office, contrary to the local trend, had gotten busier. She picked up two more NoM staff members from James Ma—a young man called Terence Li and a mousy, quiet mathematician named Effi Chen. For day-to-day operations, Ruì remained in command, overseeing Dai and Ken, who managed dealings with their fellow Mages. As for paperwork, the lion’s share of accounting first went through Effi and Terence, then to Ruì and finally to Gwen.

At Gwen’s behest, all her NoM employees had access to simple, crystal-operated Magitech, such as Message Devices and translation Ioun Stones, as well as other conveniences of life.

Dai, meanwhile, had taken to his Centurion privileges like a fish to water. He roved the Bund day and night with his band of Guan-er-dai and Fu-er-dai friends, doing luncheons and throwing lavish banquets, sweet-talking them into buying the canal’s stage one expansions and for those who had missed out, a chance to invest in stage two.

The House of M, meanwhile, had quickly begun to grasp the quirks of a Centurion customer’s desires, acknowledging that men like Dai cared less about crystals and more about face. Simple occurrences such as a maître d` knowing one by name, a restaurant offering a free bottle of expensive wine as a gift, or segregating one from the mundane customers via exclusive seating made all the difference. Naturally, every interaction began and ended with Dai presenting his Centurion membership.

When Gwen read the House of M’s reports on Dai’s spending and activities, she was pleased to find that a significant buzz had engendered among the upper-class gentry of Shanghai. When finally, in a conversation with Tao, the wannabe rapper mentioned that his father had enquired about the Centurion card, Gwen knew she was onto a good thing.

By late December, Gwen knew she needed a break to stretch out her brain.

Training indoors in a private sanctum and scribbling reports in an office was beginning to grate on her patience. If nothing else, her joints were growing mouldy.

She contacted Richard, who had by now returned to Nantong with Kusu and Lulan, then joined them for a week in the Yengchen Coastal District, clearing out a particularly aggressive infestation of Mer-Gobs. She had invited Percy, but her brother was occupied by MSS instructors fortifying his Abjuration and Evocation.

According to her grandfather, Percy’s new Abjuration talent was exceptional, potentially even exceeding Gwen’s acquired skills. He suspected that the boy had a natural talent for that particular School of Spellcraft and that their accidental trigger had brought out the boy’s latent abilities.

At any rate, regardless of whether his talents were acquired or natural, Gwen was happy that Percy was filling the shoes of expectation the family had laid out for him. As for herself, her mastery over her Hound spells was progressing nicely, not to mention she had finally purchased a Signature Spell previously deemed too dangerous to use without a Spirit—one with a hefty overhead of eighty CCs.

Robinson’s All-Purpose Cloud Kill

Conjuration (5)

Casting time: 56 major, 25 minor incantation

Range: Medium, LoS, AoE

Components: Somatic, verbal, component

Duration: Instant, persistent.

Since its initial inception during World War I, Meister Fritz Harber’s original AoE has undergone significant revisions. The original invocation, utilising a catalyst of silver-salt activated with Positive Energy, generated a rapidly expanding “cloud” with the means to disable low to mid-tier Undead. The spell’s current incarnation is the brainchild of British Meister Robert Robinson, whose work on the physiology of demi-humans and Magical Creatures culminated in the spell’s signature variant. Without a catalyst, Cloud Kill generates an area of Elementally volatile discharge. When employing Earthen catalysts, the spell’s effervescent effects can be altered to produce light, corrosion, poison, or used to repel Undead.This spell has a Class II restriction and requires registration with a Tower.

To test the effectiveness of Gwen’s new acquisition, Richard, Lulan and Kusu, together with Gwen’s Deerhounds, corralled some hundred-odd slavering Mer-Gobs into a ditch Lulan had dug out with Shape Stone. Gwen then took the thirty seconds needed to conjure the massive tier 5 Area of Effect Conjuration, unleashing her new spell upon her gibbering test subjects.

Her first attempt discharged a cloud of electricity that succeeded in paralysing enemies stuck within its field of effect.

“How wonderful,” Gwen remarked. She was all for non-lethal alternatives. After that, she began experimenting with catalyst-driven variants.

The curious sorceress wasn’t sure what she had expected: the spell was called “Cloud Kill”. It created a cloud of elemental discharge. Why should she be surprised when adding a chunk of volcanic rock salt modified her static-charged Conjuration to emit a cloud of horrid green gas that killed?

In all likelihood, it was because of the screeching. Unlike the usual mob of Gobs and Goblins, Mer-Gobs were semi-aquatic, breathing through their skin. When the gas descended upon the Mer-Gobs, melting their gills, it drove them into a self-destructive frenzy.

“Wocao!” Kusu shied away from the foul-smelling odour. For Gwen who knew well the smell of indoor pools, the noxious fume was a thousand times more concentrated. “Can Ariel control that?”

Gwen shook her head. The advertising on the spell was misleading. She could control the static cloud, but the will of the wind drove the gas. No wonder the damned thing required Tower registration and couldn’t be used within the city.

“Well, go on, try the other ones.” Richard was brimming with interest, urging her to prepare all the variants.

“I don’t think I want to.” Gwen baulked.

“Oh, come on.” Richard nudged her. “You can’t just leave the Gobs to choke like that.”

“I want to see as well!” Lulan raised her hand. The spell was infinitely fascinating to a sorceress accustomed to cleaving through flesh and bone.

Gwen gazed at the Goblin-filled pit. As usual, Richard’s logic was sound—the Mer-Gobs had to die. Any longer, and the buggers would suffer needlessly, that or tunnel through the pit’s bottom and waste their efforts.

Convincing herself that it was for spellcraft, she produced the other minerals they had procured from the Magic Ingredient Shop on Gouding Road, then activated them one by one as quickly as she could, stopping only to record their effects.

A bar of Cinnabar produced a paralysing and suffocating silvery gas.

A block of Pyrite turned the cloud into a mustard-like acid.

“I think we should stop.” Gwen had goosebumps riding her skin from her shins to her neck. “I’ll finish them off with a Barbanginy Sphere.”

“There’s one more ingredient,” Richard pointed out. “Come on. You need to know how the spell works. Don’t just waste the CCs.”

Her final catalyst was a lump of salt-like Apatite. Once injected into the spell, the resultant “cloud” spontaneously ignited in the air into white-hot incandescence, raining molten motes of phosphor onto its Mer-Gob victims.

“Oh my God.” Gwen felt her stomach protest. “This is too much,” She observed the atrocity below, her jaws grim with second-hand memories from her old world. There was a finality about her other Evocation spells, whether Void Bolt or Ball Lightning, that bespoke of purpose. Robinson’s Cloud Kill, in Gwen’s eyes, was a spell designed to deliver suffering. “This bloody magic, it shouldn’t exist.”

“It’s a blunt instrument.” Richard patted her on the back. “The next time we have to crawl into a Mer-Gob Den only as wide as your shoulders, you’ll think otherwise. I might pick up the spell myself.”

“Richard!” she snapped, pointing at the scene below. “You can’t think this is an acceptable act, even in war. It’s too dangerous!”

“Don’t be such a hypocrite.” Richard pushed back, catching her flatfooted, being accustomed to her cousin grinning and shrugging off her “Gwenisms”. When she persisted in glaring at him, he gave her a quick flick on the forehead, to which she responded by punching him solidly in the arm. “Hey! Don’t get prissy at me. The spell of the hand. Remember? It wasn’t my Master who said that.”

The retort struck her conscience like a physical blow. It’s the spell of the heart that murders, not the spell of the hand.Henry Kilroy’s opinion on Void Magic rang in her head like it was yesterday. But hypocrite or otherwise, her heart refused to accept the scene below. There was a steepness to the murder offered by Cloud Kill that only a student of human history understood in its totality.

She lowered her head.

Richard, Lulan, and Kusu stood to one side, measuring her with their eyes. In the pit below, the last Mer-gob thrashed and died, leaving nothing but the stink of sizzling fish to permeate the foetid air.

It took Lulan all but thirty seconds to fill the mass grave.

“Let’s go.” Gwen motioned for her party to move.

“Gonna need another pit,” Richard reminded her. “We got ten more kilometres to cover and you haven’t finished investigating your spell yet.”

“Then we’ll do it the usual way,” Gwen snarled. Hadn’t she done enough? She tried out all the damn minerals!

“Yes.” Richard gave her a pat on the back while wearing an awkward grin. “But we haven’t seen the Void variant.”

After a break like Yengchen, Gwen decided she needed a proper break.

“All right, everyone. Let’s get ready for a big Christmas bash. Ham, sparkling wine, merriment and gifts for all!”

Her workers, regrettably, first froze, then regarded her with confusion, concern and accusatory glances full of discomfort. From their expressions, she may as well have told them they were having a lingerie party. “I never figured you for a follower of the Risen King,” Dai said, though Gwen could sense the apprehension in the man’s voice. “Does my father know about your allegiance? Not that I mind.”

Taken aback, Gwen looked at Ken for a second opinion, completely flabbergasted by the resistance she was receiving against an innocuous Christmas party.

“Maybe it’s not my place to say this,” Ken coughed, averting her gaze, “but there’s going to be trouble if you openly worship the Magi of Nazareth.”

Her NoM workers were likewise intimidated.

“Okay, hold it!” Gwen commanded her workshop elves to cease their fantastic imaginations at once. “Minor Image!”

She conjured a glowing Christian cross. “What does this mean to you?” she demanded.

“That’s the Christian symbol for the Almighty.” Dai glanced at Ken. Beside his godless comrade, Ken Duan visibly shivered. “Come on, Gwen, you’re not seriously going to hold a ritual in the office, are you? Can’t you keep this sort of thing at home? Look, you’re scaring Ruì.”

The NoMs backed away.

Gwen stopped herself from tearing a clump of hair out. She conjured, with great effort, a jolly fat man in red and white. “Does this mean anything to you?” she enquired hopefully.

The men and women under her care shook their heads in unison.

“Look at this beard,” she said. “Check out this suit! Who is this?”

“A fat Gweilo?” Dai answered. “Is that the costume for a priest? Why does he have a sack? Is it to keep children in?”

“Er, I have to go.” Ken reached the door. “Permission to return after New Year’s?”

“NO!” Gwen’s Dragon Fear froze her audience where they stood. More than anything, she realised she had to clear up this misunderstanding. “I am not a disciple of the Christian God. Christmas is a…”

She replayed a flashback of last year’s Christmas spent at Elvia’s mansion. They had prayed, said grace, ate and drank, then Elvia had sung “Silent Night”, and they released candles.

But there was no Santa.

Holy shit. Gwen baulked at the memory. There was no Santa. Thanks to Elvia’s Divine presence, she hadn’t even noticed there were no reindeer, no baubles and no Christmas tree! Her family only celebrated the birth of the Nazarene.

Her workers’ questioning eyes bored into her, demanding answers, possibly wondering if they should report their employer to the MSS for unsanctioned worship of a foreign religion.

Gwen knew she had to do something to offset their concerns.

“As I was saying, Christmas is not a religious holiday in Australia. In Australia, we call it Boxing Day.”

The workers regarded one another.

“Boxing Day? What did pugilism have to do with it?” Dai asked.

“Ah, I see why you’re wondering why we celebrate Boxing instead of Christmas in Australia,” Gwen tried to salvage her reputation. “You know we have Kangaroos, right?”

Though none of her audience had seen a Kangaroo, they had a general idea of the deadly marsupial’s prowess. The bestiary stated that the omnivorous mega-fauna could grow up to four metres in length, rove hundreds of kilometres across red-sanded deserts in search of food and water, and had a kick that could snap a man in half. Infamously, they also liked to box one another for dominance.

“See” Gwen was pulling fluff out of her arse now, keeping her face as straight as can be. “To mimic the noble Kangaroo, we have a day of duels. Hence, Boxing Day.”

Ken raised his hand. “Ma’am.” The man trembled. “I went to England for exchange. Boxing Day is the non-religious holiday after Christmas, originally for the common folk. The box refers to the act of gift giving, typically in wrapped boxes.”

An awkward silence descended upon the open office, as thick as the December snow. Gwen wondered if she could open a portal into the Quasi-Elemental Plane of the Void and crawl into oblivion.

There was now only one way to prove her innocence.

“Thank you, Ken.” She cranked her Dragon Fear until the essence was hammering at her eyeballs. “There is to be no worship of anything! No one is taking a break! We’re staying open until the 30th!”

Chapter twenty-six

The Dumplings of Prosperity

Magus Maymaruya visited Gwen’s office on Friday with the necklace she had uncovered from the Water Ghost’s den.

“An unusual curio,” the Magus said as he presented the identified device. “The central core distributes the creature’s mana to the lesser cores, reducing the stress of operation.”

“So can a Mage use it?” Gwen asked.

“Poorly. Also, that’s the reason why I am here.” The Magus shifted in his seat. “A Water Ghost didn’t make this thing. They lack the means. The item was made by people—by us.”

Gwen arched both brows.

“May I suggest handing it to the relevant authorities, perhaps a Tower? Usually, Enchanters are very interested in those creating illicit magical items for the demi-humans.”

“That sounds like a plan,” Gwen said, glancing at the necklace.

“On the other hand, I wouldn’t overthink it.” Magus Maymaruya inclined his head. “Are you familiar with the work of the Grey Faction?”

He seemed surprised that she did.

“Yes, well, boons like this could often be the means to unbalancing the power structure of a demi-human region. By giving items to one tribe or race, the Tower encourages competing tribes to war with old enemies for food, land and other resources.”

“I see.” Gwen realised the Magus was suggesting the Rogue Enchanter might be the working of the Tower itself or at least a Faction within the Tower. “Let’s not stir the pot unnecessarily.”

“Do not fret for the loss,” the Magus assured her. “The reward for such things is usually paid in CCs. About twenty to thirty would be my guess.”

Gwen’s regarded the orbs. Currently, she has no shortage of CCs. Perhaps she could bolster Richard’s efforts. Call it an early Christmas gift. Surely, her cousin would like that.

For the next few days, Gwen managed her long-distance contacts.

With Gunther, she delivered a full report on her current condition in Shanghai, covering everything from her spell list to her economic exploits, illustrated via the PowerPoint School of Illusion. Thoroughly impressed, Gunther asked if it was possible to apply some of the ideas to Australia or at least Sydney.

“Our population and production won’t cut it.” Gwen shook her head. “When I am back in a few years, I’ll go over what we can do, not to mention induct NoMs into our workforce. There need to be significant changes to our basic economic infrastructure.”

If Australia was anything like the land of her old world, there remained unfathomable volumes of resources waiting to be unearthed. In her old world, by the 2010s, the Great Southern Land was the world’s biggest producer of diamonds and opals, a bulk supplier of sapphire, ruby, emerald, garnet, topaz, and the single largest source of iron-ore in the world. Considering that precious stones formed in areas dense with elemental crystals, she could only suppose that the same could be said of her current world.

“And what of your allies in China?” Gunther enquired.

“There’s nothing wrong with the methodology,” she explained. “Not accounting for avarice, nepotism and inbuilt disregard for social good, of course. There’ll be tangible benefits for some time to come. But, as Master would say, all things conform to the natural rhythm of human greed. As for economics, it bubbles and bursts, ebbs and flows. If nothing else, I hope my friend Mayuree’s House of M will persevere.”

“Merchants without nations,” Gunther mulled her earlier words. “An interesting philosophy.”

“Only in an interconnected world.” Gwen had already cut back on the vision her world had entertained since some five decades ago, but even so, Gunther had been sufficiently engrossed in her illustrated roadmap of Sydney’s future.

“I’ll look forward to it.” Gunther was very supportive of her ambitions. “Now, on another topic, my contacts in the Britannic Mageocracy have tracked Sobel’s cabal to the South of Kazakhstan on the Demi-human Steppes.”

That Elizabeth Sobel was alive came as no surprise to either Gwen or Gunther. A sorceress capable of hiding from the Tower’s best efforts for three decades would not lack the means to escape even the direst of catastrophes. When they had held an earlier conference regarding Sobel, Gunther pragmatically informed both Gwen and Alesia that the hunt for Sobel would be neither quick nor satisfactory but a life-long pursuit involving dismantling her organisation, turning her backers and exposing Spectre’s sympathisers. Only then, finally starved of resources, support, mana and vitality, would they have her.

For some reason, Gwen thought of Henry’s story, where they had cornered Elizabeth in Hungary in a place devoid of people. But even then, she had escaped, or had it merely been her Master’s sentimentality that had forbidden them from pursuing further?

“If you hear anything, or if you think someone’s after you, tell us immediately. Pudong will do its best to intervene,” Gunther informed her.

“What about our Ravenport problem?” Gwen reminded Gunther of her drama with a member of the British House of Lords.

“I’ve asked friends in the UK to keep an eye on him,” Gunther cautioned his sister-in-craft. “To be honest, the man has his hands full. Westminster’s paralysed by a pitched battle between the Conservative Tories and the socialist Labour Party. Magister Blair’s just declared that he’d resign before his fourth term, so the Priministership is up for grabs in three years. So don’t worry about Ravenport,” he concluded. “At least, not until you leave for your IIUC. Talk to me then.”

Gwen cocked her head. “What do you mean? Am I going to be in London?” she asked.

“I am not saying you will,” Gunther explained. “The UK universities dominate the top ranks of the IIUC. Oxford, Cambridge and the London Imperial Sorcerers’ College are all seeded. Assuming you manage to beat out the universities from your region, your team will progress to the top twenty round. Whether for the Quests or the Duels, it’s very likely the competition will take place on their home turf.”

“Hold up, if I win, I get to see Elvia?” Gwen blurted, her mind suddenly flying to her golden companion. “In person? In Europe?”

“And Ravenport himself, I’d wager.” Gunther tried to douse her fervour.

“But Elvia!” Gwen grinned foolishly. To think she’d be reunited with Elvia in just a year and all she had to do was plough through a few teams of elite Mages.

“The chance of Ravenport taking action…” said Gunther, but Gwen felt that indifference was the right thing. Until their paths crossed, there was little they could do against Ravenport, now or in the future. Even if Gunther’s Centralist Faction allies took meaningful action against House Ravenport, it would be for political gain. Without significant rewards, no one in their right mind would move against a deeply rooted member of the Conservative Faction.

“Don’t count your cockatrices yet,” he said. “Now, tell me again about this Dragon problem in Myăma.”

Gwen tried to contact Elvia before Christmas came upon them, only to be informed by the dorm matron that the girls had left for Lady Astor’s country manor. Elvia did leave her a Message, however, wishing Gwen well and telling her she would be contacted when the opportunity arose.

Dejected, she returned to the slog.

On Christmas Eve, she returned home to find Richard and Petra setting up dinner.

“Richard! You’re back!” She felt better already.

“Petra told me about what happened at your work,” Richard remarked with amusement. “China’s not big on religion. You should know that. Also, what’s this thing about putting St Nicholas in a big red coat? How is it possible that at your age, you confused Jesus Christ with the Patron Saint of Children?”

Gwen groaned. Petra had already bemusedly explained to her that Pope Julius the First had made the 25 December a day to celebrate the birth of the Nazarene.

When she demanded if there was a Santa, Richard chimed in with the expert knowledge that it wasn’t pronounced Santa Claus, but “Sinter Klaas”, Dutch for “Saint Nick”, corrupted by English speakers when the Protestants frowned upon the worship of saints. Either way, gift-giving was not associated with Christ, but rather with Saint Nick.

“Gwen went to a government school,” Richard explained to Petra. “They don’t have a religious curriculum there.”

“Ah. I went to private girls academy,” Petra informed her cousin. “The Boarding School for Girls of the Ministry of Defence of Russia. We had mandatory religious education using sanctioned scriptures.”

“I’ve heard of your school.” Richard whistled. “The best girls’ academy in Moscow.”

“Prince’s is not bad either.” Petra’s lips curled sensuously.

“Nothing of the sort!” Richard scoffed. “I was in a Frontier chapter, incomparable to the real thing in London. The very idea that at tier 5 Conjuration I was made House Praetor should give you an idea of how starved we were for talent.”

Bah! Gwen rolled her eyes. Private school kids. My school was next to the fish markets! It stank, and we ate fish and chips three days out of the week. On the weekend, homeless people slept on our oval.

Ultimately, it wasn’t as though China forbade the celebration of religious holidays. It was more so that its citizens, particularly the younger folk, were indoctrinated by the thought that devoting one’s life to an all-powerful being was antithetical to say, blind allegiance to clan, house, family and the Mao Manifesto. It was no surprise, therefore, that her employees had been so alarmed. What she had done was no different to asking Coca-Cola employees to engage in Pepsi Appreciation Day.

Nonetheless, fluted glasses clinked.

“To us!”

“To your jolly fat St Nicholas!”

“Merry Christmas!”

As agreed, the trio had forgone expensive gifts. Gwen bought Richard a moderately-priced quasi-magical cologne, while Richard had gotten her an Expatriate’s Guide to Living in China handbook. For Petra, Gwen brought French perfume, the closest thing she could find to Chanel No.5, while her cousin gave her a can of Huso-Huso caviar.

“From the old country.” Petra tapped the quasi-magical tin. “The taste of the Caspian, now called the Fire Sea.”

“Yeah, that’s a sad one.” Richard nodded. “All those Beluga Sturgeons gone to the Elementals.”

“This is incredibly precious!” Gwen pushed the can back toward Petra. “We said nothing expensive, remember?”

“I got it a long time ago,” Petra explained. “I couldn’t bring myself to eat it. I figured you could do with the vitality.”

“The roe can be kept fresh for a century,” Richard said. “It’s the ultimate decadent delicacy.”

Gwen made a face. “I’ll hold onto it,” she informed her cousins. “Maybe one day, we’ll share it for a special occasion.”

Richard looked on forlornly as Gwen packed the can away.

“Oh yeah, I got this thing from Yue!” Gwen produced a gift box that she had received the day before but had waited until now to open. Stripping away the protective shipping packaging, she unwrapped a box, then another box, then a colourful assortment of paper wrapping to reveal a hair ornament.

“Oh, wow.” She lifted the opal-coloured twig between her fingers, allowing the play of lights to shine through its semi-opaque interior. “I better call her back. It looks hella expensive!”

Two invitations plus a hopeful Dai presented themselves in front of Gwen.

The House of M cordially invites Miss Gwen Song…

Wang Enterprises invites the esteemed Miss Song…

“Gwen, Father wants to know if you can attend our New Year’s dinner. Uncle Tu and Magister Chen are going to be there as well. I’ve invited Ruì, Ken and everyone else.”

In a time like this, Gwen wished she knew the legendary Illusion Simulacrum. But in the end, she chose to accept the invitation from the Wangs, informing the others that she wished to spend time with her family, a universally acceptable alibi that absolved her of any accusations of favouritism or snobbery.

“Thanks for the offer, Dai,” Gwen said to the Fung heir. “Can you explain my circumstances to your father for me? I haven’t seen Mina, Tao or my aunty in weeks.”

“I will.” Dai was visibly disappointed by her choice.

“We see each other three days a week, Dai,” Gwen joked. “Aren’t you sick of me by now?”

“How could I be?” The young man grinned sheepishly. “We should see each other outside of work.”

“Date a teenager? You wouldn’t!” Gwen chided the young man. “What kind of optics would take a seventeen-year-old girl to a New Year’s party bring, especially one who is your boss and could kick your ass?”

Dai nodded sadly.

“Have a happy New Year, Dai.” She gave him the gift she had prepared.

It was just a simple thing—a jar of potpourri she had made herself. Although the vase was imported Venetian glass, the ingredients were rare and enchanted, uplifting the user’s mood and attentiveness.

Before Dai could think of something profound to say, Gwen left to give the others their gifts.

“A trifle.” Gwen laughed amiably as Ken Duan likewise received her standard-issue potpourri.

But for the real heroes of her office suite, Gwen had prepared two gifts. “Ruì,” Gwen summoned her PA, “here, this is for New Year and the bonus is for your hard work.”

“Ma’am!” Ruì’s fingers trembled.

On her table was a card and a box. The first was a currency card with one hundred and 50 HDMs, a paltry sum for Gwen, but for Ruì, it was equivalent to three months’ salary.

The second was a special-order item Gwen had commissioned from Magus Maymaruya—a small storage ring useable by NoMs.

“Miss, I can’t!” Ruì’s hands shook. A storage ring was the mark of a Mage. Only the servants of powerful families or the NoM attendants of prominent secretaries were given customised storage rings.

“Nonsense!” Gwen slipped the device onto her right ring finger. “If it weren’t for your dedication this month, Dai and Ken would have failed already, right guys?”

“Absolutely.” Ken raised his hand. “Thank you, Miss Li!”

“We’re in your debt,” Dai added dishearteningly. There was no skirting the fact that if not for Ruì’s help, the Fung heir wouldn’t have been able to spot the discrepancies in the accounts Gwen had given him.

Gwen took the empty box and placed it in Ruì’s hand. The instructions were inside. Ruì left her seat, bowed deeply toward Gwen, then likewise toward her two co-workers.

“Keep up the good work.” Gwen patted the woman on the shoulder. “I’ll be counting on you next year as well.”

“Thank you for everything, ma’am.” Ruì’s head remained low.

As for Effi and Terence, Gwen gave them each a thank you card and a Minor Ioun Stone of Clarity sourced from the House of M for having followed her gruelling regime. After weeks of training under herself and Ruì, both of Ma’s hand-picked acolytes were proving to be worth their weight in crystals.

Finally, with the secular gift-giving completed, Gwen said farewell, wishing everyone a prosperous 2004.

Dinner at the Wangs was the right choice to make.

The gathering became an impromptu meeting of the young members of the House of Song. The location, as expected, was the Wang Group building just off Zhongshan Metro with the moniker of Dragon’s Dream, a massive complex with self-contained apartments, office blocks and a six-storey shopping mall chock to the brim with restaurants and shops.

After delivering their greetings and performing bows, Gwen, Tao, Mina, Petra, Richard and Percy retreated to a private level of their own—a shabu-shabu restaurant owned by the Wang Group. With alcohol freely flowing and a display of Wildland meats free for the taking, Gwen thoroughly enjoyed herself.

“Sis, I want you to know I super-appreciate our Nantong trip.” Percy raised a glass to toast. “Really gave me a confidence injection.”

“Oh?” Gwen slammed down a shot of Mao-tai. Tao was paying, after all. The patriarch shouldn’t mind a few hundred HDMs, she hoped.

Percy’s face flushed with optimism. “After we got back, I tried out and got short-listed for the junior Duelling team. Once training starts in January, I’ll know if they’ll include me as a starting or backup member!”

“How wonderful. Drink!” She sipped another mouthful of the vital liquid, feeling warm and fuzzy as the triple-distilled alcohol infused with her essence. Beside her, Ariel was chewing on an enormous bone nub she had fished from the hotpot soup, while below the table, Caliban ate up table scraps.

Not far from her two Familiars, Lea the Undine likewise sat as though a member of her human party, although other than the mana-rich alcohol, she couldn’t consume anything else.

“Did you have to duel many people?”

“Hell, yeah! You should have seen it, Si. I kicked ass.”

Inspired by a cup of Mao-tai, Percy related to her a slurred account of his participation in the school tryouts. At first, the boy had been nervous and afraid, but after facing the Water Ghosts in Nantong, he realised there was nothing to fear from his fellow Mages, especially when sparring.

Using his rudimentary Abjuration to create a defensive bulwark, Percy managed to defeat his first opponent by wearing them down and then a second opponent by immobilising them with his Salt Shards. After that, the extended use of Salt exhausted him, and he had to request a pause to the Duel. His performance, however, caught the eye of the Duelling team captain, a genius-level Mineral Abjurer with a Secondary School in Transmutation called Kelvin Ma.

“Captain Ma might even give you a run for your money, sis,” Percy said, his boyish face red with passionate worship. “He can duel our number two and number three at the same time! I’ve never seen someone as good at Melee Magic as Senior Ma, not even Lulan.”

Gwen looked at her companions, who all shrugged. Richard didn’t know the local celebrities. Petra didn’t care.Tao wouldn’t know if he tried, and Mina wasn’t interested in kids.

“That sounds wonderful,” Gwen assured her brother. “Maybe we’ll find out one day if Lulan’s better or this Ma of yours.”

Of course, the alcohol-infused Percy continued to speak at a hundred words a minute, an endless torrent spewing forth without end.

When the time was right, Gwen retrieved a dark obsidian box from her ring and passed it over to Mina.

“What’s this?” her cousin asked.

“I need a favour.” Gwen leaned in conspiratorially. “Give this a whirl and see how you like it. Most importantly, see how your friends like seeing you using it.”

Mina picked up the container. She clearly recognised the embossed M from the House of M atop the scented and sealed package. It was thin but also dense, about the weight of a book.

The package opened with a suction sound.

Mina’s eyes widened as her name flashed across the card’s light-absorbing surface.

“Gwen!” her cousin whispered loudly, the sorghum amplifying her volume. “Is this the Orichalcum Card? Daddy’s been asking about this!”

Tao’s eyes glowed beside them.

“Uncle Bao’s already famous and influential, so I’d be infringing on his time and generosity,” Gwen explained. “But for you and I, we both have something to gain.”

On Friday, 2 January, Gwen returned to the office to find two of her staff absent.

“What happened to Dai and Ken?” Gwen demanded from her PA.

“Ken’s recovering from drinking too much at Dai’s party,” Ruì informed her.

“And Dai?”

“His father has detained Mr Fung,” Ruì said.

“Oh? For what reason?” Gwen wondered just what trouble Dai had gotten into.

“For logging a total of three thousand, three hundred and fifty HDMs on his expense account.”

“Ouch,” Gwen winced. The total outgoing for the office so far was four hundred and eight HDMs for the outfitting, courtesy of Patriarch Wang, and their total monthly wage, excluding Gwen, was five hundred HDMs a month split between three NoM secretaries, Dai and Ken. “Dai sure knows how to have a good time.”

“It’s not the amount,” Ruì explained, snickering. Gwen was happy to see that she had grown comfortable talking about her Mage colleagues. “Mr Fung forgot to pay the balance before the year’s end as well and has incurred seventeen percent interest on all purchases.”

Gwen exhaled. You can lead a Dai to water, but you can’t make him pay his credit card bill on time.

January passed in a daze.

With university yet to be in session, Gwen continued to refine her spellcraft, sparring with her cousins, receiving visits from the occasional lecturer, and one time, had impromptu tea with Dean Luo and Ellen on the balcony of Fudan’s Zibinyuan.

Two notable events punctuated early January. One was that Gwen received a Message from her Uncle Jun, stating that he would return to be with the family on Chinese New Year. Of course, Gwen ecstatically responded that she’d be there or be square.

The second was her catch-up with Elvia. During their two-hour-long conversation Gwen’s erstwhile angelic companion gushed and cooed that upon receiving her provisional practice licence, she would be assigned a Knight-Protector for Quests outside of London’s domain. Though Elvia was young and inexperienced, Lady Astor had earmarked the Spirit-Healer for great things.

Gwen’s response was ambivalent. The idea that some man would follow Elvia around the countryside, inches away from her dear Evee at all times, left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Can a woman be a Knight-Protector?” Gwen insisted across the LRM Device.

“The rank of a Knight-Protector is ‘Knight Brother’ of The Most Distinguished Order of St Michael and St George, so…”

Gwen groaned in despair. Even the title sounded cool as fuck.

To offset her growing anxiety, she informed Elvia that potentially, there might be an early visit to England on the horizon, assuming the IIUC went well.

“Oo! Gwennie!” Elvia squealed, her smiling face filling Gwen with happiness. “That’s amazing! I’ll ask Matron Maxwell and Lady Astor about the November IIUC as well. I am positive our school provides Healers to the competing teams. Imagine if we could meet up.”

“No need to imagine. I’ll be there!” Gwen ground her teeth with such determination that the impact jarred her jaw. She had never felt such motivation to run to the training hall and summon all her Hounds at once. Her Evocation was edging close to tier 5, and Gwen was keen to pick up Bilby’s Hand and Cone of Cold before May. If by August she could make inroads into the mid-tier 5 Evocation, it was entirely possible she could learn the most crucial spell of the Lightning Mage’s repertoire—the tier 5 Chain Lightning.

A Sorceress with Tier 6 Affinity Barbanginy Chain Lightning? As Peaches would say, you mofos better watch out!

“Wait for me, Evee,” Gwen gushed. “I shall not pause until I bestride the green hills of Avalon.”

Curiously, work at the office began to die down around mid-January.

When Gwen consulted Richard’s Expat Guide and her workers, they informed her that all work on Tonglv would be suspended between 17 January and the end of the Golden Week on the 29th. The labourers and the Mages gradually returned until 5 February, which was the Lantern Festival.

With Richard’s guidebook in hand, her orientation of Chinese holidays clicked into place. For her host nation, the real end-of-year party was on 22 January, the Lunar New Year of the Wood Monkey.

Supposedly, according to Ruì, the whole calendar wasn’t so much based on the lunar cycle as the year of the inauguration of the Yellow Emperor, marking 2004 as the four thousand, seven hundred and second year of Han dominion. Chinese Fengshui Divination, it seemed, was entirely divorced from the Eurocentric variation of Augury sourced from the Greco-Hellenic Dynasties, far too cryptic for a Westerner to understand.

“This year is very auspicious for business, ma’am,” Ruì explained to her bemused boss. “The year 2004 marks the beginning of the metal cycle, meaning an abundance of gold, precious stones and crystals. Therefore, the financial business will boom. You are a Lightning Mage, correct? According to the Analects, it means you will get along with people who are related to Water and find conflict with those who are Wood. Also, when do you wish to close the office?”

“What’s your opinion, Ruì?” Gwen felt her head swell.

“The 17th is a Saturday, ma’am,” her PA advised. “The problem with Golden Week is that manufacturing also takes the week off, meaning there’s a break in the supply chain. We won’t be receiving reports starting from the 16th.”

“Then 17th it is. No point in working when construction’s halted.”

“Agreed, ma’am. I imagine all the migrant workers will be going back to their Districts to visit family and relatives. I’ll probably request to travel to Canton to visit my family as well.”

“Well then.” Gwen wondered what she’d be up to in the interim of the Golden Week. “Let’s set that down tentatively and I’ll speak to the others.”

21 January 2004

Chinese New Year’s Eve

As was the tradition from Harbin, the Chinese Frontier west of Vladivostok, Klavdiya’s end-of-year get-together involved the whole family gathered around an enormous table, jointly knitting hand-made dumplings.

Gwen arrived early, looking a treat in her hybrid blue-silk cheongsam, the very first dress that her babulya had given her. She had taken extra care with her hair as well, piling her long strands into a thick, swirly bun before striking Yue’s opalescent ornament through the middle, affecting a distinct oriental look that turned heads wherever she went.

She spent the morning and noon speaking and listening to Guo and her babulya, teasing Percy whenever she got the chance. By the late afternoon, the rest of the family had arrived.

Once the DIY dumpling banquet began, the youngsters were all pushed to one side, consisting of herself, Petra, Tao, Percy and Mina. Knowing that Kusu and Lulan would be spending their New Year alone, Gwen had invited the siblings as well, but Kusu had insisted that he and Lulan would spend the Chinese New Year together as a testament to their new independence.

On the other side was Tao’s father, Bao Wang, his mother Nen, her father Hai and his wife Qīn, and her Uncle Jun.

Gwen had imagined Qīn’s presence would have made everyone antsy, but as it turned out, her family couldn’t have cared less about her stepmother, making her smile.

The source of Gwen’s schadenfreude was Ayxin.

Ayxin’s presence also explained why there were two CCP-Tower Magisters eating noodles in the courtyard, chewing the fat with Guo.

Currently, her babulya was trying to teach the Dragon Princess how to make dumplings.

Draconic-dumplings.

Initially, the dumplings had chive-and-pork or mushroom-chicken-bamboo as filling, but the Magisters who had arrived informed the Songs that it was an insult to the Dragon Princess to provide for her such mundane, mortal fare.

When Guo bullishly asked his colleagues what the Dragon-kin had in mind, Ayxin outright murdered the old man by exploding his old heart.

First, she tilted her head, then with the utmost respect one of her race could afford a mortal being, she presented to Gwen’s grandparents a gold-foiled New Year’s gift box.

“This is for the family, Father,” Ayxin announced, her voice the softness of gentle water. “It has properties that will improve you and your mother’s health.”

Guo’s face moved through multiple shades of colour at once. The “F-word” seemed to have ripped out his tongue and nailed it to the wall. Babulya blinked her big eyes innocently as Jun studied the sky.

Ayxin opened the box.

Were it not for the quick actions of Babulya calming his nerves, Guo would have spat a mouthful of tea in Ayxin’s face.

Inside was a white jade slab of perfectly preserved flesh and what looked to Gwen like a Mandrake root.

“This is the rump from one of Ryxi’s prized Dragon Boars.”

Just the vitality radiating from it made Gwen salivate uncontrollably. She could eat the damn thing raw.

“And this is for yourself, esteemed Mother and Father. It’s a Ginseng Spirit, millennia old, from my father’s herb garden.”

The two Tower Magisters gazed at Guo, possibly wondering if they had heard the word “Spirit” wrong.

That was when the Ginseng Root tried to make a break for it.

“Pok!” Ayxin commanded in her Draconic tongue. Half the assembly froze as well, unable to disobey. She then picked up the mischievous Ginseng Root and tore off one of its limbs.

The Ginseng let loose a silent scream, possessing no mouth to communicate its agony.

Ayxin materialised an urn of rice liqueur and dumped the crushed limb minced with her hand into the amber liquid.

“The Ginseng is best when drowned in this Song Dynasty rice wine,” Ayxin explained like a bored housewife.

Guo clearly wanted to refuse, but the whole family, Babulya included, wiggled their brows at him. Stricken by the immense pressure of public scrutiny and peer pressure, Guo relented to being bribed for the first time in his life.

“Please accept it, Father,” Jun urged from the side. “I’ve already dissuaded her from bringing gifts that are too outrageous.”

The two CCP Tower Magisters’ eyes watered as Guo gave his thanks, wishing Ayxin well in the coming year. Millennia-old Ginseng with developed sentience? Dragon-brewed rice wine? The flesh of a Draconic creature used to make dumplings?

Gwen wondered if Guo was cultivating a path to immortality.

“Magister Cho, Magister Xiang, is it too much to ask that you join us for New Year’s dumplings?” Guo requested of his two old compatriots, seeing their wistful faces.

Cho and Xiang looked like they were about to burst into tears. Gwen’s grandfather was a true comrade, his socialist manifesto without question. Spending Golden Week away from their family guarding a Dragon Demi-God would have already been hard enough on their old bones. If they had to eat buckwheat noodles outside the door while their friend feasted on the food of the gods, they would lose faith in Mao himself.

“We’re going to need to mince that somehow.” Gwen’s babulya examined the slab of Draconic Boar meat, moving it onto a chopping board. “Shall I ask if any of the barrack’s chefs know how to prepare magical ingredients?”

“No need.” Ayxin glared at the slab harshly. There was a gentle breeze, then the meat fell apart into tiny diced cubes smaller than Gwen’s fingernails.

Space Magic. Gwen felt faint. Used to dice pork.

“Now to season it.” Gwen’s babulya didn’t miss a beat. A collection of Wildland-grown garlic, shallots and generous servings of chives cleared her storage ring and went into the mince. “Nen, start kneading out the dough. Qīn, Gwen, Petra, Mina, Ayxin, start with egg and chive pockets while I ready the filling.”

The women cleared some space around Axyin, though Gwen didn’t care and sat right next to the Dragon-kin.

After Nen had cut the dough, they got to work.

Ayxin picked up a piece of dough, kneading her fingers through the soft and stretchy flour.

“It’s been many centuries since I ate dumplings,” the Dragon Princess explained with uncharacteristic nostalgia. “I’ve never had a fresh one.”

“How come?” Gwen asked, too curious to let it pass.

“All I remember is my aunt and my father on their knees, heads bowed, presenting a stone-cold dumpling in a golden bowl,” Ayxin explained sadly. “It tasted cold as well.”

“Now, now. That’s in the past. You hold the edge like this, then flip the corner, kneading with your index and thumbs,” their babulya said.

Luckily, it didn’t take Ayxin long to learn. As a Dragon-kin with perfect control over her body, she was soon producing more dumplings than all the other girls put together.

As for Gwen, she couldn’t make a jiaozi if her life depended on it. All her dumplings looked as though they’d been conjured from dark space, each one of her creations a “thousand young” spawned by Shub-jiaozi-Niggurath.

Soon, the first dumplings arrived. When cooking, the Song family chef, an ex-army cook, almost kicked over the pot when the steam took on strange, Draconic shapes.

“Gānbēi!”

“Gānbēi!”

“Hao!”

“Happy New Year!”

“Prosperity and fortune!”

Gwen watched Ayxin bite into a dumpling, her mouth filling with the fatty soup of juices from Ryxi’s painstakingly reared beast. She knew it to be delicious, so much so that the Dragon Princess closed her eyes to savour the taste and texture.

Quickly, she, too, delivered the delicious morsel to her lips. Like Ayxin, she was immune to mundane heat.

“So good, right? The sou—ARRGH!” Gwen’s diverted attention ensured disaster wasn’t far off. The juicy dumping erupted and her heart sank. “Ergh. What a start to the New Year.”

Ayxin was annoyed that her nostalgia had been rudely interrupted by Jun’s niece and her indelicate, hyperbolic utterances. Were it not for Jun’s questionable paternal devotion to the girl, Ayxin would have cautioned Gwen with a power word to teach her some manners. To have so little regard for her elders, especially in a sacred time like the change of one elemental cycle to the next, was blasphemy.

Back in the palace, every twelve-year cycle, Ayxin, Ryxi, Golos and their mightiest sibling, Ruxin, presented their gifts to Father. For the entirety of the ceremonious occasion, the siblings, as well as the Yinglong’s lesser subjects, sat in silence, not daring to breathe or achoo, waiting on their lord to conclude his meal.

She looked at Gwen, whose form she had once taken, and saw the girl shoving dumpling after dumpling into her maw. The girl’s wantonness reminded Ayxin of Golos’s gluttonous face, which made her homesick.

That was when she noticed the pronged ornament sticking from Gwen’s piled hair.

The Dragon-kin’s eyes narrowed. She focused her pupils for a closer inspection. There was something disturbingly familiar about the shape of it, the way its tapered end split into elegant, coral-like extensions.

Halfway through chewing a dumpling, the realisation hit her.

“Puf—FFT—!”

A mouthful of Boar juice showered Jun. Ayxin’s complexion glowed a vivid scarlet as her desired mate wiped tender bits of pork from his eyebrows.

“Enjoying yourself?” the Ash Mage spoke carefully.

“Your niece, Gwen.” Ayxin wanted to apologise, but Dragons didn’t apologise or yield, especially not when faced with such an absurd sight. “She’s wearing…”

“Oh?” Jun looked at Gwen, who was staring at them, clearly holding back laughter at her uncle’s ridiculous face. “She’s adorable tonight, isn’t she?”

Ayxin wondered if she should explain, but looking at Gwen, she just felt so tired.

“It’s nothing.” The Dragon-kin returned to her meal, though all her appetite was gone. “Here, let me clean that up for you.”

Beside them, the “adorable” niece burned with oppression as Ayxin took a priceless Moon-Moth silk handkerchief to her uncle’s face.

What a peculiar child, Ayxin pondered bemusedly. Why would anyone stick an enormous baculum inside their hair? Sometimes, there was no explaining what humans did in the name of fashion.

Chapter twenty-seven

A Tuft of Flower

After what was surely her third plate of dumplings, Gwen was sure she could summon all seven of her hounds in the Void variant.

There was ample vitality in the Wildland meat, though the cooked flesh couldn’t compare to her consumption of creatures via Caliban. The real ambrosia was the rice-wine ginseng combo. It travelled down her throat like liquid fire, mixing with the dumpling, diffusing through her mana channels.

If possible, she would have liked to stow some of the wine as a sort of ‘vitae potion’, though that would be both selfish and improper.

Usually, after a meal, it was only Gwen whose skin glowed with youthful exuberance as her mixed physiology of Essence and Void absorbed the mana in the ingredients.

Now, the whole family looked as though they gained a few years back. By Gwen’s observance, her babulya visibly had fewer wrinkles, while Guo’s arched back appeared straighter, more robust. Seated nearby, her father and uncle Jun both looked more handsome and less worn by the passing of years. Qīn, still heavily pregnant, was positively glowing with life, meaning Gwen’s future sibling was going to arrive as hale as anything.

For the younger girls, the effect of the life-extending ginseng wasn’t so notable, though when her attention turned to Tao, Gwen couldn’t help but burst into laughter.

Tao was the sort of guy who resembled an old man the moment they hit puberty. He slouched, he scowled, drank heavily, and he smoked like a foundry chimney. After a plate of dumplings, a cup of wine and two pieces of the ginseng, he gazed at the family with an unblemished baby face.

Nen squealed and hugged her baby boy, while Patriarch Wang, himself looking less weathered by overwork, burst into such humour that the entire table joined in, roaring with uncontrolled mirth.

Unable to help herself, Gwen reached out and touched her cousin’s plump face, ripe with collagen.

His beard, which Tao had attempted to grow to no avail, was now soft, silky and fuzzy.

“How’s mah mug, dawg?” The rapper grinned at Gwen. “Handsome Peaches?”

“More like adorable.” Gwen squeezed his chin. “With a face like that, you should call yourself Young Peach. Tell me, does idol-rap exist? Hahaha.”

“How about Peach Fuzz?” Tao rubbed his nonexistent jawline. Unfortunately, Tao was a boy with his mother’s face. “Don’t yall think Fuzzy Peaches juz rolls off the tongue?”

This time, it was Petra who choked on her dumpling.

When Gwen found out that Jun was going to stay at the family compound for the next six days, she too resolved to stay. When Ayxin further informed them that she would be leaving for Huangshan to pay respects to her father and arrange her territory for future trading with Shanghai, nothing in the world could have pried Gwen from the Song compound.

After gleefully faring Ayxin well the next day, she hung about her uncle, bothering him for every little detail.

“Here are the crystals from Huangshan.” Gwen flashed her ring. “I’ve only got four thousand in currency cards on me right now; there’s another five when we sell the rest.”

“As I said, you keep it,” Jun insisted. “It’s not like Ayxin needs to pay for anything on her shopping sprees.”

“Shopping sprees?” Gwen felt instantly jealous.

“Oh, she’s been going through the shops as though possessed.” Jun exhaled. “Dragons like to hoard. I think I know as much about women’s clothing as you do now.”

“Oh-ho.” Gwen twirled. “Anything you would like your niece to model?”

Her uncle chuckled drily.

“Ah, you’re no fun,” Gwen teased her laconic uncle. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Surprisingly, work.” Jun snorted. “What did you think we’re up to?”

“Doing the horizontal tango?” Gwen made the suggestion with her hands.

Jun cocked his head, bemused by her accusation. “A Latin dance?”

“Or the spread-eagle fandango…” Gwen added.

“I am afraid that I am not one for folk music,” Jun assured Gwen that he and Ayxin had most certainly not engaged in the cha-cha, vertical, upside-down or otherwise. “But that does give me an idea. There are some fantastic foreign bars in Pudong. Anything to keep away from more shopping, haha.”

Gwen sighed. It was no fun when the person you’re trying to tease was oblivious to innuendo. “Have you and Ayxin engaged in coitus?”

“Ah—” Now it was Jun’s turn to exhale with exasperation. “I’d rather not say.”

“Why?” Gwen grinned awkwardly. “Nothing’s wrong. I am not one to judge someone for premarital sex.”

“You should, Gwen.” Her uncle frowned. “You’re seventeen!”

“And you’re… forty… something!” Gwen pouted, her hands resting against her hips. “I am not a little girl, trust me. Do I look like a clueless waif to you? I know more than you give me credit for!”

Jun glanced at her hair ornament, then shook his head.

Gwen took Jun’s aversion to infer her uncle had been slaying his lady Dragon day and night, only that the man was too modest to brag. Sure, Ayxin was a two-century-old cougar, but she looked anywhere between sweet-sixteen to twenty. Hell, she could take any form, even herself—

Gwen mentally slapped herself. One shouldn’t stare into the abyss for too long, for it leers back.

“Tell me about Pudong. What’s it like over the checkpoint?” she changed topics.

“What do you want to know?” her uncle asked.

“Are there many demi-humans?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but not really.” Jun relaxed, far more comfortable with their new topic of conversation. “Nothing like the rumours anyway. The demi-human guests allowed into Pudong are government workers, typically expatriates here to establish diplomatic ties. Unlike Europe, China is a very homogenous country, consisting almost entirely of human beings.”

“Are there Elves and Dwarves?”

“A few, particularly Dwarves,” Jun affirmed her limited knowledge. “The Tower has established trade routes with the higher demi-humans. Of course, if Ayxin can keep her part of our new trade deal, the Dragon-kin may yet become Shanghai’s largest interspecies trading partner.”

“What are we bartering?” Gwen hoped it wasn’t organs, thinking of the Grey Faction and its run-in with Alesia, and knowing how much regard China had for its citizens.

“Crystals, precious metals, gems and food,” Jun educated his niece with great patience. “In return, we get tea, Wildland beasts, herbs, and other useful things infused with Draconic Essence. The Dāndào’s Dānshi are in a tizzy, last I heard.”

“Pill Path?” Having never heard of the title, Gwen’s Ioun Stone struggled to find an equivalent lexicon.

“Makers of medicinal pills and elixirs,” Jun translated for her. “They make alchemical concoctions with Chinese medicine. The production rate can’t compare to western potions, but the effects of the rarer recipes fall somewhere between low-tier Elven meta-elixirs and higher-tier pharmaceuticals. Take the Yunnan White-Root Powder for example—a fingernail-sized pinch is enough to close any external body wound, staunch bleeding, and ensure minimal scarring.”

“Wow, why aren’t we stocking ‘em by the ton?” A powder capable of substituting for a potion injector would surely sell very well.

Jun gave her a wry smile.

“The recipe calls for hundred-year-old ginseng and the ground chitin of calcite crickets living in the Alu Caverns that hunt down prey to ingest their bone marrow. The lesser bone eaters lack potency, so adventurers have to hunt down the elder variety, typically tier VIII, living in family communes of a dozen or more…”

“Ah.” Gwen shuddered at the thought of two-meter skeletal crickets chewing through human bones. All those little mouth-claws! Terrifying!

“Oh, speaking of which.” Jun slapped his forehead. “Here, I saved this for you.”

Her uncle produced a small packet just a bit larger than his hand.

“Yearling tea from Fur-peak. Ayxin gave it to me, but I am not a tea drinker…”

Gwen held the tea packet. It was such a simple gift, thoughtless even. But it was enough to have her chest welling like a balloon, bursting with gratitude.

“Do Babulya and Grandfather…?” she asked.

Jun nodded.

Of course, Gwen breathed out, feeling equally relieved and disappointed that she wasn’t especially special.

“Thanks, Uncle Jun.” She leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

Jun gave her a broad smile.

“Well, since we’re here and taking a break.” The Ashbringer stood, stretching his limbs. “I’ll give you a reward if you can push me to Shield Break.”

“Ho ho ho,” she cackled. “Hold on to your pants!”

Gwen’s anticipated week-long celebration of eating, shopping, and training with her uncle was abruptly cut short the day before the Shangyuan Festival, when Guo asked if she was coming with them to Hubei.

Earlier, the patriarch of the Song estate had found his son and granddaughter tearing Percy’s training hall apart, forcing him to forbid sparring with spells that would overpower the meagre protection offered by the hall’s antiquated Force Barriers.

Thanks to Richard’s guidebook, Gwen knew about Qingming.

The ritual of ‘grave-sweeping’ was held on the fifteenth day after the spring equinox, requiring the male members of a House to return to the place of their ancestral origins to sweep the graves of their ancestors. As a girl and a Gweilo, there was no expectation that Gwen would attend, though Guo offered to ‘introduce her to the ghosts of the Song ancestors’.

Though not wishing to be rude, the very idea that she would be kneeling before tombstones while her grandfather spoke to the air about the ‘great prosperity’ of finding a granddaughter on the Frontier had her shivering all over, and so she politely declined.

When Gwen asked if the NoMs held such festivities, Guo replied that first, they had to have a magically sealed ancestral tomb. After the outbreak of Undead up north, NoM citizens by law had to cremate their dead. Combined with the fact that the CCP had banned the practice of burying the dead out in the Wildlands, NoM citizens no longer practised grave-sweeping, at least not as the Houses or Clans would know it.

Naturally, Percy had to attend, presumably their father as well.

As for Hai, Gwen had spoken to her father a few times during their stay in the Song compound, though, in all honesty, there was little common ground between them. After all that had happened, amiable dinners would suffice. That Hai was happy with his new wife, waiting for his child to be born, was the best she could manage.

When Golden Week drew to an end, she gave each one of her family members a tight hug, then readied herself for the new semester.

With the beginning of the spring semester, life returned to Fudan. The snow had eased mid-January, and by early February, the skeletal mulberry trees were bristling with jade and emerald foliage.

Gwen’s favourite restaurants reopened as well; their owners welcomed back the familiar face of the Worm Handler and her Mongolian Death Worm, both spectacles to behold for diners fortunate enough to be graced with their presence.

After consultation with her peers, her instructors, the dean, and anticipating her future needs, she decided on the following courses for her semester:

Conjuration CJR2001

Translocation CJT2007

Bestiary and Care of Spirits FAM3021

Evocation EVK2002

Advanced Spell-Shaping ASP2201

Utility Divination DIV2003

Management GEN200M

Economics GEN200E

Conjuration 2001 and Translocation 2007 were both taught by the resident senior lecturer, Louis Birch. Second-year Conjuration continued the existing theory, moving into higher-level algorithms and incantations necessary for spells tier VI and beyond.

Translocation was a class taken by Combat Mages wishing to use Short-Range Teleportation as a primary mode of combat. The practical course took students through complex obstacles, as well as instructed the neophytes in various operational tricks of the trade. Juxtaposed against portage specialisations, Translocation focused on individual mobility and combat adaptation.

Having enjoyed herself so immensely with Instructor Chen in his rudimentary Bestiary class, Gwen opted to join his advanced supplementary course, known simply as Care of Spirits. It was a rare and exclusive course offered only to students with Spirit Familiars, focusing on teaching Spirits combat doctrines, as well as fostering independent action.

Evocation 2002 under Magus Young, like Conjuration 1002, focused on spell theory and complex incantations used to boost Affinity for Evocation, allowing casters to reach higher tiers of their craft.

Advanced Spell-Shaping was likewise a “step up” of the same course under Michio Lee, moving away from the general history of Spellcraft into experimental theorems necessary for the creation of original spells. According to the course guide, the final goal for the course was for students to create an original chant of their own to submit to the Tower as a part of a semester-long dissertation.

Finally, Gwen’s choice of Utility Divination focused on three primary objectives. First, learning to employ Detect Magic with greater proficiency; second, to bring her Divination affinity to at least II; third, to learn Arcane Sight, Track Ally and Link Sight.

Arcane Sight served the passive function of detecting camouflaged or invisible creatures. It was useful in uncovering Illusions up to one tier above the invoker’s mastery, meaning Gwen could identify competitors using the tier II Invisibility, albeit the tier IV Great Invisibility would be beyond her ken.

Track Ally was an immensely useful form of Locate Person which did not require the user to be a bloodline Diviner. Once cast, Gwen left a mark on a willing creature, allowing her to find and, if need be, teleport to their location.

The spell was useful in that it worked through walls both mundane and magical, meaning Gwen could track members of her party precisely for up to a kilometre even in a dungeon, or know their general direction so long as the spell remained on her target.

Finally, Link Sight was the real boon Gwen sought. That she now possessed a flying Familiar opened her world to a Creature Mage staple—using one’s Familiar as an extension of one’s senses. Via Link Sight, Gwen could see through Ariel’s eyes, gaining topographic mastery of an area when outdoors and lacking a Diviner, or send Ariel to scout out dangerous regions such as an indoor dungeon or outdoor lair. Should danger present itself, she could unsummon her Familiar in a split second.

Furthermore, for Gwen, Ariel’s channelling ability plus her Link Sight would make an incredible combination. Assuming her pets were in range, all kind of combo gimmicks involving Dimension Door, AOEs and so on could be attempted.

Lastly, her two Gen Ed courses were ‘cakewalks’ whose only purpose was to boost her Weighted Average Mark. Confident that she would almost certainly get near-perfect marks from Professor Ma with minimal fuss, it freed her up to work at her office, while still receiving credit for her coursework.

After readjusting her schedule with Ruì, she returned to the campus mid-February, once again ready to dive into the world of academia.

“Make way!”

Gwen was finding out just how troublesome it was to accompany the ‘Flower of Fudan’ through a roaring campus.

The first week of the Semester was Orientation Week, meaning the clubs were out in force trying to recruit the new starry-eyed Mages entering the university. As usual, the Duelling Club had set up a huge pavilion with portable Walls of Force, working spell in hand with the Eatery Club and the Hidden Cuisine Cabal, combining the affinity of action and delicacies. Together, the trio dominated the competition year after year, taking up the entire main lawn between Guahua and Hengbuo Avenues.

Tempted by the street food, Gwen had inched forward stall by stall until she was smack-bang in the midst of the busiest section of the festival. As she had Petra in tow, the folks around the Duelling Arena had mistakenly thought the girls wanted to gawk at the duelists.

“Make way for the Flowers of Fudan!” someone joked, yelling at the surrounding first-year newcomers.

Gwen recoiled. Petra’s souring expression likewise inferred they ought to leave, though nothing short of a Dimension Door or Flight would manage a return path, and both were forbidden on campus.

Also, she had ambivalent feelings about any nicknames to do with flowers.

For a while now, she had resigned herself to the cringeworthy innuendo gifted by Caliban. A two meter long phallic faceless ophidian as a pet warranted an equally cheeky title, but ‘flower’? Was she waiting to be picked, or were they telling her she should be making the most of her youth before it wilted? While showering one night, she’d thought about why Petra had acquired such a title and realised it was because her cousin refused to date and had an aversion to commitment, making her a desirable ‘flower’ without a ‘picker’.

The crowd parted.

On stage, two Mages duelled, flashing blasts of fire and something indistinct. When a bolt of the foreign substance cascaded against the Force Barrier, Gwen recognised it as Dust.

A Dust Mage?! Here? Colour her impressed.

The Fire-Evoker Transmuter had a similar style to Alesia, using powerful short-range bursts combined with a transmuted body of flames, but the overwhelming volume of Dust particles filling the chamber suppressed the Evoker’s furious discharge.

Even with her improved kinetic vision, the dust-clad Mage was well Shielded. From his silhouette, however, she knew the caster to be a stranger.

Outside of her twin elements, Dust was perhaps her most researched quasi-elemental plane. After all, assuming Ravenport had other members of his household coming after her, the eventuality of beating down other Dust Mages was high.

Where Ash and Void were the most volatile and consumptive of quasi-elements, Dust was more akin to Salt in that it consisted primarily of Elemental Earth. Furthermore, despite its reputation as an element of destruction and death, Dust could be readily found in the natural world; present in the aftermath of decomposition and decay. In short, where there were living things, there would inevitably be motes of Dust woven into the refuse.

“Do you know Sir Tei?” One of the Mages, noting her dismay, stopped to ask her a question. From the look of his uniform, the man was a senior at the Duelling Club, likely one of the event organisers.

“I was just looking.” Gwen tried to step back into the crowd, but the gap they’d opened earlier was now thick with juniors desiring a gander. If there was one thing she’d learned about crowds in China, it was that people loved crowding yet hated lines. It made many a night’s grocery shopping an unenviable chore.

“Pats, we’re leaving.” Gwen turned from the makeshift arena. She had no time for duels—not when there was food to be eaten. Earlier, she had seen a stall selling glazed pineapple buns.

“Sir Tei is a candidate recently returned from the IIUC,” the speaker continued. “He’s tier VI in his specialised Abjuration School.”

Gwen paused, her retreat faltering in the wake of curiosity.

An IIUC candidate?

She had no idea who most candidates for the IIUC selection may be other than Kitty, herself, Richard and possibly Lulan, though she had been told to be wary should she encounter second- and third-year veterans.

“Tell me more,” she urged the club member, who obliged with red-faced gusto.

“Sir Tei comes from the Northern Clans near Shandong. Do you know of the Tei Family of Taishang? They are the guardians of the Mount since ancient times. It’s a place famous for birthing scholars! Confucius, Mozi, Zenzi, even the Sage of the Three Kingdoms, Zhuge Kongming!”

Whoa, Gwen knew jack shit about Chinese history, but even she had heard of these renowned figures of mythos, each instrumental in creating entire epochs and legends of Chinese history. One place gave birth to all these geniuses? What the hell did they put in the water over there?

Above the girls, the battle had already ended.

The Force Barriers retracted. The challenger bowed deeply before removing himself from the scene. Looking up, Gwen realised the victor was coming toward them.

Tei Bai, aka ‘Tombstone Tei’ appeared shorter outside of combat than he’d seemed when wrapped in flames and dust. Stepping over the edge of the arena, he received the good cheer of his juniors before turning to the two girls whose pilgrimage through the food stalls had deposited them in front of the stage. Though he had not intended to accost the girls, that they stood half a head taller, possessed the visage of flowers, and had cleared a ring of space made the pair too conspicuous to ignore.

When his eyes fell upon the dual-element sorceress, a faint smile touched Tei’s lips. Of course, the Dust Mage recognised Petra and herself. One was the Flower of Fudan, while the other was her worm-handling companion. From the man’s interest, Gwen wondered if he was coming toward them because the world knew that she had bested Wonsoo Li in single combat in Hangzhou. That, and she was rearing to join the IIUC line up.

“Miss Song!” Tei Bai called out from the dais, taking her unwavering consideration of the Ravenports for interest in himself. “Care for a duel?”

Down below, Gwen’s curiosity was in sync with Bai.

To improve her craft, she had squared off against her uncle, her friends, and her companions.

Against Richard, each bout was an agonising affair. If she directly used Barbanginy, she could blow through both Familiar and Water Mage. Without the support of her catalysed lightning, however, she struggled to land a hit. Against both of her elements, Richard’s unrivalled manipulation of water was a hard counter. Paralleled against her role as a Creature Mage and a Conjurer, Richard’s Undine-enhanced affinity blew her tier VI out of the water. When she tried to close in, she despaired that Richard’s Dimension Door, though lacking in damage, was faster than her Lightning-Teleports. Only by using both Ariel and Caliban could she hope to trap Richard and wear him down, though a single misstep meant she fell into a bubble of water.

Lulan provided a similar challenge, though the girl’s melee was as terrible a match up against Gwen as she was against Richard. Interestingly, Lulan had a far easier time against Richard, blowing through Lea and Richard’s Abjuration, while against Gwen’s reactive Lightning Shield and Void barriers, Lulu’s classical sorcery suffered.

The only other personage nearing her practice of stagecraft was Kitty, who she’d sparred twice via aerial duels, each time with ambivalent results. Without Ariel acting as a mobile flying turret, utilising its friend-foe abilities, Gwen had no means of landing a hit on the flighty Wind Mage. On the other hand, Gwen’s non-Newtonian hard Shield might as well be the Great Wall of China to Kitty’s Air and Ice offensive magic, especially if Gwen rapidly Teleported to avoid her slow-inducing AOEs.

What she desired to fight were higher-tier Mages like her uncle, but such a thing was unlikely to happen.

Which anchored her interest in Bai.

No longer a novice Mage, she was beginning to realise that higher tiers of magic were an inevitably brutal arithmetic of power and defence. In the future, should she face off against Gunther’s foretold foes such as Spectre Enforcers or goons serving Ravenport, killing or maiming a Magus-tier opponent was possibly the only reasonable outcome.

Likewise, should she, Gunther, and Alesia pursue Sobel, how many days, mayhap weeks, would it take before finally, haggard and exhausted, it was safe to face her final stand?

Before agreeing, Gwen looked toward Petra for instruction. Her cousin’s response was that if Gwen had to do it, she better do it quick.

“Sure.” She clambered onto the dais, thinking that she could use the digestion. “Please go easy on me, senior.”

Tei Bai extended a hand to help her up, just as Gwen stretched an elegant limb over the ledge, the crowd erupted into wolf whistles and cheers.

Alarmed, she smoothed down the hem of her dress. When the weather had turned warm, she had gone back to silk sundresses from Hangzhou. Unfortunately, her blushing modesty seemed to have incensed the crowd further. Some of the first-years were positively howling with glee, making her want to just up and leave.

The Dust Mage stood to one side. “Apologies, Miss Song.” Tei inclined his head. “I was careless.”

“No need.” Gwen looked down at her opponent with a sickly sweet smile. In her wedge sandals, she was much taller in person, almost a head taller.

A spark of lightning shot from her hair. Hopefully, by the time she was done, no one would think of her as a flower ever again.

Chapter twenty-eight

A Tall Poppy

“As I am the senior, you may have first strike,” Tei Bai offered, acknowledging the mistake of asking his junior to duel while she wore casual clothing. At their tier of magic, it wasn’t uncommon for wayward spells to result in minor wardrobe malfunctions, as Gwen well knew in her wedding duel. Furthermore, Tei’s Dust Element, had a habit of destroying delicate fabrics. “I would defend myself very carefully, if I was you, Miss Song. First to Shield Break?”

“Senior, your confidence is going to be your downfall,” Gwen snubbed Bai’s warning. On stage, her haughtiness felt natural and certain, especially when considering her reputation. “I am going to open with a finisher if you’re not careful.”

“I look forward to it.” Bai’s response was sombre. “You’re a… confident young woman, Miss Song.”

Gwen returned her senior’s retort by arching her neck gracefully, then inclining her chin ever so slightly.

The audience cooed.

There was nothing like a good bout of shit talking a before a match. That way, when a contestant inevitably ate their teeth, they’d also have to spoon down a mouthful of their own words.

The two parted, with Gwen counting the steps.

The adjudicator, a senior club member, began the countdown.

“Three…Two…One…Begin!”

Gwen circulated her elements. Below her, the crowd held its breath, but it would appear neither she nor Bai desired to make the first move. Bai was being polite, while she had waited to see what Bai would do and if her senior was arrogant enough to gift her the first strike.

“If you insist.” Gwen hoped her opponent was as competent as he proclaimed himself to be. Focusing her mind, she leisurely erected her non-Newtonian Shield, then began to chant her hound-summoning invocation.

“That Shield!” The Dust Abjurer’s expression turned serious the moment her double-glazed dome came into existence. “That’s the Morning Star’s signature Shield! How is it that you know it?”

Gwen smirked. To recognise her brother-in-craft’s Shield, this Tei Bai was a Mage of culture. In the next moment, without missing a single syllable, she completed the summoning mandala, having attained a moderate mastery over a month’s practice.

“Hmmph!” Her opponent grunted, his skin crawling as the flood of Conjuration mana issuing from Gwen’s creations tickled his scalp. A second later, the Dust Mage drew a number of pictograms in the air with his fingers while chanting in a tongue Gwen did not recognise. “Pillars of Taishan! UP!”

Four columns of dust swirled into existence around the Dust Mage, each three meters tall, vaguely inscribed with scripture and rough-hewn images.

“Ten Thousand Stones!” The Dust Mage was just warming up.

Above Gwen, a blizzard of Dust-speckled stones began to rain down on her non-Newtonian Shield, blighting the dome with a choking haze of free-falling particles. The unimpressive impact informed Gwen that the spell wasn’t one for lethality but rather, served to limit her movement.

Is he trying to bury me? Gwen watched her double-glazed Shield turn white from the blows, the interior of her Shield grew dark as Dust blanketed her transparent pane like dirty snow, draining the static from her lightning-tinged barrier.

“Solidify!” Came the final syllables of Bai’s sorcery. Around her, the motes of dust instantly grew compact, encrusting Gwen within a vault of shale.

Tombstone Tei indeed! Gwen was beginning to see where the man had gotten his moniker. The fact that the Dust Mage had used a defensive spell as an offensive entrapment was impressive. She could feel the weight of the stones crushing inward. Not only that, the sorcerous snare grew heavier by the minute. Were it not for her absurdly large VMI, she should be immediately entertaining teleporting away before her Shield collapsed or she ran out of mana for a counteroffensive.

But for now, she was safe. With her summoning Mandala completed, she allowed her opportunistic Conjuration to manifest.

“Hound Pack! Come!” Six Deerhounds emerged beside her. It was a tight squeeze inside her barrier.

“Alright everyone, gather around.”

Her dogs stood to attention, attuned to their master’s mana signature. She gave an order for the dogs to fan out and encircle the Dust Mage as soon as they relocated. It was time to put to practice one of her new tricks of the trade.

“Dimension Door!”

Her mana pool dropped by almost a quarter.

When she had last studied with Instructor Chen, she lamented having to resummon her dogs whenever she had to cross water or venture across terrain that could only be managed by flying or teleportation. As a result of her high affinity, her hounds were more Elemental than flesh and blood, resulting in a propensity to dissipate when submerged bodies of water.

“With your VMI, why not use Dimension Door?” her instructor had queried.

“How so?” she had enquired. Dimension Door was limited to one additional person, was it not?

“Not exactly.” To demonstrate, Chen blew her mind by teleporting with all nine of his dogs at once, though the Senior Conjurer was well-haggard when he appeared fifty metres away across the underground training hall. “Your elemental beings possess the same signature as your magic, meaning they are less prone to astral distortion. The reason we don’t transport more than one ‘passenger’ via Dimension Door is twofold. One, because of excessive mana usage, which increases exponentially, and two, because spatial tears become inevitable when carrying a being with a different Astral signature. As magical creations of your own making, conjured creatures cost less mana to move. In fact, the higher your affinity, the less prone they are to sudden death upon materialisation.”

Serendipitously, Instructor Chen’s advice furthermore provided an unexpected boon. When Gwen appeared beside Bai’s pillar, it wasn’t a single electric nova that erupted, but six mini-novas plus Gwen’s own.

The miraculous easter egg was a joyous discovery.

But simultaneously, Gwen grew melancholic, wondering just how many signature spells her Master had in store had he not perished so suddenly.

The resultant blast, momentarily igniting the air with blue-white plasma, was enough to collapse one of Bai’s pillars, making Gwen realise the young man’s unique Abjuration spell must be a means to absorb damage.

Muttering incantations under his breath, her opponent withdrew the magic he had used to entomb her. Her senior again opened his mouth to make a spell, but was cut off by the swiftness of her recovery.

“Caliban!” She allowed her vitality to suffer.

“Oooh! IT’S HERE!”

“THE WORM!”

“DEATH WORM!”

An enormous clamour broke out, far louder than when Gwen had too immodestly ascended the stage. The passion was of such fervency that she felt a pang of jealousy. Was her obsidian worm more popular than she was? But why? Had her Familiar snuck off to perform acts of philanthropy? Did it rescue pale-faced dames in the dead of night, or pluck kittens and puppies from the river while she slept?

Sensing its immense popularity, Caliban opened its carapace and reared to its full height.

“SHAA—!”

“Awoooo!”

“Arrroooowwooo!”

“Awwwwoooooooo!”

Her hounds joined the howl.

Her opponent surveyed the pack of dire-sized lightning-hounds fulminating hysterically with blue-white plasma, in the midst of which was Gwen’s Death Worm.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have let you finish that spell…” the Dust Mage confessed, impressed by her display.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Gwen smirked smugly, doing her best to ignore the calls from the crowd to have her Worm swallow Bai whole.

“I’d advise caution, Miss Song. Be careful now.” Bai gave her a heads up before rapidly completing his next invocation. “I have no wish to shame or harm a future teammate—Dust Tendrils!”

The remaining three pillars burst into activity as columns of semiopaque tentacles split from the solidified dust, seeking to entangle her Deerhounds.

Instantly, Gwen’s body grew rigid. What good humour the duel had afforded became instantly quashed by the stifling sight of prehensile tendrils reaching out to ensnare her hounds, and mayhap herself.

The traumatic blow of the sight was such that, for a second, she forgot they were in the middle of Fudan.

“Caliban!” Gwen commanded her Familiar. Her tone changed. Gone was the come hither character of teasing and taunting. There was a coldness in her voice now, one unbecoming in a friendly duel.

Her Familiar grew into its Gila form, flooding the space of the duelling arena with its Void-aura, sending those standing too close reeling back with nausea. One girl who’d been busy filming Caliban with a lumen-recorder straight away lost her orientation, slamming her head on the transparent pane before been rescued by the club’s security members.

Heeding their Master’s mental cue, her dogs attacked. Snapping and snarling at the tendrils, forcing their way through.

“Dust Bolt!” Bai teased her creatures.

Caliban opened its maw and took Bai’s low-tier offensive right in its open maw, not even slowing down as it pushed forward.

The improbable sight brought a second round of jubilation from the crowd.

“Lightning Storm!” Gwen threw down her newest AOE, flooding the duelling arena with motes of lightning. Her Evocation synergised well with her elemental dogs, empowering them while Ariel, even tucked in its pocket space, ensured that Gwen’s Lightning strikes fizzed before they reached Caliban, neutralising the Dust-motes surrounding them.

“Tomb Wall!” A semi-dome barrier Shield erected itself in front of Bai, its dust-clad surface dulling her elemental assault even as it repelled her hounds. Inscriptions, likely from the teaching of ancient Sage Kings, ran the length of its surface.

Bai’s signature Abjuration possessed an unpropitious title. What Gwen would later come to know was that the Tei Clan were tasked with guarding the rumoured tomb of Mozi, arguably one of the most beloved scholar-sages of the One Hundred Sects Era. As for Clan Tei itself, the stewards of Mozi’s teachings walked the Path of Universal Ai, claiming that one must possess empathy for all beings under heaven.

Caliban slammed into the outer shell, though the impact seemed to jar her Familiar more so than the Dust Mage.

Fucking turtle! Gwen swore under her breath. She hated fighting Abjurers for this precise reason.

“Caliban, Onslaught!”

Her vitality dropped again, but she wasn’t finished yet. She had to rid the bad taste of those tendrils from her mouth. For reasons she could likely guess at, each blast of magic against the Shield was therapeutic.

“Wall of Lighting!” Another layer of lashing electricity joined the first.

“Lightning Tendrils!” Arm-thick bands of lightning, half a dozen of them, began to beat the tomb-shell like a drum.

By now, her dogs had exhausted a second pillar. Freed from the harassment of the grasping tendrils, they turned their attention to clawing and nipping at remaining two, wrangling the tendrils and keeping them from Caliban.

Caliban, meanwhile, tore chunks of shale-like material from the Shield, making steady progress through the dust-igloo, its void-clad claws removing more material than Bai could replenish.

“SHAA—!” Caliban sung a dirge of carnage.

What irked Gwen was that, with Detect Magic deadened by the Dust barrier, she had no idea what Bai was doing inside his shell-Shield. At the same time, her Divination Sigil remained as silent as Bai’s proverbial tomb.

Still, sensing that she needed to end this before Bai encircled his wagons with even more Abjuration and Enchantment, she portioned just enough vitality to Caliban to began his terrible work.

“SHAA—!” Her Familiar’s jaws distended, opening it impossibly wide, it attempted to swallow the entire two-meter semi-sphere Bai had erected, transforming itself into a grotesque, bloated, mega-mouth croaker.

The crowd howled.

Gwen hoped that Bai would give up before he accidentally disappeared into the Void. How the fuck was she going to explain his death to the authorities? It was a game of chicken! Was Caliban only supposed to nibble the tip?

She could forfeit as well, arguably a viable option, confessing that the Bai’s barrier was beyond her ability to penetrate. But why should SHE be the one to yield? If anything, the ball was in the turtle Mage’s court.

“Yield if you want to live!” She shouted with the aid of her Illusion Sigil, hoping her words could penetrate the Tomb-Shield. “Caliban’s not going to hold back; it doesn’t know how!”

If the man responded, she couldn’t hear it. Between her thunderbolts, her dogs, and Caliban, they may as well be playing Chinese Whispers inside in a tin-shed pelted by hail.

An eye-blink later, Bai’s answer came.

“Castigate!” A powerful repulsion emitted from within Bai’s Shield. Like peeling skin from a bulbous grape, Caliban bloated, then burst.

A flood of Void-mana splattered against the Force Barrier. As one, the audience retreated.

“Cali!” Gwen spluttered. She had seen Caliban banished, but she had never seen it defeated so utterly and with such devastation.

Caliban attempted to recollect itself.

Gwen felt her head spin. It was as though Caliban was trying to reconstitute its entire body from scratch, asking for no less than a Horror Stag’s worth of her life-force.

But its demand was impossible. Gwen wasn’t going to give up all of her collated vitality just so she could win a casual duel, not when she still had other trump cards to play.

“Caliban, get back!” She unsummoned her piecemeal worm, returning it to recuperate in her Pocket Dimension. “Lightning Bolt!”

Bai’s Shield was positively crackling with energy now, so much that the Dust motes could hardly be seen underneath the plasma. Still, the dust barrier remained.

A sinking feeling began to engender in her chest. He was making a mockery of her offence!

“Hounds! Attack!”

While her dogs harassed the Dust Shield, invigorated by the static motes of electrified air, Gwen decided to inaugurate a dog move of her own. Arguably, she had the Dust Mage pinned with her hounds. If so, she could afford the precious ten-odd seconds she needed for Cloud Kill, ensuring nowhere was safe for the Abjurer to emerge from his shell.

“Purify!” Bai’s answer came in the form of a halo of hallowing energy burst from the Dust Shield’s surroundings, hitting her Deerhounds with a disruptive resonance that dispersed the Conjuration algorithms holding them in place.

The feedback from having six dogs dispelled at once sent Gwen reeling on her heels. She had experienced having Caliban banished several times now, but never six of her mind-linked dogs simultaneously.

Perhaps more distressingly, her Cloud Kill fizzled, sending a surge of unspent mana back into her astral body. Analogically, the Abjurer had just shoved a tube of wasabi up her nose.

“Twelve Peaks of Taishan!” Though the spell was impressive sounding, Bai could only conjure six of the twelve potential pillars, each representing the resting place of a Scholar Bureaucrat the Clan of Tei defended at the end of the spring-autumn period.

By the time Gwen circulated enough Almudj’s Essence to recover from her mind-blank, six pillars had fallen into place.

From each pole, spectral tendrils reached out for her limbs.

The very sight sent shivers up her spine, dredging up the worst of memories. Drawing upon the anger of having her Familiars destroyed and dispelled, she pushed past the paranoia of being molested once again by a Dust-wielder. She was no longer the weak waif, she was a Dragon!

“Dimension Door!” Gwen made her move.

“Eight Pillar Formation!” Came the answer.

Gwen reappeared on the opposite side of the arena, though by then Bai had relocated his pillars equidistantly throughout the modest-sized space, just a bit larger than a tennis court.

She couldn’t help but grimly lament the irony that she had sought to trap the man within her AOE only a moment prior, and now she was fast stuck within Bai’s battlefield.

“Gwen Song!” Bai called out, opening his Shield. “Call it a draw?”

For some reason, the word ‘draw’ struck her like a slap to the face.

The Dust Mage’s face was well worn and fatigued. With her limited Divination, she could sense that his Astral presence was weaker than before, indicating her competitor was short on mana. Though Dust muted elemental energy, it took a toll to dissolve her lightning.

Gwen’s eyes burned, her throat constricted.

“Draw? Not on your life!”

A sound more akin to a growl emitted from her throat as unbridled Dragon Fear fanned out from her astral body. Outside, safe behind the Force-Barrier, the observers saw a tangible ripple undulating the motes of dust filling the arena. Those closest to the rink felt a sudden weakness, forcing them to their knees. For those unfortunate enough to both be struck by Caliban’s demise as well as Gwen’s aura, their eyes rolled back in their heads, their consciousness retracting into their minds in a reflexive act of self-preservation.

“Gwen, no!” Petra called out from below; her cousin was senselessly caught up. She spoke with a sense that Gwen no longer possessed. “Bai! Gwen’s not in her right mind! Don’t hurt her!”

“Petra, shut it!” Gwen snarled, eyes blazing with viridescent vitality. “Ariel!”

“Gwen! STOP!” Petra slapped the Walls of Force.

Ariel materialised amidst an emerald blaze of vivifying lightning.

A hush fell over the crowd, then it exploded.

“A Kirin?”

“A Mao-blessed Kirin?!”

“IT IS! Look at those stag horns! The noble mien! The whiskers! The fish-scale fur! The front hooves and the lion’s rump!”

Ariel swished its tail regally.

A cacophony of cries, jubilant beyond belief, erupted across the assembly.

“THE KIRIN OF FUDAN!” Came a cry of communal worship.

High on the stage, Gwen was oblivious that the cat was out of the bag. She circulated her Almudj’s Essence, readying her death-blow. If the turtle Mage could survive her most potent offence, she was happy to bow down and admit her inferiority.

Then, to her complete and utter surprise, Bai dispelled his Shield-barrier entirely.

“I think that’s enough, Miss Song.” The Dust Mage backed away, opening his hands to signal the duel’s end. “Good fight.”

“No!” Gwen spluttered, sending Ariel drifting downwards, crackling with Lightning. “It’s not over.”

“It is.” Bai glanced at Petra, then back at Gwen. “We’ll duel again when you’re in better control of yourself.”

“Bullshit! I—”

Bai dispelled his Pillars.

He now faced her with nothing but his fleshy frame, in front of Ariel’s capabilities, the man may as well be stark naked.

The audience below applauded Tei’s great mental fortitude. Unlike Gwen, they knew of Mozi’s teachings. The temperament and unshakable calmness possessed by Clan Tei’s members were known to many.

“You—!” Gwen faltered before she could finish her ridicule.

There was something warm dribbling on to her face and a taste of iron in her mouth. Reflexively, she touched a hand to her nose, only to realise she was bleeding profusely from both nostrils.

“Gwen!” Petra leapt onto the stage but was rebuffed by the Force Barrier. To the Mineral Mage’s dismay, Bai’s professional demeanour meant that until Gwen dispelled her Kirin, he was going to keep the barrier up to protect the audience.

“Is she alright?” someone asked worriedly. “She’s bleeding all over the place.”

“Feedback?”

“Looks like a spell-overcharge to me.”

“Poor girl,” a commentator remarked. “Doesn’t she know Abjurers make the worst possible matchup for Creature Mages?”

“She probably thought she was testing Senior Tei.” Someone else, a Duelling Club senior, snickered. “When in reality, it was Senior Tei who was testing her! She’s only half as good as she looks!”

The crowd burst into laughter.

Up onstage, half her face covered in blood, the words from the audience dug into Gwen’s paper-thin skin like stilettos. She now knew she had read the situation wrong from start to finish. She had underestimated her senior.

If so, why didn’t she yield? The eyes of the crowd bore into her tender flesh. Her skin grew scarlet with embarrassment, more so than the blood dribbling down her dress, covering her hands. Her head buzzed. She couldn’t think, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t cast spells.

“Dimension Door!”

The spell was on her lips before she even realised it consciously. In one leap, she had broken the university’s cardinal rules, disappearing from the barrier and reappearing two hundred odd meters away atop a grassy knoll.

“Dimension Door!”

“Dimension Door!”

In her present condition, three was her limit.

She reappeared on the lawn opposite the Dean’s office, a place that forbad transit, picnics, and passage, kept forever lush by nature-magic.

Bloody hell! Gwen fell to her knees onto the lawn as the mana cleared from her channels, and her head. What the hell had she just done? The best thing she ought to do now was calm the fuck down, run the hell back, and apologise to Tei Bai, to Petra, and everyone who had to bear witness to her poor sportsmanship.

“Ee—?!”

The call came from within her mind.

In her place, Ariel was appeasing the crowd by letting them inspect its noble visage. Petra was with her Familiar, and Tei Bai was there too.

Thank God, Gwen exhaled, amazed that her career wasn’t over. She owed Bai big time. Still, what the hell did she go and do all that for? Was the milk bad? Neither she nor Petra paid much attention to these things.

Was it her Lightning? Or her Draconic Essence from Almudj? Had her proficiency risen to such a point that she was no longer in control of her impulses? She touched a hand to Ayxin’s scale, toying with the idea of tearing it from the base of her neck.

DING—DING!

Her Message Device rang. The first was the Dean. The second was Petra.

“Sir?” Gwen suspected that consequences had just arrived.

“Gwen Song.” The Dean’s voice was ice. Gwen had never heard the Dean so pissed off. “My office, now! AND GET OFF MY LAWN!”

Ellen stayed away from Gwen as she sheepishly slinked into the office.

“Do you believe yourself untouchable, Miss Song?” The Dean scowled at her, his usually pleasant face was creased with disappointment.

“No, Sir!” Gwen replied. She fucked up, she was in trouble, and there was no denying her culpability.

“I know you’re young and you think yourself a prodigy, but do you believe rules don’t apply to personages such as yourself? That kind of slippery slope makes for a dangerous frame of mind! Mages who don’t think the rules apply to them become a menace to our society!” The Dean huffed.

“I am sorry!” Gwen flinched. She lowered her eyes coyly.

“Don’t try that with me!” the Dean snapped. “I have two daughters and an Ellen! You think they don’t try to make moon eyes at me, you great mooncalf!”

Gwen straightened her spine. Yes, that was a stupid move. She was in an educator’s office, not her supervisor’s suite at her old consultancy. This arrogance was unbecoming of her. She needed time to work the dragon-juice out of her system, let the static drain from her body.

“Hmmph—! The first Dimension Door merits a warning,” the Dean began.

Gwen exhaled with immense relief.

“The second, temporary deferment.”

She tensed.

“The third… academic suspension.”

Gwen’s eyes widened, then her lips quivered. That’s not how infractions worked, was it? Wasn’t it each instance, and not each ‘spell’ cast? It was her first incident! She should be receiving a warning!

But, Gwen knew better than to interrupt the Dean.

“Understood?” the Dean barked. “NOW GET OUT!”

Taking a chance, Gwen stood rock still, taking on the guise of a new statue newly added to the Dean’s office.

“Bah—” The Dean delayed his response a few good seconds before mocking her obvious attempt at playing his sympathy. “Clever girl. You think you know everything, don’t you?”

Gwen wondered if squeezing out a few tears would exacerbate or relieve her circumstances.

Within her mind’s eye, Ariel inferred presently that it was being patted by students all lined up in a row. From what she could make out via her Familiar’s Empathic Link, Petra was with Bai, who had made the duelling platform into a petting station. Even now, amidst cries of ‘Lord Kirin!’ Ariel’s prideful energy fed back into her astral body.

The very thought of thousands of strangers touching Ariel’s soft frog-pads and running their fingers through its fluffy tail set her teeth on edge; the annoyance was akin having a bone-deep itch she couldn’t scratch.

“… I am that boring, am I?” the Dean demanded dangerously.

SHIT! Gwen could scarcely believe she was staring into the middle distance in the middle of Luo’s lecture. It was true what Murphy said, whatever was the worst that could happen was almost always bound to happen; the further one was up shit creek, the more likely their skiff was to overturn.

Her eyes refocused.

Dean Luo looked as though he could choke a Gwen or two and still have anger to spare.

“I am not going to suspend our ‘best hope’ at passing for the Asian Sector qualifier of the IIUC,” the Dean continued annoyedly. “But though you have averted death, a punishment is both merited and will do you good.”

“Sir!” Gwen lowered her head. “I’ll accept any punishment.”

“You are to scrub every bathroom in the university…”

“Sir…” Gwen baulked at the thought. Despite her best efforts, she glared at the Dean.

“Your sincerity astounds me, Miss Song,” the Dean sighed. “Bloody Lightning Mages. Why can’t you be an easy going Mud Mage?”

“I’ll do it.” Gwen immediately thought of her Cleansing Spell-Cube. Let’s say there are two hundred bathrooms, that’s only two hundred LDMs. That’s not so bad.

“I am joking.” The Dean shook his head dejectedly. “I don’t think you realise the damage you’ve done. I said it’s up to your discretion if you wish to demonstrate your abilities before the IIUC, but what you attempted with Mr Tei was near exposing your whole hand! If Bai hadn’t made the right call, the whole university would have seen your best attack!”

“But everyone saw what happened in Hangzhou,” Gwen remarked sulkily.

“A Frontier town, in rare company!” Luo shouted in her face. “Fudan is an international university! Do you want everyone from Oceania to England to know your trump card? What if every other team includes an Abjurer like Mr Tei? What will you do?”

Gwen lowered her head, taking the tongue lashing in stride.

She would have appeared entirely humble were it not for the fact that Ariel’s mind-link was tickling her skin.

“I am sorry, Sir. Truly,” she apologised. “I am sorry I disappointed you.”

“Your punishment will be aiding Tei, in the tradition of Mao’s teachings. In all honesty, I want to send you away for reeducation, temper that pride of yours, but we have no more time to waste. In addition, I want a five-thousand-word self-critical report on my desk by next week. Now, go and apologise to your peers.”

“Yessir.” Gwen readily agreed.

She had lived long enough to realise that self-awareness and criticism weren’t easy pearls of wisdom to come by. There were benefits to knocking oneself down a peg, for the alternative was inevitable hubris.

Icarus may have gotten close to the sun, but hitting the sea at terminal velocity would’ve been no different from slamming into concrete.

Chapter twenty-nine

I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues

By now, a line around the block had formed, waiting to greet a legendary Kirin for good luck. A few kind words were exchanged, then Gwen was told to sit down and not to obstruct the audience’s view.

Finding a seat by the side, all Gwen could do was endure the sensation of been tickled inside out as Ariel anointed people with its tentacle whiskers and allowed the cohort to touch its hoof-frog.

The favourable treatment of Ariel wasn’t by chance. The proximity of the Lantern Festival made the Kirin’s presence all the more auspicious.

After an hour, Petra had to go, thus leaving Gwen and Tei Bai to sit by the arena while the line grew ever longer. With her face flushed and her lithe limbs crossed over as she sat on the pull-out bench, Gwen looked a treat beside the sombre-looking Tei, wearing grey on charcoal on white, looking like a junior funeral director.

“In your opinion, Senior Tei, what are good matchups for me?” Gwen asked the veteran IIUC contestant. They had been passing olive branches for the last sixty minutes, and now the topic had fallen to one of common interest.

“Someone with your skill set would be fantastic as a counter-aggressor,” the Abjurer-Enchanter stated with great sagacity. “If I were the team Captain, I’d get you to butt heads with their offensive casters. With your firepower, I wouldn’t be surprised if you could suppress two of the opposing team’s casters, bonus if you can pull in their controller.”

“What if they banish my Familiars?” Gwen inquired with a hint of cattiness.

“Ha!” Bai laughed. “I’d have Caliban and Ariel protected with Abjurations against spells that disrupt their morphic form. Of course, I’d have to go and learn those spells, but they’re not difficult.”

“I’d love that.” Gwen pondered the stratagem. “Can I apply said Abjurations to my Familiars?”

“Of course, but it’s a reactive skill with passive components. It’s either that or your offence.”

“Ah.” Gwen drummed her fingers against her thighs. The first-world problem of a sorceress of many Schools was that she had only one head.

“Other than that, your Affinity offers longevity in combat. From what I can see, you have mana to spare, so I’d say you’re a boon in protracted battles. As a spear-point offence, you should be front and centre, overpowering the enemy’s offensive casters, suppressing their formation so that our controllers can separate their Abjurers.”

For some time, the two had been conversing about the informal ‘roles’ within the IIUC competition. Though flexible, Bai had informed his junior that the general makeup of a ten-man team consisted of four core functions.

Four members for Offence.

Two members for Defence.

Two members for Control.

Two members for Utility.

Members selected for offence usually involved Mages with high damage potential, chosen for their mana affinity, damage output, AOE potential, and the possession of a Spirit.

“Which means you’re perfect in that regard,” the Dust Mage argued. “I’ve never met another student with as much damage output as you. If we had someone with both Void and Lightning when we went up against Tokyo U…”

“Ha, I promise to please.” Gwen blushed, more so because she was halfway squirming via Ariel, but also because of the confidence boost after the dean’s righteous rebuke of her arrogance.

According to Gwen’s senior, the two members for defence needed to possess the ability to Shield and weather massive damage for the team. Senior Tei played the role of the stationary Abjurer, whose speciality was defending a particular zone or location. The second Abjurer was responsible for mobile defence, such as when the teams needed to be always on the move.

“An Abjurer-Conjurer with high affinity and high mobility would be best. Or an Abjurer-Transmuter.”

Of course, Gwen was an Abjurer-Conjurer as well, though she had never practised Shielding others. According to Richard, a superior Abjurer-Conjurer, the most important thing was to anticipate the enemy’s attacks and to Shield your allies only when the precise moment arrives. As an example, Richard could Shield and deflect monsters incoming at Lulan mid-leap so that the girl could preserve the tremendous momentum of her strikes, catching her targets in a moment of weakness.

“As for Control, we’re looking at Mages capable of creating snares, barriers, traps, wards, or even Translocation specialists, assuming an open map,” Bai explained. “Enchanters, Transmuters, Conjurers, Illusionists, it’s an open position for filling holes left by Offence and Defence—”

“Ah—” Gwen stifled a moan.

“Eee!” Ariel sang out. “Eee! Eee!”

“STOP FEEDING MY FAMILIAR!” Gwen shouted across the arena.

Beside her, Bai fumbled for a moment, though as with one gifted in the talent of Dust, his passion diminished as quickly as it came.

By now, Ariel was visibly more substantial.

Being students from an elite university, sparing an HDM or two wasn’t an obstacle for Ariel’s starry-eyed worshippers. Combined with the fact that her Familiar was a glutton, Ariel had gauged crystalline treats by the hundreds. Her latest embarrassment was because its last admirer had dropped a raw chunk of unprocessed high-density crystal.

“Sorry, please continue,” Gwen grimaced, circulating her Essence. Maybe that’s the problem; she wondered self-critically. Meditating with Almudj’s blessing had been the panacea to all her problems. Sleep deprivation? Hunger? Illness? Too much alcohol? Period cramps? Thirsty? Head Ache? Bloating? Every discomfort can be solved with primordial Draconic Essence.

“Uh… yes, well…” Bai took a good gander before his gaze fell away. “So, the final two members are typically Enchanters, Buff Specialists, Quasi-Healers, Diviners, and so on.”

“Why not a full-time healer?”

“Positive-Energy Mages are too specialised,” Bai explained. “The idea is to avoid healing altogether. As for medical treatment, there are usually Clerics from the host nation on stand by, from associated universities. For example, Fudan has an allotment of healers from the Renai Teaching Hospital.”

Gwen immediately thought of Elvia.

“Only after we arrive on location are the Quests revealed to the contestants. Usually, there are two teams going head to head, but that doesn’t mean there can’t be more. The IIUC attempts different tournament formats every year to ensure students don’t game the system.”

“Can you give me an example?” Gwen asked.

Bai gave the question some thought.

“As a speciality of the IIUC, the location generally determines the type of quest and competition. To use an overseas example, Fudan has only ever made it out of Asia once, in 1996. Our students were sent to the South Korean peninsula to join the Front there against the northern incursion.”

“Undead?” Gwen could picture the horror in her head.

“What else? Against the Undead, the IIUC appropriated an open-cooperative Quest. Examiners awarded points based on how well the students worked with each other, with other teams, and with the local Militia. Further points were granted based on the number of undead eradicated, General Class creatures destroyed, and so on.”

“Were the students in danger?”

“Absolutely,” Bai affirmed her fears. “Not everyone made it back. I heard that our team lost three of its members and had to withdraw from the competition. Bit off more than they could chew, snake trying to swallow the elephant, or so the arbitrators said.”

Gwen tried to imagine what such a situation would entail. Was it like running smack-bang into a sea witch and her cohort of shock troop mermen?

“As for recent years, the inter-Asian stage of the competition is far less dangerous. Generally, it’s best to think of the competition as a Dungeon Crawl or a mock Quest. This year, for instance, we lost against Tokyo U and Seoul N.U., though we managed to match points against Tsinghua, but they weren’t fully committed.”

“What was the exam format?” Gwen felt curious indeed.

“Competitive Dungeon Clear,” Bai transcribed the details. “A little like Hengsha, you know Hengsha Island?”

“I was there this year,” Gwen informed her senior.

“Oh?” Bai blinked. “Ha, I was there two years ago. How wonderful. Anyway, our match against the internal-division took place in Tibet, near Mount Kailash. Teams fought to reach the nest of the Kailash Ice Roc, with one of its eggs as the objective.”

That’s terrible! Gwen furrowed her brows; to poach the egg of a sapient creature for a competition? Why not just plant a flag or something?

“Tsinghua U managed to nab the egg in the end. We were busy fending off harpies and other avians while one of their Clanners snuck up there and accomplished the objective. When he came down the mount, the bastard brought the Roc with him. Chased all five teams the entire way down to Lhasa!”

“I imagine that took a lot out of you.” Gwen sulked.

“I wasn’t in the party,” Bai grunted. “Questing parties are five-strong, chosen by the team leader to tackle a Quest. The rest of the members are on back up. I was doing community service in Lhasa when the Roc started pounding on the Shield, screeching and skirting the dome while feathers the size of cars rained down into the city.

“So anyway. That was a Quest gone well.” Bai nodded.

“That went well?!”

“Ha!” Bai shrugged. “In Tokyo, it was Fudan and Peking against Kyoto U and Toyko U. Maybe the Japs were looking down on us, or maybe they didn’t want to expend the effort. The competition was a mock contest over territory of two valleys. An hour in, their Shikigami ripped through our formation. By the time we were done, they had twice the amount of points we had.”

“In Seoul, we fared a bit better, though the result speaks for itself. The teams were each assigned an area to ‘pacify’. We managed to purge the local Shui-Guai, that’s water demon, without problems, but…”

“But?”

“We later heard that the local team from Seoul U chased their monsters into our area…” Bai sighed.

“… They can do that?” Gwen felt shaken by the shameless tactics.

“They got more points than we did, so I can only assume yes.”

Gwen made a face.

“That’s the long and short of it.” Bai shook his head. “Ancient history now. Anyway, you’re helping us out? I almost had a heart attack when you Dimension Doored out of here.”

“Sorry,” the prideful sorceress bowed again. Of course, the person she was most sorry toward was her cousin, whom she’d snapped at without reason and with the temperance of a fool drunk on power.

“Don’t mind it.” Bai checked his watch in a way that made it very clear he was late. “I am sorry to say that the demonstration is supposed to have closed an hour ago. We got lessons to go to…”

Gwen looked at the line of growing worshippers. Her heart sank.

Just how many times did she have to apologise in one day?

“Hold it… Head forward,” Petra commanded. “Now blow!”

“ERGH! YUCK!” Gwen watched the blood clots drain down the sink. When it came to bleeding noses, she was the type to swallow, fearful of stains on her clothes. As a result, returning to the apartment in the evening, she could feel something stuck in her oesophagus and behind her nose.

“Looks like when you charge yourself up with Draconic Lightning, you have to discharge before it overtaxes your vitals. There’s only so much a mortal body can handle.” Petra noted with concern. “God, I was so worried when you started spraying blood all over the arena.”

“It wasn’t that bad, was it?” Gwen felt herself cringe at the memory.

“It was spectacular,” Petra assured her. “Positively spurting. If this were Eastern Europe, you would have drawn every Vampyre in a hundred-kilometre radius.”

Gwen groaned.

“Next time, I’ll just shoot it into the sky. The university bans flying for a reason, right?”

“You’ll hit the ceiling,” Petra pointed out. “Also… next time?”

“Goddamn it.” Gwen wiped her face. “What do I do, Pats?”

“No idea… but…” Petra patted her on the shoulder. “I’ll ask Master.”

“Er…” Gwen hesitated. “Let me ask around first. Magister Wen’s barred from studying my Draconic Essence.”

“Oh right.” Her cousin blinked. “I wonder who could help us?”

“Ayxin?” Petra asked.

“Is that wise?” For Gwen, the uncertainty felt like a weighted blanket.

The scale on her neck thrummed gently, almost maternal in its regulation of her energies. Was it helping her or making it worse? Somehow, Gwen doubted the Dragon-kin would give her an honest answer.

On Friday, Professor Ma paid her a visit after class.

“So, what do you say?” James Ma sat opposite Gwen in her office. “Full credit—full marks, assuming you take the job.”

Ma’s offer made perfect sense.

Attendance was compulsory, but the second-year management and economic courses hardly titillated her existing knowledge.

Ma had initially come to ask Gwen questions about auditing roles like the project manager, program management officer, and the procedure involved in replacing operators found guilty. Gwen’s response was to implement more frequent accounting via Gatekeeper auditors as well as independent advisors focusing on risk analysis.

After a dozen organisation flowcharts, the topic of conversation then turned to the scant time both Gwen and Ma had left for their university courses. In a stroke of inspiration, the Professor offered Gwen the position of teaching assistant.

Gwen touched an inkless pen to her lips, one of the many quasi-magical conveniences she had come to relish.

“Can I look through the course work first?” She asked.

“Of course.”

Ma materialised for her the instructor’s outline of Management GEN200M and Economics GEN200E.

Second-year Management focused on project management, something Gwen knew well: in the past, she had dealt with long-term projects dozens of times. Ma’s course taught Mages to delegate and assign tasks via a pyramidal hierarchy with themselves at its apex. In Gwen’s learned eyes, the primitive system was itself the primary cause for incompetence and corruption. In a region like China, rarely do the most skilled or respected leaders rise to the fore. Instead, social climbers wielded the most influence.

It was particularly interesting to Gwen how, despite Dear Leader Mao’s ability to beat back the Clans, the Houses, and the Scholar-Bureaucrats, the hierarchal structure of the CCP and the Districts it used to house its NoM population was closer to imperial feudalism. In reality, cities like Beijing and Shanghai sat like the Kings of Old in the era of North and South Dynasties, a ‘Peking’ and ‘Nanking’, lording over its satellite regions like fat spiders perched on their web.

Economics, on the other hand, dealt with shallow systems of accounting and auditing followed by supplementary occupations in developing a command system. The fact that the theory sanctioned by the Party advocated a socialist economic model almost made her laugh out loud, especially when one of her lecture notes called for the elimination of class distinction by reducing the exploitation of the NoM masses by the capitalist NoM oligarchs. In her eyes, most of the theory fell into purposeless prose, arguing that ultimately, everyone was equal, but Mages were more equal than NoMs.

“Are you serious?” Gwen pointed to the ‘objective’ section of the text. “Did the Clans compose this drivel?”

Ma shrugged. “As educators, we ward our students against the temptations of capitalism.”

Despite her best efforts, Gwen snorted. There was no point arguing that Marxism was akin to More’s ‘Utopia’, the Buddhist nirvana, or the Daoist notion of piercing the heavens; it was an ideal, not a system. Despite generations of indoctrination that communism served the needs of the proletariat, a simple gander at the disparity of prosperity between Shanghai and its surrounding regions demonstrated the precarious instability of repressive regimes whose arcane bureaucrats who thought themselves above the NoMs.

“You can’t seriously believe that, Sir,” Gwen retorted reflexively before realising she’d acted out of turn. Whenever the topic of economics came up, she grew forgetful that Ma was a senior member of the CCP and her mentor, not her colleague.

“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” Ma warned her. “Practicals are one thing, our ideals mustn’t falter.”

The glanced guiltily at Ruì sweating gently despite the Glyph-cooled air. In all likelihood, the others had heard as well. Though Gwen understood this world wasn’t yet the type where MSS goons were dragging journalists into the dead of night, she nonetheless shivered.

“Yessir,” Gwen apologised loudly. “We will do our best to improves the lives of all present, NoMs and Mages equally.”

Somewhere from the other end of the office, Ken cleared his throat, trying to stifle a snicker. The expressions on Gwen’s NoM employee, however, remained solemn and stoic.

***

Saturday, Club Induction Day.

“I feel guilty that you’re feeling guilty…” Tei Bai, accompanied by a mob of his juniors and seniors, commented. “Isn’t this false advertising?”

“I’ll come and help out now and then,” Gwen promised the Duelling Club veteran. “If anything, I’d like more info on the IIUC, as well as to spar with you.”

“Then you’ll join the club?”

“Officially? Of course. I won’t have time for competitions, though,” Gwen forewarned her senior. At the very least, not before she’d resolved her ‘issues’.

“No problems.” Bai glanced at his moon-eyed juniors. “So long as you lend us our your Kirin mascot now and then, hahaha.”

The two turned to look at the new display the Duelling club had set up first thing Monday morning.

Next to the Fudan Duelling Club’s old logo was a new one. In the middle was the Qin Dynasty pictogram for Fudan written in Chinese. Beside the old banner was a projection of Gwen, her striking face beautiful beyond measure, her lips parted as she pointed a finger toward the audience. As her eyes fluttered, a voiced Illusion proclaimed, “WE WANT YOU for the FUDAN DUELLING CLUB.”

Across and to the left of the visage of her face was an Illusion of Ariel in all its Draconic glory with the caption: “NEW members will receive a chance to meet the blessed Kirin of Fudan.”

The pictogram character for ‘Kirin’, like Fudan’s logo, had been converted to the two-millennia-year-old script from the Qin Dynasty, painting Ariel with an atmosphere of authentic antiquity.

“Ee—ee?!” Ariel flirted with its visage, purring and rubbing itself against the enchanted projector.

“I’ll leave Ariel in your care.” Gwen bowed. “And I’ll be over to help after my classes. I am afraid Tuesday and Thursday are all I can manage.”

“That’s plenty.” Tei Bai inclined his head slightly, though his juniors made a full-bodied show of respect. “As I said, if there’s anything you want to know, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ll also ask a few of the other old-timers if they’re willing to talk to you. Many of the IIUC alumni originally hail from the Fudan Duelling Club.”

“Thanks, Senior Tei.” Gwen retreated, waving at her peers. “I’ll retrieve the Familiars at 16:00.”

“Ee—!” Ariel waved goodbye.

“I’ll only be half a campus away,” Gwen told her Kirin. She then turned to her restored Mongolian Death Worm. “Be a good boy now, look after Ariel, and listen to Senior Tei!”

“Shaa—!” Her creature promised, with Gwen hoping that all would go well.

***

By the weekend, the winds of rumour had blown Gwen’s friends together to ‘cheer her up’.

Petra came home to an unexpectedly too-full house, already entertaining Tao and Mina, who’d initially wanted to eat out with Gwen. There was Lulan as well, who came to mooch dinner, and Kusu, who had come to apologise for his sister’s shamelessness. There was Richard, who came to see what was up, as well as Mayuree, who joined them later. Finally, there was Dai, who’d shown up hoping to show a good side.

When the living room grew too stifling, Mayuree offered to take them up.

“It’s no bother!” the girl told everyone. “Gwen’s like a sister to me! Treat the place like your own!”

Upstairs, an annoyed Marong and a peevish Kitty welcomed the unwelcome guests. The two had previously been enjoying a quiet evening. Marong was meditating in a cloud of smoke, while Kitty trained by keeping the Smoke Mage contained to his ochre-walled room.

Emerging from the pantry, Lei immediately propelled into action, mixing drinks and heating dim sims with an efficiency only she could manage.

Once they settled in, the badgering began. Gwen was teased within a millimetre of her paper-thin skin, though the chastisement was carried out in good faith.

Sensing her friend’s growing embarrassment, Mayuree intervened, enacting the very purpose she had visited Gwen in the first place.

“Here.” The Diviner did not attempt to hide a prideful countenance as she slipped an item over the table toward Gwen. “I have a feeling you’re going to run into even more trouble from now on, so I had these prioritised.”

“Care to clarify?” Gwen dared her Diviner.

“Ha!” Mayuree chuckled, then more seriously, she refused.

Recognising the stupidity of her question, Gwen instead opened the first box.

“Your hands are full, so I had those remade as a pair of earrings.” Mayuree pointed to the sparkling pair of stones. “They’re glamoured as well. From the outside, they should be entirely discrete.”

“Is that…” Petra took a closer gander. The crowd leaned in as well. “A Mind Ward Amulet?”

“Earrings,” Mayuree corrected Gwen’s cousin. “The left is for Mind Lock and Resist Glamour; the right is for Resist Illusion.”

“They’re beautiful.” Mina’s eyes sparkled, touching a finger to her choker. “Mine’s Resist Glamour and Resist Illusion. These don’t come cheap!”

“Of course not, but the House of M is generous.” Mayuree smiled smugly, noting Dai’s discerning expression and Mina’s half-parted lips.

Of course, Mayuree was grateful toward Mina and Dai as well, hence the invitation to her abode. Thanks to their showy spendthrift, all of their friends and their friends had signed up to the House of M’s new credit programs, hoping to one day receive the mysterious invitation to join the Orichalcum Cabal.

“A little too generous,” Dai grunted, his face full of misgivings. “Gwen, that’s an expensive gift. Are you sure it doesn’t come with a price to match?”

Mayuree fluttered her eyes at Gwen.

Gwen blinked back at her friend, indicating there was nothing between them.

Mayuree tittered.

“It’s the other way around, Dai,” Gwen assured her questioning employee-cum-admirer. “Not to mention I provided the ingredients myself.”

Dai folded his arms; the young man looked to the brother standing beside Kitty. Disinterestedly, Marong blew a smoke ring at Dai. The Fung heir expressed annoyance with a frown.

“And this…” Mayuree’s hand slid over the second item, ignoring the intruders. “Is your other special order.”

She opened the box.

There, sitting inside folded velvet, was an amulet that phased out of sight whenever one looked away.

“Is that a Foglet Core?” Petra recognised the rare ingredient immediately. “You’re joking! A Ghosting Amulet?!”

“Is it expensive?” Lulan asked.

“Of course it’s expensive,” Kusu listlessly stood behind his sister when Mayuree gave a modest, undervalued estimate.

“Umm… about twenty-two thousand thereabouts?” Mayuree made sure it was a little lower than expected.

“TWO-TWO-ZERO-ZERO-ZERO? How many crystals was that?” Lulan cocked her head.

Mayuree winced. The weekly rent for her and Kusu’s apartment was 90 HDMs for a B13 suite at forty square meters with one bathroom, kitchen and bedroom. The suite itself was just under 10,000 HDMs to purchase.

Kusu caught his sister just as her body turned rigid, then slowly grew limp.

“It’s glamoured,” Mayuree added quickly. “No one will know you’re wearing it. It’s a contingency item, after all.”

Dai’s expression was no better than Kusu’s. If anything, Mayuree guessed that the young man was thinking long and hard about his next gift to Gwen, and whether it would be sufficiently over budget.

“Here, let’s put it on.”

Gwen brushed back her hair while someone of the right height—namely Richard—clasped it around her neck. After invoking the attunement glyph, the necklace turned to air. It made sense though; such items were worn permanently. Like a Contingency Ring, it wasn’t leaving the caster’s body until it activated, or she died.

The earrings too soon adhered to her dawn-tinted lobes. As promised, they looked like tiny diamond studs once the glamour activated.

“Beautiful!” Mina clapped.

Lulan’s watery eyes sparkled.

“Gwennabitch, you got any notion how pimped yo ass is right now?” Tao whistled. “You’re more tricked out than a Mermaid hustler!”

Gwen grinned, her confidence restored.

Mayuree felt genuinely proud. Looking at Gwen now, she was wearing a plethora of things related to her House of M.

A Ring of Evasion.

A Translator Ioun Stone.

An Ioun Stone of Clarified Thought.

A Ghosting Amulet.

A large Storage Ring.

Mind-Shield Earrings.

And her high-end Message Device.

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Mistress Song!” Lulan professed, her eyes welling with crystal-filled wonder. “Please spare me your change if you have any more HDMs remaining…”

The rest of the party laughed, filling the high-ceilinged penthouse with the sound of shared mirth.

“Okay, okay,” Gwen calmed her audience while Lei served up the drinks and snacks. “Since you’re all here, I want to let everyone know that I’ve run into some problems, and I would like to discuss an intervention.”

Her friends and family gazed at one another.

“I think that I’ve trained a little too quickly for my own good,” Mayuree’s saviour confessed. “Though I haven’t checked recently, my Lightning Affinity—thanks to Ariel—is hitting close to VII. I am also in possession of Draconic Essence, as many of you know, which is exacerbating the psychological problems caused by my Affinity.”

“Humble-bragging?” Dai burst out with a snort, almost spilling his drink. “You’re insane.”

“I am serious,” Gwen declared tragically. “The other day, I was duelling Senior Tei—we made up by the way—”

Tao whistled, winking obscenely.

Mayuree watched Dai freeze and felt a cruel pleasure.

The others shared her mirth.

“Tao! Not like that,” Gwen reprimanded her cousin. “Anyway, I was losing, and for a moment I lost my marbles. I wanted to win so much that I told Caliban to Consume his Shield, and then I tried to lay down a Cloud Kill in the duelling arena. After that, as you know, Dean Luo gave me a tongue lashing.”

Her peers grew solemn. Mayuree felt her chest ache. A Cloud Kill? In Public?

“Well, does anyone have any advice to give?”

Not even Marong had anything to say.

“Good luck with that,” Dai broke the silence. “There are not many Mages with your affinity, much less at the natural tier. Even Lu is tier IV plus Wanli.”

“What Dai says is true,” Petra pipped in. “According to Master, you’re tier VI without Ariel. Most Mages are tier III plus Spirit. You’re going to need someone just as special and rare, but when you add in Draconic Essence…”

“Same here, I am tier VI naturally.” Richard raised his hand. “Lea provides the rest. I suppose I am already pretty easy going though, and a little lazy, haha. We Water Mages have it easy.”

“Lazy? You’re a workaholic!” Gwen accused her cousin. “Weren’t you apartment hunting?”

“Still looking,” Richard replied.

“I can help,” Mina interjected. “Me and Tao, that is; what do you need?”

“Ha, the Wang Group buildings are a bit rich for my blood.” Richard scratched his head. “I am looking for something near the low-end suburbs, not inner city.”

“Well, let us know…” Mina imposed herself. “I’ll take you to see some properties if you like.”

“I might take you up on that offer.” Richard smiled back. “Give me time.”

Mayuree touched her chin tentatively. Gwen’s cousin, looking for a house? She could help.

Meanwhile, her saviour looked around the room: indeed, her family, including the most knowledgable, Petra, had no solutions for her dilemma.

Could Gwen spend CCs? Mayuree entertained the thought. But who could do that?

Watching Gwen suffer in silence, Mayuree couldn’t help but bite her lip.

Was Petra right? Was Gwen a born masochist?

Chapter thirty

A Crucible’s Caress

“WOCAO!”

“What in Mao’s name…”

“Eee!!”

“Gwen!”

“SHAA! SHAA!”

“LUYI! Come back!”

“GWEN! Stop that at once!” Instructor Chen’s outrage was equally part anger and terror.

In the midfield, Caliban had expanded to twice its usual size, bloating with Void matter as it answered its master’s submerged psyche. Likewise, Ariel assumed its oppressive Draconic mien, fluffed with rage and vengeance, crackling with viridescent shunts of tyrannical lightning.

Behind the livid dual elementalist, the Spirits belonging to her peers descended into fight or flight mode, straining against their Master’s mental leashes, desperate to flee from the Dragon Fear.

There was Wanli, Lu Fung’s Thunderhawk, and Luyi, the deer sprite belonging to Eunae Lee, the Korean exchange student, as well as half a dozen others who had joined Chen’s Advanced Bestiary Course, snarling, growling, scratching and biting maddeningly.

The reason for their peer’s sudden hysteria was their second instructor. After reintroducing himself, Instructor Chen had invited in a Master Magister with ‘two decades’ of experience in raising a Spirit Familiar to join them.

Though the Magister proved a perfect, well-dressed stranger to the rest of the class, Gwen recognised his unforgettable face at once.

For the first few seconds, the revelation had stunned her into silence, too startled to command her motor synapses. But it was not so for her Familiars. Sensing their Master’s descent into the abyss, they drank from the fathomless hostility she had buried since the Sydney incident.

“ERIC WALKEN, YOU BASTARD!” Her voice had reverberated across the empty training hall like a thunderclap, forcing those standing close to her to cup their ears.

“Gwen Song.” The old Magister made no move to defend himself. “Fancy meeting you here. How fickle karma can be.”

“You know Magister Walken?” Chen was incredulous. “But he’s a guest lecturer from the Commonwealth Mageocracy and a Magister!”

“What… are you doing here?” Gwen’s tone dripped with murder.

Intellectually, she knew there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in the Elemental Plane of Fire that she could maim or defeat the Magister in public, especially not in the university. Nonetheless, her subconsciousness persisted in its wilful, meteoric desire for satisfaction.

Each instant Walken’s betrayal replayed itself in her mind, her Familiars loosened guttural bouts of shrieks and hisses, informing the others exactly how she felt about Walken. Her newfound honesty was as distressing as it was irksome. For Gwen, the ability to shoulder life’s cruel injustices with poker-faced masochism had been her calling card—only now, her Master’s face, pale and loitering, quashed her feeble efforts. Beside her ear, a waspish buzz intensified until the memory of yesteryear howled with the tenacity of ten thousand furies baying for blood. She didn’t even hear her Master’s last words! Not even a proper goodbye!

And the source of her agony could be linked to one man.

Eric—FUCKING—Walken.

The erstwhile leader of Oceania’s Grey Faction.

The man who had put Sydney Tower into Lockdown and invited the Mermen right into the city’s midst, preventing her Master from accessing the Grot, activating the Tower’s defences, and eradicating his cunt of a wife!

If Sobel had been the murderer of Henry, then Walken was her foolish, unknowing accomplice. Though the Magister had escaped prosecution, he had not fled from disgrace. Thanks to Gunther and the Middle Faction’s influence in the Mageocracy, Walken had been thrown from a position of power, never again to be included among the movers and shakers of the Commonwealth.

And now, the man was in front of her, his soul ripe for the reaping, his face blanched and resolute, ready to meet his maker.

“Gwen, what the hell do you think you’re doing!?” Lu Fung was the first to recover, snapping at his family’s money tree. Wanli rose into the air, ready for action. “Don’t make trouble for the clan! We still need you!”

“Gwennie, what’s gotten into you?” Eunha hugged her doe. The young Healer had never seen her ‘senior’ completely lose her faculties.

“Lu, shut up and stand down! The rest of you, back off!” Chen howled the other students into silence. “Gwen, what’s your problem with Magister Walken?”

Walken waited for her answer, his expression like a man having found a mildly interesting butterfly.

“This man.” Gwen forced the words from between clenched teeth. “Is the reason I lost my Master and my home.”

The curious students suddenly wished they hadn’t heard her answer. Getting involved in someone else’s blood feud was always a recipe for disaster, especially when that somebody could duel Wonsoo Liu under the arena.

“Gwen.” Chen placed himself between the Magister and his student. “Put away your Familiars.”

“I’ve been trying.” Gwen willed her Familiars to back off, but Ariel and Caliban fought her tooth and nail. The saying went that the mind was willing, but the flesh was weak, though in her case, the brain was deceiving itself, and her body was entirely too honest.

Both of her Familiars owed their existence to Henry’s signature Conjure Familiar. The Lord of Oceania had been one of the first human beings they had seen and interacted with upon their entry into the Material Plane. He had been the first to feed Caliban and Ariel, the first to accept Caliban not as a monster, but a companion, even before their Master herself. Though Gwen had no idea if her creatures were intellectually capable of processing Walken’s cock-up in Sydney, they translated her loathing perfectly and without reserve, their minds too simple to blunt the raw hostility pounding their elemental animus.

“Huonu!” Her instructor made his move.

Chen’s Salamander roared into the material realm, becoming a sizeable wall between Gwen’s Familiars and Magister Walken. It was the first time Gwen had seen Huonu in its entirety. Stretching almost four meters from head to tip, the humanoid Fire Sprite had vaguely humanoid facial features, well-muscled arms sputtering magma, and a powerful, barrel-thick serpentine tail.

The stench of sulphur and cinder made breathing impossible, forcing her to back away. “Gwen, pack your beasts away now, or I will pack them for you.”

Cowed by Huonu, Gwen was able to retract both of her Familiars.

Chen waited until he was sure the dual-element sorceress had regained her faculties before he retrieved his Magma Spirit.

“Class is cancelled today!” he barked at the students. “Dismissed!”

Usually, the haughty Conjurers would be full of pride before they dispersed, but after a display like that, none of Fudan’s best and brightest Conjurers had any desire to linger.

“Gwen.” Lu paused at the door.

As Clan Fung’s latent fortune finder, Gwen looked to her fellow Spirit Conjurer.

“Clan Fung will give you its full support,” the Mage promised.

Hugging her arms to prevent a wayward misfire, Gwen returned Lu’s offer of support with a subtle nod.

“Gwen, stay here and keep your Familiars contained.” Chen then turned to Walken and bowed. “My deepest apologies on behalf of the administration, Sir. I had no idea there would be history such as this between a student and yourself. We have not done our due diligence.”

“It’s quite alright, Sir Chen.” Walken waved his hand. “The full extent of my shame and the reason for our shameful circumstance is known only to the highest echelons of the Commonwealth. By that same measure, I find no fault in Gwen’s anger. In her place, I would have done the same, perhaps worse. As for her outburst, it may be best to speak with Dean Luo in person.”

“I see,” Chen thanked the Magister. “We’ll await the Dean.”

Forcing herself to breathe, Gwen glanced at Walken’s despicable mien.

“Of course, there is no rush.” Walken’s smile reminded Gwen of the very first time they had ever met in the Tower. Despite what he had done, the bastard dared to appear self-assured and faultless. To Gwen, the satisfaction gained from punching that face would have been therapeutic.

The reality, however, was that she was in enough trouble as it was. Since her troubles with Bai, the Dean had warned her several times to keep her composure. By that same measure, she vaguely recalled that the Dean had stated he was on the lookout for potential instructors to help her out.

Bloody oath, Gwen mentally face-palmed. I’ve done it now!

Even if Luo had found a Ravenport, she would have felt less inclined to murder the man. She couldn’t give two shits who Luo hired, but why did it have to be Eric-fuckin’-Walken?

***

“This is your new Instructor, Gwen, to help you temper your unique disposition.” Dean Luo pointed his finger at the villainous, smiling Walken.

Bastard! Bloody, heartless villain! Remorseless, treacherous, soulless, kinless asshat! Her mind continued to riot, heedless of the Dean’s soft-spoken words. What an ass she was to stand and stare like a whipped bitch! She should be tearing him apart with her teeth!

“No way in hell,” Gwen refuted the Dean’s offer with absolute certainty. “He should be so lucky if a wayward you-know-what doesn’t strike him in the face.”

Magister Walken remained perfectly calm, as though their conversation was about groceries. That he looked good and had his shit together incensed Gwen even more. Though fallen from grace, Walken was the sort that groomed impeccably. His greying hair was slicked back, leaving a wayward strand hanging over his right eye. His face as well retained a certain youthfulness unbecoming of a treacherous scamp. To Gwen, the old schemer reminded her of an anthropomorphic Scar to Henry’s Mufasa.

The Dean’s patience had a shorter fuse than she anticipated. Had the man been expecting—and indeed, dreading—their present circumstance?

“Gwen, be reasonable,” Luo demanded.

“This man… is responsible for the death of my Master!” Gwen tried and failed.

“Unofficial Master…” Walken coughed gently.

“You…!”

“Gwen!” Luo snapped.

“Sir!” Gwen protested.

“Not another word!”

Her blood boiled, as did her Almudj’s Essence.

Her mind grew white with wrath.

She couldn’t think.

Fuck it! A spell came to her lips.

“Force Cage!”

The Dean was on her before her magic manifested.

Though the barriers were invisible, Gwen was sure she had been confined by unseen partitions because the surrounding air grew suddenly stale. Gingerly, she moved a foot forward, sensing the extremities of her ‘dunce’ prison. Force Cage was a monster-hunting spell. It blocked simple teleportation like Blink but allowed Mage-specific translocations such as Dimension Door.

“Cool your head!” Luo raised a finger, then another. “You’re on two strikes.”

Fuck! She backed away from the wall. Stay calm, she told herself, repeating the words like a mantra. Evee. Evee. EVEE!

“I can see why the Dean is so worried,” Walken continued. “Henry never did train you properly, did he? Your Master was rearing you up in a greenhouse, taking his time, hoping you could fill the hole a certain Elizabeth Sobel had left.”

Gwen’s complexion grew as red as pippins. Were she not behind a Force Cage, she was sure a strengthened right hook would have disconnected Walken’s jaw from his smug face.

“Tier VI Lightning… a rare talent. Not to mention Dragon Essence from a thundering subspecies. How interesting.” Walken returned to the Dean. “You know, Luo, when I first saw her, she was barely scratching tier III and IV in her spells, and her affinity for Lightning was III at best. I suppose in the end, despite everything, my suspicions regarding Sobel was right.”

By now, Gwen had held her breath so long it felt as though she would pass out. If her instructors had paid closer attention, they would have seen her aristocratic veins throbbing with a life of their own.

“Eric, do you have to tease her so?” Luo furrowed his brows. “I read your report to the High Council. Your case for clemency would have been stillborn were it not for the data coming out of Wen’s testimony.”

“What about Magister Wen?” Gwen looked to Dean Luo, a vague but horrifying realisation engendering in her mind. “What testimony?”

Luo sighed.

“Gwen, if you want to know how this came about, I’ll need you to keep calm.”

“I am calm,” Gwen lied.

The two men glanced at one another.

“Ellen, keep an eye on her. Gwen, don’t you dare hurt yourself.” Luo gestured for his Spirit.

The Air Sprite nodded, drifting a few meters, acting the part of bodyguard and ditsy secretary. Gwen had no doubt Ellen could vacuum-pack the Force Cube, knocking her out. Of course, she could D-D the fuck out of here, but that would also spell the end of her University career. It’s a test; the rational part of her mind informed her to stay calm and think of Evees.

The frustration of her dilemma was exquisite.

This time, the distress in her rapidly swelling eyes was genuine.

“Shall we have a drink?” Walken offered. “To mull over matters?”

“Sure, why not?” Gwen’s Dean found his way to the alcohol cabinet.

Gwen licked her lips. She needed a fucking drink.

Sure, a worried educator and administrator had spent personal favours, pulled weight, called in debts and burnt goodwill to get a Mao-blessed trainer for his protégé, but she still wasn’t convinced. She could see the sympathy and frustration in the Dean’s face, but the furnace of her vengeance refused to cool.

“Gwen, you want a seat?” Ellen asked.

“I’ll stand.” Her green eyes followed Walken around the room.

Walken patrolled Luo’s Force Cage, taunting her, mocking her intemperance, inspecting the reason why he’d once again found gainful employment.

“First, let me apologise for what happened in Sydney. Events were obfuscated, and politics had clouded my better judgement,” Walken said, sincere but forthright.

Gwen swallowed her next words: they involved Dimensions, doors, and blood—but the Dean was watching.

“As for our story, you should be aware of it. After the battle, I was arrested—by your unofficial brother-in-craft. After that, I became the target of a none-too-friendly interrogation by the Magisters present: Lin, Uther, Ferris, and, of course, Magus Shultz. They put me under a great deal of Enchantment, you must understand, and to be perfectly honest with you, I am not sure what I told them either—only that by the end of a week-long inquest, I was transferred over to Hague, to the International Mageocracy Tribunal there, presided over by the three Factions.”

“Then, weeks later, I discovered that it was you who saved me from stasis—”

“What are you…” Gwen demanded.

“—your discovery of Sobel’s method of entry into the Tower.” Walken raised a finger. “If you recall?”

NO! Gwen recalled Gunther’s casual mention that ‘you may have saved Walken’s life’ when they had convened in her brother-in-craft’s office in Sydney.

“Indeed, my emerald-eyed Lady Luck. I owe you one. Thank you for saving me from the disgrace of being nailed with a betrayal I did not commit,” Eric Walken bowed.

A Displacer Beast caught Gwen’s tongue. She felt sick, but what could she say? She should have just stayed quiet. Loose lips sink ships; apparently, they also save your worst enemies from being put into stasis.

“Then, at my official trial months later, you ratified my theory once again, quite serendipitously, I must add, with your contributions to Fudan.”

“Wha—?”

“That would be Wen’s submission of your Void Element’s consumption properties to the Pudong Tower,” Dean Luo reminded Gwen. “We did tell you the papers were shared with both Pudong and the CCP.”

“Oh, yes. Imagine my shock when ‘Initial findings on the Void Mage, Gwen Song’ was able to vindicate my motivation for turning against Henry, having suspected that he was trying to create yet another Sobel. To draw an analogy, your Master was the originator of the first Flesh Golem, ‘Lizzy’ von Frankenstein, so I’d thought him eager to create its bride. Thinking that perhaps, with you being so young, he could keep you under this thumb.”

The Magister waited to see how she would react. When Gwen remained stunned, immobile, and silent, he smirked.

“Very good. Your improved temperament astounds me. At any rate, when details emerged of your ability to consume Mages to usurp their affinity, the Grey Faction managed to reduce a castigating exile into a more amicable parting from the upper echelons. You see, though I had acted in bad faith, my motives were not wrong. The world certainly did not desire another Elizabeth Sobel, and had we left Henry to his devices, who knew what old Deathless would have knocked up, hmm?”

“I—I… saved you?” Gwen’s hands clenched and unclenched. The mention of her Master’s old moniker, so ironically called Deathless Henry, was too much. Her lips moved as though possessed. “Because of me… you’re walking free?”

“Yes,” Walken bowed. “Thank you, Gwen, for the unbidden generosity.”

“Oh…” Gwen tried to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Touching a hand to her face, she felt an unusual patch of wetness. Was she bleeding? No, it wasn’t another nosebleed—it was worse. “Oh… I… Oh God… shit… you bastard…”

She began to cry.

A grown woman, wailing away her frustrations.

A daughter with a father slain, showing weakness in front of her dire enemy and her heartless Dean.

Was this her punishment?

Was that it?

This sad and sadistic state of affairs, had Jiang Luo planned it?

If only her Master had been here; Henry, with his wisdom, would have made things alright. He would have taught her how to manage her affinities. He would have tempered her spells, blunted her jagged edges, polished her confetti-collection of spells she’d picked up by chance, charity, and choice. Henry, a father she’d never had, a Master she’d thought she’d share the better part of her life with—a mentor, a friend, a confidant—her captain.

Gone! Thanks to this man.

And somehow, she saved his ass.

Not only that, she was forbidden from kicking his ass.

Irony, frustration, bewilderment, self-loathing, grief, and melancholy; the weight of her confused emotions broke over her mental levee.

Across the room, her two educators regarded one another, old men embarrassed by their act of making a young girl bawl her eyes out. Here was a girl, seventeen or so, bullied by two old men into a river of tears.

Gwen moaned, hacked, snuffled, and choked. She didn’t give a shit.

Luo dispelled his Cage.

“Ellen, can you…?”

Ellen shook her head. The Spirit refused to touch her, for Gwen’s Familiar, Caliban, was a Spirit eater. As far as the Air Sprite was concerned, Gwen was a usurper, a Sobel.

With a solemn awkwardness, the two men waited while Gwen shook and dribbled, leaking liquid emotion over the Dean’s plush, pale pink Persian carpet.

When she finally cried enough, Gwen confessed that the expulsion had been cathartic. After the unbidden purge of pent up emotions, her mind returned to its usual self; cold as ice and sharp as a tack.

“You owe me,” she stated rather rudely the moment her face regained a semblance of control. Now that her fever had passed, she had to reassess the situation logically, rationally, advantageously.

“As I said.” Walken nodded. “I owe you my freedom.”

“So what can you teach me?” Gwen forced the words between her lips. “How can I control… this?”

“Meditation, attunement, practice, knowledge,” Walken stated each word, pronouncing every syllable. “And, of course, the improvement of your mind and your Familiar.”

“I can do that myself,” Gwen snarled.

“You can’t.” Walken shook his head. “You’ll only dig yourself deeper.”

“He’s right,” the Dean interjected. “Ordinarily, such esoteric knowledge is carried on between master and apprentice, passed down between generations. A mercenary instructor at the tier you require does not exist.”

“How do my peers deal with their affinity problems?” Gwen pointed out the Dean’s logical fallacy.

The Dean scoffed.

“Gwen.” Luo regarded his protégé critically. “You’re naturally Affinity VI, and you’re running a juvenile Draconic Spirit that may very well gift you another two to three magnitudes once it matures. How many Mages will ever possess that level of affinity?”

“Which is why Luo found me.” Walken made sure there was enough space in the Dean’s office before raising a hand toward the sky. “Couatl!”

A flash of brilliant Conjuration later, a Winged Serpent fully three meters tall filled the chamber from the ceiling to the carpet. Its wings were a splay of rainbow hues, multicoloured and resplendent. A Draconic head opened its maw to reveal a row of backwards-facing teeth from an equestrian skull. Its sky blue pupils regarded Gwen.

“A Winged Serpent!” Gwen gasped, sensing a strange kinship with the creature. “A Dragon?”

“A Lightning-type pseudo-Dragon, yes.” Walken studied her response carefully. “Aella the Couatl. My partner and companion. Not too dissimilar from your Ariel.”

The serpent lowered itself until it could coil around Gwen’s waist. It sniffed her, tasting her skin with its forked tongue.

“Aella elementally shifts air to lightning,” the Magister explained. “During the showdown in Sydney, it was Sobel’s first victim during our battle. I hadn’t known then how Lightning countered her Void. As a result of my lack of knowledge, our battle was over before it even began.”

Gwen touched a finger to the rainbow-hued feathers. For some reason, the anger she felt for Walken subsided. Did the Familiar possess a calming aura? No, it was something else, something akin to a strange endearment. Its feathers reminded her of Almudj’s rainbow-hued scales.

She pushed Aella’s inquisitive snout from her face.

“Your Familiar won’t make this any easier.” Gwen lied. She did feel better. Cute pets were most definitely her soft spot.

“Regardless, I am engaged by Dean Luo for the duration of the IIUC,” Walken announced. “I was the Adjudicator for the Oceania region between 1997 and 1999, and I will be looking after your team whether you like it or not. If you wish to fight me every step of the way, that is also acceptable to me.”

Gwen glared at the man impotently. How long would it take for her to gain enough competence to stuff him down Caliban’s maw? For a normal Mage, the answer was likely never. She could catch up, but she could never surpass a Magister four decades ahead of her. But for herself, wasn’t rapid empowerment just a matter of convenience and ethics? Why, she could visit Tianlanqiao tomorrow with Wen!

Shivering, she snuffed the thought before it could germinate.

“Gwen, I am offering an olive branch to you.” Walken’s voice was deep and smooth, resembling a Talkback radio host. “I believe we got off on the wrong foot, so to speak.”

What appeared to be an Ioun Stone drifted through the air. Gwen recognised the mana signature instantly.

“This is… from my Master!”

“From Henry to me, of course, from a very long time ago. May it help you find some solace,” the Magister sounded nostalgic and genuine.

Gwen regarded Walken suspiciously but took the Ioun Stone anyway. From the looks of it, it was an old ‘recorder’ from before Divination Towers grew prevalent, a type of Ioun Stone that imparted essential messages, spells, and documents.

“A memento, worthless to me,” Walken added, his thin lips pressing to form a red line before continuing. “I have your Master’s rarer collection, after all. All twelve of them.”

Walken’s humble-brag struck her like a bolt from the blue.

Her Master’s Ioun Stones!

Her almond eyes widened until they were the size of an Emerald Rhomboid, a rare variant of Ioun Stones capable of neutralising poison and other chemicals effects on the body.

She had never wanted to possess something so badly in her life.

“BUT—I am afraid our audience is at an end,” Walken suddenly broke off their mutual gaze. “The Dean and I desire a private audience.”

“Wait… hey! Stop that!” Gwen brushed at a wayward tongue. Aella the Couatl pushed against her with its snout until she exited the office, at which point Ellen slammed the double doors shut, leaving her with an arm full of feathered snake.

“Show!” Aella nudged her. “Show! Show!”

Walken’s Familiar can talk?! Gwen brushed a feather from her hair. A fucking talking winged snake. So unfair.

“Show!” the snake insisted.

It wanted to see Ariel, Gwen realised. The Couatl cared not about the gripe between herself and its Master, nor the politics involved between the Factions. It wanted what it wanted, as honest as any spirit Familiar could be.

“Fine,” Gwen agreed, her hand gripping the Ioun Stone. There was no point taking out her feelings on someone else’s good-natured ophidian retriever. “I’ll show you.”

***

“So, what do you think?” Luo asked.

“There’s a lot of work to be done,” Walken sighed.

“But also potential.” The Dean’s admitted his protégé was a handful.

“If you say so.” The Magister sipped from his cup.

“Well, can you do something about her predicament?”

“Isn’t that why I am here?”

“Now that you’ve seen her, I mean.” Luo’s patience was Confucian.

Taking a minute to mull over his answer, Walken walked to the cabinet and poured himself another bourbon.

“Oh-ho, how’d you get the American stuff?” the Magister asked.

“The usual channels—well?”

“I am afraid it’s not so simple.”

“That’s a no, then?” Luo felt disappointed, not that he suspected someone who had come so recommended of having malicious motives.

“Yes and no,” Walken answered cryptically. “The girl has problems beyond her pride. She was unhealthily attached to Kilroy, you understand. The ol’ Deathless died both ironically and very suddenly, I am afraid. Left her an orphan; all that power and potential, untempered, raw, undirected.”

“And you’re a part of the reason why.” Luo felt strangely sympathetic for the foreigner.

“Yes.” Walken took a sip. “We’re strangely entangled, don’t you think?”

“I doubt she’d think so.” Luo chuckled. “That girl’s out for blood.”

“Absolutely.” Walken nodded. “Amongst other things, it’s strange how if it weren’t for that girl, things would be very different right now. I’d be dead, for one. Or in stasis.”

“So?”

“As I am responsible, I’ll substitute Kilroy in his stead,” the Magister said without irony.

“You can’t be serious.” Luo almost dropped his glass.

“I’ll be… a facsimile if you will. Something to cling on.”

“And how do you propose to resolve her affinity problems? You’ve got six months.” The Dean blustered.

“Trial and error,” Walken explained. “I’ll teach her everything I kno—OH! GOD DAMN, WHAT THE DEVIL?!”

“Walken!” Luo almost leapt when Walken suddenly stood. “Are you alright?”

“The girl just fed my Familiar her Dragon Essence!” Walken spat. He had splashed the bourbon all over his vest. “Is she daft?! Why is she giving out Essence treats? Does she think she’s Henry’s Dryad?”

Luo laughed. The girl never disappoints. “She did that with Ellen as well. Careful she doesn’t steal your Spirit from under you! She’s a charmer, that one. A born negotiator.”

“All the more perfect for an induction into the Grey Faction.” Walken regained his professional mien once he adjusted his mana wavelength to negate the new stimulus. “Judging from the actions she’s taken to establish herself, she’s far better suited to our Credo than that of the Middle Path.”

***

Gwen returned home late, shared a takeout dinner with Petra, then retired to her bed.

From her Storage Ring, she cupped the Ioun Stone with her Master’s mana signature between her hands.

“Activate Message…”

She attempted to activate its Glyph. These were simple devices, and Walken had left it untethered and unlocked.

Slowly, the egg-sized quartz rose into the air.

A message began to play.

First, the air around the polished surface shimmered, then an image formed from thin air, pitting Gwen face to face with Henry Kilroy.

“Eric,” the recording started.

Gwen had to cup her mouth to stop herself from screaming. She gazed into the face of her Master, its ghostly form flickering, while the stone delivered its payload.

“Old friend, I am sending you this private message to apologise for the actions taken by my protégé, Alesia de Botton. She’s both young and talented, making her prone to the usual trappings of Fire Mages. As you know, it takes years to temper that arrogance and presumptuousness of theirs. I know you’re still recovering from your injuries, so I’ve sent over some of Sufina’s Mead along with the Ioun Stones I promised. I hope you’ll take care of them better than I did, not trading them away when one of your students goes berserk, haha…

“On a serious note, allow me to thank you for holding back against Alesia. She’s got a lot of room to grow, and I know you could have ended her life if you wished. That you held back in deference to me, enduring her insults out of respect for our working relationship, makes me glad. As for what Alesia had uncovered, I hope that it was a misunderstanding and that in the audit to follow, we can account for the source of those ‘goods’ the Grey Market is using to acquire Creature Cores…

“Old friend, I know we’ve grown apart since you joined the Grey Faction, but I want you to know that I’ve never forgotten those days we served together during the Coral Sea War. You were as good a Lieutenant as one could have asked for during those desperate times. I don’t begrudge your social climbing, nor do I fault you for suspecting Elizabeth. I think, in the end, we would have gone the path we did anyway, with or without your interference. Lastly, let me ask after your wife, Audrey, and your girls, Beatrix and Angie. I hope they are doing well. If you need some golden mead or a vitae fruit for Angie, don’t hesitate to ask. Having mana-asthma at her age is no easy feat, especially for a child…

“Thanks, Eric. I expect to hear from you soon. Hopefully, your wounds won’t leave a scar. Your friend, Henry Kilroy.”

After the last syllable dissolving into air, Gwen buried her face in her pillow.

She activated the stone again, allowing the message to repeat.

“Eric… you know how Fire Mages are…”

“Going after Elizabeth…”

“Your friend...”

After the third play through, she gave up trying to stifle the moisture escaping her eyes and resigned herself to a tear-soaked pillow as she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of yesteryears when life seemed so much simpler.

Chapter thirty-one

The Devil’s Plea Bargain

“You’ve got my support, whatever you choose.” Petra paired her assurance with a maternal peck to Gwen’s forehead.

“Cheers.” Gwen massaged her puffy eye bags. “Thanks, Pats. I’ll sleep on it for now.”

When a minute-long hug from Petra in the morning failed to dispel the vitriol churning in her chest, she knew she was in no condition to make rational choices. As such, emulating the Prince of Denmark, Gwen opted for procrastination and delay.

For the next few days, she continued her Conjuration, Translocation, Utility Divination, and Evocation as before, restrained to the front row, passively running her Invisible Familiar.

Her old friends from the previous year—Lily, Jon, and the unfortunately named Pu—accompanied her, watched over enviously by the rest of their cohort as an irritated Magister Birch delivered his lecture.

“Ah—I want to see Ariel!” Lily moped, running her hand across an invisible belly, looking ridiculous as she stroked the air.

“After the class, sure,” Gwen promised.

Ever since the Fudan DC incident, she had suffered incessant requests to see her Familiar wherever she went. Sometimes she entertained these demands. More often than not, she politely declined or fled.

“You know, Gwen, you’re the talk of the campus,” Jon, the Enchanter aspirant, observantly remarked. “They say you defeated Tei Bai and that you’re going to enter the IIUC on Fudan’s behalf.”

“Whoa, you’re entering the IIUC?!” Lily cut in. “That’s super elite!”

“Gwen’s an elite, not like us,” Pu reminded their companion. “Who else you know that can tap into both Void and Lightning and possesses a Mongolian Death Worm and a Kirin?”

“Maybe we should follow Gwen from now on?” Lily half-joked. “What do you say, Gwen?”

“You’re welcome any time,” their elite companion laughed, her mood improving. “I’ve got no Clan and no Tower though, we’ll be vagabonds!”

“How about a quest or two?” Pu pushed to see if their alumna was merely modest or genuinely interested.

“Sure, if I’ve got time. It’s always good to stretch out my legs,” the object of Pu’s enquiry returned. “I’ve got a party of my own, but I’d love to do something with you guys as well. My magic isn’t going to improve being cooped up all the time. So long as you pick a weekend, she’ll be right.”

It took a few seconds for her slang to sink in.

“I look forward to it! Adventuring with an elite!” Lily, the least bashful of the threesome, was shameless in taking advantage of her generosity.

Pu laughed awkwardly, knowing full well that Gwen was being polite.

Beside their Evoker companion, Jon’s face grew flushed, though for excitement or shame, Gwen could not guess.

While Gwen flitted in and out of her third week of classes, rumours had spread of the black and white “Mascots” of Fudan, attracting curious stickybeaks both local and districts away. Thankfully, Orientation was officially over, leaving visitors to ponder where Fudan DC’s new plushie models had gone.

For those lucky enough to happen upon Gwen’s duty hours, they had managed to catch a glimpse of a noble Kirin and a god-awful creature that made the viewer ill even from a distance. Indeed, if that netherworld abomination could be a black Kirin, a Displacer Mauler could be a Shíshī.

“Sir Caliban is an acquired taste,” a Fudan student haughtily informed his Jianqiao opposition. “You wouldn’t understand until you see its owner in the flesh—we’re calling her the Kirin Lady now.”

“What did you used to call her?” The visitor asked.

“The Worm Handler.”

“Hahaha, what?! That sounds like she—” The student guide shushed the speaker.

“SHHH! Don’t let the Duelling Club members hear you. She’s their idol on a pedestal now. Well, her Familiars are.”

“Okay, okay.” The visitor looked around conspiratorially. “So, where can we see the owner?”

‘The owner’ was halfway across the campus, agonising over Eric Walken’s help.

***

“No!” Elvia’s lament poured through LRM Device. “No way!”

“Yes way!” Gwen groaned. “And then, he told me that I was an ‘unofficial’ Apprentice!”

“Bastard!”

“I know, right?” The Worm Handler of Fudan lamented with a moan.

They had already spent the rare hour conversing about Gwen’s latest encounter, after which Gwen had consulted her peers for advice. The hardest and longest came from her brother-in-craft. Gunther’s final opinion was that he would be keeping this quiet from Alesia and that anything other than spellcraft from Walken should be taken with a grain of salt. With Yue, Gwen’s unexpectedly collected companion intimated that she, too, would be keeping this latest travesty from her Master—that and Gwen should engineer ‘training accidents’ at every opportunity.

“He’s bound to let his guard down. Maybe suddenly drop your top or something, and while he’s shocked and allured—pow! Right in the kisser.”

“…Thanks for the advice.” Gwen took Yue’s word with a fistful of salt. “Unlike you, I am not equipped for that strategy, so I’ll pass.”

As for her friends and family in China, their advice concurred with Gunther’s most rational assessment. If she turned down Walken, where the hell was she going to find another pseudo-Draconic, high-affinity Conjurer with two decades of experience working with her old master? As for Richard, her cousin was all in.

“Use ’em and dump ’em.” Richard gave her a thumbs up. “Suck ’em dry, Champ.”

Elvia was her last port of call—the last member of her immediately intimate companions from that incident. She had wanted to contact Surya as well, but her Enchanter maternal grandfather lived way out in the tablelands with his hands full looking after refugees. Getting Surya to travel to the Tower or Alesia’s apartment was a chore in itself.

“Gwen, between you and me—” Elvia suddenly leaned in conspiratorially “—what did you get from Yue around Xmas time?”

“Oh?” Gwen materialised the hairpin. “I got an opal hairpin. What about you?”

Elvia’s profile grew strangely withdrawn.

“Well?”

Wordlessly, Elvia produced a box from her Storage Ring, then opened the rectangular container to reveal a set of ivory chopsticks.

“Wooo, nice,” Gwen cooed. “Same material as mine. It’s got a little curvature to it too. Monster teeth?”

“Oh, Gwen—” Her friend touched a hand to her temple. “It’s a set of Lizard-kin baculums.”

“What the hell is that?” Gwen cocked her head. She had neither Google nor a dictionary in her apartment.

“It’s a p…” Elvia was scarlet.

“P?” She twirled the hairpin between her fingers expertly.

Elvia looked around to ensure no one could hear her next words.

“It’s the penis bone found in humanoid species of Lizard-men!”

With a sudden jerk of her hand, the penial fashionista hurled her baculum with the revulsion of one suddenly finding a fat, foreign phallus between one’s fingers.

Thunk!

The business-end, weighted for pleasure, stuck into the drywall.

Like a rudely erect sundial, Yue’s ill-humoured phallus mocked her from up on high. Holy shit! Gwen felt ill. She had worn that thing in front of everyone! She had boasted of how well it matched her outfit!

“That Yue…” Gwen recalled her uncle’s discomfort while they conversed. Her face burned. “I am… going to pay her back. We must pay her back!”

“Count me in!” Elvia’s eyes grew swollen, though Gwen couldn’t tell if she was embarrassed for Gwen or shamed.

“Why, what did you do, Evee?” She wondered if Elvia too had been using the sticks as a hair ornament.

Evee’s lament erupted with anguish.

“Sylvie caught on to what they were, but not before I ate lunch with them…”

***

By the week’s end, at the Dean’s polite behest, Gwen consented to a meeting with Walken to discuss what they would be doing. Before she could invest in Walken’s venture, she had to rationally and logically consider the boons and banes. With a few months until trials for the IIUC started, and roughly six months before the IIUC itself began within the Inter-Asia region, those choices came with weighted consequences.

“Come at me.” Walken motioned for her to attack.

She blinked. “You want me to attack you?”

“I do.”

“You are sure?” Gwen couldn’t believe it. She didn’t even have to drop her top or anything.

“Absolu—”

“Lightning Bolt!” A streak of arm-thick lightning flashed between them.

“Elemental Anchor!” A swirling mandala appeared midair. Where Gwen’s Lightning had struck, the invoked plasma harmlessly drained into Walken’s revolving glyphs, glowing only for a second before her energy faded.

Gwen stared then glared at Walken with equal parts resentment and awe.

“A tier V Transmutation spell, useful for defending against Mages with conforming Elemental alignments.” Walken grinned. “Did you forget that I am a Magister? Is that all you have?”

Gwen had indeed forgotten that Walken was a Magister. The last time she had seen him, the prick was in the midst of being bitch-slapped by Sobel. But the man was indeed a Magister. As such, Walken should have at least three Schools of Magic at tier VI and above. If Conjuration was his Major School of Magic, what were the others? Transmutation was a possibility, and Evocation most likely. Walken never did invoke Illusion, Abjuration did not favour Air, and Creature Mages seldom took high-tier Divination or Enchantment.

“Elemental Sphere!” Gwen pumped out a second spell before Walken even finished.

“Shield!” Walken precisely manifested his defence.

Her sphere struck Walken’s Lightning barrier.

Rather than imploding, her sphere melded into Walken’s Shield, seemingly consumed by its surface.

“Childish!” Walken sneered.

“Void Bolt!” A dark sliver sped toward Walken.

It shouldn’t have, but taking a hatchet to Walken’s kisser would make her very happy indeed.

“Aegis!”

For a second, Gwen wondered if Walken was an Illusionist after all. A portion of the Magister’s Shield detached itself, incandescently hovering half a meter in front of his body before catching her bolt like a baseball mitt.

The two energies collided, the Lightning neutralising her prideful bolt without so much as a sizzle.

“You’re a long, long way from Sobel if you want revenge, girl,” Walken snorted. “As for your battle instincts, I have to wonder; what did Henry see in you?”

“Void Sphere!” Gwen gritted her teeth.

“Ha!” Walken dropped another Aegis. “That’s more like it!”

This time, her two-stage Evocation imploded.

She watched as a nova ring of paper-thin ink washed over Walken’s body, filling her heart with jubilation.

“Ha—” Rationality returned in the next moment, draining the warmth from her bosoms. Her fingers clenched and unclenched. She’d done it again! Did she go too far? What kind of trouble was she in now? But she was goaded! Could they blame her? He was using her dead master to drive her into a corner!

After a split second of enveloping darkness, the Void-matter consumed itself.

Walken was gone.

Staring at the space her adversarial instructor once occupied, Gwen baulked. Gone? Her mind performed a double take. Shouldn’t he be cut in half?

“That was wonderfully executed, Gwen Song.” Walken’s voice came from above.

She raised her head to see the man standing upside down on the vaulted ceiling.

A last-minute D-D? An Illusion? Mind Magic? But she has her earrings. Gwen reminded herself. If that was an Illusion, her wards should have chimed.

“You seem surprised.” Walken looked down at her. “Didn’t Henry tell you that at our level of mastery, we supersede the need for audible low-tier invocations?”

“You must feel so superior up on that ceiling,” Gwen retorted even as the hateful Magister invited her to launch another assault. “It must feel great bullying a novice like me.”

“Such an inane humility. “ Walken drifted from the ceiling via Feather Fall, landing with a grace that put Gwen’s flight to shame. “Would you feel better if I had praised you? Patted your head? How is it that you still think yourself an acolyte?”

“Am I a Magus then?”

“You’re knee-deep in carcasses, for one,” Walken mocked her, watching the girl flinch. “And you’ve consumed monsters that would take Magus-tier casters, working in tandem, to defeat. You must be the most ill-informed acolyte in the world to think of yourself so lowly. Does our little celebrity of Fudan not recognise her majesty?”

Gwen bit her lower lip until it bruised.

“Glad to see our training paying off already.” Walken’s speech grated on her nerves. “Tell me truly, do you desire to master your affinity, Gwen?”

“I do.” Gwen raised her chin defiantly. “Are you here to help? Or were you selling snake-oil to the Dean so that you could have a bed and roof over your head?”

To her disappointment, her sarcastic riposte failed to connect. The man’s ego was part eel, part ass.

“There are three reasons for your imbalance,” Walken began, suddenly serious.

The shift in atmosphere caught her off-guard.

She waited for Walken to continue.

“Well?” the Magister demanded.

“Well, what?”

“Didn’t Henry teach you any manners?” Walken scratched his neatly cropped beard. “If you want help from someone, a little politeness could go a long way.”

“From you?”

“Is there another Magister here?” Walken looked around.

“Are you senile?” Gwen felt the heat in her cheeks.

“I see,” Walken sighed. “I am sorry that we’ve wasted each other’s time. Good day, Miss Song. I am sure Mister Lu and the others could benefit from my efforts with a more assistive attitude.”

To her surprise, Walken turned to leave.

It’s a trick!

The arrogant bastard!

He knew she needed his help!

Well, fuck you too, Gwen rebuked Walken mentally. She could ask Ayxin!

The Dragon-kin seemed like she had her shit together. Furthermore, she hadn’t requested Uncle Jun yet; maybe he’ll figure something out.

No! That makes no sense, you nincompoop! The better part of her brain screamed that Ayxin was a fucking Dragon Mage. Why the fuck would a Dragon have problems with their nature? Being arrogant and prideful was the same as breathing. What could Ayxin teach her? How to hoard crystals? How to take over a mountain? How to use a teen body to ensnare her Uncle Jun? Which follicle on Ayxin’s body showed that she had humility and control over her arrogance?

On the other side of the training hall, Walken had arrived at the threshold.

“Wait!” The better part of Gwen called out. She would have to give the old bastard this round.

Walken’s backward glance bore the manner of a Bond villain.

Her voice caught in her throat.

Walken reached for the door.

“T-teach me!”

“That’s my intent.” Walken’s gaze turned her complexion as flush as pinkladies. “But it’s good to know we’re off to an amicable start.”

She slowly exhaled.

“Both in a professional capacity, and private capacity, I do wish that you may benefit from our relationship,” Walken spoke with a solemnity that surprised her. “To that end, I am going to be very honest with you, brutal even.”

Though not entirely convinced, Gwen nodded.

“Good, take a seat.” Her instructor raised a hand, conjuring a table and two seats. The same trick as Dean Luo, Gwen recognised the chant-less Conjure Object. The signature was distinct and familiar. Were the two related somehow? How did they know each other?

She sat.

A dark Grot.

A circular table and two chairs.

Herself and a mentor.

The nostalgia was too real.

“Listen well.” Walken caught her attention by tapping the table audibly. “There is no ‘cure’ for your affinity.”

“I am sorry?” Gwen stared at Walken.

“There is no helping it.” Walken met her eyes. “That’s how it is.”

“Are you fucking with me?!” she spluttered, bewildered.

“Language, young lady,” Walken chided his unhinged protégé. “Not to mention you should let others finish before blowing up. It looks to me that you have a patience problem, too. Do you possess excess Fire as well? A spot too much of the ‘Yang’, as the Orientals say?”

“I…”

Her teacher made a shushing motion.

“I said there’s no ‘cure’. I did not say affinity traits are unmanageable.”

Gwen pursed her lips.

“To begin, there are three factors involved in your condition.”

Walken raised a finger.

“One—you are too young. Your body, as it were, isn’t capable of managing the Draconic Essence and the Lightning Affinity. Take, for example, your exceptional strength and agility. No boon exists without consequence. If you exercise powers beyond what your natural body is capable of, then these very same powers will influence you in subtle ways. If you wish to have the proportional constitution of a Dragon, then you will suffer the arrogance of one. Such is life. Nothing is ever so convenient as a gain without a cost.”

Gwen guiltily thought of all the times she had taken advantage of her new physique. Morning runs, moving furniture, punching Richard, pushing Dai, walking in four-inch stiletto heels around campus without so much as a pinched toe.

“Two—your spell list and theory craft are atrociously mismanaged. A Mage, even a genius one, slowly acquires spells throughout his or her long years. Take, for example, Magister Larsen. How long did you think it took for him to progress his Signature Magic? I’ve met the man in person so that you know. He became a Magus at twenty-three, perfected Lightning Sphere at twenty-nine, then Ball Lightning at thirty-four. How about you? Buoyed by your affinity and your draconic body, you throw around spells that took the man three decades to achieve—”

“I learned the spells before—”

“The point,” Walken interrupted her protest. “Is that you’re a supernaturally powerful child wielding a sword twice your height. You possess no finesse. You are a brute, a bruiser, a copycat abusing powers beyond your ken, throwing invocations like boulders. Neither your physical nor your astral body has had time to accustom itself to the growth of your affinity, which is why you’re so easily influenced.”

She groaned. Walken’s advice was connecting all the dots she couldn’t previously align.

“Finally—though this is only a theory—I suspect Henry never intended to let either of your elemental affinities exceed the other to this extent.”

“Master had arranged for that?”

Walken leaned in from across the table. “What affinity were you while under your master’s care?”

“III Lightning and III Void, then IV Lightning and IV Void…” Gwen tried her best to recollect Henry’s estimate. She never did receive an exact numerical value then, nor did she obsess over her ‘statistics’. Other than her very first evaluations, she had never recalled Henry fussing over her numbers like her instructors in Fudan. Likewise, he had restricted her to a pragmatic set of useful spells. She had never felt rushed or short on time, not even when the interhigh competition loomed. It was heaven and hell compared to her present state of affairs.

“Do you believe there was a purpose to keeping your affinities so closely aligned?”

Gwen blinked.

Was there a ‘purpose’?

She had no idea.

Alesia and Gunther both possessed single elements. Alesia was a Fire Mage through and through; even her Master had been worried about how she reacted around others and had shielded Alesia from situations where her temperament would adversely impact her Quests.

As for Gunther, his affinity appeared more boon than bane.

For his youngest apprentice, her master had always favoured her wit, intelligence and charm over her ability with spells. Gwen had taken Henry’s adoration as the natural way of things. After all, Gunther took care of the big problems, while Alesia was always available as a battering ram when the need arose.

How plausible was the application of her master’s Middle Path to her elemental talents? Could the two even correlate? Balance in all things? Had Henry ever mentioned anything like that?

“I see you know nothing,” Walken’s cynicism resumed. “Shame. I’d thought the two of you closer.”

“What would you know about that?” Gwen fought down a taste of bile, fighting a thorn digging at her bosom.

“Enough to suspect that Henry knew what he was doing,” the Magister candidly apprised her past. “Your master wasn’t one for academic publications or CCs, though he has been around for a very, very long time.”

“What do you mean by that?” Her heart quickened.

“Oh come on, Henry didn’t even tell you his age? How old do you suppose someone called Deathless Henry could be?”

Swimming upstream against her simmering ire, Gwen hazarded a guess. Since his tryst with Sobel happened in the seventies, she’d place her master as an early 1940s guy.

“Seventysomething,” she declared. “Elizabeth was almost a decade younger, I recall.”

Walken laughed.

“A keen estimate.” He snickered. “The data I obtained from the Ministry of Records for Sobel showed that she was born in 1952, making her twenty-four when Noosa Heads happened in 1976. A young noblewoman, at the prime of her life! As for your master, records state that the late Marshall Kilroy was thirty-six at the time.”

Eh? Gwen wrinkled her nose. If Sobel followed her Master out of London a few years prior, wouldn’t that mean ‘Lillybird’ was in her twenties, perhaps her teens?

“Mages, especially powerful individuals, have no difficulty in accessing life extending ingredients,” Walken continued. “If your master perished in his seventies, why was his appearance so venerable? Why the ironic moniker?”

“Elizabeth had mortally wounded him,” Gwen remarked, withholding details in case Walken was attempting to milk her for intelligence.

“Of course, we all know that. The man drinks his golden mead like water!” The Magister knocked the table with his fingertips. “How is it that we call him Deathless Henry?”

“He’s a Plant Mage,” Gwen retorted. “He can regenerate wounds and tap into the essence of life via Sufina. I’ve seen it!”

Walken admired her impetuosity with amusement. “How presumptuous you profess to be! Are you suggesting that you know more about Henry Kilroy’s magic than I, who has been his rival for a decade? How much time have you spent with him? Less time than he and I have had meetings!”

Gwen stared at her fingers, refusing Walken’s goading, refusing the satisfaction the man must derive from degrading her memories.

“Think about it, child,” Walken implored. “Your master: so wise, so powerful. He was there when the Tower System was founded, you know. That was in ’72 after humanity managed to wrestle our capitals from the Beast Tide. Do you recall your history lessons? First to activate was the converted Tower of London, then Paris, Munich, Rome, the Acropolis in Greece, by the time Sydney got its Tower, it was 1982. When in ’68 me and my alumni erected Oxford University’s faux Tower, you know who I saw? Henry Kilroy, not a young man, but certainly a man much older than I was. Mid-thirties, perhaps? Who knows? Already, he stood beside my housemaster. Imagine my surprise when I met him again in ’73 during the Coral Sea Reclamation! He had held jurisdiction over the entire northern front of the Brisbane Line! First as a commander, then a marshall!”

“I don’t understand,” Gwen interrupted. So much of Walken’s words abrogated her knowledge of Henry’s past. “What are you trying to say?”

“I am not too sure myself.” Walken leaned back in his chair, then faced her with both hands open. “Sobel, Kilroy. Void Magic. There’s history there that you and I do not know and lack the means to excavate. I doubt even Gunther knew your master’s history.”

Gwen opened and shut her mouth a few times. Walken was right; the bastard was a prick, but he wasn’t wrong. She vividly recalled that Gunther had been caught flatfooted by Paul Chandler as well.

“At any rate, good talk.” The Magister patted his knees. “Let me know if you want to continue.”

Gwen felt Walken stand over her, only she had nothing to say, no retorts, no rebuttals. When after a minute an answer failed to present itself, the Magister walked beside his pale-faced mentee.

“You know, I was there when you first came to the Tower in April. I saw you teleport into the Tower along with De Botton. I had my eye on you then. The scent permeating from your body was unmistakable.”

“What do you mean?” Scent? She gave her collar a quick sniff.

“Imagine, Gwen, if Alesia hadn’t acted her insane self. You could have come to see me right after Henry. I would have offered you so much more, Gwen, knowing who you are and what you could do, I would have—”

“No!” She pushed herself from the chair, turning to face Walken with her amber-emerald pupils. “Don’t you dare!”

“You and I…” Walken raised a hand both to summon his Familiar and to message the administration desk. “Operator, Instruction Mode.”

Walken’s Winged Serpent materialised, immediately flocking to Gwen with a passion unbecoming of someone else’s high-tier Draconic Spirit.

“Tssss—! Gwen! Treat! Treat!”

Gwen battered the serpent away. She wasn’t in the mood.

The room thrummed.

Two Astral Projections appeared on the floor.

Her gasp was audible. She could see Walken’s refraction below. The Magister was opening himself to her, showing her his Astral Soul! What was the man thinking? She was an enemy! She wanted his head on a silver platter!

Unlike her dancer’s sculpture, Walken’s Astral Silhouette was a sagely male figure surrounded by his elements. Within surrounding streams of companionable Air floated thunderous clouds that sparked and glowed with Lightning.

An Air Mage! Gwen confirmed her knowledge. And via Aella, Walken tapped into the Gate of Lightning as well. From what she could see, Walken and Aella’s Master-Familiar sympathy put her and her creatures to shame.

But more than magic, it was Walken’s candid transparency that stunned her. Not even Gunther had shown her his Astral Soul. She had never seen Yue’s or Elvia’s this distinctly. It was only her master’s and Alesia’s that she’d ever witnessed up close and with such intimacy.

“Bring out Ariel, Gwen.” Walken waited for her response.

Obedient and dazed, she obliged.

“EE! EE—!” Ariel flowed toward Aella, muzzling the serpent’s wings as Aella nuzzled Ariel’s horns.

“You and I…” Walken willed his Winged Serpent to approach Ariel.

A viridescent spark passed between them.

“EE—!” Ariel flew into a frenzy of uncontrollable joy.

“Kin! Kin!” Aella hissed, dancing back and forth.

“EE! EE!” Ariel followed suit, swishing its tail.

There as no mistaking the smell of eucalyptus and sea salt permeating her senses.

It was the Essence of a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains; of rugged mountain ranges, droughts and flooding rains. The Essence flowing from Aella was mana drawn from a red earth singing and dreaming of a vast brown land.

“I wonder.” Walken stood with both his hands behind his back. “I wonder what would have happened then if you had not fought my invitation. If De Botton had not attacked my men, and we had the opportunity to begin as allies. Would it have been possible, that you would have become my Apprentice, my Kin? If so, would Sydney have happened at all? Would Henry still be alive?”

With the words striking like thunderclaps, Gwen felt her mind grow numb, then suddenly incandescent.

Chapter thirty-two

Fingerpainting

“It’s called creative art therapy.” Dr Siobhan Monroe ignored her client’s laughter, bearing her ridicule with the patience of a saint. Gwen, as usual, wasn’t taking her disorder seriously. “I am not making fun of you, Gwen, give it a go.”

“Finger painting? Really?” Gwen groaned.

Her shrink pointed at the overlarge canvas.

“You did say you couldn’t paint even if your life depended on it. Nonetheless, the therapeutic outcome is valid.”

“Oh, come on.” Gwen gave her the biggest, broadest smile she could muster. “I’ve been doing very well, you should know. The Celexa is keeping a tight lid on things. It’s fine.”

“My job is to wean you off the pharmaceuticals, not make you dependent,” her shrink reminded her client. “Now be a good girl and let’s dredge up some of that abyssal oil you keep talking about.”

“Siobhan, I paid for an hour with you—I am literally wearing Chanel in white, and you want me to finger paint while you talk shop about my father. Really?”

“I got you a single-use raincoat.” Dr Monroe pointed to the clear plastic overcoat. “Don’t forget, you’re paying me very well. Imagine all that money going to waste. Your tendency for disassociation isn’t something I made up, Gwen. You’ll drown in it if you never touch the bottom.”

“Arrrgh! Fine! You know me too well,” her client grumbled. “What are you, my psychologist?”

The two women laughed. Gwen knew she shouldn’t be getting close to her shrink, but Siobhan was exceptionally personable. Shaking her head, she obediently slipped into the transparent raincoat with the help of her psychologist.

“I hope you’re ready.” Gwen stuck her hand into the cold, congealing acrylic. “I am in the mood for Edvard Munch.”

“Would Sydney have happened at all?”

Time dilated.

At first, her mind grew hot with incandescence. Every word, every spittle issuing forth from Walken’s mouth blurred and blended until each refutation she had prepared to rebuke Walken’s accusation grew fuzzy and indistinct.

What had been anger blossomed into doubt, then from doubt came fear, viscous and sticky, clinging onto her conscience with the consistency of tar, slinking up her thighs, throttling her throat.

Meanwhile, looming above her, Magister Walken watched like a rock spider.

“Would Henry still be alive?”

Gwen wilted at the weight of her instructor’s allegations. Gradually, her complexion grew pallid; her pupils contracted, her petal-pink lips parted; the blood in her torso froze, cold perspiration permeated the sheer fabric of her blouse, and her feet grew weightless.

Then came a vertiginous sensation of falling and whirling, and that was when she recalled the portrait she had painted for Dr Monroe.

She had wanted to do ‘The Scream,’ but instead, she painted a big black vortex, round and round, swishing and swirling until half the canvas was black.

“That’s your panic attack.” Dr Monroe was beyond satisfied. “Now you know what it looks like.”

How strange that she had forgotten all about it. Dr Monroe had even billed her for the second hour.

“Gwen?”

At the sound of the Magister’s voice, her mind grew as cold as a slice of eldritch ice: shame, regret, remorse—all of her stifling, maddening emotions suddenly drained away as though a plug had been pulled.

Her vertigo receded.

Two years ago, she would have folded like origami, then from that compressed space would emerge a hungering Void, seeking to consume something, anything, trying to fill the uncertain emptiness.

But the Gwen of today wasn’t the mewling girl-child of yesteryear.

She had friends: Elvia, Yue, Lulan, Mia, and the others.

She had a family: Babulya, Petra, Richard, Mina and Tao, Guo and Percy.

She had companions like Alesia and Gunther.

As for Walken, the man was a lying sack of lukewarm shit, and she shouldn’t trust him beyond how far she could blast him.

What dead and unenterprising eyes the man possessed, Gwen cocked her head slightly to get a better look. Where’s his conviction? If she had to convince someone that their loved one had been a liar, a crook, the black hand behind a world of misery, her pupils would burn with belief, her irises aflame with fervour.

But Walken’s orbs were two lumps of deadened charcoal. It was the mark of a man who had never believed in anything in his life, living from day to day, making faces to meet the faces that he meets.

Creed without credence lacked all credibility.

It was Henry who taught her that.

Comparatively, her master was a firm believer in words. By both their reckoning, great men with great oratory had changed the flow of history, made possible the impossible, freed the million multitudes from slavery, ignited dreams, incited revolutions, immortalised their ideas for better or worse.

In her old world, anyone with the inclination and the interest could become a student of history’s greatest wordsmiths. Some were fictional, crafted by old Masters to inspire and teach. Others were the vanguards of progress, freeing others even as they remained imprisoned behind walls of segregation and prejudice.

Thusly shielded by the great wisdom of her old world and bulwarked by the love of family and friends, how could Walken’s venom work its sinister virulence? Did he expect that she would turn to him instead?

Now caught by the cold logic of hindsight, she reeled from the onion stench of Walken’s lie-strewn mouth. As a young girl, she wouldn’t have recognised his ploy, but how could a 21st-century woman with a half-decade-long history of therapy have missed an arrogant prick’s attempt to gaslight her?

Within Walken’s ploy, she was Paula Alquist; Walken fancied himself the insidious Sergius Bauer, the murderer of her mother, and her fealty was the jewel he sought. Through insults and rewards, Walken was wearing her down, using everything she held dear as ammunition, tossing in morsels of truth to dim her lights, telling her that she was crazy, insane, unstable, while convincing her that her beloved master was a liar.

Had Walken taken her for a child?

But of course, that was the point. Wasn’t it?

She was in the body of an adolescent.

Her comely face and nubile body were naturally disarming.

What had Walken said? That she was a supernaturally powerful child wielding a sword twice her height? Wouldn’t it be a riot if he knew that she was wielding a mind twice her age, filled to the brim with otherworldly knowledge?

Gwen moistened her eyes to disguise the fact that her lucidity had returned, then took the instance of Walken’s smug satisfaction to lay down plots and inductions of her own.

Walken had the knowledge she wanted, but she wasn’t willing to pretend none of this happened, nor could she tell him to fuck right off back to his swamp. Rather, she wanted satisfaction, retribution, and to see that smug smile wiped off his fucking face.

“Ariel! Get away from that thing!” she screeched at her Familiar to separate from Aella. “That thing may be kin, but it’s less than kind!”

“Shaa!” A materialised Caliban came between the Kirin and its amorous companion.

“EE—?” Ariel pulled itself away, unwilling to follow its master’s unfeeling demand. “Ee! Ee!”

Her Kirin was upset, but there was no helping it.

The feeble Essence emitted by Aella the Couatl was real. It possessed a smidgen of the rainbow serpent’s colours, like a long-lost relative one immediately recognised because she had her mother’s eyes. It was this specific energy that Walken had used to abuse her senses, to warp her sense of reality.

“Ariel, Caliban! Come back!”

Her instructor watched, perhaps waiting for his chance.

Her creatures were honest to a fault and unsuited to deception. In hindsight, Gwen realised that was also why Walken had allowed his Familiar to become acquainted with her. It was because Aella was entirely ‘innocent’ and by association, she wouldn’t doubt his ‘honest’ intentions.

“Play!” Aella cooed at her.

“Sorry, Aella.” She brushed away one of its enormous wings. “I am not feeling well.”

Cycling a few motes of Void was enough to turn her skin ashen, effecting a snail-sheen of sweat across her face, her hands, and her thighs.

“Gwen.” Walken’s mask grew nervous with worry. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled at him with trembling lips. Her hands were shaking. Was it attributed to her narrowly missed psychosis? Or was she unnerved by her attempt at deception? “I don’t know anything anymore.”

“Well, let me give you something to tide you over.” Walken took her hand, then placed something in the midst of her palm.

The touch of the hateful man’s fingers seared her skin like a branding iron. It took everything in her power to stop herself from gagging.

A Message Orb. It was another Message Orb.

So the positive reinforcement for her pliantness was another one of her Master’s Ioun Stones.

“Sir?” She meekly looked up at the Magister.

“I have many more.” Walken touched her hair in a fatherly manner.

Reflexively, she drew away.

It was too much.

Thankfully, her manipulator chose to keep his distance, likely not wishing to startle his victim.

“I hear you have made a lot of crystals Gwen.” Walken returned to his seat. “Your appetite for economics can only be described as Draconic.”

“I did, Sir.” Gwen lowered her chin, then peeked at her adversarial advisor in a way that emphasised her passivity. “A girl’s gotta eat.”

“Ha, you’ve got that right. I mean no offence, child, but your master’s Credo, the Middle Path, is not suited for one as naturally avaricious as you. Still, if you wish to persist, I want you to know I’ll do my best to help you.”

Unsure of what to say, Gwen touched a finger to a corner of her eye, smearing some of her make up. When she looked up again, she was the very picture of pity.

Opposite, her manipulator caught the despair and disillusion in her vacant pupils, swallowing before he could continue.

“I have a proposal: a hypothesis, provable only through practice. I know that’s hard, perhaps impossible, but such is the hand you’ve been dealt. There are few people alive who possess the same affinity, talent, and blessings as you and I.”

She hugged her chest so as to prevent herself from physically unscrewing the man’s head like a lightbulb.

Should she agree? She wanted to see what other cards Walken had to play.

“No, don’t answer yet.” Walken reached out, then with great gentleness, placed a hand on the stunned girl’s shoulders. Gwen shuddered, needing no act to do so. “Think on it.”

Then cooly, his objective accomplished, Walken left.

When Gwen felt relaxed enough to breathe again; she was alone. Suppressing her turbulent impulses, she cupped the Ioun Stone in her hand and activated the Glyph for playback.

“Eric,” her Master’s voice floated through the air. He sounded younger, more robust than the previous recording. “Here’s the inventory I’ve set up for the Seventh Expedition. We don’t know if the Divination Towers will be up in time, so I am having this delivered to you in person. Here’s what I managed to commandeer…”

After a mind-numbing ten minutes of army rations, blankets, potions, low-tier magic items of convenience, clothing, transport and quasi-magical implements, Gwen confirmed her disappointment.

Walken thought a recording of Henry reading out a grocery list was enough to bribe her over?

Fidgeting with the stone, she evaluated her lacklustre performance.

To think, two years after she had a freak out at Hyde Park, Walken had almost triggered another Void leak. Were it not for the friends and family she now had, she would have dived into that dark abyss and given herself to whatever old and forgotten thing that lurked in the Void. With her affinity and her vitality now, what would have happened?

Back in her old world, Dr Monroe would have called it a depersonalisation episode, a moment of manic hysteria accompanied by a sudden divorce from one’s physicality, becoming alienated from feelings and emotions, acting out in ways uncontrollable by the conscious psyche.

Likewise, Dr Monroe had said that if she could learn to trust, and if she could normalise her interpersonal dependencies, then her episodes would lessen, then cease.

Five years and one interdimensional reincarnation later, her psychologist finally earned her three-hundred-dollar-plus-GST-an-hour consultation.

As for what came next—

Boil, broil, grill or sauté?

How many ways could she cook the knowledge from Eric Walken?

***

“God you look tired,” Petra remarked during breakfast. “What happened?”

“Cutting back on my Draconic caffeine.” Gwen moaned, letting her head rest against the table. “Give me another cup.”

“I don’t think regular coffee is going to help.”

“Hahaha… well, there’s not much else I can do at this point. Can’t let it get to my head,” Gwen lamented.

“So, are you going back to Walken?”

“Gotta pay him back threefold.” Gwen forced herself to sit with her back straight. “In the meanwhile, he can sweat.”

“Why’s he so interested in you?” Petra poured her another cup. “Here, I’ll fix your hair.”

“Maybe I am his ticket back into the good graces of the Grey Faction?” Her cousin shrugged. “Maybe he thinks he could do a better job than my master, or maybe it’s because the man’s afraid. I know that if Alesia were here, one of them would probably be dead by now. If I am on his side, I can keep Alesia off his back.”

“Now there’s someone with no concerns regarding their affinity traits.” Petra chuckled.

“True, I can see why Alesia chose to stay on the Frontier when she could have lived an easy life in a tier I city. She’s affinity V or VI, I think, probably VI, and it was higher when she had her Scarlet Caracal.”

“What about your friend Yue?”

“VI, when she started. Maybe V now.”

“And you’re edging toward VII…”

“Ergh…” Gwen groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

Her cousin laughed, pulling on Gwen’s hair with a brush.

“Yeah, yeah.” Gwen produced the Message Orb. “Say, can you take me through how to use this thing again?”

Gwen waited two weeks before she relented to booking Walken.

First, she wanted to have a go at managing her Essence usage. Since acquiring Almudj’s blessing, she had subsisted, consciously or otherwise, on the trivialisation of all of her physical ailments.

More so than the euphoric pleasure of her Void consumption, it was small blessings like not having to deal with menstrual cramps, fatigue, insomnia, and indigestion that made Almudj’s powers endearing and highly addictive. It’s like Celexa and Buspar and Ibuprofen taken together; a miracle panacea just like the old advert uses to say: ‘Have a cup of tea, a Bex, and a good lie down, and she’ll be right, mate.’

Now removed from the creature comfort of her Draconic cocaine, she became difficult, cranky, snarky, tired, meandering, and forgetful all at once, confirming that her Essence did indeed impact her mental faculties.

Her first slipup occurred during overtime on Friday night, desiring to finish her overtime, she grew roaring drunk on Draconic Essence, high as a drake as she soared through the tedium of paperwork and practice, then took her co-workers out for all-night hot pot.

By Saturday, she had to acknowledge that her inhuman schedule was impossible. Between her blistering metabolism, her unending hunger and her insomnia, the only thing keeping her stitched together had been Almudj’s blessing.

Meanwhile, heedless of her strained fortitude, classes continued unabated.

Working as Ma’s teaching assistant was soothing, in a way. While Professor Ma gave his lectures, she graded papers, wrote tutorial questions, composed hypotheticals, and provided graphical data. A few lessons in, a nasty rumour spread about her relationship with the squib professor, but then a public trashing of the mouth breathers from her Duelling Club seniors quickly put a stop to that nonsense.

Economics proved far more enterprising. As a socialist state, the CCP’s operatives ran most of its major industries as ‘state’ enterprises lorded over by Clan heads and ancient scholar-bureaucratic families. As a land abundant with resources and low on demi-humans, China had set itself up as the food bowl of the Southeast Asian region, producing grain for export to the surrounding Frontiers. Though her course lauded the economic model used for mass hydro farming, Gwen foresaw the writing on the wall. When an enterprise or state began to pursue an endless annual increase to production, they turned to increasingly unsustainable methods to fuel supply. When expansion involved draining lakes, diverting rivers and flash burning land for agricultural space, a downturn was inevitable. Like a coiled spring waiting to snap, the demi-humans and magical fauna pressed into the margins of what little wilderness that remained was a ticking Warding Glyph.

In Gwen’s opinion, the Su-Hang region was a case of having all of one’s eggs stashed precariously into a big basket. In her old world, rapid economic elevation of China’s poor had consumed most of its arable land by producing twenty percent of the world’s food supply in seven percent of the world’s viable agricultural zones, relying heavily on industrial fertilisers. As for her present world, what if an extreme weather event happened? Or an angry, ancient Dragon came to visit? Even if Shanghai had stores to outlast the year, what about the Frontier? Where would their supply of wheat, rice, and maize come from? What would the NoMs eat when rice costs an HDM a kilo?

Gwen proposed these enquiries to her fellow students and made them compose reports on the short-term and long-term economic outcomes of disaster events. Later in the semester, she would teach them how to use data extrapolation for future proofing.

If even a single one of her peers managed to save a single District on the Frontier, then her job was done. Her master would be proud.

Concurrently, Divination progressed as well as could be expected.

The class took place in one of the expatriate-designed ‘international classrooms’ west of the main Fudan campus, in a private ‘training’ hall filled with Creole fetishes. The instructor was a Caucasian matron by the name of Madam L’Croix, a bloodline Diviner like Mayuree.

To improve her students’ basic Detect Magic, the instructor arranged incense burners with different incense sticks enchanted with an assortment of Schools of Magic. The students’ job then was to use Mage Hand to pluck apart strands of magical motes wafting through the air. The idea was to sharpen one’s synaesthesia for Schools of Magic, discerning additional details like intensity, duration, and signature.

Gwen had found the bead-wearing Diviner Magus charming, though her instructor kept a polite distance from the infamous ‘Worm Handler’ of Fudan.

When an opportunity arose, Gwen asked the woman if she had offended her in any way. The Diviner smiled and blinked her eyes unconvincingly. Just being professional, the Diviner informed her, though Gwen suspected her instructor might have carelessly tossed some bones.

Diviners! Gwen felt a little entered. They should stick to teaching pragmatics and keep their noses out of other people’s futures!

“Everything alright, Miss Song?”

It took Gwen a moment to reorientate her surroundings.

“Sorry,” she apologised. “I have no excuse.”

Magister Lee had caught her napping, and the whole lecture had tuned in to watch.

“Don’t burn yourself out.” Michio Lee’s face glowed with supernatural amiability. “You look like something my cat dragged in.”

Gwen attempted to laugh off her embarrassment.

She was truly sorry. Spell-Shaping was one of her favourite classes at the moment. Michio was an excellent lecturer, and his contemporary theories were easy to understand. As for her coursework, the ultimate goal of the Advanced Spell-Shaping was for each student to genuinely attempt a Signature Spell.

Nine months on, even the self-absorbed Magister Lee had heard of Gwen’s prowess. The reason he was so nice was that Lee had proposed she create an original, minimum tier IV Void spell.

“Lightning spells are a dime a dozen!” her instructor had informed her. “Now Void Magic, that’s something to see! I want the characteristics of your Void Magic used exclusively!”

But what should she create?

Two types of spells made up the Imperial Metric System.

One, magical phenomena translated from old magic into the IMS.

Two, original spells created via the Imperial Metric System.

Some ancient arcana, such as the ubiquitous Fire Ball, Magic Missile, and Lightning Bolt, has since straddled both worlds, each with distinct metamorphic variations when used by Mages of varying skill and talent.

Morden’s Hounds were a case in point for old, translated invocations. Lacking the pure pragmatism of newer magic, the spells of old tend to possess flair and flavour, but not accessibility.

New magic pointed to the late Magister Larsen’s Lightning Sphere and Ball Lightning, which drew upon increasingly more complex sigil stacks, but whose effects were explicit and simplified.

In experimental theory, minor and major incantations were stripped and distilled into various effects. The effect, range, shape, area, form, time, duration, and phenomena could all be customised if one knew the theory behind weaving a particular School’s arcane algorithm.

The complication, alas, laid in creating a spell stable enough to manifest without blowing up, or having its feedback knock the caster’s teeth out.

For students, most ‘creations’ did not succeed.

Those that did seldom proved useful.

And new invocations with safe, widely applicable utility were as rare as hen’s teeth.

Petra and Wen’s Spell Cubes were a sterling example of a successful Signature creation with niche application and limited public utility. Even with all their combined genius, the material and effort invested into creating unique spells weren’t likely to provide a profit in CCs or Crystals, ensuring that the pursuit of knowledge remained a labour of love.

But Gwen just wanted a high score to pad her High Distinctions; if she could create a useful, original Void Magic akin to Flashbang, all the better.

So far, her choices were limited.

If she wished to create an original attack spell, she had to choose between monster or personnel. Monster-wise, very few spells came close to the efficacy of Morden’s Hounds. As for anti-personnel magic, where was the line in the sand that separated useful utility and murderous psychopathy? Take, for example, her Void variant of Cloudkill.

The very thought made her skin crawl.

A tier IV Void Magic.

Gwen racked her brain without success, too tired to think.

Maybe she could milk an idea out of Walken?

In all honesty, she’ll have to sleep on it…

“GWEN SONG—!”

“W-what? I am awake—?” Gwen looked up, her head full of sheep.

Magister Lee’s chiselled jaws clenched.

Gwen felt her spine grow cold. The admonition, as it were, would be long and drowsy…

“If the Middle Faction outnumber the others, why not force the matter?”

Gwen sat demurely in a low-back chair, having her hair braided by Sufina’s long, twiglike fingers. Just now, she had been conversing with Henry about the Middle Faction’s ongoing feuds with the Militants and the Greys.

“That’s not how we work.” Henry sipped his golden mead. “The sensible centre isn’t a position; it’s a compromise. Even within our Faction, there are those who favour the demi-humans, those who love or loathe the NoMs, and those hungry for conquest.”

“Wouldn’t that make our Faction’s influence unstable?” Gwen furrowed her brows. How can anyone get anything done if no one can agree on a position?

“Ah, good question.” Her Master amused himself with the sight of Sufina consulting a salon magazine. “In truth, our vulnerability is also the source of our flexibility. Those from the Militant Faction owe us from when we had sided with them on matters of mutual benefits—like the Purge of Katoomba. Walken’s Faction owes us for barring the Militant Faction from the Central Coast, where the Greys had set up a commodity exchange with the Sandskin Mermen Tribe. Each time, we benefit a little, here and there, keeping the peace, slowly ratcheting up our position.”

“Oh, I get it!” Gwen nodded enthusiastically. Sufina slapped her head, demanding she stay still. “We’re putting the other Factions first, going for win-wins wherever possible. That way, we build up resources and goodwill no matter which Faction is taking the initiative. By the same measure, we don’t have to commit too much of our resources, allowing us always to keep a hand in reserve!”

“And if we are not in agreement with our fellows?” Henry questioned his apprentice.

Gwen’s thoughts churned.

In the next moment, her eyes flamed with industry.

“We’ll leave them be if they succeed. Negotiation support in the case of a pyrrhic victory, or save their asses to preserve the balance!”

“Excellent!” Henry ruffled his Familiar’s leafy hair. “Well done!”

“Bloody hell!” Sufina screeched. “Henry! Really?!”

“Haha, don’t worry, Sufina, maybe I can do yours.” Gwen shook out her voluminous dark tresses and, turning, she caught a handful of Sufina’s ‘hair’.

Sufina considered her offer with scepticism, her prehensile, vine-like hair forming instantly into a stylish Scandinavian triple-braid.

“Alright, alright.” Gwen sat back down. “Continue the lesson…”

Gwen opened her eyes.

There was a group of students mobbing her.

Or rather, they were mobbing Caliban and Ariel, taking advantage of the fact that she had passed out to play with her materialised, no-longer-invisible Familiars. Ariel was receiving the benediction of its worshippers, while Caliban twirled her hair with its tail.

Her brain slotted back into place.

“Miss Song, you’re awake.” A guilty member of Lee’s lecture stepped away from Ariel. “We were… er… looking after your Familiars for you.”

“Oh? Ah…” Gwen opened and shut her mouth a few times.

Shit! She had fallen asleep in Lee’s lecture after his lecture. What’s more, it was a Wednesday!

FUCK! She was late for work!

Ding!

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Her Message Device chimed now that she was awake.

Ruì’s voice blossomed beside her ear.

“Ma’am! You’ve got a meeting with Magus Maymaruya at 3:00 p.m.!”

“Ma’am. Should I reschedule?”

“Ma’am, Magus Maymaruya says he’ll wait, but it’s been an hour…”

“God damn it!” She pumped herself full of Almudj’s Essence, then bolted from the room.

“Ruì! Tell Dai and Ken I’ll be right in! Tell Magus Maymaruya I am very sorry!”***

March came in like a lamb, filling the campus with blossoms, dispelling the long winter.

Gwen took her time getting to the training hall, draining an XL milk tea of human kindness along the way before tossing the emptied vessel into a bin. At the double glass doors of the training hall, she examined her reflection. Dressing for conflict, she had picked out a white and floral sundress with an off-shoulder neckline to accentuate her springtime youth. She even bought a broadbrimmed hat. Since Walken convinced himself that was she was an emotional, adolescent airhead; she would play the part and make an honest man out of her instructor.

This time, for round two, she wouldn’t be Antonio.This time, she would be Portia, and he would be her Shylock.

Chapter thirty-three

No Source of Honey

“Awhole month! I was beginning to worry if you would ever make it,” Walken’s reprimand snapped like a cane, his tone equally accusatory and paternal. “You mustn’t let the pride control you. There’s no shame in asking for aid.”

A month?

Gwen averted her gaze.

Just as she suspected, the old man had grown paranoid after she had left him neglected for a fortnight. By the same measure, his persistent attempt to undermine her confidence indicated a sustained interest at dimming her lights.

“Please accept my apology, Master Walken.” Her temple throbbed even as the platitude left her glossed lips. “Between classes and my part-time work, I’ve barely slept. And you’re right. I tried to deal with my problem on my own, but I couldn’t.”

“Then you have invested your time poorly,” Walken repeated his reprimand, then strolled about her person, inspecting her appearance and finding her attire lacking in conviction. “I see you’re dressed to please. Do you have somewhere more important to go? I’d figured you more attentive to your studies.”

“I am going out…” Gwen shrugged.

Walken’s glare would have made an evil eye proud.

Gwen lowered her eyes and forced herself to focus on a point between her feet, glad that her disarming choice of floral, combined with her demure compliance, had tickled her target in just the right way.

“Unlike you, I’ve spent the month researching your condition.”

“Thank you, Sir. I am grateful.” She nodded.

“As you should be. What I found—” Walken edged beside her, close enough for conspiracy. “Will require some verification on your part.”

She looked up.

“You see, for sometime after my battle with Sobel, I became greatly interested in her ability to supersede the arcane fulcrum of Negative Energy. You of all people should know that Vitality Mana consumption for high-tier AOEs cannot be sustained by low-affinity users. For Sobel to deploy wide range AOEs at Noosa Heads, or even against the Saurians, her affinity had to have reached VII or higher.

“And at tier VII,” Walken indicated at her forehead, “there are characteristic symptoms. I suspect that for both you and Sobel, the root of your mutual instability lies with an irresponsible rise in affinity; a theory that accounts for Henry’s plans to pace your training by balancing both Lightning and Void.”

Gwen’s ears perked up. The disparity of theory concerning the stability of her Void talent, and indeed Spellcraft itself, was endlessly fascinating. Of her three instructors, her master had forbidden haphazard experimentation, emphasising on intuition and natural growth. Wen’s approach was entirely numerical, denoting that so long as she utilised ‘N’ Vitality, offset by corresponding Positive Energy, she should be fine. Now, as her third advisor, Walken instead pushed for an affinity-based solution, which made no sense unless he knew of a way to increase her elemental sympathy, a process likely derived from Wen’s revelatory papers.

“Can you clarify, Sir?” she implored her haughty Instructor. “About Sobel, I mean.”

“The answer lies in the timeline of her demise.” Walken drew an invisible chart with his hands. “1976 was the Noosa Heads incident. 1972 was when Henry and I served on the Brisbane Line: he was a Field Commander, while I served with Command and Control, doing what Air Mages do best.”

And out of harm’s way, Gwen thought snidely.

Meanwhile, her master was knee-deep in corpses, commanding a stretch of the front a hundred kilometres long and four kilometres deep.

“The Saurian Truce happened in the summer of 1972, meaning between Sobel’s first awakening in winter and her surviving Noosa in 1976, no more than three years and five months later, your master reported Sobel’s passing in 1979.”

Gwen finally realised what Walken was trying to get at.

“Are you saying Master had a hand… in rearing Elizabeth?”

“Undoubtedly,” Walken’s voice took on a hint of passion. “After Sydney, the Tower’s Inquisitors discovered traces of a citywide Mandala, something that had been set up as a trigger for a strategic-class AOE. But during Noosa Heads, there was no way Sobel could have snuck into an unaffiliated base on a two-day visitation pass, not to mention the Mermen attack was entirely unprovoked and unforeseen. If so, how did she survive her invocations? Even assuming it was self-perpetuating, the initial cost could have killed her outright.”

Gwen thought of Jane’s tortured confession.

The girl had her back turned to Sobel, but it wasn’t hard to imagine Sobel working through a few dozen Mages before she had enough to get her Black Sun jump-started.

“The answer is that in the years both before and after 1972, your master had been working with Sobel, helping her tame her new found element, just as he was helping you. Back in the seventies, we didn’t know much about affinity traits. The few geniuses that were renowned had their quirks and idiosyncrasies—but they were wilful prodigies. Why shouldn’t they be different? Towers were still going up one by one; cities were undergoing reclamation. What knowledge the Magisters of Western Europe managed to accumulate couldn’t be disseminated safely and reliably. We didn’t have data slates or Divination Towers, and Message Orbs were hardly common. To save his wife, Henry had to improve her affinity until it trivialised her expenditure.”

“That could explain why Sobel went mad in the end,” Gwen added to Walken’s hypothesis, wondering how much Walken was in the know.

“Care to elaborate?” Walken invited her to continue.

Does he know about Hungary? She queried the man’s eyes. What Walken knew had come from Faceless, but she had no idea if Faceless, fed a lifetime of resentment against her master, was capable of anything other than a fabricated hyperbole. Conceivably, Walken’s request was both a test and a desire for clarity. If so, she would tread lightly.

“Master spoke of it in bits and pieces.” She fidgeted with her dress, misdirecting his attention from her lying eyes. Blatant deception remained a challenge for Gwen, so she had chosen instead to redact the truth. “Master said that in Eger, he, Mark, Agnes, and my grandfather hunted down his wife after she started draining random people to feed her growing hunger.”

“Did he speak of why her hunger grew out of control?” Walken enquired. His knowledge is incomplete, Gwen realised, noting the slight elevation in his tempo. Walken may have even spoken to Chandler at some point, but Gunther was hardly the type to leave a trail.

“I don’t know,” Gwen confessed. “According to Master, it happened overnight.”

She wasn’t about to say that against all expectation, Sobel had found herself pregnant and that in her desire to bear the future ‘Faceless’ to fruition, her master’s wife had embarked on a vitality-harvesting bender. If the world were to know that pregnancy could trigger such instability in a high-affinity Void Mage—

Her face blanched at the thought.

“I always suspected something had to have happened to Sobel,” Walken pondered aloud for his ward to hear. “When I first knew her, she had been a perfect English rose.”

“You knew her?” Gwen felt shocked.

“Both before and after Henry’s intrusion into her life. As your master’s fiancée, I knew her through dignitary functions. Before Brisbane, I had known of her while in England. She’s the sole heir of a Baronet in Northumberland, if I recall. I met her only once at a society gathering, a childhood friend of mine, a future countess, had planned a coming-out soirée and Elizabeth tagged along.”

“I didn’t know Elizabeth was gay before she met Master,” she remarked with surprise, playing on Walken’s archaism. “Maybe that’s why she—”

Her teacher opened and closed his mouth a few times; utterly flatfooted by her misunderstanding.

“Coming out to society,” his voice rose an octave. “Stupid girl!”

“Sorry.” She bit her lip. The things we do to please our men, Gwen sighed internally. It was a cynical truth that as an attractive young woman, the amount of effort she required to convince Walken of her naive simplicity was minimal. If she had been a Gunther-jawed young man, they’d be likely tearing each other apart by now. “If you recall, I attended a public school. And my family situation is… complicated.”

Her instructor considered Gwen’s supreme embarrassment—from his sympathy, she read his thoughts—that she possessed a bruised and battered psyche, a neglectful father, an abusive mother, and then a dead master, all ripe for exploitation.

“I recall she was very meek.” The Magister’s voice grew sympathetic. “As for your enquiry, all I can say is that Sobel was certainly the sort to attract a particular type of men.”

Did he mean her master? What type? Gwen knitted her brows slightly. What’s Walken getting at now?

“You resemble Elizabeth, in many ways,” Walken continued, touching his chin contemplatively. “There’s a certain look, or quality; I should say, that you affect unconsciously. Have you never noticed that sometimes, men act strangely around you? They turn obsessive, jealous, or overbearing? You’re a beautiful young woman, of course, but there’s something unique to Void Mages, I noticed. A certain…”

Walken then gave her the most fatherly expression of assurance he could muster.

“Masochism?” Gwen blurted out her cousin’s hypothesis, then immediately cursed her loose lips, her face flushing with embarrassment.

Watching her contradictions, her opponent grew considerably concerned.

“It’s a reasonable assumption, considering how so few of your kind survive to adulthood…”

“Which Master offset by raising Sobel’s affinity,” she smoothly steered the conversation back on track.

“Ah yes,” Walken continued, taking her cue, equally eager to proceed past the awkward detour they had just taken. “As I was saying, Henry had to have found a way to increase Sobel’s affinity. No matter her talent, there is no way to circumvent Allenberg’s Cost-Manifestation Quotient.”

The Magister paused.

“I should confess. Earlier, I had to consult with Sydney to find out your master’s training regime.”

“You spoke to Irene?” Gwen thought of the Sydney Magister who survived.

“That’s Magister Ferris to you,” Walken snapped. “You’d think Henry would have whipped some manners into you while he was busy picking away at your ‘masochism’.”

Gwen parried the psychic assault by not daring to meet Walken’s eyes. Her opponent smirked as she clutched her dress distressingly. It was super effective.

“It was Gunther Shultz, actually,” Walken continued offhandedly. “I am, after all, helping you in the IIUC. Magus Shultz likes to see you succeed as much as I. Sometimes, I am amazed at the restraint shown by those who walk the Tempered Path.”

“Brother’s patience surprises me as well,” Gwen grumbled.

“It’s a shame about that hellcat sister of yours though; she’s a right hellion. De Botton’s lost her Caracal, didn’t she? Had to drop the ‘Scarlet’ from her moniker. Now there’s someone I’d never figured for the Middle Path.”

Gwen felt her Almudj’s Essence tickling her throat. How many times did he have to gaslight her before he was satisfied? How paranoid could he be?

“Ah—poor Alesia, the source of all our troubles,” Walken continued to pry her weakness. “To think if she weren’t so blindly antagonistic, we would have profited each other in many ways. You could have been a liaison between Henry and myself, someone we both trusted, as it were.”

Strewth, the gall of this guy, Gwen swallowed hard, forcing her hands to relax. Her distressed Disney princess facade was keeping up reasonably well, though if she were to fidget any more vigorously with her dress, she’d tear it in half.

Her abuser chuckled.

“But back to business. Gunther informed me that Henry had used a custom Mandala for your twin elements. After all, regular arrays account only for pulling one Familiar out of the aether. Looking at Ariel and Caliban, I see two pseudo-Spirits in their infancy, each capable of growth. I guess your late master knew that finding you a Lightning and Void Spirit is likely going to be impossible, not to mention they’d neutralise one another at the first opportunity.”

“Wait…” Gwen raised a speculative hand. “Caliban’s a Spirit?”

“Of course.” Walken gave her a bemused look. “Why should Ariel be the only Spirit?”

“That can’t be right. Caliban!” she called forth her Familiar.

“Shaa!” Caliban coiled around her legs, its obsidian body stark against her white ankles.

“Caliban, are you a Spirit?”

“Shaa—?”

“Can you bend this? Void Bolt!” She shot a sliver of Void-matter at a Force Barrier, imagining her Familiar bending her bolt like Beckham.

Instead, Caliban turned to Walken, coiled to strike.

Shit! Her disappointment gave way to apprehension. The empathic honesty of Familiars was a troublesome thing.

“SHAA—!” Caliban shrieked at the Magister menacingly.

“What’s it doing?” Walken studied her serpent as it opened its carapace and menaced him with barbed tentacles.

“I am not doing anything.” Gwen shook her head vigorously, demanding Caliban calm the fuck down before it gave her game away. “Sometimes, Cali’s got a mind of its own!”

“Then Caliban must possess an ego: ergo, Caliban should be a Spirit,” Walken said proudly.

“But I can’t IFF my Void spells!” She complained desperately. Cali! she screamed internally. FRIEND! Well—Frenemy, she appended. But that might be too much for Caliban to understand.

“A matter of time and methodology.” Walken smirked as the worm calmed considerably. “All you have to do is improve the animus of your Familiar.”

“I don’t know how.” Gwen took the opportunity to pack her Familiar away.

“Ah, but I think you do.” Her Instructor’s grin grew wider. “You have access to crystals, or so I’ve heard—a great deal of it. I know of a way in which we can improve both your affinity and your Familiar, striking two birds with one stone. It’s expensive, but that shouldn’t be an obstacle for you.”

Gwen’s heart skipped a beat.

Walken, you bunch-backed toad! Her mind rioted. I’ve got your pound of flesh right here, you Je—Filthy Spider!

“But crystals aren’t going to buy me Void Cores,” she fretted with her fingers. “No one knows if they even exist.”

“Don’t be so ignorant, child. Cores aren’t the only things you can feast on.” Walken edged closer, his eyes glinting with triumph and mastery. “Am I right?”

“Right…” her lips trembled.

Walken’s outstretched hand reminded her of that scene when Aladdin had invited Jasmine for a late-night carpet ride. Only her date was the mangy old Jafar, and the old man’s bird of paradise was a Winged Serpent.

If he says ‘do you trust me?’ I am going to vomit on his shoes, Gwen felt her fingers tingle. Thankfully, Walken wasn’t nearly so romantic.

Swallowing her revulsion, she took it, her fingers clammy and sweaty.

Walken’s brows pulled involuntarily. The man was a germaphobe.

“Say the word,” Walken forced himself to squeezed her hand. “And I can offer you demi-human… and human resources.”

She stared at Walken; this time, her shock was entirely genuine.

In all honesty, Gwen had expected more gaslighting.

“I am not a murderer,” Gwen whispered, still disbelieving her ears.

“Squeamish? Don’t fret.” He warmed her frigid fingers paternally. “These are free-range products from the Frontier, harvested from the most ethical sources. Each one comes with a compliance guarantee, sealed and delivered in stasis. We can start modestly, and if indeed your talent can make use of them, our Faction is willing to invest in your future wholly and without reserve.”

“But why?” Her voice drifted through the air, hanging by a silken thread. “Why me? Why should I trust you?”

“I can be your guardian,” Walken promised. “And a friend.”

When Gwen failed to respond, Walken leaned inward to close off her escape.

“I can be as Henry was,” he swore with great solemnity, so much that he felt genuinely invested in his masochistic orphan. “I would be better than Henry. I would never mistreat you.”

For a split-second, Gwen wondered if she had passed out from the sudden hypertension arresting her cardiovascular systems.

“Enough!” she growled.

“Enough?” Her instructor looked started. “Enough of what?”

“Of your bullshit!” Gwen’s retort cracked over Walken like a bullwhip. Dragon Fear poured from her body like a tide.

Reflexively, Walken’s knees faltered. Caught unaware, the Magister couldn’t resist the natural compulsion of the girl’s purer Essence. Alarmed, the Magister attempted a spell, only to realise Gwen still held his hands, preventing him from casting somatic magic.

“I am going to fucking kill you.” Gwen’s mouth was moving before she could think. “How can you remotely believe that you can replace my master? Join your Faction? You’re dreaming!”

Walken’s expression shifted from surprise to anger to teeth-clenching anguish as Gwen ratcheted the pressure exerted by her hands, pressing the blood from Walken’s fingers.

“Release me,” he commanded her. Gwen’s grasp was twin vices interlocking his palm, sending blades of white-hot agony stabbing into his brain. “Gwen, listen to me, there’s no profit in your anger. I spoke in jest, okay? You’re too easily incensed, so much so that there’s no sport in it.”

Further gouts of flaming fury blossomed in the furnace of her chest. Her Almudj’s Essence thrummed, thrilling her ear with the sound of hastened blood.

No sport in it?

A joke?

Was the man daft?

“Just you try.” Gwen let her mask drop. “How dare you gaslight me.”

“Gas—what? You’re losing it!” Walken’s voice took on a higher octave, his eyes watering. “Gwen! It’s your Dragon Essence. It’s controlling you! Fight it, for Henry’s sake!”

“Bloody hell, you’re so full of shit!” Gwen twisted her grip.

A current of Lightning-charged mana flooded into her body from the Magister.

But Walken’s mana lacked the purity of her natural element. Between Gwen’s Essence-enhanced body and her Lightning Affinity, she withstood his assault with only a slight numbness.

Crack!

She crushed the man’s left hand. The full force of her pent-up Essence was formidable.

“ARRRGH!” Walken desperately fought her death grip, beads of sweat falling from his head like a spring shower. “Gwen, how… how DARE YOU!”

“And why wouldn’t I dare?” Gwen screeched at him, releasing his hands. “Come! Do your worst!”

“Do you have a death wish?!” Walken materialised a Superior Healing Potion and stabbed it into his wrist.

In the next moment, the Magister was upon her, his hand at her throat, his body swirling with Air, crackling with motes of Lightning. He was fast, almost too fast for her eyes to follow. The man’s mastery over Spellcraft was far beyond her ken.

“Don’t hurt me!” She withdrew, suddenly afraid.

With one hand at her slender neck, Walken paused. By now the Magister had sensed that something was terribly awry. Gwen had not erected a Shield by choice. As her victim’s mind cooled, he saw that her lips, glossy as they were, were curled in triumph.

The man’s facial expressions changed.

In the next moment, to her instructor’s utter surprise, Gwen took a step forward so that his outstretched hand pressed upon her neck, just above her collar dimple.

“Well?” Gwen mocked her target with emerald eyes infused with Essence. “You hunted me so untiredly, and now you pause for breath?”

But her ‘Gwenism’ did not seem to have the impact she’d hoped.

Walken’s tempestuous, rage-filled moment of irrationality receded as quickly as it had distended. In a way, it was immensely impressive. The man’s control over his emotions demonstrated that Walken had indeed mastered his affinity trait.

“What’s gotten into you?” The Magister switched gears, reaching for her shoulders.

“Oh, cut the crap, Walken.” Gwen rolled her eyes, brushing away his wayward hand. “Don’t touch me. Let’s stop the shit shovelling, alright? It’s not like I don’t need you. I am just sick of all the crap that comes with your help. You’re worse than bloatware.”

Unexpectedly, her instructor grew suddenly worried.

“Are you being mind-controlled right now?” he demanded conspiratorially. “Who’s in there right now? Are you willing to parley?”

“Who-what? Don’t be absurd” Gwen backed away. She tapped a finger at her temple. “There’s no one in here—”

Walken nodded in agreement.

“God damn it, I am in here!” she restated seriously. “I am not being controlled!”

The Magister’s expression grew even more suspicious.

Now it was Gwen’s turn to sigh. Was it that hard for Walken to believe that a teenager got one up on him? That he had lost? Was the theory that a bloody wizard had taken over her mind and was operating her like a finger puppet easier to swallow than the fact that she had a mind of her own? Whatever the case, she would say her piece. The rest was up to Walken.

“Magister,” she began her prepared speech. All the pieces she had planned were now in place. “I have a proposal.”

“Alright, I am listening,” Walken remained on guard, both mentally and in the arcane sense.

“You have knowledge and magic I want, and I can help you by emerging victorious in the IIUC, thereby ensuring you’ll be back in the good graces of important people,” Gwen kept her pitch low and her intonation perfect. “I want you to help me, really help me, without any of your manipulative bullshit. In return, I promise you full credit. Furthermore, when Alesia comes for you, I’ll do my best to ensure she keeps her vengeance in check, or at least give you a warning.”

“Absurd!” Walken retorted. “What a ridiculous offer, why would I be afraid of Alesia de Botton?”

“Because I’ll help her ambush you when you least expect it. Sure, maybe you’re the superior Mage, but Alesia is tenacious. I’ll be astonished if she doesn’t blow up every venture you participate in, burn down every house you sleep in, turn to cinders every bed you lie in.”

“What kind of absurd logic was that?!” Walken glared at her, suddenly seeing her in a whole new, terrifying light.

“Not only that,” Gwen continued. “I’ll make sure the relevant people get a hold of this—”

“These are free-range products from the Frontier, harvested from the most ethical sources. Each one comes with a compliance certificate, sealed and delivered in stasis containers…” Walken’s voice played from a Message Orb hidden somewhere in the hem of her dress.

Walken’s expression grew rigid.

Of course the man didn’t notice her recording. As devices predating Divination Towers, Ioun Stones had negligible traces of magic, not to mention the earlier models weren’t of human origin. And to think he had presented it to her. It was all very ironic and justified.

“Are you threatening me, young lady?” Walken demanded, advancing on her.

“Do you have a death wish?!” His voice answered him, followed by a girlish cry full of terror which unequivocally informed the listener of the circumstances under which the recording was made. “Don’t hurt me!”

“You!” Walken’s face was scarlet.

“Why would I be afraid of Alesia de Botton!” His retort mocked him.

For a moment, Gwen thought she would be minced by a Blade Barrier. But then Walken would have to flee and live out the rest of his life in the Wildlands as a Rogue Mage.

“I could just take that orb off you.” Walken changed the angle of his attack. “You can’t resist me.”

“I’ll D-D out of here, screaming blue murder in my birthday suit if I have to.” Gwen smirked at him. “You’re welcome to chase me all across campus if you’d like. I mean, a disgraced Magister abusing a popular, beautiful student, the Worm… The Flower of Fudan! What would people think?”

“You’re overestimating yourself.” Walken’s forehead affected a sheen of sweat. “Give it here, now.”

“Ha!” Gwen chuckled. “Over my dead body.”

“That can be arranged—”

She took a step forward, her chest thrusting provocatively.

Walken backed away.

Gwen took another step forward, pushing herself against him until the Magister’s waxen face grew pale.

“Such a bad…” Walken bit his tongue.

“I could be bad to the bone,” Gwen remarked, her eyes boring into Walken’s face, their noses almost touching. “Or I could be a good girl.”

Walken back away, then straightened his posture. He fixed his suit, informing her that he wasn’t a stubborn man. “Fine. I’ll bite.”

Gwen took a deep breath. Before anything, she had to draw the line.

“I could Consume you,” she opened blankly. “I’ll be in trouble, a world of trouble. But its only trouble.”

Walken stared.

“Whereas you can’t silence me. Hell, you can’t even maim me or hurt me, at least not bad enough to count.” She kept her tone plain and simple. “If you did, Gunther, Alesia, my grandparents, Uncle Jun the Ashbringer, and by extension Ayxin, would hunt you down to the ends of the earth.”

Her opponent chose to remain mum.

“Besides, it was you who initiated the difficulties between us. What had been Dean Luo’s offer? Take us through the IIUC, and you get to work yourself into the good graces of your Faction? Then what? Receive a position in China? Is that what he promised?”

“This and that,” Walken confessed.

“And instead, you tried to take advantage of me… and my weakness,” Gwen spat the word between her pearly teeth with a hiss. “I am a quarter your age. Does that make you proud? The mighty Magister Walken? A bully and a liar?”

“I haven’t lied to you.” Her instructor shook his head.

“Maybe not, but the truth you are peddling is awfully diluted.”

“Gwen…”

“Eric…” Gwen affected the same tone that her Master liked to use in his recordings, an effect which made Walken blink nervously. “You still don’t get it. We’re not in a position of mentor and mentee, nor a position of a superior to a subordinate.”

“You and I…” she allowed the anaphora to linger, mocking Walken’s use of the words. “Are nothing alike. You and I, Eric, are at best companions rowing together up shit creek. We are equal in that regard. My benefit is your benefit; your gain is my gain. We both have to pull our weight and not drag each other down. If you think to profit from my loss, then you’re in for a world of hurt. Old Friend.”

In his eyes, Gwen saw her reflection, an exquisite combination of dark hair, striking emerald eyes, and pale limbs extending from a feminine sundress.

She… Gwen gulped. In Walken’s eyes, she saw a sudden likeness.

She saw… a reflection of Elizabeth Sobel.

***

Eric Walken, Magister, was afraid.

If he had known the girl, he would have thought his opponent a polymorphed Dragon-kin, toying with his hopes and aspirations, laughing internally while he, Eric Walken, struggled like a vermin trapped by an Adhesion cantrip. There was no doubt about his blunder now. He had indeed entered their relationship full of purpose to empower the girl through her IIUC ordeal—

But he couldn’t help himself. It was true what they say: old habits died hard.

When the moment arrived, when she stood before him, a bee box buzzing with indeterminate dark things thrumming to escape, the temptation proved too much. The girl had so much hurt in her that it threatened to spill like overwrought honey, the unintelligible thrumming of her aggression was a mob of maniacs.

He’d envisioned himself the salvation she sought, a beekeeper. If he could take Henry’s apprentice for his own, it would be the ultimate triumph against an existence he could have never bested, more so in the wake of Kilroy’s passing. When Gwen had paled and shuddered at his every word, that old fancy had seduced him like the sweetest nectar.

Walken did not sympathise with Henry’s manifesto, nor could he convince his old rival to believe in his. When he saw the girl, saw the gaping gash in her psyche, he instantly knew that she was the means by which he could finally put an old opposition to peace, not to mention mending his esteem.

Watching her defiant eyes, Walken felt full of ambivalence that the old fox had indeed found a kit worthy of continuing their antagonism.

But the time for moping had passed.

He would yield, for now.

Gwen was right.

Her allies in both Australia and China were strong; her higher ground was unassailable. Of course, if they were successful in their suit, as Fudan’s advisor, he would accompany the team overseas: to Japan, to Korea, to North and South America, and inevitably, onto England.

And in England—

“Alright, Gwen. You win.” He extended a hand. “Truce.”

Slowly, the girl took his digits again; this time, she spared his newly un-mangled fingers.

“Thank you.” The girl’s eyes sparkled darkly, so much so that Walken almost considered withdrawing his amnesty. “More of a ceasefire, I’d say, but I do look forward to working with you, Eric.”

Chapter thirty-four

The Milk-Tea of Human Kindness

Now considerably calmer, Gwen and Walken agreed that they would reconvene the next day to continue her lessons, each desiring space and time to digest their new partnership.

Once outside, the two parted with an appearance of amiability, drawing mixed glances from the training hall’s administration staff. Since arriving a semester ago, Fudan’s Worm Handler had become notorious for her Draconian training regime. Some admired her panache, others her appearance, but most of all, they drooled over the troop of lecturers and instructors that visited her on the regular. Perhaps, some joked sourly, there was good cause for her auspicious moniker.

As for Gwen herself, she first made sure Walken was truly away, then conveyed herself to the privacy of the back gardens, shivering uncontrollably while her adrenaline receded. The recovery was gradual, supplemented by the springtime sun, her shuddering nerves subsiding as sensation returned to her clammy fingers. When she felt well enough, an additional injection of Almudj’s Essence fortified her nerves so that she no longer felt like throwing up. In that final moment of confrontation with Walken, she had been fully prepared to Dimension Door into the Dean’s Office, damning all consequence.

All in all, she had learned something today—it was mentally, physically, and spiritually exhausting to play the Lady Macbeth. That, and she really should have held off on the XL milk-tea-plus-cream of human kindness before meeting with Walken.

After a few minutes, with her legs stabilised, Gwen mentally checked her schedule, then returned home for a much-deserved lie down.

The same afternoon, Gwen found herself back at the office. Still buzzed by the aftermath of taming a shrewish Magister, she slipped into her office garbs, hoping the monotony of work would put her mind at ease.

In the three months since her induction, the development of Tonglv had ballooned. As Professor Ma had suspected, it was impossible to keep the news of the project’s profitability under wraps, which meant by now the Clans and Houses had flocked to Nantong like vultures to carrion.

So far, with sufficient foresight, the triumvirate of Patriarch Fung, Magister Chen and Vice-Chair Tu, backed by James Ma’s oversight, had kept the accounts arrayed.

When her Quarterly Progress Report reached its final ten pages, however, her attention was drawn to a segment under the sub-title Personnel Liquidation, marked under Human Resources. When Gwen began to read the record in detail, she came vis-à-vis with no less than a hundred names.

Chen Hui – Embezzlement

Lei De – Fraud

Zhan Shun – Fraud, Bribery and Corruption, Manslaughter

Tan Zhong – Embezzlement

Fan Huan – Bribery and Corruption

Dong Luoyang – Market Abuse and Insider Trading

Liang Liuxian – Embezzlement

Zhu Zhenya – Fraud, Insider Trading

Xuan Chao – Fraudulent Record Keeping

Yan Ming – Fraudulent Record Keeping

The list went on for pages.

Those whose crimes were below 1000 HDMs received a strike in their Party record, meaning their careers as industry officials were effectively over.

For those whose offence exceeded 1000 HDMs, the standard punishment was being earmarked for the Front, returning only after achieving notable contributions to the state.

For those with stacked indictments, condemnation was lifelong.

Of the hundred people, ninety were Mages. The sight of names paired with crimes and a summation of their punishments was enough to make her feel ill. How can these people be so thoughtless in their pursuit of money? Did they think Patriarch Fung would tolerate their parasitic existences when the man had put his whole Clan on the line?

“Ruì.” She fired an enquiry at her assistant, morbid in her curiosity. “How much crystal currency until you’re willing to defraud us? What would it take for you to falsify your reports?”

“I would never!” Ruì pulled back from her chair, her face alarmed and afraid. “I am doing everything I can to be of use to you, ma’am!”

“It’s hypothetical.” She told Ruì not to worry, that the PA should entertain her boss’s curiosity if she could. “A thousand HDMs? Ten thousand? Effi? Terence? How about you guys?”

Effi was the more effervescent of her other two NoM workers. A petite girl originally from Nanking, she had a heart-shaped face, long, slitted eyes, and a bookish demeanour.

“I wouldn’t want to risk it,” Effi stated warily, wondering if this was a test. “However, if I was desperate: like for example I needed a rare potion for my mother, or if one of my siblings awoke to magic and needed tuition, I would at least think about it. So it’s not an amount for me, but a matter of need. The amount would be just what I need.”

“How about you, Terence?”

“I would do it only if I am confident I can get away with it,” the young man raised his hand. “To be perfectly honest, ma’am, knowing what we’re doing here and what Professor Ma’s doing, I wouldn’t dream of it. I think most of the offenders on the list have no idea that there are hundreds and soon to be thousands of NoMs working through every receipt, payslip, and invoice. There’s another problem though: I don’t think us NoMs have any way to spend that many crystals other than land, but the acquisition of property leaves a huge paper trail.”

“Very perceptive, Terence. Well done. Ruì, back to you.” Gwen regarded her first assistant with interest.

Ruì quaked under Gwen’s keen gaze. For some reason, her mistress terrified her.

“I… I can’t.” Ruì shook her head. “I love this job!”

“Aww, I won’t force you,” Gwen consoled the poor woman with a few well-placed platitudes and a well-earned hug. She apologised as well, realising she had traumatised the girl. In her eyes, Ruì was a perfect ISTP follower on the Myers-Briggs scale: she possessed uncanny attention to detail, was loyal to a fault, and was meticulous with managing Gwen’s timetable, so much so that she had entertained moving Ruì downstairs into Gouding B1. For any sensible manager, the PA was a keeper.

As for the others, more so than Effi, it was Terence’s answer that resonated with Gwen’s projection that having NoM accountants blind audit Tonglv’s financial statements was a stroke of genius.

Simply put—the NoMs had nothing to spend Crystals on. Their greatest wish was to live in a friendly, upscale District, have access to good quality food, clean air, and water, quasi-magical amenities, and a chance for their children to have the same. For an NoM, procuring an excess of wealth wasn’t a boon, it was a recipe for attracting disaster.

In comparison, a Mage, a Cabal, a House, a Clan, or even a Tower had infinite uses for currency; so much so that all the crystals pouring out of Tonglv wouldn’t satisfy the appetite of those seeking centuries of prosperity for their kith and kin.

“Where’s Ken and Dai?” Gwen changed the subject. “I’d thought they be back by now.”

“Sir Dai has gone to negotiate with the Yellow River Trade Consortium, and Sir Ken is sending off reports at the CCP Tower,” Ruì informed her boss.

“Oh, good on them,” Gwen acknowledged that the two weren’t slacking off, then resumed the final few pages of her quarterly report.

… Sun Kun - Bribery and Corruption

Xiao Cheng - Bribery and Corruption

Xiong Su - Embezzlement

Zi Fung - Fraud

Lang Fung - Bribery and Corruption, Insider Trading

Meiling Fung - Bribery and Corruption, Insider Trading

Three Fungs, Gwen paused, thinking of a Chinese idiom her Grandfather had muttered once.

‘Men die for greed as birds die for feed.’

How keen the Confucians were, she pondered as she stowed the report, and how cynically astute. For some reason, she had a feeling that the first century of offenders was only the beginning. Between now and the next half-decade, the Front would receive a flood of conscripts.

“I’d keep an eye out at any rate,” Petra warned her.

“Agreed.” Richard took a pull from a longneck. Her cousin had already added his piece, praising Gwen’s quick thinking. “Seriously, that’s some slick work; I didn’t think you had it in you.”

“It’s payback for trying to malign my master,” Gwen explained. After a moment, she floated the Message Orb between them. “What should I do with this?”

“Keep blackmailing him,” Richard proposed without so much as a pause for breath. “He’s a Lightning Magister. Get him to spill all his spells in exchange for the safety of what remains of his reputation. I dare say there are a few hundred CCs of savings there.”

“I disagree.” Petra shook her head. “You don’t want to insult Magister Walken more than you have already, Gwen. First, it’s not like you. What you’re doing is more akin to what they do in Moscow: manipulating your enemies via Kompromat. But you don’t have a Tower behind you. You have to remember that even a dog can scale a wall if they’re desperate enough, and Walken is an established Grey Faction Magister. If you keep pushing him, you’ll both lose.”

“Hmm.” Gwen chewed her lip. “Should I give him the orb as a gesture of good faith?”

“Naw,” Richard intervened. “He’s never going to be an ally we can trust; I don’t mind treading on his toes.”

“Let me stop you there, Richard,” Petra interjected before Gwen could respond to her Australian cousin. “Gwen, so long as Walken believes the gains outweigh the cost, he’ll genuinely try to help you. For you, the best thing to do is to cut him loose once your relationship is over. If you hold onto his Kompromat, he’ll spend the entire time, now and later, scheming to get it back.”

“Petra has a point.” Gwen turned to Richard.

“I’d rather you Consume him.” Richard smirked. “He’s got to be at least tier VIII, right? We could use some high-tier magic in our matches.”

The two girls regarded their cousin, mildly alarmed.

“Imagine that,” Richard continued. “It’d be pretty funny if you could launch a strategic-class AOE at our opponents during the IIUC.”

“No time.” Petra popped the Water Mage’s bubble. “Gwen would have to finish third year Spellcraft theory, take Advanced Mandala, complete Spell-Shaping 3004, then apply for a post-graduate position studying Strategic-Class Glyph Arrays in Europe. Unless Caliban gains the ability to ‘consume’ textbooks, we won’t be seeing anything beyond tier VI at the IIUC. Not to mention Gwen needs Walken to take her through the contest; there are many nuances you and I cannot know.”

“Ah, you’re all logic, Pats,” Richard chided their Mineral Mage cousin. “You’re no fun.”

“We’re not here to have ‘fun’,” Petra fired back. “But I don’t want to argue with you, so let’s change the subject. Gwen, what’s the deal with your affinity predicament?”

“I have to grow into it,” Gwen sighed. “That or balance my affinity.”

“Hey, you can trust us to watch your back.” Richard raised his hand. “Permission to restrain you if you turn half Dragon.”

“Granted,” Gwen said.

“I’ll keep looking,” Petra promised her cousin. “There’s bound to be something. You can’t the first person with this problem.”

“Thanks.” Gwen hugged her two cousins close to her bosom. “As for the Walken front, I think I’ve got a good idea. Pats, do you know what a sponge cake is?”

The next day, Gwen finished her Divination and Economics tutorials, then joined Walken in the late afternoon at the Training Hall.

The duo began their conversation with great care, stepping around one another like a pair of paranoid drakes. When after a while, Gwen slid forward a Message Orb, Walken raised his brow with genuine surprise.

“I appreciate the gesture.” The Magister glanced at the Orb before pushing it back. “But allow me to make the same gesture. Why don’t you keep it? It’ll be a layer of insurance.”

Gwen hesitated.

“It’ll help the both of us focus, put our minds at ease,” Walken remarked. His expression remained composed, his lips thin and pressed.

She stowed the Orb.

Now considerably unwound, the two laid out the minutes of their meeting, of which so far numbered three:

Her affinity trait dilemma.

Her Void Affinity power-up.

And details regarding the IIUC.

After a few false starts, Walken came into a well-worn groove, demonstrating why the Dean had chosen him for the job.

“Unique solutions service unique problems,” Walken continued from where they’d left off. “If you recall, affinity traits vary from Mage to Mage: it’s as much a product of nurture as it is a problem of nature. In most instances, elemental sympathy is acquired over a long interval, giving an Elementalist plenty of time to figure out their quirks. To take myself as an example: despite our unfortunately hotheaded kerfuffle yesterday, I am habitually in control of my inclinations. As one aligned to Elemental Air, I am often aloof and distanced from my peers, seldom feeling attached, even to my children. When Aella matured, I had to also contend with the renowned pridefulness of Lightning, as well as a certain stubbornness associated with Dragon-kin. Unlike you, however, it has taken me five decades to exceed a natural affinity of VI. As for Aella, our two-decade history grants me a conditional and proportional Lightning of VIII.”

“Goodness.” Gwen made a face. “How do you deal with it?”

“A mental technique is one solution. A method that allows me to distance myself from my immediate impulses. It was tiring when I first began, but the human mind is surprisingly malleable. If you find me sometimes cold, or perhaps divorced and unfeeling, my parallel meditation is to blame.”

That explains Walken’s charcoal eyes, Gwen realised. Walken always hid behind a mask of observance, measuring the effectiveness of every word uttered from his mouth.

“I don’t think that’s possible for me.” Gwen shook her head. She’d rather not turn into Walken 2.0.

“Very well. If you had access to the School of Enchantment, you could also medicate with a Calm Emotion,” Walken suggested. “Or you can custom order a magic item from our Faction’s craftsmen, which self-medicate when the need arises.”

“Let’s keep stopgap measures on the back burner,” she parried Walken’s second suggestion.

“Does that mean no potions, Geas, or Curses?”

“Curses?”

“Hexes,” Walken explained. “There are certain Cabals in Eastern Europe that still practice the old arts.”

“No thanks,” Gwen refuted the Magister’s advice. Pharmacological and quasi-magical solutions would have been acceptable, but not if they evolved into a dependency.

Across the table, Walken kept from commenting on her stubbornness, or the fact that after a dozen witches down Caliban’s hatch, Gwen could potentially hex herself.

“Very well then.” Walken exhaled gently. “Temperance and willpower it is.”

“You mentioned something about my Familiars,” Gwen reminded the man. “You said my master planned something around my future Familiars. Can’t I plug my leaks by doing something with Ariel and Caliban? Whatever happened to that?”

“You happened,” Walken grumbled, flexing his off hand. “But I digress. If you want to know, then I shall tell you. However, you mustn’t deride or grow upset at what I am about to tell you.”

“I won’t.”

“We’ll see. Let us begin with some theory. Earlier, I noticed you used the term leak—an apt if incomplete metaphor. For Mages, our Astral Soul naturally permeate mana into our physical body, where it then dissipates into the material realm. With Primary Elementalists, the ‘trait’ is prominent because the body of all living beings naturally consists of Primary and Positive elements. The traits we observe are derived from nurture and nature. Earthen Mages find their bodies hardened and fortified, but the phenomenon is equal parts elemental sympathy and best-practice body training to maximise affinity. Likewise, Fire Mages grow resistant to heat and cold physically and are excessively prone to passion. But did you know that if Fire Mages continuously suppress their impulses, their affinity decreases? It’s quite the dilemma. As for Water Mages, they grow averse to dry environs and are said to be easygoing—but really, they’re emulating the stereotype, falling into a mould of expectation. If so, are Water Mages laid-back and easygoing, or did they learn to behave like that? Now, as for quasi-elementalists like us, our metabolism becomes hastened. We grow thirsty and hungry quickly—” Walken wetted his lips “—suffer from insomnia, and have a reputation for pride and possessiveness—”

“Speaking of hunger—I bought a sponge cake.” Blushing, Gwen materialised an enormous orange sponge cake, an Australian staple, and a tea set for the table. As Walken had remarked, they had been at it for an hour, and their mutual affinity had made them peckish. “I figured some nostalgic Aussie fare would be a good ice breaker if things got awkward.”

Walken stared at the pink-orange cake, transfixed.

“It’s not poisoned,” Gwen assured him, cutting a slice, crumbling the hundreds and thousands. “That’s icing sugar.”

“Ah, well, thank you.” Walken took a slice, touched by the kindness of buttery dough. “I was not expecting… yes. Very good. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” Gwen took a generous slice for herself, then dug into the sugary treat. It had taken Petra and her the better part of an evening to figure out the batter. In the end, it was Richard who baked the cake, folding the flour into the egg froth with the deftness of a pâtissière. “You were saying?”

“Oh, yes.” Walken swallowed before he continued. “You and I, of course, are additionally blessed by Draconic Essence, which adds another layer of complication. Yours is purer than mine: Aella’s blessing, alas, accounts for little more than a commanding presence and a few decades of healthy living. Since you’re capable of generating Dragon Fear, I’d imagine it simmering at your throat at the slightest provocation.”

“The Essence has got quite the kick, that’s for sure,” Gwen confessed.

“Now, having rejected conventional solutions—excuse me—Heat!” Walken reheated his tea, added a spot of milk, then took a satisfying sip. As an Englishman, cold tea was worse than no tea. “I propose an unconventional method involving both of your Familiars.”

“Oh?” Gwen cocked her head slightly. Had it taken a sponge cake for Walken to spill the beans? If so, she should get Richard onto Lamingtons next. “Go on.”

“First, are you able to exchange mana with your Familiars?”

“I can give them mana,” Gwen replied. “It’s a one-way street though.”

“To empower and engage their innate abilities?”

“Yeah, Ariel transforms when fed,” Gwen explained. “It used to have a mongoose form, though these days it goes through ten shades of Kirin, pending on… how I feel, the time of day… and other things.”

“An enviable guise nonetheless,” Walken remarked. “And Caliban?”

“Caliban has many forms, the most powerful of which takes a quarter of my mana and virtually all of my vitality,” Gwen answered, conscious of her evasion.

“Good. Now, can your Familiars feed their mana or Essence back into your astral body?”

“No.” Gwen shook her head.

“Can you usurp or command the return of unspent mana and Essence?”

“No. I had consulted with Magister Wen, Instructor Chen, and even Magister Birch as well. They said that it was impossible without higher Affinity with my Familiars.”

“Oh? I am surprised Hufei Chen wasn’t more specific.” Walken raised a brow. “But I suppose that’s no surprise. As an Instructor, he doesn’t owe you an answer by any means, not to mention he lacks the necessary School of Magic to verify a potential solution. You see, Gwen, exchange of mana and Essence from a Familiar requires synergy with the School of Transmutation.”

Conjuration and Transmutation? She did a double take. The only Conjurer-Transmuter Gwen knew of was Lulan, though the girl’s Iron-Heart technique was far divorced from modern Spellcraft.

“The original spell, Familiar Transfusion, was a way to use one’s Familiar as additional mana pool,” Walken explained. “Unfortunately, the original designer wasn’t a Creature Mage and merely employed his cuy as a means to squirrel away an emergency supply.”

“A cuy?” She cocked her head, imagining a monstrously mystical creature.

“It’s er… a rodent,” Walken explained, making a shape with his hands like a man moving an invisible mouse. “Akin to a hamster.”

“Oo, cute!”

“Mmm, yes,” Walken cleared his throat, thinking he’d likely have given up Conjuration altogether if gerbils were the best he could manage. “BUT—his spell had a propensity to incapacitate his Familiar while in use.”

Gwen imagined a jiggly, puffed up, balloon-shaped cuy.

“For now, I propose that you could use Ariel to ‘stow’ your mana leaks, allowing you to manage your Lightning Affinity and Draconic Essence.”

“But then Ariel would be stuck in its Kirin form,” Gwen noted.

“Only in combat, while you balance Void and Lightning elements within your astral body,” Walken nodded. “You have tapped into tier II Divination, yes?”

“I have.”

“Good.” Walken nibbled on the sponge cake, then dabbed his lip with a pocket-hankie. “Use Perceive Self to set a gauge of your mana mix, then adjust accordingly. Of course, the prototype Familiar Transfusion won’t do. I’ll have to redesign it so that its transfusion and storage capacities are diminished enough to service your combat needs. After that, in the heat of combat at least, your affinities should achieve a temporary balance.”

“Question. Does learning Transfusion mean I can syphon vitality from Caliban?”

“I don’t see why not.” Walken said.

“As simple as that?”

“Synergy is never that simple,” Walken answered blatantly. “It’ll be a work in progress. Do you always count your cockatrices before they hatch? Remember, it’s all conjecture at this point. We’re breaking new ground.”

“I see.” Gwen sipped from her cup: as one brought up in an apartment like a peasant, she drank her tea cold. “One more thing, Eric, can you teach me Perceive Self?”

“No.”

“But you know it.” Gwen mumbled.

“I do.”

“Teach me!”

“It’s not my spell to teach!” Walken growled. “Are you attempting to entrap me with intellectual theft as well?”

“Ah…” Gwen blushed. She was too used to Magisters teaching her open-source spells or giving up their unique magic as favours. “Sorry.”

“Humph. On that front, I want to say something for your benefit, so you better keep your earlier promise. If you want a cost-effective end to your problems, buy some demi-human fodder for Caliban. We can’t find you Void beings or creatures to Consume, but you can upgrade Caliban to a humanoid form. I believe that may have been Henry’s intention,” Walken stated stoically. “Before you start your bleeding-heart complaints, note that these demi-humans are chattel either way, they’re meat for the scholarly inclined Magister whether you buy them or not: if so, why not you?”

Gwen stared.

“There. Think about it. That’s the last and only time I will implore you.”

And with that, the congenial atmosphere turned frigid.

Walken’s captive audience of one stabbed her next piece of cake. Her advisor wasn’t illogical, but the man was morally bankrupt. Of course, she had to acknowledge the hypocrisy of having Consumed Merfolk when she had travelled with Jun, as well as a sapient Dragon-kin. In practice, her revulsion over Walken was no better than someone with a belly full of Kobe beef campaigning for PETA. But the act of purchasing demi-human ‘stock’ to test a hypothesis? Even if she verified Caliban’s ascension would work wonders for her dilemma, could she consent to such senselessness? In a roundabout way, Walken’s Logos was that trafficked children got abused anyhow, so it may as well be her having a spot of fun. After all, no greater evil had been accomplished this day! How the hell was that an acceptable code of conduct? Her master would rise from Sufina’s Grot to spank her black and blue! The Tower would accuse her of Necromancy!

They drank their drinks.

“I had a curious epiphany about your potential approach to the IIUC last night,” Walken suddenly changed the subject, a move Gwen gladly welcomed. “You and your Familiars are infamous up and down all the campuses in Shanghai. If so, why not abuse this fact? In my opinion, excess and arrogance should form the basis of your IIUC approach.”

Gwen’s lips formed an ‘O’ as she ruminated the thought.

“Yes, indeed,” Walken smirked. “Henry wanted you to be seen and recognised by the Tower, did he not? Easier said than done, I am afraid. Between you and me, Fudan’s a second-rate Magical University compared to Cambridge or Oxford, my old haunt. Though few could compare to your number of ‘Schools’ and ‘Affinities’, I dare say their Spellcraft is leagues ahead. At Oxford, any spell worth a damn would be tuned and perfected to within half a syllable by generations of Magisters.”

“Can’t help that.” She made a face. “Alas, I am a Frontier simpleton.”

“Which makes your statistics all the more enterprising,” Walken persisted.

“At any rate, someone with your ‘talent’ has nothing to hide. Instead, what we should do is advertise the fact that you’re an indomitable duelist whose very existence demands an inordinate commitment of resources.”

“How the hell is that a good thing?” Gwen furrowed her brow.

“Because your skills require hard counters. In which case, your team can pre-plan spell lists. Let me give you an example: you are in control of Morden’s Hounds, yes? Together, you’ll summon ten-odd Draconic hounds—”

“Seven plus Blood Hound plus Ariel,” Gwen reminded the Magister.

“Only eight?” Walken raised a brow mockingly. “Well, we’ll work on it. Across open ground, I doubt any team would want to face Lightning Hounds capable of pack tactics.”

“They’re Draconic Deerhounds,” Gwen interjected, feeling insulted. “Resistant to elements, strong as tier V Magical Beasts, telepathically controlled by Ariel…”

“… Right.” The Magister paused with annoyance before continuing. “I stand corrected. Now, let’s say you were to Mass Haste or boomerang D-D your Familiars behind enemy lines, to flank your enemies. Likewise, on open maps, Ariel plus your dogs would prevent any ambush, track targets, or make hunting down large prey trivial.”

Gwen took to the advice with a greedy, eager ear.

“The point is—I would classify you as a specialist-class of Mage—a Soloist.”

“What’s that?”

“A contestant capable of besting any other Mage of an equivalent tier, using any School of Magic. There’s usually a few in the competition, so one may as well be you, especially as Illusion and Mind Magic suffer from heavy restrictions.”

Her eyes lit up.

“As a Soloist—your goal is to ‘eliminate’ designated targets from the competition. While your teammate’s job is to ‘peel away’ targets for you to devour.”

“Metaphorically speaking…” Gwen made sure they were on the same page.

“Right… Concurrently, you mustn’t forget that having a team member going solo is a tactic. You by yourself won’t be winning anything. The best teams possess synergy, and not just in Spellcraft.”

Pouting, Gwen cut herself another slice of cake. In hindsight, the man was right in that her spells rarely possessed synergy, whether with her teammates or within her spell list. If anything, she should work out a comprehensive list of by-products from her salad mix of elements and Essence.

“But let’s return to our original topic: how to make your opponents wary of your histrionic talents and therefore offer your teammates an advantage in counterspells.”

“I am sorry. Everything you’re saying is abstract to me,” Gwen confessed. She was beginning to realise just how much more she had to learn in the next six months. “I don’t understand half of what you just said.”

“My fault, I am afraid. Public Spellcraft Education was underfunded because I vetoed Henry’s package for state schools.” Walken shook his head apologetically. “Let’s think about this pragmatically. In the instance that you face off against a team, they are bound to have ONE Abjurer. You’re not someone easily stopped without a hard counter. Knowing you exist, opponents would have to include an Earthen, Dust, or Mineral Abjurer. In that case, let’s resolve that problem—

“One—I’ll teach you Thundering Shatter, terrible mana efficacy, long chant time, but it’ll do. Two—one of your peers can prepare a touch-based Shatter, Stone Shape, or Scattering Impact, pending their schools. Three—for an open-field competition, you pick your teammates for mobility, using run-and-cast tactics to outpace their stationary defence.”

“What kind of opponents should we expect? Bloodline Mages? Noble Houses, Clanners, Cabals, that sort of thing? There’s bound to be specialisations, right?”

“In a manner of speaking,” Walken’s voice rose an octave. “Spellcraft sanctioned under the Imperial Metric is a given. You can’t have random individuals throwing out long-lost mysticism with unknowable consequences. Other than that, regional competitors tend to represent geographic and historical microcosms. Asian casters are obsessed with their secretive ‘Clan Magic’ while European elites possess superior Spellcraft with ethnographic variations between England, Middle Europe, Eastern Europe, and the Mediterranean. Across the Atlantic, Meso and South Americans utilise a unique class of Spirit Magic. As for Africa—well, that’s a different story. The ones to watch out for tend to be North American Universities favouring Magitech. America’s a young country, and when a nation builds itself via witch burning and enslaving the previous inhabitants, it tends to favour magic of its own making.”

“Magitech?” Gwen cooed. “The Yanks can use items?”

“Only items the contestants have constructed themselves, with a nominated teammate as an operator,” Walken assuaged her dismay. “One year, they even had an NoM pilot. That had caused quite a hoot.”

“Fascinating!” Gwen tried to imagine the uproar of an NoM stepping out of a golem. “So, who’s favourited to win?”

“Who do you think?”

“Not us…” she moped.

“Very astute. I’ll start at the top. Oxford and Cambridge are finalist staples, as well as the Royal London Imperial College of Sorcery. LMU Munich is a strong contender, PSL Research and Sorbonne University in France came close a dozen times, won once. ETH Zurich, Utrecht U, and Moscow State have all had a turn to shoot for the top. The Americans have also staked their place—Harvard, Stanford, Yale, Princeton, the illusive MIT, we should be so lucky that they cannibalise each other before being fielded onto the world stage.”

“Just how many do we have to face?” Gwen scowled. Just hearing those ground shaking names in her old world made her scalp crawl.

“Ha!” Walken amused himself at the sight of her chagrin. “Two teams per region: Africa, Asia, Europe, North America, Oceania, and Meso-South America. You have to remember; the IUCC is objective orientated. In total, the competition accounts for thirteen slots, twelve teams from six regions, plus a seeded slot: usually the previous year’s winner—in this case, Oxford. Assuming you clear the Asian Qualifier, there will be four additional locations. Europe is a given, likely the US as well, and two other locations. The fifth match will take place in China: it’ll be your ‘home game’. Other than that, matchups are the luck of the draw.”

“So, six matches?”

“Seven,” Walken corrected her speculation. “Two to qualify. Considering how soundly Fudan was thrashed, your biggest competitors are likely Japanese, meaning two matches abroad. After which, I’d expect five matches, four overseas, one defending your turf at home.”

“What determines the winner?”

“Match points. In the ’80s, finals involved group duels. Those inevitably ended in bad blood. The IIUC is a spectator sport, you have to remember. Having children kill each other makes for poor sponsorship, especially when favourites were ganged up on and maimed. If you make it past Asia, maybe the CCP will finally broadcast the match, ha!”

“What if—”

DING!

Her Message bracelet chimed, displaying a previously unseen Glyph.

DING! DING!

“Sorry,” Gwen apologised, turning away. “Hello, who is this?”

“Greetings, may I ask if this Miss Gwen Song?” A female’s voice enquired.

“Yes, this is she.” This woman better not offer me a better rate on my Message Device, Gwen grumbled internally. Or ramble on about a Nigerian Prince needing a crystal transfer.

“Oh, thank Mao! My name is Nurse Xie from Xiangming Municipal High School. It’s regarding your brother, Percy Song. He’s been injured in a duel and is currently en route to the Second PLA Hospital. You were on his emergency contact list—”

“What?!” Gwen stood up so fast the chair shot out from under her like a Rock Shard. “HOW!”

The fucking hospital?! In a school with magical healing, her brother had to go to the fucking hospital?! Did Babulya know? Did her grandfather? Somebody is going to get fucked something serious when Guo finds out!

“I’ve tried to contact Percy’s father, but the Glyph is dead, do you know if…”

“Where is he now?” Gwen snapped. “Did you contact Secretary Song?”

“Secretary Song left us his department number so I’d thought I try you first,” the nurse answered awkwardly. “The medical Mages left ten minutes ago, so—”

She slapped her forehead. Well, of course, a school nurse isn’t going to call the chair of the bloody MSS to say that someone fucked up his grandson.

“Deep breath…” Walken appeared beside her. “Control your Essence.”

She inhaled and exhaled.

“Thank you; I’ll go to the hospital now.” The Message Glyph died. “Can we reschedule?”

“Don’t lose your head.” The Magister was completely sympathetic. Gwen felt the heat in her chest like a Fire Core of an Elemental. “Think of this incident as training. People you love are going to get hurt, either by accident or by virtue of your talent and influence. That’s just how it is. What would happen if you lost your head each time?”

Gwen’s mouth moved to form a polite thank you, but her lips felt paralysed.

Abruptly, without a word, she was gone from the training hall, leaving Walken with a quarter of a sponge cake, still glistening with hundreds and thousands.

Chapter thirty-five

Interlude: Percy Song’s Big Day Off

Xiangming Municipal High School had been famous since the yesteryears of Shanghai’s founding as a Britannic Mageocracy Concession. Now, eighty years later, its towering multistorey structure and generous blue-lawn campus sat in the Goldilocks zone of Shanghai’s burgeoning centre, in the heart of the Jing-An District, flanked by some of the most expensive real estate in civilised Asia.

It was here that Percy Song, first-year senior and younger brother to the infamous Worm Handler, daydreamed from a nineteenth-storey window, marvelling at the vista of Shanghai’s splendour and wealth.

In sharp contrast to the exterior, his homeroom’s decor was clinical and austere, akin to a monastery, its atmosphere made insensate by polished concrete floors and pale chalk walls. The furniture, likewise, was ascetic and severe, industrial in its combination of steel and oak.

“Yo! Xiao-Song!” Percy tensed as a heavy, well-muscled arm clasped him by the shoulders. “What’s on your mind, Brother?”

“Nothing in particular.” Percy pushed the far-too-friendly young man away. It wasn’t that he despised male intimacy, more so that in Australia, guy friends were seldom so clingy. “Do you always have to be so close, Shun?”

“Ha!” Tang Shun, also a first-year senior, pulled up a chair, straddling the seat like a saddle.

“So, what’ll it be?” he implored his friend. “Are you going to take Captain Ma’s offer?”

“Of course.” Percy smirked, thinking of Kelvin Ma, a young man whose position he most certainly aspired to one day usurp. “Who would refuse an offer like that?”

“To think you were just a squirt six months ago,” Shun tsked, tut-tutting with his lips. “How the hell did you get so good so quickly?”

“I am training double shifts both here and at home,” Percy remarked defensively. “You know I train like a dog daily, and I spar every fortnight with Mages from grandfather’s department. At this rate, I am going to become a hermit Daoshi.”

“Ah—I wish I was a guan-er-dai,” Shun grumbled. “So much resource.”

“YOU ARE ONE!” Percy punched his friend in the chest, snorting with derision. “Your dad’s the Inspector-General of the Pu-Tou District!”

“Doesn’t count, he’s not a ‘central’ official,” Shun snorted back.

“Pfft! What’re you missing that I don’t have? Crystals? Instructors?”

“You want to know?” Shun asked.

“Yes, Shun, I do.” Percy was serious.

“A SMOKING HOT lamēi for a sister!” Shun’s lascivious grin grew from ear to ear. “Brother Song, I am telling you, I have never in my life seen a mēizi as pretty as Sister Gwen, want to watch that Lumen-cast again?”

“NO!!” Percy attempted to shut Shun down before the others could hear, glancing about nervously. “Nope. Nah. NAW. Shut up!”

“Come on! It’s not like she’s a secret anymore! Bring her to school! Don’t be so selfish. You can’t keep her to yourself.”

“We’re not having this conversation!” Percy shook his head vigorously.

“Whoa, what’s this about Percy’s sister?”

“Percy’s sister’s coming to school?”

“I’ll pay admission, Brother Song!”

Burying his head in his arms, Percy groaned.

The boys in class had known since last year that Percy had a sister in Fudan, and Percy had made it no secret that she was indeed the infamous Worm Handler, famed around Gouding Road. It was a childish thing to do, he knew, one that gave his sister a world of trouble last year. At the same time, it also rewarded him eminence with the seniors, who refrained from bullying him or forcing him to take on chores, as was the culture in a school like Xiangming.

All in all, things had been chill until a few weeks ago, when one of the students returned with a Lumen-cast of Gwen duelling a famous Mage from the Tei Clan, going toe to toe with the Abjurer while wearing nothing more protective than a liberal sundress.

“Wait, that’s Percy’s sister?”

“That’s the Worm Handler?”

“Isn’t that the Flower of Fudan next to her?”

“Percy’s related to the BOTH of them?”

After the Lumen-cast made public Gwen’s beauty, his days of peace also came to an end. Upsettingly, even Instructor Chew, their popular Transmutation P.E. teacher, subtly enquired if his sister was single until Percy declared very loudly and carelessly that she was seventeen.

“S-SEVENTEEN?!”

Percy knew then that he had screwed the pooch.

The seniors exploded.

The third-years at Xiangming were only seventeen themselves!

How in Mao’s name was it that Percy’s sister was seventeen and svelte, enrolled in Fudan, while they moped about, losing hairs over their National College Entrance Exam?

The crowd flew into a frenzy and refused to relent until he gave up every secret on his sister, starting with her Schools of Magic, her elements, and her three sizes.

In response, Percy turned deaf and dumb, tuning out all external stimuli until those that bothered him went away hungry. As a little brother, the worst thing in the world was hearing licentious compliments for one’s sister. Ofttimes, the awkwardness was enough to make him want to slam his head against the school’s concrete facade.

“Mao! You’re always like this whenever your sister comes up.” Shun knew there was no talking to Percy while he was in his self-imposed catatonia. “Well don’t just sit there, come on, Practicals are next.”

Practicals took place on the bottom oval.

As a young bloke, Percy struck a striking figure, positively dashing in all of his uniforms, be it summer or winter, sport or formal. Thanks to proper nutrition and, ironically, the lack of training with his Salt talent from an early age, he was now just a few centimeters short of Gwen, sitting at a happy five-foot-eight as he arrived at the cusp of manhood.

Like his sister, he was long of limb, with a compact torso supporting a set of broad shoulders. His face took after Hai’s, possessing a well-chiselled jaw, a sharp chin, a straight nose, and dark eyes affecting a perpetual affability. The most evident difference between himself and Gwen was his honey-tanned complexion, owing to Surya’s Indonesian origins.

Though he’d only been in Xiangming for nine-odd months, Percy maintained a good reputation among both the seniors and juniors, far better managed than Gwen’s ambivalent treatment by her old alumni at Blackwattle Bay.

Unlike most schools in China, the school’s presiding Principal, Magister Nuì Renji, desired no quotas. Instead, he declared that Xiangming was a place of pure meritocracy, with an intake consisting of the top 0.2 percent of Shanghai’s exam takers.

The result was that less than thirty percent of the senior cohort consisted of girls, meaning the majority of the male students could only stare thirstily as their fairer counterparts entertained well-spoken days of courtship and bliss. As a direct result of this imbalance, the forever-alone students of Xiangming High took on a cursed moniker—the Thirsty Monks of Ruijin Road.

As for Percy, he was a certified lady-killer.

“Brother Percy!”

“Song gege—”

Percy waved at the young women greeting him from across the training field. Due to unforeseen circumstances, he was closer to the fairer sex than his same-sex peers.

When he’d first arrived at the school, the local lads had been too snobbish to welcome a stranger into the midst of their well-established cliques—but not so the girls, who found great interest in the exotic Eurasian Salt Mage. When they later found out that he had a sister in Fudan, the university of their dreams, the girls’ friendliness only grew.

“Brother, please open a path for us.” Shun saluted fist-to-palm in an archaic gesture for please, drawing giggles from the gaggle of girls.

“That’s right, Percy! Don’t leave us behind!” The fair-faced boy who intruded was one Percy preferred to punch in the face, but couldn’t find the gall to jeopardise his built-up position. He wasn’t Gwen, after all—there are things she seemed to do without effort that would make his life impossible.

“Pei.” Percy kept his greeting short and austere.

“Senior Pei!” A few of the girls warily greeted the newcomer. The Sword Mage’s skills were well known, though thanks to Percy’s prowess at propaganda, the lasses now figured Pei a snake in the grass.

Against all expectation, Pei Li remained the most likely heir of Huashan despite his catastrophic tussle with the House of Song. As for the boys’ friendship, the incident had frayed what little goodwill the two had engendered when Percy began schools the previous year. In a way, it was no loss, as Percy’s group of power-progeny friends held little regard for the Clanners. Like their parents, they saw Clanners as parasites sucking on the heart-blood of China’s great resurgence as a central power.

“Mei, Anling,” Percy greeted the girls, ranked by his heartfelt affection for each of them. “Leilei, Ming, Xiao-Jai. It’s lovely to see you as always.”

The girls giggled; open compliments were rare. Ones delivered so naturally were rarer.

Of the five girls, it was Mei Yang who held the title of the ‘Flower of Xiangming’ and whose stature and fame towered over the others. She was a scion of the Yangs, a Clan of antiquity, possessing the rare gift of Lightning. As for her craft, she was a Transmuter combining Western Magic with her family’s secret arts. To Percy’s eyes, Mei was wonderful, for the girl combined a compact and agile dancer’s figure with a pleasing, girl-next-door appearance. A quality he preferred over the heart-stopping visage Gwen assumed; particularly when flushed with Draconic Essence.

“Percy.” Mei slid closer. “So, are you taking Senior Ma’s offer?”

“Naturally,” Percy flashed a set of pearly teeth, glancing at Pei. “Standing shoulder to shoulder with Senior Ma is an honour.”

Seeing that Percy was ignoring him, Pei left the group. Percy watched the boy go, knowing that Lulan and Kusu had taken up with his sister from their adventure together in Nantong. Furthermore, Percy had found out from one of the girls that Pei’s faction were the ones behind the siblings’ plight. If the rumour held weight, he would see Pei squirm sooner or later.

“Mei, you look p-pretty, as usual,” Shun spluttered. Percy knew his friend had a big crush on the girl, though Mei had told Percy that under no circumstances did she have any interest in the muscle-headed Earthen Evoker. “Are you doing anything this weekend?”

“I am…” Mei wanted to say she was occupied, but she didn’t want to miss out on Percy. “Percy, what are you doing on the weekend?”

“Training.” Percy wondered if Shun could take the hint. “It’s sparring week.”

“Oh.” Mei twiddled her thumbs, glancing between Percy and Shun, blinking at him with her glimmering eyes.

“I am… free in the afternoon,” Percy relented, looking away guiltily from Shun. He couldn’t bring himself to disappoint a girl. Increasingly, Percy found pretty faces to be the bane of his existence. Already he had gotten into fights and duels a dozen times because some guy in school wanted to challenge him for Mei, or Anling, or some other girl with whom he was on the level—even though they were just friends.

When he boasted of his popularity to his sister, Gwen had this to say:

“Are you stupid or is your opponent slow? Mei belongs to herself, not to you or anyone. How the hell is duelling you going to get Mei to ‘go’ with them? The fact that you accepted the duel means you’ve gone down the Path of the Douche. Go and apologise to her on Monday, first thing, you bloody troglodyte.”

And so Percy did, relayed Gwen’s message word-for-word to Mei.

Afterwards, the girl’s eyes sparkled like anything.

Which was why for several weeks now, Mei had begged Percy for a date—to see his sister, arguably the coolest person Mei had ever seen in a Lumen-cast, a real-life Battle Mage, pretty as an idol, wise to boot, and most importantly, a Lightning Mage like herself!

Naturally, the students had taken the duo’s newfound intimacy the wrong way. It was now common knowledge that Mei Yang, the unassailable goddess, had fallen. All in Xiangming suspected that the delicate flower had stuck itself onto a cowpat stamped with the name Percy Song.

“Woohoo! Wonderful!” Mei squealed, jumping for joy, taking Percy’s hands and swinging them back and forth.

Feeling the softness of her palms, Percy took a moment to enjoy his female company, fantasising just how awesome it would be if he had a younger sister instead of a quasi-Draconian worrywart. “Thanks, Percy, I’ll buy you dinner after, okay?”

Meanwhile, Shun remained by the wayside, waiting for an answer that would never come. When finally Mei began to swing from Percy like a baby monkey, something shattered in his chest.

“YOU BASTARD! Hands off Mei!” A voice came from the wayside, more bark than human speech.

The speaker was the very devil Percy loathed to see.

“You refused my duel, and yet you dare approach Mei-mēimēi?!”

Together with Percy, the crowd collectively cringed.

Alain Yang was Mei’s cousin, twice removed. A brash young man about six-foot tall with the face of an aurochs and the constitution of one as well. The boisterous bloke was well known for his excessive passion, for he had inherited a bloodline variant of the Yang’s Fire talent, a fluke of nature that allowed his flames to burn hotter, stronger, and douchier, drawn from the ‘heart’ of the Plane of Fire. To Percy’s knowledge, Alain was the child of a side family, born in Hong Kong then brought over to Shanghai by the Clan. It was for this reason that Percy suspected his peer’s interest in Mei was twofold. One, Mei was the catch of the school, and two, marrying Mei would legitimise his claim to the Clan of Yang.

“Mei, get away from him!” the boisterous Fire Mage commanded ‘his’ woman.

Mei rolled her eyes, but said nothing, leaving the bucks to joust.

Percy liked that about Mei. His sister acted shy in front of her elders, but she was as much of a hellion as that friend of hers, Yue, and her confidant, the Scarlet Sorceress Alesia De Botton. Comparatively, Mei was a girl whose tolerance for the antics of people like Alain astounded him. If anything, Gwen had a lot to learn from her junior if she ever wanted a boyfriend.

“Hello, Alain.” Percy turned to face the young bloke with a forced grin. “What’s the matter?”

“The matter?! Stay away from Mei, you Gweilo bumpkin!”

“As you wish.” Percy stepped back—

“Good!” Alain grunted with approval. “If you know what’s good for you…”

—then placed an arm around Mei’s shoulders. The girl took it without complaint, her liquid eyes fluttering mischievously.

“Sunday afternoon at Fudan, then dinner—your treat. Is that alright with you?”

It didn’t escape Mei that Percy had left out some very important details.

“Anything you say, Percy.” Mei bit her lower lip to prevent herself from giving the game away, incidentally multiplying her cuteness. “I can’t wait to see what you’ll show me.”

“I’ll show you the largest worm you’ve ever seen. You can touch it, even,” Percy promised.

“Pfft! Hahaha…” Mei was in tears. She knew Percy was referring to his sister’s Familiar, infamous across the metropolitan schools.

The air grew hot.

“Fire Bolt!” Alain had just about enough of his fiancée’s public flirting with another man.

“Shield!” Percy’s barrier had half a second to spare.

“INSTRUCTOR CHEW!” Percy cried out in mock panic, his voice projecting across the field with ease. “Alain’s gone crazy again!”

“Alain YANG! I SAW THAT!” A roaring voice poured over the bottom oval. “STAFF ROOM, NOW!”

“I am going to kill you!” Alain screeched at Percy even as two prefects dragged him away. “Just you wait!”

“Sure thing.” Percy wiggled his brows. “I’ll see you at the Duelling Club, reserve-member-number-nine Alain Yang.”

Their audience, a collection of first-year seniors like themselves, burst into merriment. That Percy had previously bested Alain to gain Captain Ma’s favour was well known across the school. It was the reason why snitching to Instructor Chew was a gesture of hilarity, not cowardice.

Percy joined in with the laughter.

Though he had arrived as an ‘import’ student from overseas, aided by family connections, the Salt Mage’s growth had turned heads all over campus. In June of last year, the acolyte was only beginning to grasp his elemental talent, but when he returned to school in the new year, it was as though an ancestral spirit possessed him. Not only were his existing spells faster and stronger, he picked up Abjuration and even bits of Transmutation with the ease of a seasoned senior.

Teacher Lu had even joked to the faculty that the boy might have gone through a second awakening. After a brief investigation, it was revealed that the boy’s sister was the genius girl Fudan had picked up mid-May last year—the Lightning-Void dual elementalist. When another one of the instructors pulled a few strings, the faculty was astounded by the fact that the girl had confirmed proficiency in FIVE schools of Magic.

“What are they feeding her?” the head of Spellcraft demanded. “Spirit pills?”

In the old days, elite Daoshi cultivators wielded Transmutation, Evocation, and Conjuration concurrently; some had gone a step further and dabbled in Divination and Enchantment. It was only in this age of the Imperial Metric System that multi-school achievements became impracticable.

Conversely, however, none of the instructors faulted the Westernisation of magic: in the days of yore, a Clan would burn offerings to the ancestor when they were fortuitous enough to produce a dozen combat ascetics. Now, over twenty thousand Mages graduated from Shanghai’s two hundred or so secondary institutions per year.

If so, with a sister capable of tapping into five Schools of Magic, why should one be astounded that the brother showed promise in three?

“Okay, now that the eyesore is gone,” Percy grinned at the girls. “Who wants to spar?”

“Please be gentle,” Mei cooed, evidently still in a playful mood.

Beside her, Shun drooled like a fool.

“Look, er… I’ll warm up with Shun first,” Percy decided to do the bro thing and save his friend from playing the red-arsed monkey. “Come on Shun, show the girls what you got!”

At 3:15 p.m., after the academic schedule, students shuffled off to mandatory club activity.

The most popular extra curriculum was the Duelling Club, a place not infrequently visited by headhunters from the top universities. Not long ago, Kelvin Ma, the Captain of Xiangming’s District Competition Team, had received scholarship invitations from Fudan, Tsinghua, and Jiantong.

It was highly unusual, therefore, for Percy, who aimed for a scholarship himself, to be absent; enough at least to attract a comment from the captain.

“I’ll go look for him if you like,” the cocaptain, an affable-looking young man with a military crop, steaming with sweat, offered to resolve his captain’s query.

“More importantly, where’s Mei?” Kelvin Ma scanned the crowd. The girl was a close family friend, and he had promised his uncle to look after the girl.

“Maybe they’re together?”

“He better not be doing what I think he’s doing.” Kelvin scratched his stubble. He trusted Percy, to a degree, but Percy’s father had a reputation. With Mei hanging close to Percy ever since the boy joined Xiangming DC, he got the jitters whenever the two snuck off on breaks. “You know what, Don, go find ’em.”

Don Li saluted.

“I’ll bring em back safe and sound, or in pieces, if Percy turns out to be a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

Kelvin frowned unpleasantly.

“Hahaha, are you jealous, Brother?” His friend burst into merriment. “You could have any of the girls you want, you know.”

“Just… bring them back.” The Captain pinched his brows. It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want a girlfriend, it was more so that he didn’t dare. His family’s secret arts made no sense in the parlance of Western Spellcraft: what the hell does being a virgin have to do the rigidity of his Mao-damned crystals?

“Ah-Bān, get ’em!” Alain urged his bodyguard. “A hundred HDMs if you pin him!”

“Alain! Don’t you dare! Ah-Bān, back off!” Mei snapped at her cousin and his henchman.

“Ha! Hiding behind a woman!” Alain taunted with a sneer.

“Says the man hiding behind a brick shithouse! Come at me yourself, you little bitch!” Percy spat. “Salt Shard!”

Ah-Bān parried the shard with an infused forearm.

“You dare attack the future heir of house Yang?!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, what is wrong with you people?” Percy growled, rolling his eyes. “Gwen’s right, maybe you are slow. You ambushed us! The hell are you expecting? Should I roll the fuck over?”

“Destroy him, Percy!” Mei’s face grew flushed with excitement. It was always thrilling to have men fight over oneself, more so when it was her self-proclaimed dog-faced fiancé taking a beating. “I’ll take full responsibility. Let’s see Uncle Yang try to squirm out of this one!”

“Master Yang is too precious to have to deal with the likes of you!” Ah-Bān’s voice was loud enough to bounce off the walls.

“F—You know what? Suffer in ya jocks,” Percy couldn’t help but revert to a more comfortable slang. “Mei, you sure about this? We’re in public. We only have provisional licences.”

“Mom will take care of it, or one of my aunties will. Don’t you worry!” Mei assured her companion. “This is self-defence! I’ll be our witness. Who would take Alain’s words over mine?”

“Alain, you hearing this?” Percy held onto a half-incanted Shield. “You want to cut your losses, or you happy to play silly buggers? You are fucked either way, buddy, you’re a slab of raw fish, mate!”

“Ahahaha, oh Mao,” Mei rocked back and forth, shaking with mirth. “It’s carp on the chopping board!”

“Caonima! Ah-Bān! I want this sha-bī to die!” The novice Fire Mage exploded.

“Mei, get back!”

Percy watched his maybe-girlfriend retreat, safe in the knowledge that whoever got hurt today, it wasn’t going to be her. The other reason he wasn’t worried was that Alain was stupid enough to accost them while they were getting bubble tea. With a face full of peevish anger, Mei’s cousin had informed them that he needed to speak to Percy in private. When Mei said she would come along as well, Alain told her to go home, which resulted in her locking arms with Percy. Two blocks later they had arrived at an dead-end alleyway typical of the old hutongs. Still, with any luck, a city guard or a police officer would be along shortly.

“Rock Armour!” his opponent began.

“Too slow, asshole!” In front of Mei, Percy performed one of the most daring manoeuvres she had ever seen anyone execute. Using a combination of Spider-Climb and Enhance Dexterity, Percy flanked his opponent by stepping against a wall then launching himself into the air with ‘Jump’ so that his path of attack became diagonal and top-down, an angle difficult for anyone but Abjurers to defend with their Shield.

“Salt Shard!”

“Hammer Throw!” Ah-Bān, Alain’s bodyguard, was a house servant with two decades of service to the Yang’s side branch. From what Percy knew, he wasn’t the brightest Lumen-orb in the Storage Ring. A Transmuter, the man was a good bodyguard for an abusive, impulsive little emperor like Alain, but made for a terrible source of temperance if Alain’s parents had intended their son to stay out of trouble.

Crack! Ah-Bān’s slab of whirling stone grazed Percy’s shoulder, snapping away a chunk of pink salt.

Meanwhile, Percy’s crystalline shard pierced Ah-Bān’s rock-armour, drawing first blood.

Percy felt a heated rush of pride firing off his teenage hormones. In the space it took for them to walk from the bubble tea shop to the alleyway, he had secretly buffed himself! He was two steps ahead of his foes!

“Tough bastard!” Percy formed a Shield just beneath his feet, then used the layer of salt to launch himself away with another Jump. “Salt Smite!”

A blast of powder struck Ah-Bān, covering his defensive armour with blue-grey grains of desiccating residue.

“Don’t let him drain you!” Alain shouted from the side. “Fire Bolt!”

Percy Shielded himself.

“Hey!” Mei screeched from the sideline. “Don’t you dare, Alain Yang! That’s unfair! I’ll fry you like a fish!”

Alain’s bolt clattered against Percy’s Salt Shield harmlessly.

“Going soft?!” Percy laughed at the pathetic sight. “Good luck on your wedding night!”

“PERCY SONG!” Alain looked as though he was drunk. “Ah-Bān!”

“Come on, big guy,” Percy taunted the Earthen Mage. “First to Shield Break?”

“I’ll die before you dishonour Master Yang!” Ah-Bān roared. “Hammer Throw!”

“This isn’t the fucking feudal era!” Percy dodged another blow, flinching as the concrete wall behind him cracked. “You serious, big-guy? You’re trying to kill me?”

Ah-Bān glanced at his master.

“Get him!” Alain insisted.

“Mei, call the school! They’re going too far,” Percy called out, knowing Alain would pussy out any time now.

“Okay!” Mei raised a bracelet to her lips. “You are going to be in a world of trouble, Alain!”

“No, don’t!” Alain reached for his cousin. “Magic Missile!”

“Shield!” Mei erected a Lightning Shield, but defensive magic wasn’t her forte. With a sizzling ‘ting!’, a missile found its mark, striking her wrist and snapping the bangle.

Mei stared at Alain in disbelief, clutching her wrist, her eyes watering.

“Cao…” Alain’s face puckered like a wilted flower. “S-sorry, I didn’t…”

“Body of Lightning!” Mei rushed her cousin with a technique akin to Blink conjoined with Bull Rush.

“Mei, no!” Percy called out. If Mei succeeded in maiming Alain, they would all be in a world of shit. He needed her to be a helpless witness, not an accomplice!

“Master!” Ah-Bān likewise accelerated toward Alain.

“ARRRRRGH!” Alain wanted to flee, but three Transmuters were converging toward him, the intensity of which was preventing him from using his secondary School of Magic.

“Shield!”

Using his Salt Shield as a springboard, Percy was the first to arrive. He was confident that Mei would stop as soon as she struck his Shield, and that his barrier was strong enough to hinder the Earthen Mage, at least enough for him to dodge—

Mei rolled into Percy, square in the chest.

“Percy?!” his girl did her best to abort, but her Body of Lightning wasn’t the sort of half-assed technique that allowed for things like mercy. Despite her best efforts, the discharge from her invocation poured into Percy, paralysing her companion.

As for Percy, his mind was momentarily white-hot. Every nerve in his body convulsed as the electricity ate away his Salt Skin.

What happened to his Shield? Percy baulked. What happened to his buffs? For several months now, he had activated his Abjuration with a thought, as effortless as breathing. Even Kelvin Ma, the Abjuration prodigy, had marvelled at the speed and accuracy of his manifestation, praising it as but a step behind chantless invocation. For Percy, the faultless nature of his secondary Schools was his trump card, his ‘signature move’, it was the means of his selection into the team as a first-year senior.

WHAM—!

Next, Ah-Bān’s body slam connected, the man’s surprise equalled only by the force of his collision with Percy.

Like a carcass of cured pork, the Salt Mage rag dolled through the air, limbs akimbo.

Midway, Percy struggled to find something with enough purchase to halt his trajectory. When he flew over Alain Yang, he willed his paralysed limbs to move, reaching out toward the young man so that he could at least anchor himself to something.

Seeing Percy flying overhead, Alain ducked.

You prick! Percy recalled himself thinking as he caught a fistful of Alain’s hair.

“ARRRRRGGGGGNNNN—!” Alain screamed.

Percy’s trajectory continued, now with twenty percent more hair.

In the next moment, past a few stickybeaked faces at the entrance to the dead end alleyway, he landed in the middle of Ruijing-Second Road, the main thoroughfare of Shanghai’s golden commercial district.

“BEEEP—!” SCREEEEECH—

THUMP—!

The last thing Percy saw was a two-ton cargo truck. That—and the horror that he could not erect an Abjuration Shield.

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Glossary

Sanctioned Schools of Magic

(Sigils by Lampshade)

Evocation

The most commonly awakened school in modern Spellcraft, Evocation is a school that manipulates energy. Evokers become the mainstay of the citizen soldiers, wielding spells of Fire, Earth, Water and more exotic elements such as Lightning or Radiance.

As Evokers mature, they become more specialised in a particular elemental affinity, taking up specialist equipment, attunement and contract spirits. In the media and propaganda, the Evoker is the archetype Mage, the spell slinging, fireball blasting sorcerer of yore, tapping into and drawing limitless power from the elemental planes.

Abjuration

Abjurers weave spells that protect, block, dispel or banish. An Abjurer is a common but highly sought after profession. Abjuration makes shielding stations possible. An Abjurer possesses the unique ability to utilise restoration spells such as De-curse and the ability to dispense protective AOE combat buffs. Specialists in this field typically contract elementals of earth, ice and water, all of which are relatively common.

Conjuration

Conjuration is a school that materialises creatures or materials for the caster. A Conjurer becomes a one-man army after mastering higher tiers of magic. Through familiar rituals and/or contracting magical creatures, Conjurers gain lifelong companions that grow with the Mage in power. Due to this advantage, it is not uncommon for Summoners to become several magnitudes more powerful than Mages of equal tier. The disadvantage of Conjuration is the persistent mana drain caused by most of its sustained effect spells and crippling loss of combat potential to specialised Abjuration such as Banish. Certain Conjurers choose to focus on the summoning of items or beings. These valuable individuals are also responsible for the teleportation circles around the cities.

Divination

Diviners reveal information. They are highly prized for their cognisant abilities in detection and foretelling. Many Diviners go on to become telecommunication specialists, becoming key intelligence and strategist operatives who serve a multitude of critical roles. Other schools of Divination focus on disaster deterrence by reading the threads of time and fate.

Despite their lack of offensive capabilities, it is said that the most influential Magi on the United Nations Council is the Oracle of the Acropolis. Though the Divination school has no preference for elemental afflictions, it is a school that synergises well with subsequent studies of other schools. Many Diviners go on to become Magus or Magister.

Enchantment

The school of Enchantment remains the most difficult and expensive to train of all schools. Capable of imbuing items and buildings with protection, strengthening materials and extending persist phenomena, Enchanters are essential to humanity’s cities. The world's most successful manufactoriums and artisanal workshops are all operated by skilled Enchanters. Unlike regular Mages, many Enchanters seek to master additional schools such as Transmutation or Abjuration for the creation of magical items. A dangerous school within-a-school of Enchanters are those whose abilities allow them to control, manipulate and glamour the minds of others. Mind Mages are closely watched by government forces for the misuse of mind-altering effects on others could lead to life-imprisonment or banishment.

Illusion

Illusion is the magic of mirage, the altering of perceptions to create false visions. Many Illusionists go on to become involved in espionage if they choose the path of the militant. Many others, however, have elected media and entertainment, creating spectacles for adoring audiences, becoming superstars of immense prestige. Illusion spells which deal damage attack the mind directly, creating what is known as psychic feedback.

Transmutation

Transmutation is an unusual school in that it changes the caster and the objects they touch, manipulating the properties in powerful ways. In the present world, Transmuters become builders, architects and creators, working hand-in-glove with Enchanters. In combat, some Transmuters choose to specialise in manipulating life itself, changing plants, creatures and even themselves to become deadly and proficient in the art of war. It is said that Transmuters possess the most versatile school of all and enjoy the most lauded status after that of Evokers. An overall well-rounded School of Magic.

Biomancy

The Clerical School of Healing Magic has always existed in human history in one form or another. Some say that this was the original “school” of magic. In modern Spellcraft, Clerical magic exists between Conjuration and Evocation and is considered a hybrid school of magic. Exclusively, Biomancy requires mages attuned to the Positive Energy Plane. The combination of Healing Magic and Positive Energy often shrouds the Biomancer with a “halo” of sorts.

Necromancy

The dreaded School of Necromancy was banned after WWI following the Geneva Convention. Currently, the school is studied only by sects authorised by the U.N., arguing that the study of souls and the afterlife is inseparably connected to matters of faith, culture and religion. For many scholars, the irony of the matter is that Necromancy is most likely the most ancient school of magic in the world, dating back to the Egyptian pharaohs, in an age when man first uncovered magic. As such, it is more accurate to say that the summoning, raising and animation of the dead is strictly forbidden, as much of the old world turned into ash and cinder following The Great War with the Undead.

Other Schools of Magic likely exist but lie beyond the reach of the ordinary Mage. These include Faith Magic, ancestral worship, old world shamanism, naturalism, animalism and so forth. By the same measure, rumours of humans learning the magic of monsters, magical beings and Demi-humanoids, or Demi-humans learning human Spellcraft abound.

Elements & Elemental Magic

The Prime Material Realm

The primary elements of the material plane are what astrologists propose our world is made from. It is the very stuff of existence itself, existing in perfect harmony. It is suggested that when a Mage is attuned to a certain element, it is because an excessive element is present within their body. Though exceedingly rare, there exist individuals who are born capable of tapping into all four ary elements, becoming mages capable of manipulating wood and other natural phenomena, hypothesised by eastern Spellcraft as an individual element.

Prime Energy Planes

The Positive Plane—The Plane of Positive Energy is a place of pure life force. It is where the healers draw their power to heal and mend one's broken bones. The undead are fearful of this energy and the unwary caster should be as well. Too much positive power without the ability to channel it may lead to strange mutations and cancerous tumours.

Negative Energy—Where Positive is life, Negative is death. The undead are tethered to this plane, drawing their undead lifeforce from this domain. When living creatures utilise Negative energy, they suffer Negative drain—rapidly diminishing vitality. In the old days, the Mage world saw the Negative energy as just another source of power. After WWI, Necromancy became highly controversial, gaining a dangerous reputation as a forbidden craft.

Prime Elemental Planes

Earth—Earth is one of the most useful and common elements awakening in human Mages, it is the element responsible for most of our industry, mining for mana crystals, building our cities and so on. It is said that one-fifth of Mages awaken as Earthen Mages.

Air—The Elemental Plane of Air, as the name suggests, is a place of gases and open space frequently filled with thunderstorms, blizzards, microbursts, tornadoes and all manners of interesting weather phenomena. Of the four common elemental affinities, Air is the rarest.

Fire—Fire is another common element Mages manifest. Ancient legend has it that Fire was stolen from the gods themselves. With Fire, man has created many useful tools and beaten back tides of monstrous creatures. Fire is another common element for Mages to possess and the mainstay of Combat Evokers, Transmuters and Conjurers.

Water—Assumed to be a near-infinite volume of water, this elemental plane is pivotal to the survival of modern magical cities. The plane provides human cities with its supply of fresh water. Likewise, human cities pump their wastewater back into the elemental plane. It is theorised that the oceans are directedly connected to this elemental plane. Water affinity is exceptionally common among coastal communities.

Para-Elemental Planes

Ice—Ice is the most common para-element to Awaken in Mages. It is a supremely useful element that creates drops in temperature, being a combination of Air and Water. The Plane of Ice is said to be a tumbling expanse of frigidity with islands of glacial ice. Ice provides good defensive and offensive capabilities, as well as chill and slow effects against water-based enemies.

Ooze—Ooze is a stranger element, scarce and virtually non-existent outside of isolated magical bloodlines. Ooze Mages are specialists, depending on their school, with spells that focus on entrapment, debilitation, poison and other strange and mysterious effects.

A speciality of the Ooze Conjurer is the ability to summon creatures that exist within that elemental plane—Oozes. It is theorised that some oozes are virtually indestructible except by other specialist Mages. Ooze is a combination of Water and Earth. Mud is a derivative of Ooze, though far closer to the Elemental Plane of Water than true Ooze Mages.

Magma—The Magma Mage is unique indeed; a rare combination of Fire and Earth. These Mages are typically found where there are volcanic islands or fjords. Their power combines the physical prowess of the Earth Mage with the damage potential of the Fire Mage.

Smoke—Smoke is the marriage of Air and Fire. Smoke is an element that is said to only exist in legend. Very little is known about Smoke Mages or the Para-Elemental Plane of Smoke.

Positive Quasi-Elemental Planes

Mineral—Mineral Mages take their capabilities from the form of specialised mineral or metal to which the caster is attuned. As such, the element creates distinct abilities that differ from Mage to Mage. A Mage capable of summoning volcanic stones, for instance, would generate obsidian shards which are brittle and fragile but possess dangerous offensive capabilities. Jedite Mages create powerful super-dense defensive layers. There are rumours that King Midas was a Gold Mage.

Lightning—Existing between the Air and Positive elemental planes, Lightning is the most penetrative of all elements due to its electrical nature. Lightning causes stun and paralysis, in addition to manifesting instantly and delivering payloads in a fraction of a second. Lightning Mages are preferably Evokers, Conjurers or Transmuters. The Quasi-Elemental Plane of Lightning is said to be a place of plasma, ozone and endless thunder.

Steam—Where the Positive and Water elemental planes meet, one gets Steam. Steam is a rarely seen element. Only a handful of Mages are on record as having tapped into a Goldilocks zone where two elements meet in harmony. There is little known about the plane and its elementalists.

Radiance—Radiance is formed from Fire and Positive energy. Often mistaken for the power of Light. In theory, it should be useless—too scattered to be used offensively, too dispersed to be used defensively. It takes a special Mage, therefore, to change something so immaterial into a powerful projection of destruction.

At a certain intensity, Radiance is capable of melting through solid steel, boiling blood, searing flesh and severing matter. Not much is known about the Elemental Plane of Radiance.

Negative Quasi-Elemental Planes

Ash—A derivative of Negative Fire that manifests corrosive ash and black flames, Ash is the most destructive element in the array of elemental planes. Ash Mages rarely live long, as the element eats away at their minds. It is said that Ash Mages exist as tortured existences whose ruinous powers wrack their bodies with unbelievable pain. If one is Negative drained by an Ash Mage, one loses one's seven emotions and six desires.

Dust—Dust is the most stable of the Negative quasi-elements, next to Salt. It doesn't have any offensive capabilities of its own but enjoys the same corrosive ability drain as Ash. The most annoying part of fighting a Dust Mage is their ability to deaden all elemental damage. Due to its abrogating nature, Dust consumes Fire, Water, Air, Lightning, even Ash. It is said to be the most stalwart Abjuration Affinity next to Mineral.

Salt—Salt is a stable Negative quasi-element with the additional ability to form into a range of crystalline shapes. It's capable of dealing extreme damage to Slimes and Oozes, as well as an assortment of creatures composed mostly of water, including humans.

The desiccation caused by the Salt Mage draws out elemental water from the bodies of their enemies. Elemental Salt is different from mortal salt, found in oceans and sometimes in rocks. It is formed where Negative energy and Water meet. Salt is the least destructive of Negative quasi-elements.

Void—As the name suggests, the Elemental Plane of Void is a place of vast, perpetual darkness where strange, forgotten things lurk in a vacuum darker than black, always hungering. It is a plane consisting of the very idea of nothingness, a place where forgotten things end up. When manifested in the material plane, Void consumes matter, then disappears. Like Steam and Smoke Mages, very little is known about Void Mages. Arguably, the most famous Void Mage in Modern History is Elizabeth Sobel.

Spellcraft and Metaworld Lexicon

Astral Body—The cognitively generated projection of one's connection to the Multiverse, visualised via indoctrinated Spellcraft. Typically manifests as a humanoid silhouette with abstract details pertaining to the user's sigils and elemental affinity. Elements are perceived to be within the astrophysical body, while sigils manifest externally. Only Mages possess astral bodies.

Physical Body—No matter how powerful a Mage may be, they are still biological creatures that need to eat, crap and sleep, subject to Eros and Thanatos, life and death. The physicality of a Mage tends to reflect the degree of their elemental affinity. Most infamously, Earthen Mages have rock-hard physiques, Air Mages are frail and flighty, while Lightning Mages have quickened metabolisms.

Anima (Animus) —Drawn from the theory of the Meister Sigmund Jung, the psyche, the anima (male psyche and common vernacular) and animus (female psyche) inference a being's subconscious self-awareness. Only sapient creatures are classified as capable of possessing anima and animus.

Mana—The gurus of Hinduism refer to this as spiritual energy or Prana. Chinese Doshi denotes this spiritual energy as Qi. Early western theology referred to this energy as Faith or Zeal. Modern Spellcraft unified the term as mana, a generic word for mystical energies of any kind. The astral body produces mana as it interacts with Glyphs and gates, channelling mana into conduits of the physical body.

Mana Pool—The maximum amount of mana which a Mage can produce. When the astral body is no longer capable of producing mana, this is referred to as OOM or Out of Mana. VMI—Volumetric Mana Index—is the official nomenclature for measuring a Mage's mana pool.

Mana Channel—Often confused with the concept of a Mana Conduit, a Mana Channel refers to metaphysical pathways by which mana produced by the astral body enters the Mage's physical body. A Mage's Mana Channels can never be damaged without injury to their astral body.

Gate and Conduit—A gate refers to nomenclature describing the effect of non-elementally attuned mana becoming suffused with the Mage's element. This elementally-attuned mana then feeds back into the physical body. The pathways through the Mage's physical body are referred to as Mana Conduits. Damage to the physical body damages one's Mana Conduits.

Essence—A metaphysical form of energy derived from a being's existence. Referred to commonly as one's soul or spirit in ancient Spellcraft, contemporary Spellcraft sees essence as a hitherto little-known form of energy, separate from mana.

Creatures possessing great magical power and ego possess higher degrees of essence. Likewise, sapient beings typically possess greater essence than their non-sapient peers of the same subtype. NoMs, in general, possess little essence. human and demi-human Mages possess immense essence, a fact profoundly valuable to the study of Necromancy. Theoretical Spellcraft proposes that essence is tied to a Mage's ability to access particular Schools of Magic.

School of Magic (Imperial Metric Schools) —Since unifying the study of magic under the IMS during the Spellcraft Revolution at the turn of the twentieth century, seven Schools of Magic exist—Evocation, Transmutation, Conjuration, Abjuration, Divination, Enchantment and Illusion.

Hybrid School of Magic—Rarely, some Mages awaken with magic in between the Sanctioned Schools of Magic, belonging to no school. Of these types of magic, Biomancy, the manipulation of Postive energy and Necromancy, the manipulation of Negative energy, reign supreme.

Awakening—The term is loosely used to describe an Acolyte coming to terms with their first School of Magic and their affinity for an element. In frontier cities, NoM civilians are filtered, with potential Mages tested for aptitude. In tier one cities, Mages naturally grow into their powers, training from an early age. A stimuli crystal may be used to induce an Awakening, circulating mana into the recipient as to jolt their astral bodies into existence.

Spellcraft—The study of magic. The Imperial Metric System (IMS) splits spells into nine Tiers.

Advanced Spellcraft Theorems—Spells whose theory and manifestation fall outside existing methodology. Most universities study advanced Spellcraft to push past the current boundaries of human knowledge of magic. Those who contribute significantly to this study are awarded the title of Meister.

Sanctioned and Unsanctioned Magic—Sanctioned magic may be purchased by Tower Mages with LDMs, HDMs and CCs. Unsanctioned magic may only be acquired through petition. If a Mage is found practising unlicensed unsanctioned magic, they are subject to severe punishments and even disbarment.

Sigil—A spiritual manifestation of one's affinity for particular forms of magic, tied to the generation of one's astral body during Awakening. Each School of Magic possesses a unique sigil under the IMS visualisation doctrine.

Glyph—Sigils exist only in one's mind. When Mages wish to manifest the concept of sigils externally, they turn to glyphs. Glyphs vary but may be thought of as symbols of power capable of channelling magical energy as though a man-made conduit existing outside the Mage's body. Magic items and enchantments such as wards rely exclusively on complex glyphs and mandalas.

Mandala—Originating from Tibetian mysticism, Mandala refers to large-scale, complex glyph arrays used to support complex Spellcraft manifestations.

Spell—A series of incantations both somatic and verbal which triggers magical phenomena when exercised with mana from a Mage's astral body.

Rite—A spell requiring time, preparation and setup. Typically includes meditation, ritual and complex external components. Rites include city-wide strategic-class spells.

Incantation—Invocations with somatic and verbal components. These are mnemonics which manifest magic through sigils. The higher the tier of magic, the more complex and convoluted the number of major and minor incantations. Senior and experienced Mages may specialise in particular spells so that they become “silent”.

Shield (Mage) —Shield refers to the mental ability of Mages to form a barrier of mana around their physical bodies. Even without training, Mages are capable of manifesting a membrane of mana projected just outside their physical body, which displaces hostile mana and foreign objects. Abjuration specialises in forming persistent shields and shields that can manifest on Mages other than the caster.

Acolyte—Neophytes and Acolytes are the colloquial names for beginner Mages. The moniker of Mage or Senior Mage is given to those with mastery over at least one School of Magic, meaning access to spells over tier IV.

Magus—A Magus is an arcanist who has gained multiple Schools of Magic through talent or laborious study. To be called a Magus in public, the Mage must undergo examination within a Tower.

Magister—Likewise, a Magister is a peer-reviewed, publically-sanctioned Magic Caster. Unlike the moniker of Magus, Magister is a title that comes with the weight of public service and responsibility of upholding the Tower's interest.

Meister—A Meister is a Magister, but not all Magisters can become a Meister. A Meister is a Mage who has contributed significant advancement to Spellcraft, and whose work benefits all of mankind. Claude Van Saint, the famous healer who pioneered modern magical medicine, is a Meister. Philo R. Farnsworth, the man responsible for proving that Illusions may exist as a form of media stored in capture crystals, is a Meister. As powerful as famous individuals like Henry Kilroy have been, his preference for keeping his studies wrapt and secret excludes him from the title of Meister.

Magi— A Mage whose power and command over Spellcraft exceed sanctioned limits, going beyond the nine tiers. A Magi rarely concerns themselves with worldly affairs. They are seen as humanity's greatest deterrence against demi-human and magical creature incursions. It is unfortunate that Magi are typically old and venerable.

Sanctioned Mage—A Mage registered under a Tower, beholden to its laws, codes of conduct, and ethics for the public practice of Spellcraft.

Rogue Mage— A Free Mage that is not registered, practices magic freely and therefore is perceived as dangerous to society.

Tier (spell) —Tier I to IX of Spellcraft. Tiers – I to III is accessible to almost all Mages. This tier is capable of combating individuals, as well as groups of Monsters. Tiers – IV to VI exists within the realm of all Maguses as well as most Senior Mages with a single School of Magic. This tier is capable of wiping out monster lairs and demi-human villages. Tier –VII to IX is open usually to Magisters for reasons of both academic access as well as state sanction. High tiers of magic can act as strategic class spells capable of wiping out cities.

Tier (Affinity) —The attunement of a Mage to their element. The higher the affinity, the higher the efficacy for damage and mana cost. As Affinity grows, damage increases by a magnitude of ten percent for every observable tier. Likewise, mana cost for spells decreases with higher affinity. Though damage increase appears to be on a linear scale, mana cost suffers from diminishing returns. As such, a spell will never be “free”.

Higher affinity likewise involves physiological and psychological changes for the Mage in question. Some examples are provided below, taken from the story-in-progress. Fire Mages are often hot-tempered and over-zealous, possessing a short fuse. Physiologically, they gain resistance to cold and heat. Air Mages become fragile and whispy, becoming airy and flighty in their mannerisms. Earthen Mages undergo the most profound physiological change, becoming taller and more robust, with enhanced musculature, increasing both strength and fortitude. Water Mages are known to be pliable and easily convinced, with personalities that like water, and are capable of fitting any vessel. Lightning Mages gain increased metabolism, becoming prideful and possessive beings. Ash Mages are known to become apathetic. Their emotions become dulled by the continued practice of Ash Magic until they waste away. Void Mages are rumoured to exhibit extreme hunger, both physiologically and in terms of their psychological demands. Ooze Mages are said to be slothful and lazy, unmotivated and uninspired. Mineral Mages become dispassionate and pragmatic, often their eyes take on the likeness of their attuned mineral element. Positive Energy Mages are ubiquitously known to be amiable, friendly and full of life and vigour, possessing a halo of likability.

Tier (Creature) —A generic classification system used in common parlance to ratify the danger level of a particular creature. Goblins usually have a tier of I. A raid of goblins may be up to IV or V, an adult dragon up to XI. A leviathan with a swarm of mermen may be up to –twenty-five to thirty, requiring the mobilisation of a Tower or Towers.

Class (Monster) —Military lexicon for the number of Mages needed to pacify a threat. Soldier Class infers a single Mage. Lieutenant Class infers the need for a Magus or two or more Mages. General Class requires a Magister. Usually, a party of Mages may subdue a Lieutenant-Class magical creature. A party of Senior Mages lead by a Magus may defeat a General-Class creature. Some creatures, such as titans (overlarge monsters) and mythics (land gods) are likewise a part of this denomination. Class systems differ from nation to nation and are not an official Tower designation.

Wildlands—Lands not occupied by human cities, separated into zones.

Green—relatively safe for NoM habitation.

Orange—unsafe for occupancy, safe for Mages to traverse.

Purple—dangerous for both Mages and NoMs, contains hostile creatures that will disrupt human habitation.

Black—extremely dangerous for human habitation. Zone includes creatures that predate on humans. Environmental factors may also play into codified zoning.

Demi-Humans—Humanoid races that share the Prime Material Plane with humans. Friendly species include Nordic and Bavarian dwarves, Celtic elves, German gnomes and hobbits from New Zealand. Hostile races include goblinoids, dragonoids, harpies, serpentfolk, merfolk, mermen (Oceanic), lizardmen, dryads and other sapient beings capable of speech. Like most magical creatures, these beings possess a core. Some demi-humans are capable of interbreeding with humans. The majority of human cities are highly xenophobic and racially homogeneous.

Magical Creatures—Creatures generated by nature where the veil between the prime material and the elemental planes are weak. Current theory infers they are elemental creatures that manifest into the Prime Material. Magical creatures possess cores, which are condensed mana that serve as the anchor of the creature's essence to the prime material, giving it life.

Cores (Creature) —From the lowest Gobs to the highest ancient dragon, all magical creatures possess cores. Upon death, the core shatters, releasing the wild energies contained within. Interesting fact—ancient creatures have highly condensed and compact cores that are virtually impervious to damage.

Spirit (s) —When a creature possesses a high level of anima, its core may contain a spirit. Spirits are potentially found in all forms of creature cores, though typically, it is exceedingly rare amongst lower order magical creatures. For spirit-Seekers, the irony lies in that billions of low-tier creatures exist with a lottery's chance of possessing a spirit. While beings with a high probability of retaining a core upon death, as well as possessing both ego and anima, are exceedingly rare, they are more often than not incredibly powerful.

Spirit (Mage) —Mages dream of augmenting their elemental powers with a spirit. A spirit may be acquired through directly killing and harvesting cores, then bending the will of the anima of the creature contained therein to the mage's service. When successfully attuned, the spirit is absorbed into the Mage's astral body, becoming a part of the Mage's ability to channel elemental powers.

The alternate method of gaining a spirit is through taming existing magical creatures and opening one's astral body to the foreign spirit. This methodology is considered highly irregular and potentially fatal for an unsuspecting Mage incapable of melding with the entity.

Familiars—Typically, the Conjure Familiar spell is responsible for bonding elemental entities to a Mage's psyche or anima. Such creatures are manifested from the psyche of the caster. When a spirit is partnered with the Mage, the anima of the spirit usually takes the form of the familiar. When a spirit is bonded with a Mage already in possession of a familiar, it usually subsumes the form of the familiar and replaces it with its own. It is not known if familiars can become spirits through gaining ego and animus.

The Frontier—Originally a term denoting cities which were cut off from logistical support after WWII, the term has grown to encompass all human territories lacking geodynamic ley lines. Some frontier cities such as Merauke, Darwin, Chittagong and Izmir are little more than human havens eking out a living in the wilderness, serving as little more than trading ports and supply stations. Prosperous frontier cities such as Sydney, Singapore, Naples and Las Vegas, have a quality of life nearing tier one cities in all but name, lacking the geography, natural resources and political power to ascend into the status of a tier one city. With exceptions akin to continental hub cities like Singapore and Istanbul, the vast majority of frontier cities have limited access to Spellcraft and Magitech.

Tier One Cities—Cities built around powerful convergences of ley lines are considered tier one cities. These cities have the near-perpetual energy to supply to their internal and external shielding stations. To apply for tier one status, a city-state must pass muster with the Commonwealth Towers, joining the network of tier one cities.

Shielding Station—A stationary mini-tower built to withstand the elements, manned by abjurers and a patrolling team of Mages. At the heart of the shielding station is a Resonance Crystal which projects a frequency harmful to all beings possessing cores that are not attuned to a Mage. A Shield Generator Tower creates the resonance, visually manifesting as a shimmering wall or barrier, and additional, smaller station refract the shielding.

Tower—A robust structure with inbuilt Enchantments. A Tower can vary in size, function and power. In most cities, the Tower functions as a way-station, a bastion and a nerve centre for all magical matter. Even the most basic Tower includes the ability to amplify the manifestation of Spellcraft of its stationed Mages, the levitation of its structural body, long-distance teleportation and displacement, and the ability to act as a mass-communication Divination array. A tier one city's ley lines usually provide power to the Tower. For frontier cities with limited geodynamic supplies of mana, a significant cargo of HDMs is required.

The Towers—The United Nation Council of Towers (UN) refers to a coalition of all Towers from around the world formed after World War II's Beast Tide. Akin to the UN in Gwen's old world, the Towers sanctify and ratify the regulation of Spellcraft, the status of city-states, and mediate the conflicts of interest between human nations.

Tower (Commonwealth) —Towers belonging to the old British Mageocracy, said to have conquered more than fifty percent of all human lands in its golden age. The Commonwealth forms a loose factional coalition through a shared ideology of social democracy, English as a primary language, and mutual defence pacts.

Tower (Independent) —Towers not beholden to any specific faction and are wholly independent (on paper). Singapore, Istanbul, Tel Aviv and Hong Kong are examples.

Tower (State Owned) —Towers that are a part of the global network of towers but are beholden to their city-states or nations. Almost all non-independent towers belong to this category.

NoMs—Non-magical human beings, also derivatively known as No-Magic. In the frontier and tier one cities, NoMs serves as a labour force. The majority of NoMs work in agriculture and manufacturing, with a small percentile working in administration and other white-collar positions. Most NoMs, whether because of indoctrination or the social climate, see the possibility of becoming a Mage or introducing a Mage to their bloodline to be a way out of a life of oppression, poverty and mediocrity.

House (Mage) —A bloodline of Mages usually with a powerful or influential progenitor. A House usually includes three or more generations of Mages. A Branch House is when a potential heir, usually a sibling, starts a new House with the same bloodline.

Table of Contents

- 1. Green-eyed Gwen
- 2. To Her Door
- 3. The Cuckoo Crows Thrice
- 4. Don’t Dream It’s Over
- 5. For Thou Art with Me
- 6. Bookworms
- 7. Chekhov’s Dragon
- 8. Great Anticipation
- 9. Trouble in Paradise
- 10. Dances with Deerhounds
- 11. Six Degrees of Separation
- 12. I Have Become…
- 13. Who Let the Dogs Out?
- 14. Silence of the Apes
- 15. Monkey in the Middle
- 16. What Lies Beneath
- 17. Favour of the Father
- 18. Many Jasons in Pursuit
- 19. Loftier Ambitions
- 20. Figuro Magnifico
- 21. A Step in the Right Direction
- 22. Who Watches the Watchers
- 23. Credit Where Credit Was Due
- 24. Dai Harder
- 25. December Days
- 26. The Dumplings of Prosperity
- 27. A Tuft of Flower
- 28. A Tall Poppy

- 29. I Guess That’s Why They Call It the Blues

- 30. A Crucible’s Caress
- 31. The Devil’s Plea Bargain
- 32. Fingerpainting
- 33. No Source of Honey
- 34. The Milk-Tea of Human Kindness
- 35. Interlude: Percy Song’s Big Day Off
- Thank You
- Glossary
- Elements & Elemental Magic