Chapter 183 - 184: The Gunslinger’s Answer

Chapter 183: Chapter 184: The Gunslinger’s Answer

The Grand Bracket arena was a perfect circle of black sand, thirty meters across, ringed with eight pillars of white stone. Each pillar was carved with the face of a different beast, and each had a lantern at its crown. Beyond them rose the stands, packed to the rafters, a roaring wall of faces.

Lyra stood at the east gate and checked her guns.

She did it three times. Chamber, barrel, grip. The pistols felt different this morning. Cheeky and Brenna had reforged them in the small hours, with a fine gold line down each frame and a new balance that made her wrist hum. She had not slept. She had not eaten. She had practiced her draw in the guest-hall mirror until her arm ached.

"You are going to wear a hole in them," said a voice.

Daniel was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, looking at her with that crooked, maddening, easy smile.

"I’m making sure."

"They’re fine."

"You don’t know that."

"I do." He pushed off the wall. "Cheeky checked them four times."

"She’s thorough."

"She’s terrifying."

Lyra almost smiled. Then she put both pistols away and stood very straight, with her hands loose at her sides, and said, in a small, level voice, "He’s a stage-four."

"I know."

"I’m stage three."

"I know."

"He’s been training since he was four years old."

"And you’ve been shooting since you were fifteen." Daniel’s smile did not move. "I’ve seen you hit a coin at fifty paces with your eyes closed."

"That was a *lucky* shot."

"It was a lucky shot four times in a row."

"Daniel."

"Lyra." He put a hand on her shoulder. His voice dropped, and the joke went out of it. "He fights angry. He hates being looked at from below. He opens his right palm when he builds a disc. That’s the only gap in the scales. Everything else, he’s covered."

"I know. You told me twice."

"I’m telling you a third time because I’m nervous."

She looked up at him.

He was not joking. He was pale around the mouth, and a tiny muscle was ticking in his jaw. The same boy who had slapped an heir in front of an entire guild, who had dropped a ceiling on a stage-four, who had punched a mountain, was standing in front of her and was, very faintly, afraid.

Not for himself. For her.

Something warm and tight moved under Lyra’s ribs.

"I’m going to win," she said.

"I know."

"And when I do, you owe me dinner."

"Add it to the list."

"A *good* dinner. With a real plate. Not noodles."

"There’ll be a candle."

"Don’t be stupid."

"I’m always stupid." He squeezed her shoulder once, hard, and let go. "Go. Shoot him in the palm."

She went.

---

POV Switch: Lyra

The roar hit her like a wall of heat.

She walked out onto the black sand with her chin high and her hands loose, and she did not look at the stands. She looked straight ahead, at the figure on the opposite side of the ring.

Long Tian Zhao stood alone, with the grey iron seal gone from his belt. His handicap, the doubled one, had lifted at midnight, and the aura rolling off him now was a heavy, golden, living thing, bending the sand at his feet. His armor had been polished until it shone. A new circlet of gold sat on his brow, and his hair had been bound back with a strip of red silk.

He looked at her for a long moment.

"Lyra of the Prick Family," he said. His voice was cool and measured. "I have read the reports."

"Have you?"

"A Gunslinger, Unique. Stage three. Bonded to the napper." He inclined his head, just slightly. "I do not wish to hurt you."

Lyra blinked.

Then she began, very quietly, to laugh.

"That is *adorable*," she said.

"I am being sincere."

"I know. That’s why it’s adorable." She drew both pistols in one smooth motion and twirled them, once, around her fingers. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"I do not."

"I think you’re afraid."

The crowd made a noise like a rising wave. Long Tian’s face went still.

"I think you remember what happened to your last two matches against this team," Lyra went on, in a sweet, clear voice. "I think you’re a very proud man who was slapped twice in two days and is now trying to be polite to the one person in the bracket who can see it’s an act."

"You are..."

"Mm-hm." She tilted her head. "Begin whenever you’re ready."

"Begin," said Examiner Qin, from the edge of the ring.

---

Long Tian did not waste a heartbeat.

He moved the instant the word left Qin’s mouth. A flash of gold, a blur of white silk, and the Dragon Scale Armor bloomed across his body like frost across a window. Every inch of him, throat to ankle, was covered in overlapping coin-sized scales. At the backs of both knees, new plates had been sewn into the gaps.

*He learned,* Lyra thought. *He fixed the knees.*

His right hand came up. Golden light spun in his palm.

The first disc screamed across the ring.

Lyra was already gone. Her feet hit the black sand in a smooth, light rhythm, five times her old speed, faster than she had ever moved in her life. The disc tore a long trench in the sand where she had been. She skidded, whirled, and fired.

*Bang. Bang. Bang.*

Three bullets, one after another, each wreathed in blue Mana Bullet light, whining across the arena. They struck the front of Long Tian’s chest and burst against the golden scales like raindrops on a roof.

He did not even flinch.

"Is that all?" he called.

"I’m warming up!"

"Then let me help."

Two discs this time. Three. Four. They came from every angle at once, screaming like dying birds, and Lyra threw herself sideways, rolled, came up on one knee and snapped off a shot. The bullet hit the nearest disc in mid-air and detonated it like a firework. Gold light blazed across the arena. The crowd screamed.

*That’s one,* she thought, and ran.

She was fast. She was very, very fast. But Long Tian was learning her rhythm, step by step, and each disc came a little closer. He had stopped smiling. His eyes were narrow and cold and absolutely certain. The black sand behind her was a field of craters.

*He’s reading me,* Lyra thought. *Like he read Daniel.*

A disc grazed her left sleeve. The cloth burned away. Her skin stung.

Behind a pillar, she dropped to her knees and pulled in a ragged breath.

*Think.*

She had one Sure Shot. One. A guaranteed hit, with a one-minute cooldown. If she spent it badly, she was finished. She had to wait until he opened his palm. And he would only do that if he was building something big.

*He only builds big when he’s angry.*

She stood up.

"Long Tian!" she shouted.

His head turned.

"Do you know what the difference is between you and Daniel?"

"I do not care for the comparison."

"Daniel wins because he’s clever. You win because you’re *loud*."

The arena went completely silent.

A muscle jumped in Long Tian’s jaw.

"You," he said softly, "are very brave."

"I’m terrified. I’m just talking."

"Then let me end it." He raised both hands. Golden light bloomed around his fingers, bright, dense, spinning up like a storm. The sand began to hum. His scales shimmered, and in the center of his right palm, for one tiny, shining instant, a small round patch of bare skin appeared, no bigger than a coin.

*There,* Lyra thought.

She stepped out from behind the pillar.

She stood alone in the middle of the ring, with a pistol in each hand, and slowly, deliberately, she lowered her left one to her side.

"What are you doing?" said Long Tian.

"Reloading."

"You *what*?"

"I’m out of bullets." She fumbled at her belt. A little cartridge slipped from her fingers and rolled across the sand. She swore, loudly, and bent to pick it up. "Give me a second. Don’t move."

A long, incredulous pause.

Then Long Tian smiled, a thin, wolfish, disbelieving smile.

"You are *toying* with me."

"I am *not*!"

"You are the worst liar I have ever seen."

"I’m a *wonderful* liar!"

"Then let us see how well you reload." The disc was growing, huge now, the size of a wagon wheel, spinning with a shriek that made the lanterns tremble. His palm blazed. He drew his arm back.

Lyra stopped fumbling.

She straightened up.

"Sure Shot," she said.

[Skill activated: Sure Shot. The next shot will not miss.]

She raised her right hand and fired.

The bullet crossed the ring in a single bright flat line, bending very slightly in the air as if it had somewhere better to be. Long Tian’s eyes went wide. He tried to close his hand. He was a quarter-second too slow.

It punched through the one bare spot on his body.

The disc exploded in his palm.

---

The sound was like the end of the world.

A white-gold flash blew across the arena. A shock-wave knocked the lanterns off six of the eight pillars. Long Tian screamed, a raw, startled, animal sound, and was thrown backward off his feet, skidding twelve meters across the sand with smoke rising from his right hand.

His scales flickered. His armor stuttered, went dim in patches, and fell away from his arm in a rain of burning coins.

The crowd had gone completely silent.

"That," said Lyra, sliding forward on the black sand, "was for the coffin."

She had no idea why she’d said it. It had simply felt right.

Long Tian pushed himself to his knees. His right hand was a ruin of blistered skin. His eyes were wild. He drew a ragged breath.

"You... *tricked* me."

"I did."

"You *lied*."

"I did that too."

"That is..." He staggered up. A new disc was already spinning in his left hand, small and thin and bright. "That is *dishonorable*."

"You tried to kill Daniel with a coffin joke." Lyra walked toward him, steady and calm, a pistol raised in each hand. "I’m not interested in honor."

He threw the disc.

She did not dodge.

She simply fired one bullet at it, a plain Mana Bullet, no Sure Shot, no trick, and it struck the little disc dead center and cracked it down the middle. It burst into a flutter of gold sparks, drifted down, and faded.

Long Tian stared.

Lyra was already on him.

She crossed the last five meters in a blur and slammed the barrel of her right pistol up under his chin, in the little gap between the helmet and the gorget where the scales did not quite meet. Her left pistol pressed to his temple. Her face was a hand’s width from his. Her eyes were very, very bright.

"Say it," she said.

"I will not..."

"Say it."

"I am the heir of..."

She cocked the hammer.

The click was tiny and horribly clear.

"Daniel never kills," Lyra said softly. "But I’m not Daniel."

Long Tian’s face went white.

For one long, silent, stretched second, the entire arena held its breath.

"I yield," he whispered.

"Louder."

"*I yield!*"

---

"WINNER," called Examiner Qin, in a voice that cracked slightly in the middle, "LYRA OF THE PRICK FAMILY."

The arena exploded.

It was not a roar. It was a physical blow. Eight thousand people on their feet, screaming, stamping, pounding the stone. The pillars shook. The lanterns swung. Fluffy was running along the front railing with both arms in the air, shrieking like a teakettle. Brick Head had burst into tears. Paul was shouting something that might have been "I TOLD YOU!" or might have been "I LOVE HER!"

Lyra lowered the pistols.

Long Tian sank to his knees on the black sand, holding his ruined hand against his chest. His face was blank. He did not look at her.

"Get up," she said.

He did not move.

"I said, get up."

Very slowly, he raised his head.

She slapped him.

It was not a Daniel slap, not a thunderclap, not a sound that shook the pillars. It was small and clean and brutal, a sharp crack across the left cheek, and it carried perfectly through the silent arena. His head turned. A small red mark bloomed.

"That," said Lyra, "is for Su Wan."

Long Tian touched his face with his good hand.

He did not speak. He did not move. He just looked at her, wide-eyed, for a very long time.

"I underestimated you," he said, finally.

"Everyone does."

"That ends today."

"Good." She holstered her guns. "See that it does."

She turned and walked toward the gate.

Behind her, very quietly, the heir of the Golden Dragon Clan bowed. It was not a deep bow, and nobody in the stands could have seen it. But Lyra felt it, the small, heavy dip of his head, and her chin rose another inch.

---

Daniel was waiting at the east gate.

He did not say anything. He did not make a joke. He just stood there with both arms hanging loose and an expression she had never seen on his face before, soft and stunned and burning.

She stopped in front of him.

"I did it," said Lyra.

"You did."

"I tricked him."

"You did."

"I used your trick. About the reloading."

"That was *my* trick?"

"I stole it."

"I’m honored."

"You should be." Her voice cracked. She took a breath. "I shot him in the palm."

"I saw."

"I was so scared."

"I know."

"I thought I’d..."

"Lyra."

He put both arms around her and held on.

It was not a flirtatious hug. It was not a joke. It was just a boy holding a girl, tight and warm and a little too hard, with his chin on top of her head and his eyes squeezed shut. She stood there stiff with surprise for about two seconds. Then she buried her face in his chest and let out a long, shaking, glorious breath.

"You owe me two dinners," she mumbled.

"I’ll make it three."

"Don’t be stupid."

"I’m always stupid."

"I know." She tightened her arms around his back. "That’s why I like you."

"Master!" Fluffy hit them both at once, a small furious cannonball of fur, and all three of them went stumbling into the wall. "MASTER! LYRA! LYRA WON! LYRA SLAPPED THE GOLD MAN! FLUFFY WANTS TO SLAP SOMEBODY TOO!"

"Not yet," said Daniel, laughing into Lyra’s hair.

"WHEN?"

"I’ll let you know."

---

POV Switch: Daniel

It took an hour for the arena to quiet.

Daniel sat in the fighters’ box with Lyra on his left, Fluffy asleep on his right, and a plate of fried dough twists in his lap, courtesy of a delighted Su Wan. Paul was telling a rapt audience of three the story of how he had personally taught Lyra to aim. Brick Head was crying into Mittens’s shoulder. Cheeky had the reforged pistols in her lap and was examining the barrels with an air of deep, private satisfaction.

On the far side of the ring, Examiner Qin rose with a scroll.

"The second match of the Grand Bracket," he said.

Daniel looked up.

"Will be between two participants of the fourth test’s first-place team." Qin glanced at the paper. His face, as always, was perfectly blank. But the corner of his mouth was doing something strange. "Daniel Black."

A cheer rolled through the stands.

"Versus..."

He paused.

The silence stretched out.

"Yun Xi."

There was a sound in the third row, small and sharp, like a bag of dumplings hitting the floor.

Daniel turned slowly.

Yun Xi sat very straight on her bench, with her hands frozen in her lap. Her face was perfectly, utterly blank. But her ears, small and pink in the torchlight, had gone completely, brilliantly red.

She looked at him.

He looked at her.

Neither of them said a word.

"The match," said Examiner Qin, "will take place tomorrow at noon."

In the box beside Daniel, Lyra put one hand over her mouth.

"Oh," she said, in a very small voice. "You are going to *lose* a dumpling bet."

"I’m not going to lose."

"You are going to lose *something*."

Daniel did not answer. He was looking across the arena at a small girl in grey, who had slowly, deliberately picked up her bag of dumplings from the floor and set it back on her lap. She did not look away.

She raised one hand.

She lifted a single finger, and pointed it at her own chest.

Then she pointed it at him.

*You,* said the finger. *And me.*

And she smiled.

It was the smallest smile Daniel had ever seen, thin and sharp and perfectly sure of itself. It was the smile of a girl who had never lost a race, and had lost one anyway, and had spent all night deciding what to do about it.

Daniel swallowed.

"Oh," he said. "I am in so much trouble."