Chapter 188 - 189: The Grand Bracket — Part 2

Chapter 188: Chapter 189: The Grand Bracket — Part 2

It was a full minute before Elder Jian gave up and sat back down. By the time the last clone had delivered the last slap, bowed to the stands, and dissolved into a little puff of smoke, Heng Bao was lying flat on his back in the middle of the ring with a faint, drifting expression of pure peace.

"Three hundred," said the crowd, reverently.

"That," said Daniel to the sprawled body of the Iron Mountain Sect’s finest, "was for being loud."

Heng Bao said something that might have been thank you.

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Over the arena, a golden banner unfurled across the clouds.

THREE HUNDRED SLAPS.

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POV Switch: Paul

Paul had prepared for this match for a week.

He had practiced his wind forms at dawn. He had polished his boots. He had studied every recorded fight of Kaelen Vance the Third in the guild’s archive, and he had come up with a plan, a good one, with four contingencies, a distraction, and a very handsome finishing move.

He had not prepared for the drones.

There were twelve of them. They rose out of Vance’s shoulders like a swarm of metal hornets the moment the horn sounded, each one a hand-span wide, each with a glowing blue eye, and they spread out around the ring in perfect formation.

"Overclock," said Vance, calmly.

[KAELEN VANCE III. TALENT: OVERCLOCK. RANK: S.]

The drones screamed.

They were faster than anything Paul had seen. Every one of them flew twice as fast as it should have, whining and diving, trailing blue light. He summoned his wind, and the stage-three power poured through his body like a cool bright tide. His feet left the ground. The world slowed. He became lighter, faster, a rising green gust in a black arena.

"Wind Lance!"

A spear of compressed air screamed across the ring. It took three drones at once, smashing them into sparks. Paul spun, Wind Blades cutting a green X through the air, and two more fell out of the sky.

"Not bad," said Vance. He had not moved. He stood in the middle of the ring in a slim suit of silver armor, hands in his pockets. "My armor has analyzed your pattern. Its name is AEGIS. It learns."

"Does it?" said Paul. "How lovely."

He feinted left. He swooped right. He drove a cyclone straight at Vance’s chest. And the armor flickered, shifted, and bent the cyclone harmlessly around it, as if it had known exactly where the strike would land.

"You see?" said Vance.

Paul’s heart sank.

It’s reading me. He thought of Daniel’s coin. It reads patterns. I need to be unpredictable. He jumped. He dodged. He tried a dive, a reverse, a twist. Vance’s drones followed him through every move, smooth and precise.

A pulse of blue energy flashed across the ring.

It was not aimed at his body. It was aimed at his head.

There was a fizzing sound, a sharp smell of burning, and a long, terrible silence.

Paul put a hand to his hair.

The left side of his fringe, which he had spent forty minutes arranging that morning, had been scorched off at the roots. A small, curling wisp of smoke rose from his forehead.

He lowered his hand and looked at it, then at Vance.

"You," he said slowly, "burned my hair."

"Collateral damage," said Vance, with a thin smile.

"This is not collateral. This is a crime."

"Do you yield?"

Paul stood very still in the middle of the arena. A small gust of wind lifted the charred ends. He looked up at the cloud-screen, where an enormous replay of his own hairline was being shown to a hundred and forty million people, and then at the eleven remaining drones.

He breathed in.

"I yield," said Paul, with enormous dignity. "I have suffered enough."

The crowd erupted into helpless laughter.

Vance bowed with a flourish. "A wise decision."

"I want it noted," said Paul, in a very cold voice, "that I did not lose. I surrendered to preserve my appearance."

"Noted."

"And I will remember this."

"I hope so," said Vance sweetly.

Paul walked off the sand with his chin high and his scorched fringe fluttering. As he passed the fighters’ box, Daniel leaned out and patted him on the shoulder.

"It’ll grow back," said Daniel.

"It will not grow back the same."

"It might grow back better."

Paul closed his eyes. "I want a moment of silence for my forehead."

Nobody in the box said a word. After ten seconds, Fluffy burst into tears.

["Breaking news: I have officially formed a union. It’s called the ’Desperate Authors Local 404,’ and I am the only member, the president, the treasurer, and the guy who brings donuts. We have been negotiating with the readers for weeks now, and so far, the talks have stalled. Our demands are simple: one Power Stone per Chapter. Maybe a Golden Ticket if the Chapter made you feel something. A review if you’re feeling generous. A gift if you want to see me cry tears of joy into my keyboard and accidentally short-circuit my laptop. In return, I promise to keep writing Chapters that are at least 73% coherent, 20% chaos, and 7% questionable life choices made by the main character. I will also personally guarantee that no plot twist will be so ridiculous that you throw your phone across the room — unless it’s a really good plot twist, in which case, you’re welcome. So please, support the strike. Feed the author. Smash the Power Stone button like it owes you money. Leave a review like you’re writing a Yelp review for a restaurant that gave you free bread. And if you send a gift, I will legally be required to name a background character after you. They might die in the next arc, but at least they’ll die famous. ????????"]

Alright am just gonna straight up beg now....give me your power stone,come on it’s just sitting their.....