Street Cultivation, page 34
When he finally checked his lucrim portfolio, he was surprised to find that it wasn't destroyed. If he had wanted to, Teragen could have shattered every Lucore he possessed. The fact that he was still alive meant that he had been spared, as he had hoped.
As the pain progressed, a few others occasionally visited him. Emily came once to confirm that he was alive and would recover, but otherwise seemed entirely preoccupied with her own concerns. He blearily taught her the defensive rituals that he had planned, even though she objected that he wouldn't be able to learn from her. That was fine - he'd gotten what he needed for the tournament.
One day Granny Whitney came in along with the doctor, carrying something that hung loose. He looked at it nervously until he realized that it was a rough yarn sweater. The doctor tugged off his shirt and replaced it with the sweater, leaving him a bit stunned.
"Uh..." Rick pulled at it weakly, both trying to find a comfortable position and to determine if the sweater was created with lucrim. "Is this part of the recovery?"
"No, it's part of your punishment." With that, Granny Whitney swept out of the room again, leaving him partially baffled and partially concerned that she'd left some horrible trap for him.
As his recovery continued, he gradually realized that this was neither something to help him nor a trick to drain his lucrim. But it was both a malicious scheme and revenge.
The sweater was extremely itchy.
~ ~ ~
Every time Rick awoke he felt a little better, though utterly distanced from the world. Once he was surprised to see Lisa there, apparently tracked down and brought to the location. He worried that something might be done to her, but she seemed more concerned about him than for herself, so perhaps they were merely letting her honor the deal.
He had a vague impression that her hands were strong and gentle, but he drifted in and out of consciousness while she worked. The first time he actually accepted a massage from her, and he was barely able to feel it. But when he woke up with her gone, he could feel a significant difference.
Piece by piece, he was being put back together.
Eventually, Rick woke up and he felt fine. Everything about him seemed to have been scoured clean by fire, but there was no more pain, at least not compared to before. When he flexed his aura, everything in his lucrima responded appropriately. When he tried to sit up, his body obeyed and he didn't feel anything tear inside him.
Dammit, he was still wearing the sweater. Rick tugged it off and threw it aside, noting that there was a terrible hand print scar on his chest from the final attack. Ignoring it, he pulled on one of his shirts from his backpack. It was light now, all the medicine that he had brought with him consumed in his recovery. But it would be worth it. Right now he was too exhausted to properly appreciate his own power, but once he restored his energy, it would be worth it.
As rough as it had been, he could feel that the Deathbane had done its work. Instead of breaking, his lucrima had struggled to adapt to the overwhelming power set against it. They stood no chance, but now the bar for raw power that his body understood had been greatly increased.
He padded his way from the room, not bothering to find his shoes. It seemed his room had been on the third level of the house, so he headed down to find the others. But when he found the stairs to the first level, he discovered that Granny Whitney was coming up the stairs toward him. Something in her gaze told him to wait for her.
"Finally, you're awake. I was beginning to worry that all of this was a waste."
"Is it that close to the tournament?"
"We leave in an hour, and you need that time to restore yourself. There's also one more thing." Her friendly smile turned sharp and she grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into one of the side rooms. Since she had helped heal him, he didn't resist, but he also strongly disliked the look he saw in her eyes.
"What is it?"
"You see, dearie, in all your frenzy to train as much as possible, you've been rather an inconvenience. I estimate your lucrim generation rate to be nearly 35,000 now. Even with that last leech of yours, that's rather impressive."
Rick was surprised to hear it and almost smiled - he hadn't expected to make that much progress - yet the way Granny Whitney spoke of it made him nervous.
"Here's the problem: I needed a featherweight, and the maximum generation rate for that power class is 30,000. All this extra power you've worked so hard for is useless to me."
He froze, instincts warring within him. The way she spoke so coldly, part of him was certain that she intended to kill him now that he was useless to her. Yet he knew that she wouldn't have paid to help heal him if that was her intention, so he forced himself to remain still.
"So Granny Whitney had to come up with a solution. What's one more expense before the end, hmm?" From her handbag, the old woman pulled out something new: an aura leech. Unlike the others, this one was pale white and pulsed softly. It strained through the air in his direction, revealing serrated teeth that he hadn't seen on the others.
"That's going to handicap me down to the class limit?" Rick asked. "Is that legal?"
"Within certain limits relative to total portfolio size, leeches are considered just part of a natural lucrima. If you had increased your power too much I would have had to cripple you permanently. Fortunately, this will suffice. Unlike legal aura leeches, this one will restrain you to the exact generation rate limit and no more. You won't have to pay it off, but I leave figuring out how to remove it to you."
Swallowing, Rick pulled his shoulders back and braced himself. "Well, go ahead and use it. I won't run."
"After all this trouble, dearie, you don't have a choice." She gave him a kind smile and then let the leech burrow into his chest.
The pain was intense, and a few days ago he thought it might have made him black out. Yet after what he had been through, Rick just swayed on his feet. Pushing through the pain with sheer willpower, he ignored the leech tearing into the heart of his spirit and focused on the old woman in front of him. "If we're being honest with each other... why have you been handicapping me since the beginning?"
"It's a trick." Granny Whitney gave a little shrug, just watching the leech to make sure it implanted. "I knew that Gerald and Alger would be carefully watching every candidate and making their own schemes, so I had to counter. For example, I kept my deal with Emily secret until the last second. With you, I made sure that everyone only saw you at your worst."
"Oh..." Rick thought back over the matches, how she'd given him pills that simultaneously helped him train and made him perform poorly. "And you made me collapse in my last match so I would seem like less of a threat?"
"That's right, dearie. I had a decoy fighter I was making a show of talking to as well, just to make them discount you completely. But I meant what I said the first time: you're a promising young man."
"Did... did you have to go this far? Surely just taking a few steps to hold me back would have been enough."
"Well, it isn't just the mind games." Granny Whitney smiled cheerfully and rubbed the fingers of one hand together. "There's also the betting... and the odds on you have become long indeed. The money doesn't mean very much to me, but Gerald always prides himself on beating the odds. This should be quite an embarrassment for him."
Learning that he was basically just a gimmick in Granny Whitney's arsenal should have upset him, yet Rick found that he didn't care. Yes, she had used him, but in a way he had used her. Provided that he could get rid of the leech in his chest - and assuming she really wouldn't come after him - he would end their relationship in a much stronger position. He'd definitely paid for it in pain and suffering, but now that he was on the far end, he would accept the progress.
"There's also this." She pulled some dark cloth from her bag and handed it to him. Rick realized that it was a high quality aura suit, designed for easy movement and manifestation of combat aura. Suits like these did a good job of absorbing aura, potentially becoming as durable as the fighter themselves. "I can't have you representing me in those shabby clothes."
"I... thank you. Anything else?"
"Just this."
Granny Whitney's hand snapped out and he felt her poke him in several places. His lucrima immediately screamed, beginning to burn in a way he'd never felt before. He dropped to one knee in pain... yet through the pain, he actually felt better. Broken and inefficient lucrim began to swirl, temporarily unlocking strength that had been restricted within him. Strange how Granny Whitney both helped and hindered him, so that he was restricted to the power class, yet fully able to use every lucrim within that limit.
"There! Now that's everything, I suppose!" The old woman smiled at him and began making her way down the stairs slowly. "Get dressed and come down as soon as you recover. No more time for games or preparations. The tournament is about to begin."
Chapter 47: The Multi-Tier Tournament Begins
This time, they didn't take the grandma car. Instead, Granny Whitney manifested black arcs of lucrim that solidified into an enormous black hawk. It shifted almost as if it was alive, but the side opened like a door, revealing a conventional interior. A normal vehicle could never have functioned that way, but as the hawk flapped into the air, Rick barely felt any disturbance.
It was all rather ostentatious for Granny Whitney, but Rick realized that her purpose now was to make an entrance. For her this fight wasn't about any of them, instead solely about making a statement to her rivals. As they soared over Branton, Rick tried to get himself into the proper mindset.
He'd been given enough philosopher's elixir to charge himself to full strength, but no more. Barring an emergency during the tournament, he'd received the last gift Granny Whitney would ever give him. Now he needed to pay his debts to her.
While he put on his seatbelt, he noticed Teragen glance at him briefly. The superhuman man seemed mildly amused, then he went back to staring at nothing from the floor of the vehicle. Rick decided that was probably all he was going to get out of him, and offering thanks would be useless.
As Rick looked around the interior of the lucrim vehicle, he found himself doubting that he belonged there. Even though intellectually he knew that his job was to compete against people in his same power class, he couldn't help but reflect that he was weaker than everyone there. Teragen was obviously above him, while Emily and Malati were a clear step above and even Anthony had twice his lucrim generation rate. He might be a power junkie, but that led him to develop a dangerous lucrima.
Granny Whitney had closed herself off somewhere near the head of the hawk, leaving the rest of them in the compartment. Rick realized that he had entirely missed the time spent together on the farm and wondered if the others had gotten to know one another. Based on the utter silence, maybe not.
"Alright!" Anthony stood up, which he wasn't supposed to do, and pumped a fist in the air. "We are going to crush this tournament!"
Malati frowned at him. "Sit down."
"Come on, aren't you psyched? Even the third prize rewards aren't bad, and I think we have a shot at winning the whole thing! This is something to celebrate!" Anthony leaned an arm on Emily's chair, leering down at her. "You are really wound up, babe. Maybe you can sustain that for now, but afterward... we're going to need to celebrate, yeah? I guarantee, I can help you relax."
Emily just... didn't respond. Not as if she was ignoring him, but as if she hadn't heard him. The entire time since Rick had woken up, she'd been in some sort of trance. Her aura whistled around her, sharp as a blade. In the face of her all-consuming focus, Anthony gave up and stopped hitting on her.
"Fine, be that way. What about you, Malati? Not that I'm propositioning you, but you can cut loose, right? I don't want this victory party to suck."
"I can relax just fine, but I'd rather not do it around a pig like you."
"Oh, come on. I don't have to take that from you." Anthony turned around to glance at Teragen, who still sat on the floor against one wall, because nobody was going to make him put on a seatbelt. "What about you, big guy? Any chance you're a 'work hard, play hard' type of guy?"
Teragen glanced at him and Rick was gratified to see that Anthony wasn't immune to the force of his presence either. Then Teragen looked away without saying anything.
Groaning, Anthony rolled his eyes. It was obvious who he'd approach next, so Rick preempted him. "I'm glad you're trying to take our minds off it, man, but I can't stop thinking about the tournament. I won't be able to think about anything that happens afterward until the fights are over."
"Guess that's just how it is." Anthony sat down in his seat and stopped trying to start conversation. It seemed like he'd gotten over his withdrawal, not displaying any of the symptoms from earlier. But Rick had known enough addicts to guess that Anthony was eagerly awaiting his next fix - the fact that he was addicted to raw power didn't change anything.
To take his mind off such things, Rick turned to look out the semi-transparent parts of their vehicle. Given that it flew at good speed, he would have expected them to arrive already. Actually... when he looked at the landscape more carefully, it didn't seem like they were going back to Branton at all.
He glanced around at the others, wondering if he should be concerned. Most of them were looking outside as well and didn't think it was worth comment. After staying silent for a while longer, he decided that he didn't want to sustain that much uncertainty.
"Are we not going back to the Underground?"
Anthony chuckled. "You don't know? For the actually important matches, they have a special arena. It should be coming up soon, I think - I never could keep all the generic countryside straight."
Peering ahead, Rick saw only one likely destination: a massive abandoned factory. It was probably part of the old Branton, the original small town that had been dominated by manufacturers. When the manufacturing jobs dried up, the original community almost died and the modern city had become the main heart of Branton.
As they circled overhead, Rick could hear the roar of a crowd. Were there really going to be that many people? He had been counting on the relatively small crowds of the usual arena, so the idea of going before a huge crowd brought back his concerns.
Forcing himself to look away, Rick instead pulled out his phone to remind him of what he had to work with.
[Name: Rick Hunter
Ether Tier: 16th
Ether Score: 238
Lucrim Generation: 34,850
Effective Rate: 29,999
Current Lucrim: 29,999]
[Rick Hunter's Lucrima Portfolio
Foundation: 3100 (Lv IV)
Offensive Lucore: 5500 (Lv IV)
Defensive Lucore: 11,300 (Lv VII)
Bunyan's Step: 4900 (Lv IV)
Graham's Stake: 5950 (Lv II)
Aura Leech: -2460 (Stage I)
Faux Leech: -1641 (Stage IV)
Tracking Bond: 100 (Lv XIII)
Gross Lucrim: 34,850
Net Lucrim: 29,999]
The familiar numbers helped him regain his calm, even if he didn't like being reminded of the new leech inside him. He might be weaker than the other fighters in the plane, but he was not weak. His foundation was more compact and efficient than his original had been, despite the huge increase in his generation rate. His primary Lucores were well-balanced for combat, and over 10,000 lucrim invested into defense was nothing to be easily ignored.
That was what he had earned with all his work so far, and he'd earn more. Hopefully removing the leech and absorbing what he learned in the tournament would help him prepare. During the tournament he'd be facing opponents of a similar class, but when he fought Mike there would be no such fairness. He didn't just need to win, he needed to win without being injured and while increasing in strength.
But none of that mattered now. Rick cleared his mind of everything but the tournament as they came down to land.
As their vehicle began to circle downward rapidly, he realized that they were not going to be simply landing on a strip somewhere. No, it looked like they were heading toward the entrance itself. Before he could ask anyone about that, a door formed in the wall ahead of them and Granny Whitney walked out with a serious expression.
"It's time to make an entrance, dearies. Don't make me look bad."
Though the internal compartment shifted to stabilize them, the hawk pulled into a dive. Rick gripped the armrests of his seat, expecting to collide with the roof, but instead saw that it had been removed. Within the factory's old walls, he could see an arena surrounded by huge stands. This didn't help his nervousness.
He wanted to ask how they were going to make their entrance, but the chairs and seatbelts dissolved into the lucrim vehicle, forcing them to their feet. The entire vehicle shifted as the hawk dived, becoming a single corridor. When the hawk finally landed dramatically, wings outstretched, the door lowered for them to exit and the crowd's roar swept in like a wave.
Going out there was the last thing he wanted to do, but Rick found himself swept along with the others as they marched out. They weren't the only team arriving, but in their complex lucrim hawk, they definitely attracted a lot of attention. It was uncomfortable to think about the crowds looking at him, so Rick just tried to stick close to the others. He noted that all of them had been given aura suits as well, though Teragen still wore his own clothes.
Anthony was raising his fists and playing to the crowd, while Malati just gave a polite wave. Emily and Teragen didn't respond at all, so Rick decided to take a page from their book. He noted that Granny Whitney didn't come with them, but the others seemed to know where to go.
From the central arena, which was a massive octagon surrounded by a cage of silvery lucrim chains, they headed toward the stands. A narrow pathway underneath led into a concrete area that seemed to extend below the stands. To distract himself from all the attention, Rick marveled at how much had been built. They had kept the overall structure of the massive factory, but replacing everything within must have been nearly as expensive.
