Iron Prince: A Progression Sci-Fi Epic (Warformed: Stormweaver Book 1)

by Bryce O'Connor

  All this is to say, more succinctly: one should not confuse the bearing of a CAD with the bearing of heart and mind absent evil, jealousy, or fear…”

  - A History of the Intersystem Collective Military

  K.S. Villaseno

  Distributed by Central Command, Earth

  Camilla was going to lose.

  Logan Grant chewed on his tongue as he finally admitted it to himself, not quite sure how he felt about this understanding. On the one hand Reidon Ward was an upstart prick with an assignment Rank that should never have seen him admitted to the Institute in the first place.

  On the other… Reidon Ward was an upstart prick who had clawed his way up from an assignment Rank that should never have seen him admitted to the Institute in the first place.

  Logan’s tongue chewing turned into teeth grinding as he faced once more the fact that he had—at some unfortunate point along the way—developed a begrudging respect for the A-Type that had started at the bottom of the first year class. He didn’t deserve it. Ward didn’t deserve it. Sure, he’d worked hard, but so had everyone else in the first year class, and no other student had climbed more than fifteen ranks on their own since the start of term. Not one. It should have been flat-out impossible, regardless of an amount of outside intervention.

  And yet there was the User Rank—suspended before Logan’s eyes while he’d only been half-watching the others spar while he took a brief break from training—hanging under Ward’s name in the asshole’s portfolio.

  C0… He’s only two ranks lower than me, Logan thought, taking a quick swig from a bottle of water he’d called from the West Center’s service system.

  Again: it should have been impossible, but there it was. There had to be a reason. This, in fact, was the very problem Logan had been turning over for over a month, now, ever since Ward had hit the Ds in record time. Was it the Iron Bishop? That Valera Dent had taken a personal interest in the scarred bastard was an open secret at the school, but why not? He was an A-Type, like her, and the captain was rumored to have also recently brought Christopher Lennon under her wing. But was that enough to explain Ward’s meteoric rise out of the Fs?

  No.

  Logan frowned, the water bottle still hanging absently from his lips. There had to be more. There had to be. He might not like it, but there must have been some reason Ward had been allowed into the school, some portent of his potential matching that of the other cadets. No… No. Surpassing that potential. Otherwise why would the admissions board have taken the risk?

  And if Logan’s suspicions were correct, then not only had Ward ascended by climbing over the backs of his classmates for the last 11 weeks, but he’d been thrown a rope there was no way he could have earned…

  Logan didn’t feel his lip curl in annoyance. For the moment there was nothing to be done about it, and he had a more imminent disappointment on the horizon than being unsure of Ward’s secret.

  No matter how he cut the variables, Camilla was going to lose.

  “Dammit.”

  Logan didn’t realize he’d cursed out loud until he saw Mateus stir and look around at him, eyes wary.

  “What’s up?” the Saber asked in a light, friendly tone that ground Logan’s gears nearly as much as anything else going on in his head.

  Fake. So fake.

  Fortunately, he managed to keep that thought silent.

  “She’s screwed,” he said simply, a line of sweat dropping off his nose as he nodded towards where Camilla was sparing with Tad. They usually cycled—having every standard Type present in the group between the seven of them—but Logan didn’t miss that the girl had spent most of the last week finding ways to pair up with her fellow Brawler. “She’s screwed, and she knows it.”

  Mateus shrugged beside him. Whereas Logan had stayed standing, the blond Saber had taken to sitting and lounging back on one hand, the other resting across a bent knee. He cut a handsome figure, sure, but it was the kind of posturing that looked posed, as though Mateus needed to impress even when there was no one around to impress.

  So fake.

  “You’re not giving Warren enough credit,” the boy said. “She’s good. Not Sectionals good, sure, but she’s still good.”

  “And you’re not giving Ward enough credit,” Logan growled back. “The guy’s got two ranks on her, now. Plus—” he stopped himself, finding that the words he’d been about to say aloud tasted too bad on his tongue to voice.

  Plus he’s a better fighter, he thought instead.

  Mateus gave him a puzzled look, clearly waiting for Logan to finish what he’d been saying, but found himself ignored.

  After a moment he shrugged again. “Warren’s been training with Ward since the start of the term. He’s in her group. She knows him, which means she already has all the tools she needs.” He made a face. “Of course, personally I think the major should have just pit him against you and gotten it all done with. You or Khatri. You’re the only two summer-group members in the loser’s bracket right now.”

  Logan decided he would ignore the not-so-subtle jab at his loss to Aria Laurent earlier in the week. He had nothing to prove to Mateus Selleck, after all.

  He’d kicked the boy’s teeth in once already, along with every other person’s in the very training chamber they stood in now.

  “It would have looked too suspicious,” he muttered instead. “As it is it’s pretty blatant Reese’s has a bone to pick with him.”

  “Sure. But you won’t hear me complain about it. That’s exactly why Warren is the best fit for him. She knows him, knows how he fights. She might be a lower rank, but you saw his match against Jiang. She’s still got Strength on him, at the very least. Probably Endurance, too, judging by how conservatively he was fighting…”

  It was Logan’s turn to shrug. Doing so and swigging from his water again was preferable to caving in to his desire to put his knee in the Saber’s smug face. Yes, it was obvious the major was out to get Ward, and yes, it was true Camilla was the best match to achieve that end without Reese blatantly announcing his intentions by matching Ward up with another top first year, like Mateus suggested.

  And it was all exactly why Logan was annoyed at the world—including himself.

  After all, he too wished he’d been the one matched up against Reidon Ward, but not for the reason Mateus and the major would have liked to line up with their irritating agenda. It was all so underhanded, so deceptive. As with the occasion the Saber had taken it on himself to try and “teach Ward a lesson”, Logan felt like he needed a shower after doing nothing more than talking about it all.

  No. He had his own reason. Ward had spent a quarter of the year wasting the time of the Institute and its cadets. He’d made himself the center of attention during the Commencement Ceremony, then passed 10 weeks lagging behind and drafting off the hard work and sweat of their 1-A classmates as he’d climbed through the CAD Ranks like it was nothing. Sure, he’d made some friends along the way—and even brought one in Logan still couldn’t wrap his head around, no matter how often they argued about it—but that only proved the boy was as plastic and scheming as Mateus Selleck and all the rest of them.

  Indeed, whenever Logan thought of Reidon Ward, all he could see was the back of the A-Type’s combat suit as he’d fled from him during the one real match they’d ever had.

  The image made his blood boil, bringing to mind a different older face.

  “Cowards,” he snarled under his breath, ignoring Mateus this time when the Saber cocked a curious eyebrow at him.

  Fortunately for everyone in the room, that was the moment Logan’s NOED blinked, a notification flashing in the corner of the screen atop the edge of the ISCM profile he still had pulled up. Seeing who it was from, Logan felt the anger ease from his shoulders, knotted muscle he hadn’t even realized he’d tensed relaxing all at once. With a flick of his eyes he exited the database, then opened the message.

  Reading it, he just managed to h
ide his smile with another drink of water, the text below several animated images of a crying emote.

  Tell me I can take on the best Brawler in our class. Tell me I’ve got this.

  Then stop grinning like an idiot, jackass.

  CHAPTER 43

  Mid-October - Two Days Later

  “It’s not uncommon for the best of us to come from nowhere. Tradition. Blood. History. All that only means so much when it comes to being selected as a User. In the end, what our Devices and duty demand the most of from us is heart.

  Heart, and the willingness to sacrifice what we must to become as strong as we can possibly be…”

  - Colonel Rama Guest

  Funeral of Brigadier General Blake Horne

  Viv was in less trouble than she could have been, but in a lot more than was ideal.

  From the lowest row of the central view section today, Rei and Aria watched with bated breath as she retreated back up the grassy hill of the windswept slope she was fighting on. Around her arms and legs Gemela flashed purple-and-yellow in the sun, blades bright with silver light while they danced in front of her. Barreling up the incline in pursuit, the hulking form of her opponent dipped and ducked with an obscene level of grace for his size, dodging the testing slashes of sword and dagger both as he jabbed a solid piston of green-gold steel at her chest.

  Viv managed to avoid the strike by a hair, twisting away, but was again left retreating, laterally along the hill this time.

  “He’s got her backpedaling,” Rei groaned. “Backpedaling! Her!”

  “Are you really surprised?” Aria asked, trying for a smirk but failing as Viv ducked under a haymaker and threw herself forward to roll by the large boy, slashing at his legs as she did only for Gemela to ring harmlessly off his armored thigh. “He’s a Rank higher and was part of the summer training group.”

  Rei grunted, conceding the point. “I guess… This is probably the first time she’s been pitched up against someone better than her, isn’t it?” He paused, then glanced sidelong at Aria. “Uh… In an official match, I mean. Obviously.”

  “Obviously,” Aria said with a laugh, waving the comment aside. “But don’t put words in my mouth. I don’t think you’re right.”

  “Oh?” Rei asked, looking at her full-on.

  “No,” Aria confirmed, having not taken her eyes from the fight. “Benaly’s good—really good, even… But I don’t think he’s better than her.”

  Rei—loathing the fact that he wasn’t sure he agreed, for once—returned his attention to the field below them with a frown.

  Jack Benaly moved like no human his size should have been capable of. Without his Device he might have been an inch or two shorter than most of the other first years, but his CAD had proven to be developing extended, clawed toes, much like Annika Ivanov had shown off on Saturday, 3 days prior. It was an uncommon adaptation Rei had found out was dubbed a “lupine foot” by CAD scientists, and they brought the Brawler up to over 6 feet in height, after which his naturally mountainous frame gave Benaly the look of some ancient hero from Earth’s Grecian histories.

  Add that to the gleaming, green-over-gold-and-yellow of his Device—encasing both arms and legs completely—and the C1-Ranked Brawler indeed could have cut the form of a titanous demigod.

  “Oh!” Aria yelped suddenly, and Rei was brought back from his study of Jack Benaly to the fight itself. Viv had managed to sidestep a kick from the Brawler and had taken advantage of the opening to drive her dagger down at his leading knee. Benaly twisted away in time to avoid what would undoubtedly have been some awful limitations, but the point of the blade still caught the side of his leg, the stabbing tip doing what Viv’s earlier slash had failed to against the thick shielding. It cut through, punching into the metal, and Rei was pretty sure Viv had managed to stick the Brawler with a solid inch or two of vysetrium-lined steel before he hurled himself clear, diving into a roll down the hill that brought him up facing her as she chased after him along the incline. Viv cut with her sword, but Benaly sidestepped with no visible loss in speed and threw a punch at her open side that fortunately only caught her a glancing blow as she managed to parry it away from a direct hit.

  “Damn.” Rei cursed aloud. “No limitations? That guy’s Defense spec is ridiculous.”

  At his right, Aria grunted an agreement, leaning over her knees so far to watch that her face was practically sticking out into the walkway.

  Seeing the fight from up close like this was a different experience, Rei had to admit, and he regretted not having pushed the others to fight for better seats the week before. Still, it made no difference now, because with regular classes having resumed with the conclusion of the Intra-School’s opening week, the spectator presence at the matches had plummeted. Most—like Catcher, today—were limited by their school schedule, but there was also the fact that Rei had felt like the students—all the students, across every class—had been in a bit of a fervor since the weekend. Like those first days of fighting had lit a real fire under the already-driven cadets, Rei hadn’t seen anyone from their class not cheering on a specific friend or suitemate the day before, and not a single second- or third year had been present to speak of. Even their own little group had packed up and made for the East Center the moment Aria and Catcher had wrapped their matches for the day—both managing unsurprising victories—leaving the remaining combatants with a sparse scattering of spectators and applause.

  It was unfortunate, too, because some of yesterday’s losses had been second defeats, marking those luckless cadets as the first in the class to lose their shot at qualifying for Sectionals.

  Nope. Not dwelling on that. Rei forced down the knot of worry in his gut that started to form at the thought. All the same, he couldn’t help but glance away from Viv and Benaly’s fight for a moment to look over his shoulder, up into the stands. There, Camilla Warren sat—ironically not too far from where Rei and the others usually spectated from—accompanied by the usual entourage. Mateus Selleck and Tad Emble were both present, as were Giano Perez, Gathers—whose first name Rei had learned was Jeffrey, the week before—and Leda Truant.

  Only Logan Grant was conspicuously absent from the gang, for once…

  Warren didn’t look down at him, but Rei did catch Selleck’s eye, and the Saber graced him with a sneer before giving him the finger. Rei returned the gesture with a smile, then turned back as Selleck’s face shifted into a furious scowl, satisfied with that small victory.

  Not dwelling on that, he told himself again.

  As though on cue, however, his NOED pinged him at that very moment with a notice that made pressing the worry from his mind much, much harder.

  Rei took a steadying breath before speaking. “I’m up.”

  At his right, Aria stilled, then looked around at him carefully.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Good,” Rei lied with a nod, avoiding her eyes by reaching to pull his combat uniform out of his bag, which had been tucked between his feet.

  “Rei… You’ve got this. I’ve been telling you all week—”

  “I know.”

  He said it too quickly, he knew. Definitely unconvincingly, at the very least. He did know, in fact. Despite his lower specs, despite the fact he was aware Warren would be stepping into the field below them with a chip on her shoulder. He did know. He was probably just as fast as the girl, and definitely the superior fighter on a level field. She would be stronger—and likely better defended—but Rei knew Warren’s combat style as well as he knew every line of Shido’s black-and-white CAD bands with their layered blue. He’d spent two-and-a-half months training within 10 feet of her, and every spare moment of the previous week not conditioning had been used to review the recorded footage of her lost match the previous week, sometimes even under the desk during class. He knew, even just standing there, that Warren would open the fight with either a roundhouse at his temple or a cross-jab at his leading shoulder, and he knew how he’d resp
ond to both.

  He knew he had the fight. Honestly he did.

  But what if…? Just… What if…?

  Rei grimaced. This was exactly what he’d been trying not to do: let the fear get in his head.

  There was a loud series a screaming clangs, and both Rei and Aria looked up to find Viv in the middle of a violent exchange of blades and fists, doing a fair job of holding her own against the barrage of strikes as she managed to sneak in a few herself.

  He decided to try and take advantage of the distraction.

  “Wish me luck,” he said quickly, pushing himself to his feet and turning east along the walkway in an attempt to escape before Aria could try for more encouragement.

  He barely made it a step when her hand caught his sleeve.

  “Rei…” she started when he looked around at her, hoping his face didn’t betray any of his uncertainty.

  After a moment, though, she let her hold of his uniform slacken, her hand falling again.

  But not before they brushed the side of his palm ever-so-slightly, lingering there for brief, warm instant.

  “Good luck,” she finally settled on, giving him a smile that might have outshined the sun had the Arena roof not been shut to the autumn winds. Rei grinned back, feeling a sliver of his shaken confidence piece itself together again.

  Then he turned, and—with a surer stride than he’d sported a moment ago—made for the stadium underworks.