by Charles Dean
Lucas quickly scanned the small crowd of people gathered around the pit, and counted over a dozen young men and women, each with their attention fixed on the old man in the center. Patches of sand had been stained a dark red around the instructor, indicating that this was likely going to be more hands-on and less theoretical.
“You’re new,” a girl said as she walked up to Lucas.
Lucas nodded without taking his gaze off the older gentleman. “First time here. Just looking to fill in some of my weak points, strengthen what I’m lacking.”
The young woman pulled a long, curved black knife from her bag, finally pulling Lucas’s attention away from the instructor, and deftly wove it through the air, mimicking the same motion a fish would while swimming. “That’s sometimes important . . .” she said craftily, almost as if she were lecturing someone with a nuanced bit of information. “A small chink in an otherwise sound armor can end thirty years of memories, stories, hopes, and dreams.”
Lucas looked her up and down appraisingly. He had never heard someone talking about killing that way. “That’s an odd way to word it.”
“It’s not about how you word it; it’s about what the end effect is. No matter how expert the armor, it only takes a tiny mistake, one tiny opening or slip, and the man inside is gone.” She smiled mysteriously as she pulled out a small cloth and wrapped the knife’s blade in it before stowing it on her waist.
“I suppose that’s true--and all the more reason to fill those gaps,” Lucas reasoned. He studied her intently for a moment, but he couldn’t quite place what it was that made her look familiar. I know her from somewhere . . . but where?
“There’s always going to be at least one gap, no matter how great the armorsmith, and there’s always going to be a way through it. “That’s why the other option is sometimes better.”
Lucas thought back to his days in the company. Yu Hua had said something incredibly similar. The CPA, CFO, and everyone else had wanted to diversify at the time, arguing that it would protect the company in case something went wrong, but Yu Hua had told him differently. “We didn’t get where we are by being safe; we got where we are by attacking first. We bought competitors, not safety nets; we bought research and development, not stocks and bonds; and we bought marketing, not insurances in case our product never launched--so why are you backing down now? Stay aggressive. Don’t let the other companies catch up,” she had said. That was my Yu Hua. Her image passed through his mind, but it wasn’t clear like it used to be. Since Liu had started wearing her own skin instead of that creepy avatar that looked like Yu Hua, the image of his wife had begun to blur. Memories of his time with her played like videos on repeat, but a tiny, little piece of the memory was being edited out every day as he slowly forgot the details.
“Aggression.” The word left Lucas’s lips, escaping more than being spoken.
“That’s right,” she said, suddenly breaking into an earnest ear-to-ear grin. “Embrace your weaknesses, take off the armor if you must, and just be aggressive instead. If there are no stories that suit you, make one. Make it big, beautiful, and to your liking. And if there are people telling stories that hurt you, silence them.”
That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. I’ve been making my own story and erasing the ones that don’t suit me in this game. The story of Lucas the Villain. He grinned, remembering how he had captured a girl and rewritten her story just for the sake of his own.
“But just remember the two truths of storytelling: people hate it when a story doesn’t make sense, when it’s got plot holes and contradicts itself, and people always want to tell their own story first.”
“Is this the beginning of your story?” Lucas asked expectantly.
“You know, Lucas,” she said playfully, “you’re going to give a girl the wrong idea if you keep staring like that.” She turned her back to him then, suddenly feigning interest in what was going on in the middle of the stage.
Lucas chuckled, happy that the tone had lightened after the serious conversation they had just shared. “What if it’s the right idea?” he asked.
She turned and glanced at him over her shoulder, flashing a coy smile. “I’m quite the catch, you know. You should look at least a little happier about it. You should at least smile a little--if you think you have a chance, that is.”
“Hmm . . .” Lucas finally took a seat on the log that they had been standing in front of this entire time and gave up on figuring out who she was or where he knew her from for a moment. “Maybe the problem is that I already know that I can’t afford such a pretty girl. Looking is free, after all, but everything that comes after is not.”
“Oh, don’t be that guy who judges a book by its cover,” she commented wryly. “You can’t just automatically assume that I’m out of your league, can you? For all you know, I’ve got a ton of emotional baggage, I’m psychotic, and the only type of guy I’ll ever be with has to be like a pilgrim: dead set on spending three months in hell just to settle.”
Lucas shrugged. “Maybe. But you have to start somehow. There are more books being published in a day than anyone can possibly read. Why not judge one by its cover? Most people work hard on them, after all.”
She nodded and turned away from him again. “That’s a good point, but that’s not very uplifting to those great books with bad covers.”
Lucas shook his head ruefully. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” he said dryly. He knew that he was bordering on creeper status, so he cut his comments short and hoped that his Charisma was high enough to let him get away with certain obvious, cheesy lines without being branded as a lecher. Now that he had the bonus Charisma when dealing with women thanks to his new title, he was almost positive he could get away with saying whatever he wanted. Some people logged into the game simply to treat it like a romance simulator, and he was certain that they would have paid any amount he could name just to get such a bonus.
“I wasn’t worried about me,” she laughed. “It’s you I was concerned about. God clearly turned his water into wine and drank it all before drawing that cover of yours.”
“Hey!” Lucas snapped back, but he couldn’t hide his own laughter. “Don’t go being like that! I’m very happy with my cover.”
“Oh, of course you are.” She nodded sympathetically and turned to pat him on the shoulder as if she were trying to comfort him, even though her inability to hide the mischievous smile gave her mocking intentions away. “But . . . you may want to hit that gym and keep working on that word count. At least beef up those page numbers a little bit. That way, maybe, you know, you could drop your price and attract those bargain-hunting readers, you know? The ones who might get bored and give you a shot ‘just because’?”
“I’ll keep that advice in mind,” Lucas said, rolling his eyes.
“No problem,” she replied way too cheerfully. She stuck out her hand and said, “Name’s Lilith, by the way. In case you want to know whom you owe when you finally get your first reader.”
“I’m Lucas,” he answered, returning her handshake. “In case you were interested in the title with the worst book cover.”
“I know,” she said. “It’s why I came to meet the talk of the town.”
Ah, right. Of course, an NPC would have heard about me: I have a bounty on my head, and practically everyone is after me. Looking at her again, however, Lucas felt a little weird. He liked her. Not a little, but a lot. Her looks were great, her quips made him laugh, and he enjoyed the drama-free exchange. Everything just felt natural. But that made him want to kick himself. Didn’t I just steal an NPC from some guy only an hour ago? Haven’t I done enough already? Ugh, this game is a trap.
“I think this is finally starting,” Lilith said. “You’re gonna have to wait until after the show to finish this.”
“The show?” Lucas asked.
“Isn’t that what this is?” she asked with a note of feigned surprise in her voice. “One person standing up, putting on a performance and hoping
to leave an impression?”
“I suppose you could say that,” Lucas answered, instantly thinking of Viola.
As if on cue, the old man in the front stopped chit-chatting with the teacher’s pets and raised his hands, quieting everyone.
“It’s always good to see so many eager youths--and a few new faces at that,” he added, locking on to Lucas.
Lucas finally recognized who the instructor was: he was the one whom Lucas had lectured in the middle of town, the man whose student he had killed.
“Crap . . .” Lucas muttered under his breath. The old man’s animosity toward him was practically palpable.
“Ah, that’s right. You already know professor Res,” Lilith commented knowingly. “That’s good. That’s good. It’s important to know your teachers.”
“But,” the old man continued, his eyes still focused on Lucas, “I’m not here to create monsters: I nurture young minds and help them grow. I am here to teach restraint, patience, and kindness, which is why some of our new students will not qualify for my lessons.”
Lucas sighed and patted the top of his pet dragon’s head. Eri was clearly not happy with waiting in the back of the class as her master was insulted. Despite Lucas’s petting, she let out a low growl and stared fixedly at the old man at the center of the amphitheater.
“Welp, Lilith,” Lucas said as he turned to the girl next to him, “it’s been a pleasure, but I think that person is talking about me. It looks like I need to go find somewhere else to be.”
“There won’t be another class for you. I arranged it with the headmistress when I heard you planned on attending our little academy. I made sure that no other instructor would have anything to do with you. You won’t learn fighting techniques from me or anyone else here. You will be taught patience and abstinence instead until you learn to curb your wanton appetite for violence. Perhaps you should take this time to think about what you do and say before you act.”
Lilith began to laugh as the back-and-forth banter continued. It was only a sly little giggle at first, but it grew into a full, raucous hoot by the time the instructor finished. While Lucas simply found it odd, it seemed to infuriate the old man.
“What in the world is so funny, miss?” he asked, obviously trying to contain his indignation.
“Oh, just you,” she said after finally calming down enough to talk. “I was just thinking about how funny you are. I love watching you stand there and lecture him like you actually have any control over anything--as if he can’t learn something because you said he can’t. As if you have that type of authority! Hah!”
“I’m an instructor at this academy. How could I possibly not have that authority?”
“Well, I mean . . . I guess your ‘being in charge’ does explain your dead student, doesn’t it? Trash begets trash. And no, I’m not even just talking about his rotten personality. Although, I mean, that clearly is your fault too because . . . Well, I mean, look at you. You acted exactly like your student the moment you were afraid you might not get your way: you threw your imagined authority around and tried to bully someone that you didn’t like, and then you tried to use your status to get other people to oppress him too. But let’s not get sidetracked. I’m talking about the fact that he was an absolute scrub. I mean, you saw how quickly he died, right? It was like watching a toddler try to fight with a battle-axe. Part of me felt bad for him, but . . . Well, at least it was over quickly, right? I would have paid for an encore, but I imagine it takes a very special, rare talent to make me smile that much when a guy dies.”
“How dare you speak to me that way!” Res roared. “Have you no respect for your elders?”
“Should I?” She blinked as if dumbfounded and turned to Lucas. In the sincerest voice, she asked, “Should I respect him just because he’s old? Is that a thing? Do they actually do that here? Do I need to treat him with some sort of reverence because of his age?”
Lucas shook his head, simultaneously expressing his disbelief and answering her question at the same time. He automatically slipped into his role as the villain like putting on a now-familiar glove. A cocky grin spread across his face, and he spoke up so that everyone could hear him clearly. “No, that beady-eyed little brat was clearly the one who had no respect for his elders. None at all. If he did, he might have listened when someone warned him not to disrespect his betters. It’s obvious that no one ever bothered to teach him even a modicum of patience, restraint, or kindness. Perhaps if he had a better teacher . . . Maybe someone other than Mister Balding here.”
“Don’t you pretend to lecture me! I am in charge here!” The old man’s voice echoed around the amphitheater, and Lucas could only assume that his commentary on the man’s lack of hair must have hit close to home to inspire such rage.
“Are you?” Lilith asked the incensed instructor. “I don’t think you are. You’re certainly not qualified to be.” She carefully maneuvered around Lucas and then swayed down toward the stage, and Lucas realized that every pair of eyes was fixed on her as she made her way toward the irate man. “If anything, I’d rather think that I am more qualified to teach this subject than you are.” She slipped a second knife out from under her skirt, where it had apparently been strapped to her thigh, and idly flipped it around the palm of her hand as she descended the stairs.
“Is that a challenge?” the old man demanded. He glanced over at one of the nearby young men and opened his hand expectantly, and one of his treasured favorites tossed him a knife almost immediately.
“Oh, no. Don’t worry. It’s more of a . . . threat. Yes, that would be a more accurate way to put it.” She lifted the blade to her face and pressed it against her lips as if its long, curved edge were her smile.
Despite the fact that Lucas was near the back of the amphitheater, he could practically hear the teacher’s teeth grinding together. The veins in his neck bulged, and his whole body turned red with anger.
“If you think you’re qualified to threaten me, then I think I’m going to have to teach you your first lesson,” the professor growled. He flipped the knife around in his hand so that he was holding it like an icepick and then brought it above his head.
“That’s funny. I was hoping to teach you your last one.” Her stride changed as she approached the stage, and by the time she arrived, she was striding forward like a tigress confidently stalking her prey. Even seeing her opponent’s stance, she didn’t bother making any adjustments to her own.
The instructor backed away, obviously trying to predict what she was going to do, and when she was finally within reach, he struck down with a fast stab. It was an odd attack but beautifully smooth to watch. The knife streaked forward so quickly that Lucas had trouble following the motion, but Lilith didn’t seem to have any problem at all. Her right hand snapped forward, and she turned the blade away from her by striking his wrist with her own. Her free hand shot forward and locked onto his parried wrist, but even as his attack faltered, he raised up his free arm to guard against her expected attack and stepped forward into Lilith. He shifted his hips as he came around, driving his knee up toward her abdomen.
In one smooth motion that was hard to follow, Lilith used her knife to cut the teacher’s pinned wrist while shifting her own weight forward at the same time and slid around the professor’s knee, which was driven toward her abdomen. She followed through with her small momentum and drove her shoulder up and into his sternum, driving him back away from her and forcing him off balance.
The instructor let out a small cry before falling backwards and landing on the ground. “Aak!”
“That’s one,” Lilith taunted. She tilted her head to the side and held her knife to her lips again, but her sharp metal smile was dripping red this time. “Three more to go before we’ve finished the first part of our lesson.”
Lucas looked at the guy. One cut? One attack? What’s one? The old man’s knife was still lying on the ground where he had dropped it after Lilith’s attack, and the reason why was clear as day: she had seve
red the tendons connecting to his right hand. The slice had been a quick, clean, deliberate attack, and it had effectively rendered his hand useless until it was healed.
“You got one lucky attack, you filthy wench. Don’t think it’ll happen twice!” the old man spat.
“Oh my,” Lilith giggled. “Lucas, did you hear that? I’ve gone from a young lady to a filthy wench! Isn’t it great? Look how he matches that little bastard you killed in town so perfectly.” She turned to look at him, smiling proudly. She then leveled her knife out in front of her and pointed it at the instructor. “I’m a young lady, I’m respectable, and I’m genuine until I disagree with him. Isn’t that peachy? Now, I’m a filthy wench and a despicable person that he wants to bully until I obey. Ah . . . isn’t humanity great? Aren’t people just wonderful?”
She deliberately kicked his knife to him across the sand, and he picked it up with his left hand. Unlike before, however, he maintained a more traditional grip. When he moved forward for an attack this time, he had clearly abandoned his earlier aggressive method. He threw a standard short blade cut toward Lilith’s abdomen and then held up his right arm as a shield.
Lilith practically laughed in his face as she held up her own left hand and actually let the knife sink through her palm. Her fingers wrapped around the guard and locked it into her grip. Her own blade came around a second later, and she sliced through his left wrist just as she had his right. The old man cried out in pain as he released his grip on the blade, and she pushed forward with the knife still embedded in her palm, once again shoving him backward and into the sand.
“That’s two,” she said, glancing down. She quickly sheathed the knife she was holding in her right hand and then carelessly ripped the blade free from her left. “Although, I suppose it’s better if we call it 30-15. There’s really no reason to give you any love.”
