"What's worse than syndicate killers?"
Samira looked at Sun like a teacher confronting a promising idiot.
"Public attention."
The pounding at the courtyard gate intensified.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Not desperate fists.
Official fists.
The kind that expected doors to feel guilty.
Outside, a herald's voice rang through the warehouse lane:
"By order of Blackstone Civic Registry, open in the name of law, safety, taxation, and pending inquiry!"
Sun blinked.
"They listed taxation before inquiry."
Brin wiped blood from her sword.
"Honest people, then."
Samira straightened her coat, adjusted a single hair bead, and transformed from battle survivor into respectable merchant in three seconds.
Sun watched in awe.
"You're terrifying."
"I'm organized."
She pointed at him.
"You—sit down, bleed less, and try not to look recently explosive."
Sun looked at the shattered room.
"I need wider instructions."
---
The gates opened.
Three City Heralds entered first.
Long crimson coats.
Bronze badges.
Feathered hats dramatic enough to lower trust instantly.
Behind them came six guards, two clerks, one scribe carrying ink, and a man whose only job appeared to be looking offended.
The lead herald was tall, thin, and smiling professionally.
He bowed to Samira.
"Lady Dax. Regretful circumstances."
She returned the bow exactly shallow enough to insult him politely.
"Herald Cassian. Delightful timing."
Cassian stepped into the courtyard and stopped.
Broken wall.
Injured men tied up.
Unconscious Rokar snoring blood.
Workers pretending not to watch from every balcony.
Then he looked at Sun.
Dusty. Bruised. Seated on half a chair holding a rag to his side.
Cassian's smile brightened.
"Ah."
Sun frowned.
"Why did 'ah' sound expensive?"
The offended-looking man beside Cassian opened a scroll dramatically.
"Citizen complaint summary regarding one unidentified rural male, alias possibly 'Spoon King.'"
Brin started laughing so hard she had to lean on a barrel.
Sun stared at her.
"You could help."
"I physically cannot."
The clerk read on.
"Charges include: assaulting gate staff, inciting public disorder, humiliating recognized minor nobility, causing structural loss at the Auction House, unauthorized use of momentum, reckless sarcasm, and suspicious popularity."
Sun looked at Varen.
"Suspicious popularity is a crime?"
"In cities," Varen said, "often."
---
Cassian walked a slow circle around Sun.
"You are becoming known quickly."
"I'm trying to become rich. Fame keeps interrupting."
"Name?"
"Sun."
"Family?"
"Complicated."
"Patron?"
Sun pointed at Samira.
"She owns my debt."
Samira sighed.
"Temporarily."
Cassian's gaze sharpened.
"Cultivation level?"
Sun considered.
"Developing menace."
Cassian actually laughed.
That made Sun more cautious.
People in power who laughed easily were either secure or dangerous.
Usually both.
The herald glanced at the tied prisoners.
"And these men tunneled into your warehouse?"
Samira spread one hand.
"You can see the tunnel."
"True."
"And attacked my staff."
"Also visible."
"And damaged imported flooring."
Cassian nodded gravely.
"The greatest crime."
At last, a government man with priorities.
---
Then the offended-looking man stepped forward.
Silk gloves.
Waxed beard.
Eyes too small for his certainty.
"I am Deputy Assessor Pelgrave. This property may be temporarily seized pending investigation."
Samira smiled in a way that would have worried wiser men.
"May it?"
Pelgrave ignored tone.
He pointed at Sun.
"This vagabond is central to escalating disturbances across the city. Remove him for questioning."
Two guards advanced.
Sun slowly stood.
Pain flared through his ribs.
He hid it.
"I dislike the phrase remove him."
Brin moved one step.
Nyra dropped soundlessly from the balcony railing, landing beside Sun with claws visible.
The guards stopped immediately.
Pelgrave recoiled.
"Why is there a feral girl?"
Nyra's eyes narrowed.
"Why is there wet coward?"
Sun almost smiled.
Cassian coughed into his glove to hide one.
Pelgrave reddened.
"This is outrageous!"
Varen finally spoke.
"Careful."
One word.
Soft.
Pelgrave turned toward him irritably.
"And who are—"
Then he met Varen's eyes.
Stopped.
Forgot the rest of the sentence entirely.
Stepped back.
Sun noticed.
Interesting.
Very interesting.
---
Cassian, who had noticed too, smoothly reclaimed control.
"No seizures today."
Pelgrave sputtered.
"But—"
"No."
Cassian's smile never moved.
"These men were attacked by known tunnel criminals. Witnesses are abundant. The city prefers merchants alive and taxes flowing."
He turned to Sun.
"However."
Sun hated that word on instinct.
"You are hereby summoned to appear in three days at the Civic Arena registration hall."
Sun blinked.
"That sounds less like prison than expected."
"It is not prison."
Pelgrave sneered.
"It is the Blackstone Young Lions Tournament."
The courtyard went still.
Even workers stopped pretending.
Brin whistled.
Nyra tilted her head.
Samira looked thoughtful.
Sun looked confused.
"Should I know what that is?"
Everyone stared at him.
Cassian answered gently, as one speaks to remote villagers and talented idiots.
"It is the city's annual combat tournament for young cultivators under twenty-five. Sponsored by noble houses, sects, guilds, and betting syndicates."
Brin added, "Huge prizes."
Samira added, "Massive visibility."
Pelgrave added bitterly, "Public humiliation for overconfident trash."
Sun's eyes lit slowly.
"Prize money?"
Cassian nodded.
"Weapons, pills, gold, patronage, property rights."
Sun straightened despite pain.
"When do I fight?"
"In three days."
"Can I hit nobles legally?"
"In designated rounds."
Sun grinned like sunrise over disaster.
"I love civic duty."
---
Pelgrave was horrified.
"You cannot seriously invite this street clown!"
Cassian adjusted his cuffs.
"I did not invite him."
He handed Sun a bronze token stamped with a lion.
"I formalized inevitability."
The herald turned to leave.
At the gate he paused and looked back once.
"Also… House Teryn has already registered six members."
Sun smiled wider.
"Excellent."
Pelgrave hissed, "You'll die in the preliminaries."
Sun tossed the token in one hand.
"Then come watch."
---
When the officials finally departed, the courtyard exploded into noise.
Workers cheering.
Guards taking bets instantly.
Brin shouting odds.
Nyra studying Sun with strange curiosity.
Samira already calculating sponsorship angles.
Sun looked at the bronze lion token in his palm.
On Earth, rooms had judged him before he spoke.
Here, arenas would judge him after he bled.
Oddly enough, that felt fairer.
Varen approached.
"You're pleased."
"I'm furious."
"With?"
"Everything."
He closed his fist around the token.
"So I'll use that."
Varen's faint smile returned.
"Good answer."
Then a pebble struck Sun's shoulder.
He looked up.
Rhea crouched on the wall eating stolen grapes.
She grinned down at him.
"I just bet on you."
Sun pointed.
"With whose money?"
She popped another grape into her mouth.
"Yours, probably."
To be continued...