The courtyard was packed. Dust swirled around the wooden platforms where the outer ranks of Blackthorn Clan gathered for their trials.
The elders called it the Trial of the Lowborn: a public assessment of combat skill, formation literacy, and endurance. In truth, it was Alden's stage. He had spent weeks adjusting the brackets and scoring methods, rigging them to humiliate me.
Good. Let him try.
[Abyssal Insight Activated: Formation Weak Points Detected.]
I traced the flow of the bracket lines with my eyes, seeing angles, arcs, and fatigue zones the organizers hadn't considered. Even the elemental wards were predictable if you watched closely enough.
Then the Shop pinged:
"Threadbare Luck Charm – 2 AP."
I spent the points instantly.
[AP Balance: −2][Luck Charm Acquired.]
It wouldn't make me strong. It wouldn't protect me from failure. But it would tip probabilities just enough to cover a single misstep—enough to mask deliberate manipulations.
The trial began.
Alden's first bracket sent a burly boor at me—a man built like a wagon, confidence radiating in waves. I stepped lightly, feigning weakness, letting him overcommit. Hollow Palm hummed faintly, draining qi with each controlled tap. His movements slowed.
The crowd gasped as he stumbled, exhausted, collapsing onto the wooden platform. I bowed, letting the facade of fragility remain.
Next, two opponents in a formation. Their angles were tight, rotations fast, designed to trap the "weakling" in a corner. I adjusted my footing, tracing the blind spots revealed by Insight. With three silent Hollow Palm taps, their energy ebbed, forcing staggered missteps.
They fell in sequence—not killed, only drained—leaving me standing. The crowd erupted, not in awe of power, but in confusion. How had the weakest returned victoriously?
[Post-Trial Cleanup Opportunity: Devour a dying boor in infirmary.]
Later, in the shadows of the infirmary, I found one last casualty—a broken recruit. Quietly, I siphoned the last of his vitality, refining it into Abyss Points.
[AP +3]
My body flowed smoother now, the Abyssal Foundation settling further. Each movement a ghost of intent; each breath calibrated.
Above, hidden in the storm of perception, the Balance Warden's gaze found me. A subtle, golden mark appeared along my shadow—a tracer for Heaven's attention.
I didn't flinch. Let it watch. Let it wait.
The trials were over. But this was only the first real game I had played—and I intended to win every round.