Upon returning to the clan house office, I had intelligence to attend to—and that included my information brokers’ reports. It was paramount that foreign agents and anti-nationalists didn’t get mixed up in the tournament. I needed to know everything about every participant: their Seeker record, their ideologies, their religious views, birthplace, parentage, and even their current relationships.
I was the man responsible for the entire tournament. Even the slightest mistake would not be tolerated.
As I pored over the documents, I found no problems with any of the competitors. For now, I could safely say that everyone was in the clear. That wasn’t to say I could rest on my laurels. There was still reason to believe that foreign agents might take a competitor’s family or friends hostage on the eve of the tournament, compelling them to take part in a potentially destructive plot.
Even if everything looked safe now, we couldn’t afford to let our guard down. I had to keep my information brokers going, hunting for anything out of the ordinary until the day of the tournament. Fortunately, I had secured people to help from the Barzini family—they were keeping an eye on competitors based on intel they received from my brokers.
The Barzini family members were everywhere—in brothels, restaurants, barbers, hospitals, tailors, and so on. They were woven into the fabric of everyday life. If a competitor did anything suspicious or unusual, it would not escape my net.
Once I was done reviewing all the information, I took to reviewing the tournament rules. There was no particular problem with them as they stood, and they captured the essence of the tournament. Also, by limiting competitors to two skills only, we achieved two goals—first, we had a chance to see a competitor’s ability to adapt and observe, and second, we stopped foreign agents from acquiring full breakdowns of our Seekers and their skills. The competitors were in favor of the rules so far, and though we had set up a temporary office for people to bring complaints and questions, so far we had received none.
There were many questions regarding the extent to which the rules would be enforced. The most common of these was whether it was possible for us to detect illegal buffs or boosting skills before their match.
Thankfully, it was possible to know if such skills had been activated. We simply had to measure the mana density in a competitor’s body. If they were using a skill, their density level would be high, and there was no known skill or item to hide this. While some classes—like mine—had skills that didn’t consume any mana, the user’s mana density still went up, so that testing before matches would flush out any foul play.
Cheating was actually quite difficult. Competitors weren’t the only ones who’d be at the colosseum; there would be plenty of spectators, many of whom were bound to be Seekers themselves. Only the tournament management—excluding me, as a competitor—knew what skills each participating Seeker had selected, but any Seeker worth their salt would easily be able to see when a skill was in use. Someone in the crowd was bound to notice any overt attempts at cheating.
Be that as it may, if management did nothing to assuage the present concerns, it would only lead to mistrust between competitors, so a section of the rules was revised to allow for each competitor to select a cornerman.
Each cornerman was given the right to make two objections: one before the match and one afterward. To avoid the abuse of these rights, objections were not permitted during a match. In the event that an objection resulted in the discovery of foul play, the offending competitor would be disqualified.
I knew this would lead to another question: what would happen if a cornerman was unable to see or recognize foul play? This particular matter came down to the competitors themselves and could be ignored for the most part. The Seven Star Cup would decide the strongest Seeker in the empire—it was each competitor’s responsibility to make sure they had a talented and trustworthy cornerman. No excuses would be permitted.
In the name of fairness, all new decisions regarding the rules had to be sent via mail directly to every clan, including those who had yet to confirm their participation. I scribbled a note down just as there came a knock on the door.
“Master Noel?” ventured the voice from the other side. It was my secretary.
I called out to make my presence known, and the door opened.
“Apologies for the disturbance,” the secretary said, putting a number of envelopes on my desk. “Some letters have arrived for you.”
“I’ll look at them soon. I also have a number of letters that need to be sent out, so it’ll be on you to handle them. Here’s a note as to what to write and where to send them,” I said, passing it over.
“Understood. Consider it done.”
I thought that would be the end of it, but the secretary remained, looking at me with something of an awkward expression.
“What is it?” I asked. “Something on your mind?”
“Er, one more letter has arrived addressed to you personally.”
“Then hurry up and give it to me.”
“Yes, sir.”
My secretary slid the envelope from under their arm and put it in front of me. I tilted my head as I took it in hand, then let out a sigh as I recognized the contents.
“This again, huh?”
“Yes, again… I knew who it was from the moment I saw the return address…”
The envelope contained a letter and a framed photo. It was sent by Ralph Golding, a Wild Tempest sponsor and well-known merchant in the empire. He managed a number of businesses including trading securities, air transportation, and research into the applications of beast-material technologies. He was a veritable giant of the business world, and he’d written me to offer his daughter’s hand in marriage.
“This is the fifth time.”
Since I founded Wild Tempest, these letters were quite common—in short, they were attempts at strategic marriages. In the empire, close relationships with the heavily promoted Seekers was a status symbol, sponsorships included. There were also business perks, such as the ability to buy beast materials at wholesale prices. These were both reasons for nobles and merchants to sponsor Seekers. Naturally, the number of these sponsors skyrocketed when it came to bigger clans, with the crème de la crème being the regalia. And one way for a sponsor to separate themselves from the crowd was to have their children marry Seekers.
Our clan had received its fair share of marriage proposals until now, but we had refused them all. Marriages like these caused more trouble than they were worth. Knowing that a flat refusal was bad for appearances, we once forced Koga to accept one. For better or for worse, the other side had then refused us—it seemed that their sights had been set on me.
Most of the senders wanted me, the most powerful member of the clan. Next in line was Leon. Neither of us had an interest in such marriages and summarily refused them. Nobody wanted to rock the boat, so the proposals stopped once we politely declined.
That is, unless they came from Ralph Golding.
“The old man is nothing if not persistent,” I muttered.
Ever since I had met him at a party celebrating our defeat of a lord, Ralph had been obsessed with me. He was hellbent on finding a way for me to marry his beloved daughter. He hadn’t forced the issue yet, but I was beginning to tire of him sending me pictures of her even after we turned him away.
“Master Noel, if I may be so bold as to make a suggestion,” said the secretary after a moment’s hesitation. “Perhaps it might be worth accepting this proposal?”
“Huh? You think I’ve got time for that?”
“Ralph Golding is a most valuable sponsor. I worry as to what may happen if we continue to refuse him.”
“We’ve got other sponsors.”
“I realize that, but considering tournament arrangements and beast assignments, our clan funds are near rock bottom. Proceeds from the tournament are set to be split with the Barzini family, and given that our own profits will be prize money for the victors, we’re making almost nothing.”
The Seven Star Cup was a tournament with monetary rewards, which we’d already announced—the victor received thirty billion fil, second place twenty billion, and the two third-place semifinalists five billion. Sixty billion fil in all, right out of Wild Tempest’s pocket.
“The proceeds from our railway investment will not pay off for some time,” said the secretary. “So there’s perhaps no harm in indulging Golding’s whims.”
Not a bad idea. I had no interest in getting married, but I could take the proposal and date Golding’s daughter for a time. This alone would help protect the man’s honor. I also had a feeling it would encourage him to invest a little more in our plans.
If it were simply a matter of perseverance, there was always the option of approaching a bank about a loan, but that would put us in a different predicament: the general public would know we didn’t have any money. When a big clan was concerned, such information would be all too easy to dig up, and I couldn’t afford to show any signs of weakness—not with the tournament set to open and the position of supreme commander on the horizon.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
“Huh? Really?” The secretary was wide-eyed with shock.
I nodded. “Send Golding a reply when you handle the other letters I talked to you about.”
“Y-yes, sir! I’ll get on it right away!”
I watched as the secretary scurried out of the room, then lit up a cigarette to calm my frayed nerves. I sucked in the smoke and looked down at the photograph on my desk.
“Such a gloomy-looking girl.”
His daughter was by no means ugly. She had fragile, delicate features and a bewitching charm in her eyes, which were the color of the night sky. Her silvery-blue hair was like silk, and she exuded an aura of nobility.
But the more I looked at the photo, the more I sensed a certain melancholy in it. The girl was smiling, but it was only skin-deep. Her impression wasn’t cold—it was dark. Maybe I thought so because the women around me tended to be fierce and powerful. In any case, I wasn’t exactly enthused by what I saw.
“What was her name again?” I thought aloud, looking once more at Ralph’s letter. “There it is. Bernadetta Golding.”