Chương 48: Chapter 47 - Light Smash

The walk to the clan hall took the better part of the morning, the three of them setting out not long after sunrise with Kalsar leading the way through streets that gradually widened and grew busier the closer they came to the city's centre.

The transformation was gradual enough that Ant almost missed it happening — narrow lanes giving way to broader avenues, the buildings themselves growing taller and better kept, more clan colours visible on more banners the further they walked, until it became obvious they'd crossed some invisible line into a part of the city built entirely around people who had somewhere important to be. Ant had never actually seen the building itself.

He'd heard people mention it before, in passing — something that existed, apparently, but had never once had anything to do with his own life. It didn't disappoint on scale, at least. The hall rose from the surrounding district like something that had been built to be looked up at rather than simply used, tiered stonework climbing several storeys, banners hanging from every visible ledge in colours Ant didn't recognise, each one presumably marking a clan wealthy enough to have earned a permanent display.

Stone carvings ran along the upper tiers, worn smooth in places by weather and time, depicting scenes Ant couldn't fully make out from this distance but assumed were meant to commemorate something — a founding, a great victory, whatever a building like this considered worth immortalising. The entrance alone could have swallowed the entire ruined lab where Maren had first classified Mahkir, twice over.

"Impressive," Maren said, tilting her head back to take in the upper tiers.

"It's meant to be," Kalsar said, without much warmth in it.

"That's rather the point." The queue started well before the actual doors — a long, uneven line stretching around the side of the building, made up of clusters of people in matching colours, badges catching the morning light, Kithren of every size and shape standing beside their bonded partners with obvious patience. Some groups looked freshly formed, nervous energy radiating off them in a way Ant recognised from his own chest.

Others had clearly done this before, standing loose and unbothered, confident the process held no surprises for them. Ant, Maren, and Kalsar joined the back of it, and Ant found himself doing what he always did in unfamiliar crowds — watching, cataloguing, working out who held power here and who didn't by the small signals nobody else seemed to notice they were giving off. Which groups deferred to which.

Whose Kithren carried themselves like they'd actually fought for something, and whose looked like they'd never left a training yard. It didn't take long to notice something else. People kept leaving. Not the whole queue, and not all at once, but steadily, in small clusters — a pair here, a family group there, peeling off from their place in line and walking away, shoulders down, clearly just told something they didn't want to hear. More than a few were muttering as they went, voices low but not quite low enough.

"—ten thousand gold, on top of everything else—""—ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous—""—might as well ask for the moon while they're at it—" Maren's head turned sharply at the number, and she looked at Kalsar, demanding an explanation, clearly caught off guard by the sum being thrown around.

"Did you know about this? The cost?"

"I knew about the gold," Kalsar said, unbothered, arms folded loosely as the queue shuffled forward another few feet.

"Ten thousand's always been the base registration fee, long as I can remember. That part's not new." He paused, something more careful entering his tone.

"What I don't know is what else they're apparently asking for now, on top of it. Used to be that was it — you paid, you filled in the forms, and that was your clan registered. If there's more to it than that now, then I am completely unaware of it." Ant felt something tighten slightly in his chest at that, the reassurance of having a plan wobbling under the possibility that the plan itself might already be out of date.

He'd assumed, without ever quite examining the assumption, that the hardest part of today would be the walk itself, or maybe the paperwork. Not this. Not some second requirement nobody had thought to mention until they were already standing in line for it. They didn't have to wait long to find out. A group of five made their way down the line perhaps twenty minutes later, moving with obvious confidence, stopping briefly at each cluster of hopefuls to exchange a few words before moving on.

Ant watched the pattern repeat itself several times before they reached his own group — a short conversation, a look exchanged among whoever was being spoken to, and then, more often than not, that same defeated posture, that same quiet walk away from the queue. Whatever this group was telling people, it was working. They reached Ant's group a few minutes later.

The one leading them was broad through the shoulders, confident in a way that had clearly been earned rather than performed, flanked by four others who hung back slightly, clearly used to their roles. Their clan colours were unfamiliar to Ant, though the ease with which they moved through the line suggested this wasn't their first time doing exactly this. Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

"Aware of the entry requirements?" the leader asked, without much preamble, his eyes moving briefly over each of them in turn — lingering longest, Ant noticed, on him specifically, the absence of any visible clan marking apparently drawing more attention than anything else about him. Ant waited a moment for Kalsar to answer, some part of him assuming the older man would naturally take point on something like this.

Kalsar said nothing, watching the exchange with an expression Ant couldn't quite place — wary, maybe, or simply waiting to see how this played out before committing to anything.

"We're aware of the cost," Ant said, when the silence stretched a moment too long to be comfortable.

"Ten thousand gold. Yes." Something flickered across the leader's face — not quite a smile, not yet, but clear anticipation, like he'd been hoping for exactly that answer.

"The cost's the easy part," he said.

"There's a second requirement now. Newer one. A clan needs territory — land, formally deeded — before registration goes through. No exceptions, whatever coin you're carrying." His eyes moved to Kalsar, then back to Ant.

"Most people find that part out today, for the first time, standing right about where you're standing. Explains the traffic." Ant felt the ground shift slightly under the whole plan, the neat morning they'd walked out expecting — the fee paid, the paperwork filed, done by midday — collapsing into something considerably less certain.

"We don't have land," Maren said, before Ant could, testing the size of the problem out loud.

"Most people standing in this line don't," the leader agreed, entirely unbothered by the admission.

"Which is generally where the conversation ends for most of them." He let that sit a moment, watching all three of them in turn, and Ant was fairly certain he already knew exactly what he was about to offer — he just looked like he was enjoying the moment before he offered it. Kalsar cleared his throat, and for the first time since they'd joined the queue, something in his easy composure cracked slightly.

"My home," he said slowly, "is registered land. Has been for years." Ant turned to look at him properly.

"You never mentioned that."

"Didn't think it was relevant, until about thirty seconds ago." Kalsar's jaw was tight, something working behind his expression that Ant couldn't fully read.

"It's registered under someone else's name, not mine. Has been the whole time I've lived there."

"Whose?" Maren asked. Kalsar didn't answer. He looked, for just a moment, like a man who'd said more than he meant to and was now working out how to say nothing further without it becoming its own kind of answer. The leader watched this play out with obvious interest, though he didn't press it either, apparently content to let the silence do whatever work it was doing on its own. Ant let the question go for now. It would still be there later.

Right now there was a more immediate problem sitting directly in front of him.

"So we don't qualify," he said flatly, more statement than question, already turning to step out of the line, same as everyone else who'd walked away before them.

"Wait." The leader's voice stopped him before he'd fully turned. Something in his tone had shifted, sharper now, more deliberate.

"We're short on the gold ourselves, if I'm being honest," he said. It didn't sound like an admission of weakness. It sounded like the opening move of something he'd already planned out several steps in advance.

"But we do have a deed. Territory, already registered, sitting unused because our own funds ran short before we could file for it properly." He looked directly at Ant now, something almost amused in it.

"How about a game. Light Smash — you know it?" His grin didn't waver as he watched for the reaction.

"Our clan against yours. You win, you get the deed, free and clear. We win, you hand over that registration fee you're so confident about, and we finally register our own clan instead." Ant looked between Kalsar and Maren, both of them watching him with expressions that gave away nothing about what they thought he should say, and felt the whole morning narrow suddenly down to a single, unavoidable decision.

It would have been easy, in another version of this exact moment, to simply say no — to keep the fee, walk away, come back another day with a different plan entirely. But another day meant another morning like this one, another queue, another chance for something else to go wrong that none of them had thought to prepare for. At least this way, whatever happened, it happened today. Before Ant could answer either way, something shifted in Kalsar's expression.

"Light Smash." Kalsar said it slowly, an old memory clearly surfacing behind his eyes.

"I haven't heard that name in a long time."

"You've played it, then," the leader said.

"Played it more times than I could count, in my arena days. Trained on it between real fights, most of us did back then. Kept the hands honest." Something almost fond crossed his face, quickly buried under the same steady calm he brought to everything. He looked at Ant.

"I know this game. Simple enough to explain — a wall lights up, points flashing on and off faster and faster, and you strike each one before it fades. Miss three, you're done. Whoever clears the highest level wins." Ant frowned slightly, turning the name over.

"Light Smash? Who names these things? Why not just call it the button pressing game."

"Really," Maren said, arching an eyebrow at him.

"You, of all people, complaining about the convention of naming things." Ant scowled at her, and Kalsar let out a short laugh, already stepping forward before the moment could stretch any longer.

"I accept," he said.

"I'll represent the clan." The leader's grin widened slightly.

"Calvin," he said, by way of introduction, stepping forward to match him.

"I'll represent mine." Calvin turned and called something over his shoulder, and one of the security detail stationed near the hall's outer wall began making his way over. Ant had noticed them earlier without really registering what he was looking at — a rotating handful of guards positioned around the entrance, each wearing a different clan's colours rather than any uniform of their own. It clicked properly now, watching this one approach: the hall didn't employ its own security.

It borrowed them, high-level members loaned out from whichever of the top twenty clans currently held enough standing to earn the privilege, and the man walking toward them now carried himself like it — tall, unhurried, never once needing to raise his voice to be listened to. The rest of the queue nearby had noticeably quieted, a few heads turning to watch, clearly glad for something else to break up the wait.

"We need a referee," Calvin said, as the man approached.

"Clan versus clan, Light Smash, winner takes the loser's registration fee or the deed, depending which side comes out on top." The referee's eyes moved over both groups once, assessing, and gave a short nod.

"Understood," he said.

"Let's begin."