Chương 9: Chapter Nine

The bolt-bow was, by any and all metrics that mattered, little more than an oversized nailgun. Oh, it had certainly been beefed up – the 'nails' it fired had more in common with crossbow bolts than anything else and the energetic properties of aether gave it significantly more power than air might have – but at the end of the day, it was still effectively a nailgun.

Unlike the close-quarters variant he'd borrowed from his aunt nearly three weeks ago, the one in his hands now had an elongated barrel, complete with internal rifling. Which he supposed technically made it an oversized and overpowered air-rifle. If one was feeling generous. William was not feeling particularly generous as he sank another bolt into the burlap target at the end of the range.

"Another bullseye, Cadet Ashford." Instructor Highsmith observed from somewhere behind him, the rabbit-eared woman having to pitch her voice to be heard over the constant 'thwip' of discharging bolt-bows.

"One day you'll have to teach me where you learned to shoot like that." It said a lot about the weapon he was using when said target was at a distance more suitable to a pistol in his old world. He deliberately didn't turn or shift his shooting stance as he responded.

"Small game, ma'am. Family wouldn't let me hunt anything larger than a squirrel-bat." He could almost hear the wood-elf cocking her head in thought.

"Squirrel-bats, huh. Yeah, you'd need to be a real markswoman – or man, I guess – to hit one of those twitchy suckers." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Olzenya twitch in irritation as her latest shot landed just outside the bullseye ring. Which wasn't bad, her grouping was actually pretty good, but he knew that wasn't what she cared about. No, what she really cared about was beating him.

Ignoring her, William continued aiming down the sights, aware of the minute rise and fall of the barrel as his breathing slowed. Slowly, he pulled back on the trigger. William felt the gun in his hand push back into his shoulder, a blue-green plume of aether leaping from the barrel just before another bolt sank into the target – just off center of the first. Even over the noise of the other cadets firing, he heard an actual whine of frustration slip from the lips of his teammate.

"Damn, if hunting squirrel-bats over deer or boar leads to cadets that can shoot like you, I might have to have a word with the principal." The wood-elf's almost southern tang continued.

"See if we can't rustle up a change of targets for our next third year outing." William didn't respond. He knew the woman wasn't really talking to him at this point, she was merely thinking aloud. Unlike his ability to shoot – which had been honed over two lifetimes – the ability to keep his mouth shut was a skillset he'd picked up over the last fortnight. And it was a valuable skill indeed. A successful cadet was an unremarkable cadet. Because if an instructor noticed you, it was almost invariably for fucking up.

Usually, he thought as the wood-elf behind him moved away to lambast one of the other shooters on the line for 'squeezing the trigger like it owed her money'. Sometimes the opposite held true, like just now. This was a school for 'officers' after all, not enlisted troops, the academy held no real interest in completely quashing their student's creative instincts. At least where tactics and strategy were concerned. Technology, less so. A consequence he imagined of the long-lived nature of the country's ruling class.

Two hundred years was a long time. More than long enough for leaders both military and civilian to become set in their ways. The relatively slow roll out of dedicated carriers for shards over conventional ironclads was proof enough of that. … Still, could he not say the same was true for himself? It had been three weeks now that he'd spent with his new team and he'd still yet to reveal his end goal for his time at the academy. Or in general.

A delay that might have been perfectly acceptable back when he'd had an entire year to prepare for his coming confrontation with his fiancée. Said delay was significantly less forgivable when that timetable had been reduced to just six months. Six months before that same fiancée 'forced' his mother to request that he be transferred to a new team. One that would undoubtedly be loyal to his fiancée first.

Which meant he had but six months to get his team ready to take on a team that had been training for two and a half years. No small feat. Doable though. Eminently doable, he thought. Even ignoring the tech advantage we'll have when the duel rolls around, team seven is… surprisingly competent. He ignored another nearby hiss of frustration as he sank yet another bolt into his target's bullseye.

On that front, the end of this week is also team leader selection time, he thought, giving voice to the reason for his neighbor's increased feelings of rivalry. So, I figure now's a pretty good time to start laying out what I would hope to achieve as team leader. Fortunately, he knew those 'campaign promises' would appeal to at least three quarters of his team – even if one them was currently vying for the same position as him. They were all hungry for success in their own way. The issue was that final quarter.

If I alienate her with my plans, I'll have lost my biggest supporter, he thought as he glanced over to where Bonnlyn was enthusiastically, if not terribly accurately, sinking shots into her own target.

"Woo," Bonnyln shouted as the team stepped back into their room.

"Free at last!" William actually winced guiltily a little as the dwarf practically danced around the room as she 'threw' her jacket off. It wasn't really a throw, given that she'd have to iron out wrinkles if the thing got crumpled. Instead it was an enthusiastic placing onto the backrest of a nearby chair – the sentiment was there though as she danced a little dwarven jig. Or at least, he assumed it was some kind of dwarven jig. It was also entirely possible she was having a seizure.

Classically trained dancer, the former merchant was not. And it said a lot about how good a mood the team in general was that even Olzenya contended herself with a mere roll of her eyes at the dwarf's antics as she sank into her own chair. Though even as she did, William noted how her black shark-like eyes flitted to him for just a moment. It wasn't lost on either of them that this would theoretically be their last chance to talk to the team as a whole before the vote for team-leader was cast on Monday.

Theoretically, because it all-but a given that outside the most dysfunctional of teams – of which their year had a few – most of their year mates would be going out on leave together. Which was a little amusing, given that after three weeks of being stuck together, one would think they'd be gagging for a chance to be free of one another. That's not the case though, is it, William thought with just a little wonderment.

Indeed, as Verity laughed at Bonnlyn's ongoing dance number slash seizure, while Marline and Olzenya smirked along in their distinctly elvish fashion, William found that he was… fond of the collection of weirdos he'd been saddled with. It wasn't romantic. He wasn't that far gone. It was… camaraderie. The kind that could only have been borne from shared suffering.

It said a lot about how insidiously effective the Academy's methods were that despite the fact that some days he just wanted to grab both Olzenya and Bonnlyn – and occasionally Marline – and shake them… he'd still have their back against just about anything the world might throw at them. And he implicitly trusted that they'd do the same for him. Which sounds like insanity given that we've known each other for less than a month, he thought. He knew on some level that trust was artificial.

The suspension bridge effect writ large. But it was a solid basis for actual trust. Which brought him right back around to why he felt just a little uncomfortable as Bonnlyn loudly celebrated their upcoming leave – the first they'd been given since arriving at the academy, and the unofficial end of the Instructor 'babysitting' period. Come the end of the weekend and the start of the fourth week, the instructors would be a lot more hands off and cadets would have a lot more free time.

With the hope that after the last three weeks of having absolutely none to spare, cadets will use that newfound time intelligently, William thought. Some would. Some wouldn't. He intended to be amongst those that would. Rather, I need to be, he thought. Otherwise I'll be looking at an entirely different set of faces sat around the team's common area next semester. And they won't be wearing House Royal colors either. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Which was why he was about to rain on his current team's parade – even if he felt like crap for doing so.

"I intend to challenge my fiancée to a team based duel at the end of the semester. With the terms of the duel being the continuation of our betrothal. Should I win, she'll break it off – something she has the means to do. In doing so, she'll also recant her request that I be moved off our team and onto one aligned with hers." A sudden silence fell over the room as every eye flitted over to him in surprise, with Bonnyln stopping midway through a particularly interesting dance move.

Eventually, it was Marline who spoke.

"And why would she agree to that?" One silver eyebrow was raised as she regarded him, neither approving nor condemning.

"She's from a ducal house and you're from a countship. With hundreds of miles separating you."

"With totally different political allegiances as well," Olzenya pointed out.

"They're staunch traditionalists while Will's house are abolitionists."

"Right," Marline acknowledged.

"The fact that your families entered into a pact in the first place means they want something from one another. Enough to tie you both into a marriage to make it as binding as they could. And even when a ducal house is asking, nobles don't trade a guy off cheap." The girl actually sounded a little bitter about that last bit.

"Steel." Will said.

"That's what my family is getting. The Blackstones are getting grain. Plus some other foodstuffs. With the contract to be renewed every fifty years."

"Just that?" Bonnlyn asked.

"Seems… small." William smiled humourlessly.

"Well, that and I imagine my house wants the support of the Blackstone fleet should they make a bid for our province's ducal seat at some point in the future. Old lady Summerfield still doesn't have an heir, so a succession crisis is likely inevitable when she finally croaks." There were a few small intakes of breath throughout the room at that. What he'd just described could be considered treason if one squinted a bit. Fortunately for his mother, the law tended to get a little…

open to interpretation where messy successions happened. Their house would hardly be the first to press a claim through force when diplomacy failed. And given who he suspected his younger sister's father was… well, House Ashfield likely did have a claim. It was a little weak, given that it was coming through the patrilineal line, but there was precedent.

"Though that's supposition on my part." He shrugged.

"I certainly couldn't find it in the fine print of my upcoming nuptials." Again, his mother wasn't that foolish. Just ambitious. …Which he could hardly judge her for, given that he was plotting to eventually blackmail the crown into doing what he wanted. In terms of treasonous activity, he felt his own triumphed over hers by a fairly decent margin.

"And House Blackstone gets an ally in the south for the traditionalist movement," Olzenya stated with a tone of realization.

"One perfectly positioned to become a ducal power in the future." William reclined against the cool stone of a nearby pillar.

"Again, supposition. It's entirely possible I really am just a seal on a very lucrative trade agreement." The elf made an acknowledging sound at that, but it sounded as skeptical as he felt. Bonnlyn spoke up next, her expression a little annoyed.

"Ok, as great as all this noble political horseshit is, you still didn't answer Marline's question." She eyed him.

"If all that is on the line, with your betrothal to miss stuckup as a the clincher, why in the everloving fuck would she agree to your suggestion of a duel that might ruin all of it?"

"Because I'll have something that would make risking it all worth it." Marline scowled.

"Are you going to tell us what that is?" He smiled.

"Not yet. You'll find out soon enough." Mostly because he didn't actually have the item he planned to lay on the line yet. For the moment, it was still sitting at the bottom of the Eastern Ocean – which was ironically West of Lindholm.

"Why tell us now?" Every eye in the room flitted over to Verity, who slunk back a little at all the attention on her. She'd come a long way in the past three weeks in terms of being confident around the team, but the ex-slave still didn't like to be the center of attention. It hadn't been lost on him that she'd spent most of the conversation since he spoke up looking a little lost – the ongoing discussion about the geopolitics of Lindholm mostly flying over the orc's head.

Yet that hadn't stopped her from asking a pretty important question.

"Because I like this team," he admitted freely.

"And, to be frank, I'm not entirely sure my plan would work without you." Olzenya cocked her head.

"What, because you couldn't take her in a solo duel you think she'll be easier to take in a team-on-team fight?"

"No." He shook his head.

"It doesn't matter how good her magic is, I'm pretty sure I could take her in a one on one." One on one duels were performed in arenas after all. With two cadets stood facing one another. In that environment, it didn't matter how good her magic was. He'd win. Just so long as he had the right tools. Because his fingers were faster than her tongue. Still, only he knew that for now, so he ignored his teammates' blatant disbelief – Olzenya was actively rolling her eyes - and continued.

"A duel would be fine in a pinch, but I'd prefer this thing be a spectacle. Dramatic. With enough high-profile viewers that she can't easily welch on her end of the deal." And a one-on-one fight would have none of those things. It'd be over in seconds. Provided he won. If he lost, it'd probably take about half a minute. Or less. Bonnlyn scoffed.

"A pair of fiancés dueling – with some big mysterious prize on the line – is already pretty compelling. You'd have a plenty big audience for that. Half the academy would show up." He shook his head.

"Plenty big isn't big enough. I need huge. The Blackstones are a house name for the academy. They have a lot of pull here. If the only witnesses are cadets and instructors, her family might be able to quash the outcome of the duel." It wouldn't be easy by any stretch, and rumours would persist, but if anyone could do it, the Blackstones could. So, he needed to make sure the results of his little competition were shown beyond the walls of the academy.

"You want to duel on the Floats," Olzenya realized.

"Because the recording crystals there are attached to communication orbs." He smiled.

"That's the idea." The floats were a pair of mock airships that were used for everything from end of year exams to hosting foreign tournaments. More to the point, the communication orbs were almost always live. It was a guaranteed that at pretty much any given moment there was at least someone watching. Curious family members. Other cadets. Maneuver-suit tournament enthusiasts. Hell, some of the country's wealthier taverns kept low-mages on retainer just so they could operate their own communication orbs.

If he won there, people would see. Possibly powerful people, if the rumor of the fight spread far enough. Which was a pretty safe bet given just how fast his 'nickname' had spread. Yeah, a story like this, the local rumor-mongers will be on it like flies on shit, he thought. A fact he'd rely on to keep his fiancé honest if and when he beat her.

"But why now?" Verity prompted, eyes focused. He sighed.

"Because now's our best opportunity to improve. With just about everyone going on leave for the weekend certain options which wouldn't otherwise be available are now free and open." He could see Bonnlyn's eyes widening with horror as she caught on to what he was saying – even as Marline's widened with excitement.

"There'll be opening for sessions on the Skeleton and Floats!" The dark elf exclaimed with more energy than he'd ever seen from her. Slightly bewildered, he nonetheless nodded. Normally the skeleton and the floats were constantly booked by teams looking to get in some extra practice time in their maneuver suits. Not on the weekends though, he thought. Oh, they're still busy, but there are openings.

"You want to use our first leave to stay here." Bonnlyn didn't quite accuse.

"Practicing." He gave her a sympathetic glance.

"As much as we can. And not just this weekend. Just about every weekend until the end of the semester." The dwarf made a sound that might have been a whimper.

"All so you can break off your betrothal," Olzenya said neutrally.

"Well, that, and so we can be the best team we can be," he admitted.

"Plus, if I'm going to be team leader, I figured I should be open about my plans." Or at least, some of them. The whole anti-slavery spiel could wait for a bit. And the blackmailing of the crown, he thought. That can wait too.

"Sounds like a lot of suffering," the high elf huffed. She wasn't disagreeing though. She agreed with the plan in theory. She wanted to excel as much as he did. Her issue was with him being the one in charge while they did.

"And glory," he pointed out.

"…I'm in," a small voice added. To the surprise of no one…

"Thanks Verity," he said, sending the orc an entirely genuine smile – which naturally had her green skin flushing a few shades darker.

"Ugh." The dark elf rolled her eyes at the byplay, before spearing him with a gaze.

"I'm in too. On the leader thing too. Unfortunately."

"Marline!?" Olzenya shot the dark elf a betrayed look. Marline sighed as she eyed her elven friend.

"Look, Olzenya, I like you. And you've got the skills when it comes to organization and the like… but you're terrible with people."

"And he isn't!?" The dark elf laughed.

"I don't know if I'd trust him in a ballroom, but with the team? Yeah. Sure, he does that weird old man thing sometimes - which is a little condescending – but he actually cares about us beyond what we can do for him." What? He had a weird old man thing? Since when? Hell, what did that even mean?

"I… care," Olzenya muttered, for just a moment looking the mere eighteen years she was. It almost made him want to give the poor girl a hug. Even Marline's eyes softened.

"Then you're hiding it very well." The high elf frowned, but didn't argue. Coughing a little to break the tension, William slapped his hands together as he grinned.

"Well, with you two, it seems I have the majority vote." He very deliberately didn't make note of the fact that Bonnlyn had said nothing. Which was unusual for the typically outspoken dwarf. She'd simply watched the proceedings with a slightly unreadable expression.

"With that in mind, I take it no one has issue with me heading down to Griffith's office to book us in for the weekend?" No one did. Or at least, no one vocalized that they did. At least one person looked like they wanted to though. Bonnlyn didn't look happy. And that was a firm reminder that for all that she was keeping up a chipper attitude… she hadn't grown up expecting to be a soldier. This… everything was likely more than a little overwhelming.

She was probably looking forward to this weekend a lot, he thought. I'll… need to do something about that. After all, just because they'd be stuck at the academy didn't mean they couldn't unwind a bit. You just have to get creative, he thought with one some might have described as a slightly sinister grin. —-----------------------"So, you figured it out?" Griffith murmured as she jotted down his requested times into her notebook.

Part of him had hoped that he'd be able to schedule both events on the same day – thus providing his team with an opportunity for at least one day away from the academy. Alas, that wasn't to be.

"Ma'am?" he asked, stood at attention before the woman's desk. The dark elf's glasses glinted as she eyed him over the rim.

"Usually it takes a few weeks for first years to realize that leave periods represent an opening for extra practice with some of the academy's more sought after equipment. Something other years will do nothing to discourage, given that bookings are divided by year group." He nodded.

"If the first years don't fill those slots, they'd be available to the other years."

"Just so." The woman nodded.

"With that said, bookings for the Floats require two teams." Ah, he hadn't thought of that.

"Do I have time now to go and acquire a second team to act as our practice partners, ma'am?" She nodded.

"You do. Provided another, more prepared team doesn't enter my office between now and your return." Though there was a certain… expectedness in her eyes as she regarded him. It was enough for a thought to occur. He coughed.

"With that said, may I ask if I alone made the mistake of trying to book time on the Floats without an opposing team?" She smiled, as if he'd passed some sort of test.

"You are not. Another prospective team leader was here just a few minutes ago. If you hurry, you may catch her before she makes it to the cafeteria." And if he did, he'd be able effectively double book. Spend twice amount of time on the Floats. More to the point, the 'secret' would remain so for just a bit longer. He paused.

"Before I go, may I ask how far in advance bookings may be made?" Once more, Griffith smiled.

"One standard month." He smiled too.

"Excellent. Thank you for your time, ma'am. I'll be right back." She watched him leave. For his part, he was thinking about another opportunity. Timeslots were set aside for first years, but the 'competing' team could be anyone. Which made him wonder what favors he might be able to wrangle out of a third or fourth year team in return for more practice time on the Floats. Sure, his team would be slaughtered, but one learned more from defeat than victory.

Still smiling, he called out to the green-clad cadet who was just about to step into the cafeteria. It was time for a little wheeling and dealing with a healthy number of flirtatious not-quite promises.