Oren seemed preoccupied with something, his eyes taking on that absent look people had when they interacted with their ay-eye. He looked up from his seat across from mine, giving a puzzled ‘hmm’ as he examined the arena himself.
“We’ve probably yet tae pass over it.” He grunted as the chariot slowed sharply, throwing each of us sideways into our armrests. “Like I told ye’ before, it sprouts up from the surface every ten years.”
I blinked, looking from Oren to the arena as the chariot descended. I was about to ask him what the point of the stands were when the sun caught on the massive panes of glass floating at the center. “Are those...”
“Aye, view screens. They’ll cycle through footage from gladiators. Same footage that’ll be broadcast across the sub-net tae everyone else. Gives folks somethin to stare at since the games are on the surface.”
“Received clearance to land,” the pilot called back.
Oren nodded to him, looking at the counter on his wrist as the chariot dipped below the top of the stands. Beneath my feet, a grass covered section of the grounds separated to form a square opening for the craft. After a moment of darkness, my eyes bulged at the hundreds...no, thousands of chariots zipping around a massive bay. I stared, mesmerized before something he’d said finally registered.
“We’ll need tae hurry, the lord and Corin have already finished at the Trust, they’re waiting tae place that wager until yer’ inside an’ registered.”
I nodded, rubbing the spot where my collar had been. My neck almost felt naked without it as the ramp lowered, letting a cool breeze swirl inside the craft.
“Wasn’t I already registered the first time I came here?” I asked, following as he led us off the craft and away from the platform. A pair of metal doors slid open to reveal something I was surprised to find I recognized. An elevator.
“You’re welcome.” Belial crowed in my mind.
“For tha’ match yes, tha’ was only a qualifier for the tournament. No’ the tournament itself.”
My boots screeched against the floor just outside the doors. Oren turned, head tilted as he held out an arm to keep the doors from closing.
“Do I need to be…injected again?”
“No,” Oren chuckled, “Ye’ll just need to pass through a scanner on our way to the front desk.”
Are we going to have issues with this…scanner? I asked Belial, feeling a little light-headed as I thought about how he was using my ay-eye to speak to me.
“Uhhh. I don’t think so?” He answered, making my nausea even worse as I took my place in the elevator next to Oren.
Despite my apprehension and Belial’s lack of confidence, we passed through the scanner without incident, moving through an arched hallway afterwards that eventually spilled into a dome-shaped room. At the center was a large circular counter. It nearly spanned the entire room, which was thirty or so feet across. It was surrounded entirely by glass separating everyone else from the people working behind it.
I craned my neck to take in the pictures overhead, my mouth hanging open as I followed Oren toward the counter. Despite the ceiling above not looking like any kind of screen, the images moved, as if each pigment had a mind of its own. I continued to gape as they swirled together, forming into armor-clad characters that acted out scenes from some battle. Oren nudged me back to my senses.
“You understand that once inside you won’t be able to leave, and that most participants are unlikely to reach the final round?” The man behind the counter asked, eyebrows raised as he peered through the glass.
“Yes,” I nodded, not appreciating the reminder.
“It says here you are nineteen standard years? That’s quite young for the arena, let alone the Ludi Aurelia.”
“Ludi-what?” I puzzled, looking to Oren who seemed irritated. I didn’t bother mentioning that I was eighteen, assuming it either had something to do with my false identity, or they just counted years differently than the village did.
“She’s here. Clearly, she wants tae compete. Quit wasting our time an’ do yer’ job, clerk.” Oren’s words only seemed to anger the man more, his face flushed as he leaned toward me as close as the glass between us would allow.
“The Ludi Aurelia is the name of the tournament,” the clerk answered, squinting as he looked me up and down, probably finding it odd I hadn’t known. “Miss, are you being coerced into competing?”
I blinked, breath catching as I resisted the urge to laugh. Had Oren not given me the choice he’d have been screwed right now. I’d already made up my mind to follow through with this insane plan, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun at Oren’s expense.
“What if I was?” I whispered loud enough for Oren to hear, smiling as he gaped in the corner of my eye. Oren’s hand slapped his own face as the man’s eyes lit up. He was rambling about my rights as something called a Liberti before I finally put a stop to it. “I’m only kidding. I’m here of my own free will.” I said, noting the disappointment on the man’s face. It was heartening to see someone actually care about my wellbeing for once, though it felt strange coming from someone working here of all places.
“If you’re sure, Miss…the games are very vio—”
“Aye, she gets it!” Oren snapped, smacking his palm against the counter. After another awkward moment I saw my portrait appear on the glass in front of me, the boarder around it changed to green before it disappeared from the glass and some notification flashed in my vision.
“Gladiators will report to the staging area by 05:00 standard time. As a liberti, you’re free to move around the coliseum grounds until then.” The clerk stared gravely for a moment and had I not already known this tournament was my only hope for survival, I would’ve had serious doubts by the time he finally spoke. “Good luck, Miss Talri.” He said, as I followed after Oren.
“No' funny.” Oren grumbled as we made our way to Lord Caelan’s cavea. He explained that was the lounge they’d be watching me from during the games.
“What’s a Liberti?” I asked as we entered the room, immediately taken by its size. It was larger than the house I’d grown up in, featuring a row of cushioned chairs with a massive window overlooking the arena below. Behind the row of chairs was another area for seating, this one round and partially sunken into the floor, surrounding a glass table in the center. Oren descended the two steps to plop down on the circular couch.
“Free citizen,” Oren said with a weary sigh. “Lucian released his claim on ye when I told ‘im about our conversation.” My brow furrowed for a moment before I remembered that they could communicate through their system. I wondered why none of them bothered to speak to me that way before something else popped into my mind.
“So, you did consider me a slave.” I accused, flopping down across from him.
“No sense in dwelling on any o’ that. We dinna have much time, if any o’ us are going to survive, there’s a lot ye’ll need tae know about the games.”
“Okay, where do we start?” My lips pursed at my own words, at my willingness to move on. For some reason I was in a good mood, a mood that seemed suspicious given where I was.
Belial, are you...doing something to me?
“Uh. No?” He lied. “Okay. Yes. I’m making you less stressed but before you argue—”
That’s fine.
“Your mind should be clear while—sorry, did you say it was fine?” He reiterated, surprised.
Yeah. Being stressed won't help right now. Thank you.
“THANK?” He made a coughing noise. “Did you just...Oh dear, I must’ve broken something.”
Well leave it broken. I joked, but something about it gave me pause. Was I really me right now? I’d always been so nervous...always overthinking to the point that I considered that part of who I was. A new, even more existential thought popped into my mind before Belial’s voice chimed in again to remind me that I was definitely still overthinking.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
“The first thing we’ll need tae do is figure out yer strengths.” Oren said, shaking me from thought. “Read me yer’ stats.”
“My…stats?”
“Aye, say ‘display stats’.”
I did, jerking my head back as symbols swirled in my vision. “I can’t read this.” I said, annoyed as I tried to blink them away.
“Ah, right. Try ‘Read stats’. Ye’ should be able tae just think it, it’ll be able to interpret your intent, though it might take some practice.”
Belial chimed in once I’d repeated the words in my head. “Slight problem.”
What is it? I asked, annoyed. What did you do?
“Well, as you know, I disabled your AI’s voice, that’s how I’ve been communicating with you.”
So, re-enable it.
“I can’t.”
Okay…then you read my stats.
Belial snorted in outrage. “Uh, no. I’m not doing that.”
“Is it workin’?” Oren asked before I raised a hand to stall him.
“Not yet, I think it might be stupid.”
“Excuse you? At least I can read.”
“If it’s not picking up yer’ intent ye’ can try saying it out loud instead.”
I repeated the words out loud, frowning when Belial remained silent. Please?
“Ugh. Fine, but I’m not doing this all the time. Strength: 19. Dexterity: 14. Endurance: 11. Toughness: 8. Perception: 10. Intelligence: 25....” Oren nodded as I repeated Belial’s words out loud, stroking his stubble once I’d finished. I tapped my foot as I waited for Oren to interpret them, about to ask if they were any good before Belial cut in.
“Hmm. That’s odd.”
What’s odd?
“There’s another stat, but it isn’t listed with your main ones. It’s under a category called ‘hidden’.”
What is it?
“It says ‘Luck: 72’”
Luck? How is it judging my luck?
“How should I know? There’s not exactly a user-manual for any of this.”
“It says my luck is 72,” I blurted, blinking as Oren perked up.
“Luck? Yer’ system shouldna show ye’ that. Tha's supposed tae be a hidden stat...yer’ other stats are no’ bad at all but seventy-two luck?” He narrowed his eyes. “How’d ye’ make yer system read yer hidden stats? No’ even viewers can see yer luck.”
I wanted to smack my own forehead as Belial fumed. “I told you it was a HIDDEN stat. I may as well be speaking to an inanimate object.”
“I, uh, just asked the ay-eye thing if there were any more and it read that off.” I lied, trying my best not to squirm as he eyed me.
“Huh,” he grunted, “tha’s new, wonder if tha’ trick always worked.” He mused. At first it seemed like he’d bought it, but a slight twinkle in his eyes made me unsure.
“Is that...good?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Good?” He stared at me like I’d said something ridiculous. “It’s only twenty-eight away from max. Gods only know what kind of rewards you’ll get with luck like that.”
“So, it effects my rewards?”
Oren nodded. “As I told ye’ before, killing another gladiator, as well as some o’ the genetic monsters, will earn ye’ a prize chest. With luck like yours...” He trailed off, a grin spreading across his face.
“Okay, how does it even know how lucky I am? Aren’t these stats based on my actual abilities?”
“Luck is measurit’ by yer’ genome. Every scrape wi’ death leaves a mark in somethin’ called yer’ epigenetic code...wee chemical scribbles tellin’ the body ye’ve stared the reaper in the eye.”
“Hmm. That’s true. Every time you almost die the human body does keep track that way, and you almost die a lot.”
“It can tell that? Okay...well what about my other stats? They seem kind of low compared to my luck.”
“They are low, aside from yer’ luck and intelligence, tha’s part o’ what makes ye’ dangerous.”
“How?” I asked, suddenly feeling pretty nervous about my chances even with whatever Belial was doing to my emotions.
"The system isn’t taking yer true strength or regeneration into account when it's calculating those stats. It can’t, since it’s no’ from any nanites or any mod it'd have a baseline for...Also ye’ aren’t wearing any real armor.”
I nodded, seeing where he was headed. “So, everyone will think I'm a lot weaker than I really am.”
“Exactly. Should help ye’ stay unnoticed until ye’ have what ye’ need tae deal with anyone stupid enough to fuck wit’ ye’.”
“What about my intelligence. You said twenty-five wasn’t low, does that mean I’m really smart or something?”
Oren barked out a laugh. “Nae, there’s no way for any system tae tell ye’ that. It’s a measure of yer working memory and how quickly ye’ make decisions. It doesn’t have a way tae tell if they’re good decisions or not. Plenty o’ gladiators with high intelligence stats have died doing stupid things.”
“Ok...well what do the rest mean?”
“Yer’ dexterity is a measure o’ yer’ reaction time, balance, motor control, things like that. Fourteen ain’t bad, but yer’ no ballerina.” Ballerina? I puzzled as he went on, “Yer’ endurance should be a measure o’ yer’ oxygen intake, along with yer’ threshold for lactic acid buildup.”
“Acid? I’m making acid?”
“Aye,” Oren chuckled, “everybody does when they run, that’s the burn ye feel in yer’ muscles. Yer’ endurance could use improving, even with yer’ upgraded lungs, one o’ the best strategies fer surviving the tournament is runnin’ away from any threats ye’ aren’t sure ye’ can handle. ‘Side from that, yer’ perception is lower than expected. Tha’s no’ good. Perception is how ye’ spot threats. Pray ye’ find some upgrades for tha’ early on, otherwise ye’ll need tae be on high alert anytime yer’ outside a saferoom.”
Perception wasn’t something I was worried about, Belial had caught people trying to sneak up on me before.
“We should still look for upgrades for it, I am working off your senses, after all."
"I’d say ye’ can safely add ten or fifteen points to yer’ stats based off what I’ve seen alone.” Oren said, his eyes glossing for a second before an image projected overtop of the table. “These are some o’ yer’ opponents.”
I stared at the hundreds of portraits hovering in the air, symbols that must’ve represented their stats appearing next to each. Normally, I’d feel a knot in my stomach at all the unreadable symbols, not to mention the hundreds of terrifying faces, but whatever Belial was doing kept my mind clear. Clear enough to have an idea when Belial chimed in.
“I can work on helping you understand the numbers but—”
“That’s fine, for now can you make them different colors?” I asked, interrupting him.
“Different colors? I definitely broke something—”
No, not their pictures. I physically shook my head, causing Oren to tilt his own. Like if they’re weaker than me, make them green or something.
“AH. I see!” He answered, as a handful of portraits flicked to green in my vision. Far fewer than I’d hoped. Oren opened his mouth to speak, looking doubly confused as I held up a hand to stop him.
“Sorry. I’m trying to figure out my ay-eye.” I said before addressing Belial.
What about with my real stats, can you estimate how strong I really am? Add the extra points Oren mentioned? I immediately felt better as almost half the pictures turned green, narrowing my eyes as the rest turned different colors ranging from yellow to extremely dark red. The scale Belial came up with made perfect sense until my eyes landed on a portrait that was black. What does black mean?
“It means avoid at all costs.”
Is she that much stronger? I asked, eyes narrowing on the portrait of a woman, not much older than I was.
“Not exactly—” He started before Oren spoke, unknowingly cutting him off.
“She caught my eye as well.” Oren said, squinting at me now. “Yer’ sure ye’ canna read?”
“No...I was just...she’s close to my age,” I blurted, hoping that explanation was enough. Part of me debated telling Oren I managed to make my ay-eye show different colors but it felt like that’d be hard to explain without revealing Belial.
“True, but tha’s no’ what caught my eye.” he said, making an opening gesture with his thumb and finger that somehow made the woman’s portrait larger above the table. “Most o' her stats are lower than yer’s, no’ much stronger than yer average human without any augments, but her intelligence is high. Scary high. Eighty-nine.”
“So, she can...think really fast?” I asked, remembering his earlier lesson that it didn’t necessarily mean she was smart.
“Nae, well...she probably does but usually tha’ means she’s got abilities, ones yer’ better off not witnessing first’and. Ye’ll do well tae avoid her.” Oren’s voice sounded serious in a way that gave me pause.
“See? I know things. Maybe you should listen to me more often.”
“What kind of abilities?” I asked, nose crinkling as I examined the woman in the picture. She couldn’t be older than twenty-five years judging by her face, which was almost completely covered on one side by long black hair that spanned the length of her portrait. I wondered just how long it was considering the picture included her body down to her waist.
“Some people with high intelligence are able tae dae things wit’ their minds. No’ everyone, it’s extremely rare, but judging from her other stats bein’ next tae nothing, I’d say it’s a safe bet she can.”
“Do what with her mind?” I asked, starting to feel uneasy even with the calm Belial was projecting.
“Tha’ depends. I’ve heard the gift comes in different forms for anyone it touches. I only ever witnessed it once, and no’ in person…This recording’s something every citizen o’ the empire has seen.” He waved his hand away as a new image appeared, only this one moved. It showed an older man clad in eggshell colored armor, the surface of which was smooth. A flowing silk cape inlaid with gold fluttered over one shoulder as he stood up from a large chair.
“Who’s that?” I asked, shifting towards the edge of my seat as the view on the picture moved further out to show dozens of men and women bound to posts on either side of a stage. It zoomed out again to show the size of the crowd, thousands, it seemed like, before centering on the man in white armor.
“Tha’s the emperor.” Oren said, nodding to the man on the screen. “Aurelian. The man this tournament is named for. This footage is from two-hundred years ago, after the last civil war.” He pointed to the men and women bound to pikes on either side of the stage. “Tha was the last o’ House Theralis.”
Was? The look on their faces already made it obvious something sinister was about to happen as the view focused in on some of them. One of them was younger, a boy close to Rheinan’s age. He struggled against his bindings to lean closer to an older woman, her mouth hung open in a howl. Not from pain, I realized by the other faces, but from grief. Every part of me told me to stop watching, but if this had anything to do with the woman’s abilities, I needed to know…to see what I’d be up against.
I swallowed hard as the man, Aurelian, stepped in front of a podium at the center of the stage. For a moment I thought he might speak, but his mouth never opened. Instead, he scanned the crowd, silently turning his head from right to left before lazily holding out his arm to show an open palm.
“What’s he...” I trailed off as Oren held up a hand.
“Ye’ll see.” He said, grimly as I narrowed my eyes back on the screen.
The strange scene dragged on without change. I shook my head slightly, about to ask Oren what I was supposed to be looking for when the man...the emperor, squeezed his palm into a fist. Despite the images making no sound, it wasn’t hard to imagine their screams as the people bound to stakes began to writhe.
I shot back into the couch, holding back the urge to throw up as bodies exploded on either side of the stage, turning into pink mist. My eyes bulged as on the screen; gore began to swirl. Liquified remains of what had once been dozens of lives streamed from the stage and into the sky. It moved over the crowd, forming thin lines that drew into the shape of an eye. It winked shut, losing its shape as the emperor lowered his hand, showering the crowd below.
Stuck in a roguelike where dying resets everything? How many times can you die before you stop pretending it's just a game?
It's a flippin roguelike.
What to expect:
- gallows humour
- strong multi-dimensional characters
- vicious rodents of unusual size
- slow grindy but satisfying growth
- an adorable companion
- real world stakes