Under the escort of
Lorist pulled the bell rope connected to the residential area management office and had Cory called over. He asked her to serve as Bodefinger's caretaker for the next three months, nursing him and looking after his two children. Lorist arranged for the Bodefinger family of three to stay in two guest rooms on the second floor, while Reidi, ever knowing his place, found a servant's room downstairs, carried his luggage in, and then went out to tend to the two Zeno horses.
By the time everything was settled, more than an hour had passed. Lorist instructed Cory to prepare something for everyone to eat as a late-night snack, and only then did they settle onto the sofas in the living room.
Lorist poured two cups of Maxis for the children and sent them to the kitchen to see what Cory had prepared. Then he began recounting the full story of the ambush to his companions from start to finish. He believed that the two Gold One-Star swordsmen who had attacked him were very likely instigated by the "junior martial brother" they had mentioned—one who had ordered them to sever one of Lorist's arms. But try as he might, Lorist couldn't figure out who harbored such a deep grudge against him.
"No grudge?" Fatty Shi scoffed, sneering. "This isn't about grudges at all. The fact is, Locke, you don't even realize you've become a thorn in many people's sides. Setting aside everything else, just look at the academy duels and the external challenges—you've blocked too many people's paths. Before, you only had bad relations with the Silver Instructors within our own academy. Now you're the nightmare of every Silver Instructor at every academy in the entire district. It's only been a month of duels, but Silver Instructors from thirteen academies have already been beaten by you on the arena. Perhaps these defeated Silver Instructors feel humiliated and sought someone to take revenge, or perhaps those from academies that haven't had their turn yet want to cripple you to end this whole academy duel farce before they end up the same way."
"And as for the external challenges—Locke, do you have any idea how many people who bet against you have already lost everything, even their family fortunes? Last month, the total bets collected from our book reached over eighteen thousand gold Forde. You have no idea how many people are desperate for you to stumble so they can recoup their losses in one fell swoop. These people have no bottom line when it comes to winning or losing—they'll use any means necessary. From now on, Little Locke, you need to be more careful about your safety. Starting today, a team from our Enforcement Department must shadow you at all times as a precaution.
"Sure," said Terman.
"Don't—if you do that, will I ever have any freedom? Having a bunch of people following me around every day—wouldn't that be exhausting? I promise I won't leave the academy, alright? I believe my safety within the academy is still guaranteed." Lorist hurriedly declined. If he really had a squad of enforcement officers tailing him everywhere, what would that look like? If he went to relieve himself, he'd have a crowd of onlookers—who could stand that?
"The academy is somewhat safer, but opportunities can still be found. Don't worry, Little Locke—our people will only be hidden nearby, providing covert protection. They won't be tailing you up close like you're imagining. If our Enforcement Department doesn't take the initiative to come up with a protection plan for you, tomorrow when that old geezer upstairs hears about the ambush, he'll chew us out until we're black and blue. Who told you to become the academy's golden goose, Little Locke? That old man treasures you something fierce." When Fatty Shi said this, everyone burst out laughing.
"Why does the old geezer even need to know? Can't we just keep tonight's ambush quiet?" Lorist asked, somewhat puzzled.
"We absolutely must publicize it—the bigger the commotion, the better. That way, anyone harboring malicious intent who's thinking of striking from the shadows will have second thoughts. If you keep your mouth shut, it'll just make those people think you're scared and guilty, and they'll only escalate their attacks." Fatty Shi continued: "Also, Al, tomorrow you need to make a big show of sending people to search for those two ambushers. On this end, dispose of those two corpses quietly. Externally, say that the dead men saw reinforcements coming to Little Locke's aid and fled, with one of them injured. Tomorrow you need to spread the word and put out a bounty for information on their whereabouts. Don't let anyone know those two are already dead—killed by Little Locke."
"Huh?" Al still didn't quite understand why Fatty Shi was saying all this.
But Lorist already knew what the fat man was planning: "Damn it, that fat bastard is going to scam people again."
Sure enough, Fatty Shi said to Al: "If you tell everyone those two Gold Swordsmen tried to ambush Little Locke but got killed by him instead, who would ever place bets at your book again? Think about it with that wooden head of yours—if Gold Swordsmen got killed, could those Silver-ranked fighters possibly beat Little Locke in the arena?"
"Right." Al slapped his thigh, finally understanding. Then his eyes darted about as another idea struck him: "Fatty, what if word gets out that Little Locke ran into two Gold Swordsmen on the road and came away without a scratch—would anyone buy that?
Little Locke should be spruced up a bit. Brother Locke, tomorrow you'll have to bear with us and put on a little show."
Lorist frowned: "Hey, you two—don't push it too far!"
"We won't. We'll just say you were attacked by two Gold Swordsmen tonight and, while not seriously hurt, sustained minor injuries. Tomorrow morning we'll bandage you up and splash some chicken blood on you so people will buy it. Oh, and Terman—go notify that on-call pharmacist. If anyone comes asking in the next day or two, he's to say nothing unless they pay. If they pay, he should attribute Bodefinger's upstairs injuries to Locke instead. During the morning duel, you should put on more of a struggle—make it look like you can barely hold on. Heh heh—there's big money to be made!" Fatty Shi's and Al's eyes were literally sparkling with gold.
Though the methods weren't exactly noble, Lorist didn't object. After all, the betting book had his twenty percent share—the more people bet, the more he'd earn. As for those Fatty Shi mentioned who had lost everything gambling, Lorist felt no sympathy. Quite the opposite, in fact—he'd mutter "serves them right" under his breath. Who told them to have such poor judgment in picking the wrong side?
After sorting out tomorrow's scheme, Fatty Shi poured himself another cup of Maxis and, sipping it slowly, continued his analysis: "Actually, regarding tonight's ambush of Little Locke, I suspect two parties. First is Saint Maso Academy. Tomorrow morning, Little Locke faces Clearwater Academy—that shouldn't be too risky. But the day after tomorrow, the fifteenth academy in line is Saint Maso Academy, our academy's arch-nemesis. So they're my first suspect. However, if Saint Maso Academy was truly behind it, why would they send two mediocre incompetents? That doesn't really fit Saint Maso's style."
Lorist protested: "Hey, hey, hey—those were two Gold One-Star swordsmen, you know!"
"Gold One-Star swordsmen are still incompetents. What do you call a Gold Swordsman who gets killed by one
"Uh..." Given the junior martial brother's performance, Lorist felt Fatty Shi actually had a point. The fat man might genuinely have been able to beat that junior brother, who, aside from being slippery in his evasion and defensive techniques, hadn't made much of an impression.
"There's another suspect." Fatty Shi asked Lorist: "Remember Sandos Yelta?"
"?" Lorist shook his head. "Who?"
"You!" Fatty Shi was exasperated at his denseness. "Didn't I just tell you about him not long ago? Three years ago, at the Double-Excellence Class, he incited students to gang up on you and you nearly killed him, forcing him to drop out—that Swordsmanship Instructor Assistant. Have you forgotten? After he recovered, he became a disciple of the Storm Sword Saint in the Kelia Kingdom and learned swordsmanship. Now he's at the peak of the Silver rank. He came to Dawn Academy specifically to get revenge on you. I went out of my way to warn you—how could you have forgotten all of it?"
"Oh, I remember now. Wasn't it Higuita or something?" Lorist said.
"It's Sandos Yelta, not Higuita." Fatty Shi shook his head. "You can't even get his name right. Clearly it never made an impression on you."
Lorist flushed with embarrassment. He could only blame that famous goalkeeper Higuita from his previous life for being too memorable. As a casual fan who'd only watched one World Cup with friends, he hadn't retained a single other player's name—just this goalkeeper's. So the moment he heard a name vaguely ending in "-ita," his brain automatically latched onto that goalkeeper.
"That guy was already insidious and ruthless three years ago when he incited those students to attack you—otherwise you wouldn't have hit him so hard. Sure, he's come back this time brimming with confidence, but he comes from a great noble family and excels at scheming and plotting in the shadows. So far, twelve external challenges have been completed, and in two more, you'll face him. If this Yelta sent someone to ambush you a few days early, I wouldn't be surprised at all—there's a very good chance he's behind this. The only thing I can't figure out is those two gold
"Forget it—there's no point racking our brains over this. Suspecting this and that won't accomplish anything. As long as your own strength is solid, all schemes and plots amount to nothing. These two tonight basically came here to die. It's late—everyone head back and get some rest." Lorist said.
"Damn, you Black Iron have the nerve to talk about having solid strength? For your safety, I'll tough it out and keep watch at your place tonight. Got a spare bed?" Fatty Shi said. After all, Lorist was now everyone's golden goose, and his safety had to be taken seriously.
"There's no spare bed. The servant's room went to Cory. You can sleep on the sofa or make a bed on the floor." Lorist said.
Director Brado of Clearwater Academy heard good news first thing in the morning: it was said that the Black Iron Locke—the one who claimed to be undefeated against all Silver-ranked fighters, and who was in fact Lorist, the Black Iron Gold Instructor from Dawn Academy who had initiated the academy duels—had been ambushed by two Gold One-Star swordsmen on his way back to the academy last night. Though the size of his party forced the two Gold Swordsmen to flee, Locke hadn't come away unscathed—it seemed he was injured.
Now that was good news! The only regret was that the Black Iron Locke was truly lucky—why couldn't they have finished him off for good? That would have automatically resolved the awkward predicament facing Clearwater Academy. What a shame! Director Brado let out a long sigh, then sent people to contact Dawn Academy to see whether this morning's academy duel should be postponed or canceled. Of course, the most important thing was to verify whether the Black Iron Locke was actually injured, and how badly.
He adamantly refused Dawn Academy's proposal to postpone the duel date. Either they conceded defeat, or the duel would proceed—there was no third option. If he didn't seize this opportunity to kick them while they were down, Clearwater Academy would become a laughingstock just like the thirteen before them. To be honest, that Black Iron Locke was truly formidable—thirteen academies, two hundred and sixty Silver Instructors, all defeated by him. Brado had been wracked with worry, dreading that today would be his academy's turn to suffer that same embarrassment. But now heaven had dropped a pie right into his lap—Locke was injured. Ideally, it would be a victory without a fight. But if Dawn Academy sent that Black Iron Locke out to fight while wounded, then Brado would need to properly rally the twenty Silver Instructors representing his academy today.
If twenty Silver Instructors couldn't even take down a wounded Black Iron instructor, it would only prove that Clearwater Academy's Silver Instructors were truly a bunch of useless trash—and no one could blame others for laughing at them. Director Brado swore to himself: if they truly lost this one, he would dismiss every last one of those Silver Instructors the moment they returned.
Soon, the scouts came back with reports. Apparently, Dawn Academy had asked the Black Iron Locke whether he wanted to postpone the duel date, but he had refused—saying his opponents were only Silver Instructors, not Gold Swordsmen, so there was no need to postpone. Though injured, dealing with Silver Instructors was still well within his abilities...
This news made Director Brado furrow his brow, wondering whether the Black Iron Locke's injury was actually a smokescreen from Dawn Academy's old fox of a director. But his scouts confirmed that the Black Iron Locke was genuinely hurt—a piece of reliable intelligence he had obtained for one gold coin from the on-call pharmacist at Dawn Academy the night before. For that gold coin, the pharmacist had even provided a detailed account of the injuries: first, a sword wound to the left shoulder; second, a stab wound to the right side of the ribs. The pharmacist added that while neither wound was life-threatening, they still affected his mobility—particularly the stab wound to the right ribs, which had rendered his right arm unable to generate force, requiring one to two months of recovery.
Director Brado marched off to Dawn Academy with his Clearwater Academy Silver Instructors in high spirits, ready for the duel—and returned at noon with a dark face brimming with fury. Today's academy duel had been nothing short of breathtaking. His Silver Instructors had truly given it their all; one could even say their performance today was exceptional. Several of them had resorted to mutual-kill tactics, fighting as if they didn't care whether they lived or died. But why did they always fall just short of victory? So many times they had been a hair's breadth away from winning—just a hair's breadth! Yet that Black Iron Locke was impossibly lucky. Despite being wounded and hindered in his movements, he always managed to scrape out a win at the most critical moment through some absurd twist of fate.
Take the final match, for instance. Even the sword scabbard he had casually tossed to the ground became the key to victory. Who could have predicted that? His longsword had been knocked from his hand, and then he casually reached down, picked up the scabbard lying there, and by sheer coincidence trapped his opponent's incoming blade within it. Then he drew the short sword at his waist and pressed it against his opponent's neck—just like that, he won the duel. Who could accept such a victory? If it wasn't luck, what else could it be?
Director Brado wasn't the only one with a dark face—Director Levins of Dawn Academy wore one too. In his hand was an urgent financial report from the finance department. This was outrageous—they were practically snatching money right out of the academy's hands!
The financial report stated that during this morning's academy duel, Instructor Marlin of the Combat Force coaching group had purchased one hundred gold coins' worth of lottery tickets. Executive Vice President Terman of the Swordsmanship Society had bought three hundred gold coins' worth on behalf of the Society's members. Chief Enforcer Shrade of the Academy Enforcement Department had similarly purchased five hundred gold coins' worth on behalf of his department's members. They had all reportedly purchased tickets betting on Locke's victory to show their support for Instructor Locke and their outrage over last night's ambush.
After the morning duel concluded, the academy finance department had to pay out one hundred and eighty gold Forde in winnings to cover the nine hundred gold coins' worth of lottery tickets. Meanwhile, the total income from this morning's academy duel had been sixty-three gold coins, eleven large silver coins, and three small silver coins. So today's net loss exceeded one hundred and sixteen gold coins.
That afternoon, the Dawn Academy director's office issued a new notice: effective immediately, lottery tickets betting on Instructor Locke's victory would no longer be sold during academy duel days and external challenge days. In other words, from now on, there would be only one type of lottery ticket available—betting on the opponent defeating Instructor Locke.
"Tch. That's practically handing money to the academy—only a fool would buy those." Fatty Shi crumpled the notice and tossed it into the trash.