The Merciful Reaper

Girln Tu frowned, his gaze fixed on the wrestling pit. "That one called Ridge… he's going to lose."

Mystic Mystic Moon blinked. "Why? They look pretty evenly matched!"

Dunce spoke up, clarifying for Girln Tu. "Ridge's steps are getting unsteady. He's clearly running on fumes. The shorter guy might be tired, but his stance is solid as an oak. Gutti won't budge him now."

Mystic Mystic Moon's bright eyes flickered towards Dunce. "What about you? Could *you* throw him?"

Dunce blinked in surprise. "Me? I don't wrestle. But… I reckon his strength ain't a patch on mine."

Girln Tu shot Dunce a knowing half-smile. "With that raw power you showed pulling that damned Black Steel Spirit bow? He wouldn't have time for fancy moves. You'd toss him like a sack of potatoes. Hey, Iron Bull," he nudged Girln Li nearby. "What's say our Unpolished here wins himself a championship? Might even catch the eye of that striking Yalian Tribe maiden…"

Dunce opened his mouth to respond, but Mystic Mystic Moon was faster. She planted her hands on her slender hips, eyes flashing with a spark that wasn't entirely playful. "NO! He is *not* going!" The forcefulness made both Dunce and Girln Tu turn and stare. Mystic Mystic Moon flushed crimson, realizing her outburst. She bit her lip, scrambling for an excuse. "She… she's already got a sweetheart! You guys shouldn't meddle."

Girln Tu chuckled softly, a world of understanding in that sound, and shook his head, leaving it at that. But a strange little knot had tightened in Dunce's chest. He mumbled something incoherent and edged behind Mystic Mystic Moon. "Just… let's watch the fight."

Mystic Mystic Moon gave a curt "Hmph," her eyes snapping back to the pit, but her mind was entirely focused on the boy now standing close behind her. *What's wrong with me?* she thought, confusion warring with a sudden, terrifying realization. *Is this… could I really be feeling…?*

Girln Tu's prediction played out perfectly. In the pit, Gutti's reserves vanished. Kent, shorter but built like a barrel and fueled by grim determination, weathered his desperate charges. Gutti, driven by the fear of losing not just honor but the woman who held his heart, made one final, lunging attempt to throw his opponent. But his legs betrayed him. Kent seized the weakness, hooked Gutti's ankle, pivoted his own dense weight, and hurled him to the dirt with a sickening thud.

"BATUL! BATUL! KONDU!" The roar of the Yalian Tribe spectators filled the clearing. The new Frontier Games wrestling champion was crowned. Kent soaked in the adulation of his tribe, basking in the Warrior-King title. Gutti lay several yards away, beaten not just physically but in spirit, unable to rise no matter how hard he strained. Lanny pushed through the crowd, tears carving trails down her dark cheeks as she sank beside him, shaking his shoulder. Gutti stared back, his eyes pools of utter despair that mirrored her own agony. That expression, filled with a hopelessness Lanny knew too well, didn't just break her heart; it struck a raw chord deep within Girln Tu. He saw echoes of his own bitter past, the painful separation from his beloved Yun, a wound still tender from battles fought over bloodlines and prejudice.

"Brother! Iron Bull's back!" Girln Li boomed, striding up surrounded by a swarm of admiring Yalian Tribe youths, including the affable Tubal. Sweat plastered Girln Li's clothes to his massive frame, but pure exhilaration radiated from him. "Man, that felt GOOD! Like runnin' with the wind again. Missed this feelin'!"

Girln Tu shot him a stern look. "Keep your head screwed on. We're guests here. Fly low, stay smart."

Girln Li just grinned, flexing. "The folks here are great! And hey, win the race, win two prime steeds? Solid prize!" Tubal stepped forward, thumping Girln Li's shoulder. "Girln Li, my friend! You were like lightning! Made us North-Wind tribe proud! And young Dunce here…" he nodded towards the quieter boy. "Pulled the Black Steel Spirit! Never seen anything like it!"

With the games officially concluded, the three Yalian Tribe tribes – North Wind, Red Dust, and Ghost Sage – reformed their distinct groups. Workers quickly assembled a crude platform in the center clearing using thick timbers. The Presidenttains ascended.

"A fine Frontier Games!" declared the North Wind Presidenttain, his deep voice carrying. "Rockforce and skill were shown today! Let us honor the champions of the three challenges! Step forth!"

Girln Li looked at Girln Tu, who gave a curt nod. "Go. Remember your manners." Girln Li practically sprinted towards the platform. The Archery Champion, a seasoned man with steady hands, joined him, as did Kent, already beaming at his victory. Girln Li and Kent were a matched pair in height and solid build, though Girln Li looked even thicker through the shoulders.

The Presidenttains offered praise, then ritual drinks of fermented mare's milk. The Archer received his fifty gold pieces on the spot. Two magnificent, snorting steeds were led before Girln Li. Only Kent stood without his reward.

"Today brings us another wonder!" boomed the North Wind Presidenttain. "The Black Steel Spirit has been drawn! Let us welcome the warrior who achieved this feat!" Gasps rippled through the crowd of all three tribes. The Black Steel Spirit was legendary, a relic of the North Wind, stubbornly resisting all attempts until today.

Mystic Mystic Moon nudged Dunce. "They're calling for you."

"M-me? What for?"

"You pulled that bow, dummy! Probably a prize! Go on!" she urged, a teasing lilt in her voice.

Dunce flushed scarlet. Public speaking wasn't his forte. "But… I shot an arrow into the *wrong* target! It was embarrassing!"

Mystic Mystic Moon gave him a gentle push. "Stop doubting yourself! You did amazing! Go! Or I *will* be mad." Her voice held a warning edge. Tubal added, "Go on, lad! Bring honor to North Wind! Refuse, and it's an insult!"

Caught between them, Dunce reluctantly shuffled towards the platform. Whispers and curious stares followed him. Girln Li, clueless about the bow feat, gaped as Dunce joined them. "Bro? *You* pulled that cursed thing?"

Before Dunce could confirm, the North Wind Presidenttain grabbed his shoulders, his weathered face split by a delighted grin. "Young man! You've done it! First soul in generations to draw the Black Steel Spirit! They say light… white light… burst around you. Was that… the Warrior's Breath?" Combat arts weren't uncommon across the Federated Territories, but the nomadic Yalian Tribes rarely produced masters, and outsiders rarely mingled freely with dark-skinned folk.

Dunce nodded. "Yes."

The Presidenttain clapped his shoulder. "Youth brings true power! Though you aren't of our blood, you've earned an Yalian Tribe warrior's respect! Your prize?" He gestured broadly. "Like the Valor Kent, you may choose a bride from among the unwed maidens of all three tribes!"

Dunce's face burned hotter than any forge. He remembered Mystic Mystic Moon's earlier reaction. "N-no! Thank you, but no!" he stammered, waving his hands.

The Presidenttain laughed heartily. "Young man, this is no time for shyness! It's settled! Tonight, at the Stellafire Feast, our new Valor, Kent, and you, will claim your brides!" He raised his arms. "People of the Yalian Tribe! Feast! Dance! Celebrate!" The clearing erupted in cheers, shouts, and music starting up.

Dunce, pulled along by a grinning Girln Li, found their companions. Mystic Mystic Moon stood apart, face like stone, radiating cold fury. Dunce moved closer, voice low with confusion. "Mystic Mystic Moon… I didn't know they'd do this… I swear, I won't pick anyone."

Mystic Mystic Moon just uttered a sharp "Hmph!" and stalked off towards a roasting spit. Dunce floundered, heart suddenly heavy. Girln Tu leaned in, voice low and urgent. He spoke swiftly into Dunce's ear for a minute, punctuated by nods and wide eyes from the taller boy.

Mystic Night claimed the vast grasslands, broken only by a roaring central bonfire – the Stellafire – casting dancing shadows. Yalian Tribes sang, laughed, danced, and feasted. All, except for Gutti and Lanny. They sat apart, Gutti hunched, face pale, consumed by regret. She rested her head on his shoulder, both caught in the despair of a future lost for a few seconds of faltering strength.

As the revelry peaked, the North Wind Presidenttain's commanding shout cut through the noise. "The Choosing begins! Bring forth our warrior-claimants!"

Dunce and Kent, now awkwardly dressed in Yalian Tribe finery, were pushed forward by a gaggle of youths. The North Wind Presidenttain stood before them, flanked by the other leaders and Lanny.

"Tonight brings joy to two strong hearts!" the Presidenttain boomed. "Unwed maidens of the Yalian Tribe, of marrying age! Stand now!" Hundreds of young women rose across the three tribes, most faces alight with hopeful smiles. To be chosen by a champion was the highest honor. Only Lanny stood reluctantly, pulled away from Gutti's despairing gaze by tribal law, a bitter resignation in her posture.

Mystic Mystic Moon, sandwiched between Girln Tu and Girln Li, trembled, knuckles white. *Dunce… please… not this…* The thought screamed silently in her mind. She barely recognized this clawing possessiveness. *He's mine… isn't he?*

Kent's eyes locked onto Lanny, burning with desire. Dunce kept his head down, seemingly lost in thought. "Young champions!" the Presidenttain proclaimed. "Who claims first pick?"

Dunce abruptly raised his head. "Presidenttain, as the guest, might I have this honor?" His words slammed into Mystic Mystic Moon like physical blows. Her world tilted, and only Girln Li's reflexive grab kept her upright. "Our boy's learning!" Girln Li guffawed. "Black beauty for a wife? Not bad!"

Girln Tu silenced him with a sharp look. "Quiet, fool. Just watch."

Kent eyed Dunce, suspicion warring with a victor's confidence. *Let the fool pick first. What does he know of Yalian Tribe beauty? Lanny hides near the back anyway.* He forced a magnanimous nod. "He is guest. Let him choose."

"Good!" the Presidenttain boomed. "The guest claims precedence! Warrior – choose!"

Dunce stepped forward, nodding curtly. "Thanks." He walked to the very edge of the Stellafire's light. "I believe the Spirits guide us," he announced, voice surprisingly steady. "I am a Spirit-Talker! If you'll permit a small craft…" He raised a hand, chanting low, words rolling like wind over stone: "Embers of the earth, heat of heart, gather in my palm, heed my call!" A fist-sized orb of crimson flame materialized above his palm. Gasps erupted. Magic was a rarity in the wilds. The flame drifted into the air, orbiting the Stellafire once before speeding like a vengeful spirit towards the gathered maidens.

A blinding shard of pure white light appeared from nowhere, rocketing towards the flame! Dunce gasped. *Mystic Mystic Moon!* Panicking, he jerked the fireball sideways. It skimmed past the light shard, diving into the crowd. Amid startled shrieks, it halted abruptly, illuminating the ground directly at Lanny's feet before vanishing.

Lanny froze. Kent's triumph had been expected. This… by the outsider using *magic*? A sliver of confused intrigue pierced her despair.

The Presidenttain, unable to see over the crowd, called, "Chosen maiden! Step forward!"

Lanny exchanged one last look with Gutti, seeing the renewed devastation in his eyes. Drawing a deep breath, fueled by defiance and duty, she stepped out. A murmur, then a rising wave of surprise washed through the Yalian Tribes as she walked towards Dunce. It was Kent who shouted, bursting from near the Presidenttain, face twisted in rage. "Presidenttain! My choice was the same! Your daughter!"

The Presidenttain's expression warred between surprise and grief as he saw Lanny. "But… she is my only daughter! How can she be divided?" It was for Gutti he truly grieved, knowing his loss.

Dunce's voice cut through the tension, cold and clear. "Then let the right be won by strength. A duel! For the hand of Lanny!" He locked eyes with Kent. "A wrestling challenge. Do you accept?" The crowd exploded. Challenge Kent? The newly crowned Valor? At wrestling? Pure madness!

Kent's eyes burned with fury. He ripped off his tunic, bare torso gleaming in the firelight. "Let's see what the talker can *do* then!" Lanny was pulled aside by her father. A ring cleared instantly, tribal pride now openly hostile.

"You fought all day," Dunce stated calmly. "Fair trade." He crossed his arms behind his back. "I'll fight with my arms bound thus. Topple me once, and she is yours."

Kent growled, disbelief warring with predatory triumph. *This idiot makes it easy.* He charged, grabbing Dunce's shoulders, trying to muscle him off his feet. But Dunce didn't yield. His legs were pillars. Kent might as well have tried pushing down an ancient mesa. Heaving, straining, Kent got nowhere. Dunce barely shifted, then his body flexed almost imperceptibly. A flash of white light flickered at his shoulders. Kent sailed through the air, landing hard three yards away.

Silence crashed down. An outsider. Arms tied behind his back. Toppling Kent? Impossible!

Kent scrambled up, bruised pride fueling rage. He surged again. Hands touched tunic. And he flew again. Over and over. After the fifth hard landing, Kent stayed down. Dunce let his voice ring out, arrogant, calculated. "Is that all? No Yalian Tribe strong enough to humble an outsider? Challenge me! Beat me, and the beautiful Lanny is yours!" Tribal fury ignited instantly. Seven, eight young men surged forward, snarling, each taking his turn. And each time, Dunce stood firm, untouched, the challenger hitting the dirt with bone-jarring force.

When the nineteenth challenger limped away, silence resumed. Dunce's finger snapped out, pointing directly at the slumped figure of Gutti. "You! Runner-up! Where's your courage? Face me. Beat me, and she is yours!"

The taunt cut through Gutti's despair. Fury ignited where hopelessness had been. He staggered to his feet, eyes blazing with Yalian Tribe pride. "Outsider! You mock us! Our blood is strong! I, Ridge, answer!" He strode into the ring, chest heaving, the gathered tribes roaring their support as one. The air crackled with raw energy.

Dunce hid a smile behind impassive eyes. Hands still clasped behind his back. "Then earn her."

Gutti lunged, taking Dunce's shoulders. He feinted left, then swung his leg in viciously against Dunce's right ankle. For the first time, Dunce stumbled! Dunce's eyes widened in apparent shock; his leg buckled slightly. The crowd roared! Gutti seized the moment, twisting with every ounce of his strength, trying to hurl Dunce down.

Instead of planting like a tree, Dunce wavered wildly! He swayed, recovered slightly, then seemed to stumble *again*! The cheers became a deafening storm. Gutti threw himself in, his movements sharp, instinctive. He wove, hooked, and pushed, driven by the desperate need to reclaim everything he'd almost lost. Finally, he caught Dunce perfectly off-balance. With a mighty heave born of love and fury, he slammed Dunce backwards. The taller boy landed flat on his back with a thud that echoed the crowd's eruption.

"GUTTI! GUTTI! BATUL GUTTI!" The roar was thunderous. Gutti was hoisted onto shoulders, the unlikely savior, the true spirit of the Yalian Tribe embodied.

Dunce climbed to his feet, rubbing his back theatrically. He met Gutti's disbelieving, dawning joy. "You win," he conceded, his voice carrying despite the din. He bowed his head slightly towards Gutti, then addressed the tribes. "My arrogance is defeated. The Yalian Tribe breed true warriors. Because of my earlier pride…" he looked directly at the Presidenttain and Lanny, "I forfeit my claim. No bride tonight." He turned and strode swiftly from the ring.

Girln Tu and Girln Li were already moving as Dunce reached them. "Plan worked?" Dunce whispered urgently.

Girln Tu chuckled. "Like the sun rising. You sold the stumble like a pro."

Girln Li stared between them, utterly confused. "Wait… what? That scrawny kid didn't do squat! How'd you lose?"

The three melted quickly into the shadowy fringe of the celebrating mob. As Dunce passed Lanny, her voice, low and fervent with gratitude, reached him. "Thank you."

The joyous frenzy swallowed them completely. Dunce's shoulders slumped as they moved away. "Alright, Girln Tu? Check? Gutti gets his girl?"

Girln Tu slapped his shoulder. "Smoothest con I've seen since those snake-oil peddlers outside Tarnstead. Perfect." Then his expression sharpened. "Damn. Dunce! Mystic Mystic Moon!"

Dunce's head snapped up. "What? Where?"

"After you picked Lanny… she *bolted*. Crying her eyes out." Girln Tu's look was heavy with meaning. "That girl's heart is tangled up in yours, brother. Tandor't you break it."

Dunce didn't fully grasp the implications yet, but the words 'crying' and 'bolted' struck terror into his soul. His gut clenched. "Where?! What direction?!"

He took off, legs pumping frantically, driven by a nameless fear far worse than facing Kent. "Mystic Mystic Moon! Mystic Mystic Moon, where are you? Please be okay!" He reached the edge of the oasis where the camp met the wild grass, lungs burning. No sign.

Then, carried on the night breeze – a small, muffled sob.

He followed the sound like a lifeline, skirting behind a large hide tent. There she was. Alone. Huddled knees-to-chest, facing the dark water of the oasis. Her shoulders shook with the force of her crying. The utter loneliness of that small silhouette pierced Dunce's heart. He knelt silently behind her, hands hovering a moment before gently resting on her shaking shoulders. "Mystic Mystic Moon?" His voice was soft as velvet. "What happened? Why are you crying?" He felt immense relief just finding her.

She jerked upright, snapping her head around, eyes red and puffy, face streaked with tears. "You! Go away!" she yelled, her voice thick. "What do *you* care? Go find your perfect Yalian Tribe bride!"

"Mystic Mystic Moon, please, stop crying. Just listen to me. I need to explain!" His voice was pleading.

"No! I won't! I hate you! Just GO!" Tears streamed fresh. She lashed out blindly, small fists pounding against his solid chest. Each blow was fueled by the terrifying image of him choosing another.

He caught her wrists gently but firmly. "Mystic Mystic Moon, please, who did this? What's wrong? Tell me."

She yanked her hands free and swiped angrily at her eyes. "You! YOU hurt me! Pay me back!" Fueled by sheer, wild emotion, she snatched her Angel Staff from the ground beside her and swung it at him in a blind arc. He raised an arm instinctively to shield himself.

*CRUNCH*. Razor-sharp feathers sliced through fabric and deep into the muscle of his forearm.

Blood, dark and slick in the moonlight, welled instantly, soaking through his sleeve.

Mystic Mystic Moon froze. Stellaed at the staff in her hand, then at the crimson stain blooming on his arm. The staff clattered from her grasp. A choked sob tore from her throat, followed by overwhelming despair. She crumpled back onto the ground, burying her face in her knees, shaking with wracking, uncontrollable sobs.

Dunce barely registered the sharp pain. He clamped a hand over the wound, applying pressure. "Mystic Mystic Moon, please… please don't cry. Tell me what's wrong? Why did you run off? Why does… why does this upset you so much?" He was utterly lost, desperate only to stop her tears, unable to grasp why his actions had caused this storm.