Dead Tired - Volume Four - Chapter Three

Chapter Three

The preparations for the Grand Tournament began slowly and quietly. There were several meetings, but these were private and out of sight of the common person. Then, the announcement came.

Handed down by the newly crowned Empress (though there hadn’t really been a coronation, which certainly got some tongues waggling) was a decree to be read and spread across the fledgling empire.

The people of the empire were still getting used to the rather novel idea that they weren’t part of the Empire of the Jade Throne. 

Right now, the name of their new empire was still a hotly debated topic. Names, after all, were important.

The argument was one that repeated itself night after night, in tea halls and taverns and around kitchen tables. A few noses had been broken and teeth spilled over it. 

The current contenders were The Bleak Dynasty, the Empire of Bones, and the rather popular but unlikely to win Steppe Off Empire. 

It was surprising to some (and less so to others) how quickly the people of the yet-unnamed empire grew accustomed to the local undead. Skeletons patrolling the street was bizarre and terrifying to some, but seeing them sweeping dust off the road, pulling cats out of trees, and generally being the opposite of a nuisance had helped the average citizen get over any fear.

Oh, there was still fear and a healthy respect, especially of the more complex and horrifying undead. A Death Knight patrolling the streets in blackened, paladin-like full plate, every step a dirge of jangling metal demanded a certain amount of reverence, but the average undead left the average citizen well enough alone.

There was also that massive, very defeated army just outside the gates, the scars of recent battle a constant testament to the willingness of the new Empress to put actions where her words lay.

In any case, the announcement came and was passed around at the speed of rumour. First in “hey, did you hears” in local hangouts, then shared by nosey neighbours. Finally, the official word came out the next day at dawn, handed out by some elderly and well-respected members of the city of Yu Xiang’s council.

The news was massive.

First, and most obviously, was the tournament. The Grand Tournament.

The prize? Immortality. One’s weight in gold. Certain magical artefacts of great power. 

Heaps of gold and artefacts were interesting enough, but Immortality? Spelled with a capital I? Now that was something that had people standing up a little taller. 

It didn’t take long for the markets to start buzzing like they hadn’t since before the war. People came out in droves, some just to confirm the announcement, others already planning, scheming, dreaming. It was in the air, heavy as the summer heat. The promise of a future that didn’t end with rot or obscurity. Immortality! That kind of promise made fools of cowards and heroes of fools.

There were skeptics, of course. Some claimed that it wasn’t possible. That it was a hoax, but the word had come down from above, and soon those nay-sayers were nay-saying to no one but themselves while nursing sullen drinks.

In the nicer parts of town, nobles and sect members who had kept their heads down during the transition from one empire to the next began crawling back out of their gardens and prayer chambers. They looked at the prize, then at the city’s new order, and started asking polite questions about entry requirements. Was there a fee? Would titles be accepted in lieu of strength? Could servants compete on behalf of their masters?

There were no clear answers yet. Just the promise of the thing. The Grand Tournament. An open invitation to power, glory, and a life without end. The proclamation had said it would take place in two months, which gave everyone just enough time to convince themselves they had a chance.

Then more news came, this time just a few hours into the day. With news running rampant and everyone wanting to hear, an enterprising member of the city council hired some youngsters to repeat the message aloud at every important intersection.

The Grand Tournament was to be held in two months, yes. It was going to be hosted in Yu Xiang, in a new arena, in a new city built next to the city for the purposes of the tournament.

Registration wouldn’t start for some time, but businesses that wanted to assist and buy contracts could do so soon.

A series of portals were going to be erected between the cities of the empire, allowing all and sundry to come and participate and to allow goods to travel from city to city.

More would appear at a later date across the continent, inviting powerful warriors from all over.

Tickets would be sold at a steep discount for locals as well.

More curious than the content of the announcement, however, was its tone. It had not been written like a decree. It had read more like an invitation. Flowery, a little dramatic, but very personal. The Empress had signed it herself, and even the most jaded clerks admitted it didn’t sound like something her advisors would have written. There were flourishes, little jabs at formality, a kind of cheeky bravado that felt, to many, oddly familiar.

And so, in the space of a day, the entire empire shifted. The taverns began offering “immortal specials.” Weapons workshops stayed open past sundown. Sects that had remained neutral began calling in their wanderers and hermits. Cultivators on the road changed direction.

By the next morning, news had already reached the edges of the Flaming Steppes. By the day after, it was rushing as quick as rumour across the Jade Empire itself. First form the mouth of commoners, then cultivators heard and spread the tale. Some guarded the knowledge jealously, but too many were eager to share, and it spread nonetheless.

Some well-meaning functionaries tried to quell the rumours. This new Empress was a heretic, after all, and her ‘empire’ was little more than a couple of rogue cities with nothing of value in them, ruled by the savage undead. 

That this was all true did nothing to slow the spread.

Warnings about the dread Harold and his undead army, about his god-killing exploits, and the screaming and crying of clergy, if anything, only tempted the young and challenge-starved even more.

If even the gods were wary of this man, then surely this Grand Tournament would have something worth seeing?

The spread of that question, half mocking, half reverent, was what sealed it. Not the official declarations, not the council’s parade of public criers or the whispered threats from loyalists of the Jade Throne, but the murmured, wondering voices of wanderers and mercenaries, of barmaids and blacksmiths, of cultivators and adventurers. It was a question asked not in fear, but with awe.

If even the gods were wary of this man, then what kind of prize demanded a stage so grand?

And who would win it?

That was where imaginations ran wild. In every corner of every city, names began to emerge. Some whispered, some shouted.

In Yu Xiang, the wondering turned festive. Children picked up sticks and dueled in the streets. One kid declared himself the future champion of the Steppe Off Empire and was immediately tackled by two others who wanted to be champions of the Bleak Dynasty.

There was laughter, and song, and suddenly the scent of cooked meat in the air again. Yu Xiang hadn’t felt this alive in years.

A few entrepreneurs set up betting pools. No names had been officially listed yet, but that didn’t stop people from placing early odds.

Other, more serious businessmen were hurrying to prepare already. Hundreds, maybe thousands of visitors? All carrying enough wealth and gold to be able to afford travel in the first place? They smelled blood in the water.

Those who rose to the top would have a real chance of cementing their enterprise as a cornerstone of the fledgling empire, and the talk of portals between cities sounded like a dream come true. 

A dream, yes, but one wrapped in urgency. Space was already becoming a premium. Warehouses that had stood empty since the siege were bought up within the day. Inns doubled their prices, then doubled them again, then began renting floorspace by the square meter to anyone willing to bring their own mat. Contracts were written in a rush, some with ink still drying as hands were shaken.

The more cunning merchants hired undead labourers immediately, not just for construction, but for security. A few bold ones even tried to contract Death Knights, though these attempts were swiftly discouraged when one such knight replied by standing perfectly still until the merchant in question wilted with embarrassment and slunk away.

Cultivators were beginning to arrive already. Not in full force, but as a trickle. Lone figures on strange mounts or in battered carriages, eyes half-closed and humming with restrained power.

Most kept to themselves. A few didn’t.

The Grand Tournament had its first casualties as some cultivators picked a fight with a Death Knight and lost. 

Above it all, at the heart of the empire that was not yet named, the Empress remained unseen.

People said she was resting. Others said she was working. Still others said she had gone beyond rest and work both, and was simply watching, waiting to see who among her new people would rise to meet the challenge she had laid out like a gauntlet at the feet of the world.

Two months. Time enough for a name to spread. Time enough for swords to be sharpened, bets to be placed, alliances to be made and broken.

Time enough for legends to step forward.

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