There was already another group of boys in the clearing when Yipachai and his roommates arrived for dueling training. Four newcomers, all of whom looked a bit older than the other novices, stood at attention in front of master Rurou, apparently waiting for instructions.

  Those were the initiates, Yipachai had learned. They were the boys who had trained at the School of the West Wind and had passed their trials to be promoted from novicehood. The pale green belts they wore indicated their rank.

  Yipachai already knew one of the initiates by name, though he’d never really spoken with him. Atsushi Kuno was Mamoru’s older brother by three years. His face certainly resembled Mamoru’s, though the angles were a little sharper. His frame was slightly thinner than his younger brother’s, but Atsushi stood with even more of a steady confidence than Mamoru did.

  “Any idea what this is about?” Yipachai asked aloud, leaning in slightly closer to Mamoru while speaking loudly enough that any of his roommates could have answered.

  “Not a one,” Mamoru answered, shaking his head.

  “Is he going to make us duel the initiates?” Shohi asked. His face and tone betrayed his concern.

  “I could take any one of those flaming peacocks,” Mikio said.

  Mamoru sighed and rolled his eyes. “Give it a rest, Mikio. Koji would have you knocked out before you even landed a hit on him.”

  Mikio’s only response was a growl. Yipachai wished he could shut the murderous boy up the way Mamoru could.

  “Gather in,” master Rurou said as they drew near. “I’ve got important news about this year’s dueling championships.”

  Yipachai and the other novices lined up behind the initiates, their movements suddenly more energetic.

  “The King has decreed that there will be a new event at this year’s competition,” Rurou continued.

  Yipachai turned his head to Mamoru, who shrugged. They weren’t the only two to exchange curious looks.

  “Dueling has always been a symbol of our culture. Once, it was merely a way to settle disputes between individuals, but now it has grown into something more. For some, it’s a form of meditation. For others, a sport.”

  “The greatest sport ever created,” one of the initiates said under his breath. Master Rurou fixed him with a hard glare.

  “But starting this year, our king desires our art to become something more. We are no longer to be mere duelists, lining up from singular opponents and competing according to arbitrary rules.” Rurou’s face showed only the slightest twinge of distaste, as if he had been compelled to use words that were not his own. “Instead, the King has required that we become warriors, capable of defending the kingdom should the need arise.”

  A collective intake of breath sounded through both lines of boys, followed by threads of speculative whispers.

  “Silence!” Rurou said, his eyebrows rising, one hand reaching for the l’anti wand at his side.

  The quiet voices cut off immediately, leaving only the chirping calls of birds resounding through the clearing.

  “In addition to the regular events, this year’s tournament will include a team duel meant to simulate real combat. Lan Banti and the use of lethal force are prohibited. Outside of that, anything goes.”

  Rurou’s gaze was cold and hard as he directed it at each of the boys in the group. Yipachai felt a shiver run along his spine. Part of it was from fear. But the other part…he’d committed himself to becoming the best swordsman he could be, and this—not just dueling, but combat—lent itself even more to his goals. He doubted he would face Mangsut in a controlled environment, where they bowed to one another and the bystanders understood that they weren’t to be involved.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  This was exactly what he needed.

  “Contestants may yield at any time. They will be removed from the fight while the rest of their team continues on without them. The judges can also decide that a combatant is disqualified if they’ve taken too many serious hits.”

  Rurou paused again, and Yipachai felt his pulse quicken.

  “The team with the last person standing will be declared the victors.”

  Atsushi, Mamoru’s brother, raised his hand. “How will the teams be chosen?”

  Rurou nodded, as if he had expected the question. “As it is the first time the tournament has organized such a competition, the teams will be limited to non-masters. But otherwise, there will be no separate divisions for initiates and novices. I’ve spoken with the other masters here, and as far as the West Wind is concerned, those that prove themselves worthy of a spot on our team will be selected regardless of their rank.”

  “Will this change our training schedule?” another of the initiates asked.

  “It will. Three times per week, initiates and novices will train together as teams. The other days will be normal, separate dueling practices.” Rurou paused and clasped his hands behind his back. “Any further questions?”

  The entire clearing was silent. Even the birds seemed to be holding their breath, as if waiting for someone to speak.

  “Then let us begin,” Rurou said, a grim smile on his face.

  Before long, Yipachai had been separated into a group with two of the initiates that he hadn’t known beforehand. Bunko Tsutsumi had a rather heavy brow, and already suffered from a receding hairline. Akio Kibe looked more youthful, with the silvery skin that Yipachai had seen on a few of the other Banqilun in Amigawa, along with hair that seemed closer to a yellowish color than to the typical green.

  Neither of them looked very excited to be on a team with the school’s only Hetanzou.

  Mamoru was placed on a team with Mikio and the only other initiate that wasn’t his brother. Atsushi himself was chosen to lead the remaining three novices, though master Rurou said that they would always use one person as a substitute in order to keep the teams even.

  At first, Yipachai’s old insecurities rose up within him. He knew nothing of warfare, or team fighting. He had barely started learning the sword.

  But then, as if some invisible hand had grabbed him by the arm and lent him some strength, Yipachai steeled his heart. Of course, he didn’t feel particularly brave, but rather he drew courage from the plan that was just beginning to form in his mind.

  If everything outside of Lan Banti was permitted in the team duels, that meant he could bond with a beast—something that wasn’t allowed in standard duels. Yipachai had asked Mamoru once after suffering a particularly nasty blow from Hachiro. Mamoru had scoffed at him, and answered in no uncertain terms that Lan Kuanghi would get him disqualified even faster than spitting in his opponent’s face.

  But if Yipachai was allowed to use a Lan Kuanghi bond now…the others might try to do the same. And it was a known fact that Banqilun tended to struggle with the art.

  Which meant Yipachai finally had an advantage.

  With a sudden sense of excitement to go along with his newfound determination, he sought out Pingou with his mind and initiated a bond. There was no need for him to ask first at this hour, and Pingou was just casually hunting. His typical afternoon activity.

  “Come on, kid,” Akio said to him with a sigh. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Try not to make us lose too badly,” Bunko said.

  Yipachai nodded. “I’ll try to keep up.”

  Then he summoned his wings.

  It had been so long since Yipachai had last opened so deep a bond with Pingou. His wings—semi-transparent, azure heron’s wings that were wider than his outstretched arms—were a comfortable weight on his back. He spread them out, inhaling and exhaling a long, slow breath as he gloried in the feeling.

  “Hey, that’s not fair,” Yoshito said. He was on the team Rurou had chosen to face Yipachai’s first. “He’s got a beast around here somewhere.”

  Every eye flicked from Yipachai to Rurou.

  The young master simply shrugged. “Outside of Lan Banti, anything goes,” he said again. “Now line up, all of you who are going first.”

  Mamoru’s team quickly shuffled to take places on the tree stumps that functioned as seating. Yipachai took his place between Bunko and Akio Hachiro, the one from the team of four who had been chosen to sit out the first round, took a seat next to Mikio.

  Akio looked Yipachai up and down once, then nodded appreciatively. “That might turn out to be a handy trick.”

  Bunko grunted his agreement.

  His chest swelling, Yipachai turned to face his opponents.

  Mamoru’s brother, Atsushi stood in the front, with Shohi to his left and Yoshito to his right. The novice’s faces were grim as they stared down the older initiates across from them.

  Yipachai didn’t blame them. He might’ve resigned himself to accepting and working through pain, but that didn’t mean he welcomed it. And those novices were likely about to feel it unless Atsushi was somehow able to defend them both.

  Master Rurou cleared his throat. “I have never fought in something like this, and I certainly haven’t ever taught my students how to fight in groups. Which means, from here on, each team will need to find their own way to win.”

  He paused and locked eyes with each of the six boys on the makeshift battlefield.

  “Begin.”