Bloodline Plant Lord: Rise of the World Sovereign

Halvern walked Ren to the Muster hall beyond the seclusion buildings, past the arena where he had fought Kest.

Several doors stood open along its front. Inside, admission stations lined the near wall, with roster boards stretching behind them. Beyond the desks, sections of seats surrounded a broad grey viewing surface. An observers’ gallery ran above the floor.

”Sixty-four registered Lords,” Halvern said. ”Take your receipt to the fourth station.”

Ren joined the short queue. Most of those waiting had someone with them: a sponsor, an attendant carrying papers, or another Lord comparing the notices in their hands. At the next desk, a clerk was checking a seal while its owner waited with both palms on the counter.

”Your deployment permit is signed,” Halvern said. ”They’ll match it to the assessment and confirm the gate authorization. I’ll be in the sponsors’ section after admission.”

Ren took out his receipt and moved forward as the queue shortened.

— • —

The clerk checked his registration number against the assessed roster.

”Ren Valis. Thirteen declared entries.” They turned to the attached permit. ”Fragment-born entrants admitted through the event connection. Confirm the authorized site.”

Ren read the description: the silver-side cove, the frame across the waterline and the assessor’s approval. He checked the location against the sketch beneath it before signing the confirmation.

”Verified,” the clerk said, returning his receipt with an admission card. ”Third seating section. Your place is marked with your name.”

The Lord at the adjoining desk had finished his own check. He glanced at the public roster beside Ren’s paperwork, pausing at Ward’s entry.

”Does your return gate open into deep water?”

”It does.”

The Lord nodded and collected his papers. Ren saw the name Tomas Greave on the card he picked up. On the public copy of his roster, the previous result read SEMIFINALIST.

Several entries had defensive roles, with declared companions grouped beneath them. Ren looked back at Ward’s line. The role alone didn’t explain the question, but the listed whale did.

The clerk attached the confirmed gate authorization to the deployment permit, keeping both with the original assessment record. Ren put his receipt back in his jacket. Nothing on the thirteen-entry roster had changed; the desk had only matched the documents needed to admit them through the event route.

The clerk indicated the passage beside the desk, and Ren moved through toward the boards.

— • —

Each registration occupied a sheet: the Lord’s name, a public world name where one had been supplied, a previous result and the assessed entries. Ren followed them along the wall until he reached his own.

Ren Valis — NO PRIOR RESULT.

There were several other newcomers on the same board. One had registered a single fourteen-point entrant. Ren checked the weight, then the short role description beneath it. That Lord had left no alternative on the roster if the first arena proved unsuitable.

Another sheet listed twenty entries, mostly worth one or two points, with repeated roles. A long list could provide replacements between rounds, but only eighteen points could enter at once. Ren continued along the board, comparing the different ways Lords had divided their strength.

His own thirteen entries filled most of a page. Ward was listed as heavy protection, Wake as transport and defence. Tarin’s role was water movement. Vesper’s entry included Mistwhisker as a declared companion, and Eira’s carried the word treatment.

Keep — 2 — communications.

The public copy contained no measured delay or detailed treatment limits. Ren checked the weights against the copy he carried, then folded his own roster beneath the notice.

The same format appeared on the neighboring sheets. Broad roles told him where to start looking, but two entries marked support could do very different work. He would need to keep that distinction in mind when choosing counters from his own list.

Four sheets farther along, Adrien Sol’s previous result read FINALIST — RUNNER-UP.

Sol had registered several two- and three-point entries, with none above four. Line, flank, relay and support appeared more than once. Ren counted enough alternatives to replace a role without rebuilding the whole squad. The list suggested flexibility; he would have to watch them fight to learn whether they used it well.

Halvern joined him while he was reading.

”Sol is one of the favorites. Last year’s winner is outside the ten-year world-age limit now.”

”Did Greave lose to him?”

”We can find the old bracket. Greave’s defence carried him to the semifinal.” Halvern indicated two sheets farther down. ”Look at Roan and Shuli as well.”

Ilya Roan had three entries: two heavy fighters at seven and eight, and a two-point handler. Seventeen if all three deployed together. Ren studied the roles, wondering how much ground the two expensive fighters could cover without leaving the handler exposed.

Wen Shuli’s list ran longer, with lower weights assigned to plant-based coverage, growth and ground control. Both sheets read NO PRIOR RESULT.

A Lord reading beside Roan’s sheet tapped the handler entry and showed it to a companion. Farther along, someone copied all of Shuli’s low-weight entries instead of just the largest. Ren waited for a space at the board before returning to the two lists.

Ren compared Shuli’s control entries with Sol’s repeated movement and support roles. They would want different things from an arena, even before individual abilities came into it.

”And the others?” he asked.

”You’ll learn more when the groups are posted. Those four aren’t the whole field.” Halvern looked toward the seats, where an attendant had begun directing Lords into their sections. ”Take the rules first. Then decide what you need to look for.”

— • —

Ren found his name on a card fixed to a bench in the third section.

The Lord to his left was already reading a sheet. The woman on his right glanced at his admission card, gave him a brief nod and moved her papers clear of his seat. Halvern continued toward the sponsors’ area beyond the next aisle.

From here, Ren could see the length of the roster wall and several groups still copying entries. The hall took time to settle. Attendants moved along the aisles until the last arrivals were seated, then an official stepped onto the edge of the viewing floor.

”The first round is Territory. You may open the briefing sheets. Information for later rounds will be released separately.”

Ren unfolded the paper waiting beside his card.

The arena contained water, stone, vegetation and heat sectors. Several marked positions would be active simultaneously, with different point values listed for each. Their exact arrangement would be revealed at staging.

A squad controlled a position through uncontested occupation. It scored for as long as it held that position alone. If an opposing squad entered the marked area, scoring paused until only one squad remained there. Forcing an opponent out could restore control; defeating every member was unnecessary.

Ren marked that passage. A unit able to reach a valuable position could interrupt its score even if it couldn’t hold the ground afterward. He checked the wording again before writing a note beside Pell’s name. Getting there would only be useful if the courier could also get clear.

Each position scored independently. The sheet gave the scoring values and round duration, with a fixed signal ending play. Group assignments and the qualification structure would be posted before staging; the sixty-four squads would not all be sent into one arena.

Below those terms were the command rules.

Regulated communication with the Lord was permitted for this round through the event’s designated channel. No attacks, energy, equipment or reinforcements could enter from outside during play. The channel procedure would be demonstrated at staging.

Ren could send orders, but Vesper would still command on the ground. If she saw something the viewing surface didn’t show him, she would need to act on it. He wrote that beside the command paragraph so they could cover it before deployment.

The official went on to surrender and extraction, then explained the recovery schedule. Entrants could receive treatment between rounds, but the interval would not be extended for a particular injury. Anyone extracted with a serious wound needed clearance before returning to competition.

Ward could come home to Balm and Ren’s Life working. Whether that would be enough within the scheduled interval depended on the wound. Ren glanced at his roster, where Wake’s six sat below the other entries. Assessing a second whale gave him an alternative, provided the next task suited it.

Around him, Lords were adding notes to their sheets. The woman beside him drew lines between three of the listed positions, stopped and crossed them out. Without the layout, distances were still guesses.

— • —

Selene stood at the gallery rail when the briefing ended.

Ren saw her as he left his section and went up the nearest stairs. She shifted sideways to make room for him, resting her paper beneath one hand on the rail. He stood beside her and looked down at the viewing surface.

It remained blank. Below them, the Lords were leaving their seats for the boards while the attendants gathered unused briefing sheets.

”You received the rules too?” he asked.

”Observer admission includes the briefing.” She lifted the edge of her copy. ”I’ll have to follow the scoring from up here.”

”You’ll probably see more of the floor than I will.”

”Which section?”

”Third.”

She found his bench below, then looked across the other seating blocks. Ren followed her gaze. There were sponsors talking in the aisles, Lords comparing rosters and an attendant answering questions near the central surface. Until the arena appeared, everyone had the same lists and terrain descriptions to work from.

Halvern was speaking with another sponsor near the far aisle. Ren stayed at the rail a little longer, with Selene beside him, before folding his briefing sheet.

”I want another look at the boards.”

”I’ll be up here when the rounds begin.”

She let him pass toward the stairs, then returned to her place overlooking the floor.

— • —

The boards were more crowded after the briefing.

Lords and their accompanying staff stood in small groups, copying entries onto slates or comparing their assessment costs. Ren passed two people discussing the seven- and eight-point fighters on Roan’s sheet before reaching his own board.

Adrien Sol was already reading it.

He stepped back to give Ren room, a stylus resting unused between his fingers.

”Ren Valis? Adrien Sol.”

Ren nodded. ”I saw your roster.”

”I’m working through this board.” Sol indicated the lower part of Ren’s sheet. ”Keep. Two points for communications. Does that cover the whole squad?”

”The ones carrying its spores.”

Sol looked at the line once more.

”Thank you. See you at staging.”

He moved toward the next roster. Two people who had been consulting a slate nearby joined him, and one pointed out an entry farther along the wall. Ren couldn’t tell whether they were discussing his team or the one Sol had just reached.

He took out his own copy of the roster and looked again at Keep’s role. Sol hadn’t asked how strong Ward was or how quickly Tarin crossed water. He had picked out the entry that helped the others coordinate.

The public sheet hadn’t revealed the delay, the range or which carriers Ren would deploy. Those details were still his to manage. But once an opponent saw spores travelling with the team, it could start identifying who carried the reports between them.

Ren marked Keep’s line on his copy for the next drill.

They needed to practise losing a carrier.