Cross hadn't known what to expect from the event that was taking place.

  Some kind of gathering certainly, some significant number of city dwellers in the same place for some purpose.

  But when they got there, there were barely more people in the room than lived in the Scrap Heaps.

  There was plenty of space for them, even with the floor featuring numerous round tables surrounded by chairs, a raised platform at the far end of the room bearing a more conventional rectangular table, an unfamiliar man standing behind it as he addressed the crowd.

  He was saying something about having defended the city from something, but Cross wasn't really paying attention, more focused on someone else seated at the table.

  At the end, resting his head on a hand while running the other disinterestedly over the table, was Crash.

  There looked to be a possible route to him around the edge of the room, so Cross started moving in that direction, doing his best not to disturb anyone else as he approached the cheater.

  He was nearly level with the crowd when Crash looked up, spotting him.

  He froze for a moment, before jumping up from his seat to run away, Cross hastening his own steps.

  He didn't need to.

  “Crash, where do you think you're going,” the man giving the speech snapped out, turning his head and freezing the boy with his glare.

  “I… I was just…”

  “He was trying to avoid us,” Cross called out, not wanting to give him a chance to escape. “He won my friends deck off him, using what turned out to be illegitimate cards, and we want his cards back.”

  His words caused a stir among the crowd, and the man fixed him with a look in turn.

  “That is quite the accusation. What proof do you have that my son did such a thing?”

  “After he took my friends deck, he updated his own with my friends cards, laying down that the only way to get any of them back would be to challenge him myself, putting our decks on the line. After I won, I gave his deck to my friend, and his first match he played a card Crash used against both of us and the match was cancelled.”

  Cross glanced back to see if Rusty was with him before continuing.

  “The card in question, was this!”

  He held up the card that Rusty passed him, ‘Emergency Shield Wall’.

  The man examined the card briefly.

  “That card is not meant for simple games, regardless of the stakes,” he allowed, “and I indeed leant one to my son to look at. But on what basis did you challenge my son for his entire deck, rather than just the cards he'd taken from your friend?”

  “He'd already claimed my friends deck, all of the worthwhile cards he was able to obtain, and required me to wager my own deck,” Cross snapped back. “Besides, over the years he's played all sorts of different decks, what does losing one of them matter when he has so many others?”

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Even before his father looked back at him, Crash looked to be trying to shrink in on himself.

  “I see,” he growled out. “I confess it is news to me that my son had moved on to even a second deck. What exactly was he playing?”

  “Legion,” Cross stated firmly.

  A strange expression crossed the mans face, almost too quickly to be seen, Crash suddenly looking around for a way out.

  “Legion? Tell me, what was the strongest card in the deck?”

  “Spirit of the Legion.”

  There was a frozen moment, before he turned on his son.

  “You stole my level X? And wagered it in a, no in two matches?”

  “B-but, you said it would be my inheritance,” Crash tried to defend himself.

  “Only once I was dead! Until then, it was mine, you idiot boy!”

  He very deliberately turned his back on Crash.

  “I feel I must respect the fact that you bested my son, while he cheated and used a level X that was not his, and would normally be most willing to return the cards he stole from you, merely requesting you return Emergency Shield Wall, it being useless to you. Unfortunately I cannot ignore the matter of my level X being lost through a match I was not involved in.”

  “If Emergency Shield Wall has a use outside of a match, we would happily return it to you,” Cross volunteered.

  “I thank you. However, I cannot allow my level X to go to a new owner without being involved in the challenge myself. Therefore, I must issue a challenge of my own. You are the one to win it from my son? Then I challenge you to a match. If I win, Blood of the Legion and Spirit of the Legion return to my control. Should you manage to win, my son returns the cards he took from your friend. Either way, the matter will be considered settled.”

  “But father," Crash interrupted, only for his father to speak over him.

  “Those cards never rightfully belonged to you, you have no right to be involved in determining their fate, and the deck you lost was not the one I agreed to you using. For you to have gone through multiple decks without so much as informing me shows I did not pay enough attention to what you did with what I gave you.”

  “I accept your terms,” Cross declared, once his now opponent was finished, having had a silent discussion with Rusty during the speech.

  Two cards, that Rusty was unlikely to play (even with them being a level X and the card to play it), against those taken by Crash?

  An acceptable risk.

  There was a shudder as the arena was starting to form, but his opponent held up a hand.

  “Arena, hold.”

  The arena paused.

  “I refuse to play without my cards in physical form. Crash, bring it to me, if I can trust you with such a matter.”

  Crash nodded, rushing away somewhere and giving Cross time to actually examine his opponent for this upcoming match.

  The man, Crash's father, was much bigger than anyone he'd seen in the Scrap Heaps.

  Not that much taller, but his arms and torso were definitely wider, rounder. There was greying brown hair on his head, running down the sides of his head to run between his mouth and nose. And his clothes, a bright red in colour, looked much more comfortable than anything they had found in the Heaps.

  “Not one to take the time to know what you're getting into before you're committed then,” the man stated, clearly noticing Crosses examination of him. “A Heaper who only recently earned their way out. I do not mean to demean you,” he clarified before Cross could speak, “I respect that you have what it takes to overcome such a start to your life. I am Balthazar Gruzz, head defender of this city. I have not lost even one match in twenty since I started at the academy, a record unmatched in the entire city.”

  It went unsaid that Cross had nowhere near the same record, when it came to his win loss ratio.

  It was shortly after Balthazar had finished that Crash returned, carrying what looked almost like a gauntlet, which he passed to his father who put it over his left arm as Crash backed away quickly.

  The arena resumed its formation, all but flashing into existence around them.

  As it did, the gauntlet unfolded.

  From the side closest to Cross appeared twenty two panels, three rows of seven and one off to the side, clearly the positions cards could be played to in a match (the one on its own clearly for a zone card while the others were for the other cards, fighter or otherwise), while on the back of the gauntlet slid out an open ended box containing Balthazars deck, from which he drew his starting hand as seven cards appeared in front of Cross as normal, placing them in his left hand with barely a glance.

  “As the player whose rightfully owned cards are in someone elses control and staked on this match, and the most cards wagered on the outcome, the first turn is mine.”

  Balthazar drew another card from his deck, barely glancing at it before placing it with the other cards in his hand.

  “Turn end.”