Chapter 222 (1/2)

A few hours later, Helen sat in the most prestigious area of the arena, gazing at the second arena. Based on information, that was where Randidly would be fighting his first match. But still, Helen was quite dissatisfied, because she was not the reason that they had ended up here. In fact, she was just a guest…

“Bahahaaha!” Aethon Thai thundered, slapping the male spear attendant’s back, who giggled  childishly as he dropped the glass cups he had been juggling due to inebriation. An attendant quickly stepped forward and swept it up, also providing another glass full of ale, which Aethon began to enthusiastically slurp. Drunk and giddy, the male spear attendant swayed on his feet and burped.

Helen wanted to die. But this was the best place to view the Ghosthound, and after what she had seen earlier, Helen was decidedly interested in getting another look, without having to face it directly. In addition, she was curious what these great men, the heads of the powerful Styles here in Deardun, would say in regards to his performance.

There were 7 or 8, either patriarchs or matriarchs, or even vice-leaders, of the Styles around, joking jovially and enjoying their food and beverage. They commented briefly on matches, but they didn’t pay them much mind. Perhaps mostly because the favorites, those raised by the larger Styles, kept winning. There was no reason to pay very much attention to the predictable outcomes.

Perhaps that was another reason why she was here, Helen thought with an inward sneer. To see the Ghosthound fuck up their perspective on strength.

Another match ended, and as the name Randidly Ghosthound was one of those called to ascend. To his credit, even through his inebriety the male spear attendant straightened and looked towards the stage with a serious expression.

Aethon looked amused. “Starstruck by beauty? Many a lesser man has had their hearts captured by this woman from the Viper Sunstrike Style. Derrita, how do you manage all of that attention?”

Truthfully, the woman who was standing opposite the Ghosthound was quite lovely, with long golden hair and a classically beautiful face. One of the old women sitting in their group, who appeared to be from the Viper Sunstrike Style, huffed in annoyance.

“Truthfully, it is a struggle. Luckily the girl is dedicated to the spear, or else… Hopefully this opponent has enough strength to at least make her serious, she’s had too easy of a time thus far. I suspect she will make it all the way to the final tournament with ease at this rate.”

“She going to lose.”

Helen blinked, turning and looking at the male spear attendant, who had apparently shaken off most of his drunk, and was watching the stage with serious eyes. The powerful heads of the Styles stiffened, as Derrita’s face became increasingly red, glaring at his uncaring back.

Aethon Thai shook his head, chuckling, and attempted to make the peace. “Hooo, you have had quite a bit to drink lad. Sure, that boy passed through the preliminaries, and he has a bright future as a spear user ahead of him. But-”

“Mmm” Suddenly inebriated again, the male spear attendant collapsed against the railing, and leaned his head against the metal. The group laughed, and Derrita still looked annoyed, but she wouldn’t push the issue further, given Aethon’s intercession.

Helen shivered. Truthfully, the power of backing was unrivalled. But her attention narrowed as the referee announced the start of the match. The two spear users began to circle each other, their weapons raised.

Around her, the older generation payed very little attention to the match. They missed the Ghosthound’s first step, which was so sharp that his opponent’s eyes widened, and she began to retreat.

But this was not a race that this girl could win. The Ghosthound moved, and the distance between them absolutely disappeared. There were strange reverberations to the air, and his advance was steady and vicious.

Finally realizing the futility of it, and refusing to allow his momentum to build any further, the female spear user stopped and made a stand, preparing to cross blows. The Ghosthound struck, once, twice, and both times it was rebuffed by a marvelous defense. Feeling more confident in her strikes, the woman advanced, and the Ghosthound slashed with his spear.

Again, the woman smoothly raised her spear to meet the blow, but then her eyes widened as it seemed like a portion of its swing was entirely skipped, and it had arrived early. Her defense was much more hasty, and she was knocked partially off balance.

The Ghosthound advanced, but this time the air was thick with power, and Helen swore she could faintly see traces of his image in the air. But around her the elder generation continued to chat, heedless.