Chapter 222 (2/2)

Although it made her grind her teeth, she said nothing. Helen was not so foolish as to speak out here, with only the feeble support of Aethon as drinking buddy of the male spear attendant to rely on. Results would speak for themselves, and this result was swiftly becoming clear. The Ghosthound’s attacks sped up mightily from his initial salvo, and his footwork became absolutely sublime.

Overwhelmed, the woman began to lash out, and screamed mightily, summoning her own image. It was a blurry picture of some sort of yellow serpent, but the fact that she could show that much showed her talent; the Artisan boundary was only a hair away.

Someone tsk’d behind Helen, and the statement made her blood run cold.

“To think she would fall so easily for a Willpower attack… I’ll double her training after this tournament.” Derrita harrumphed, her eyes chilly. The other elders nodded, as if they agreed with the assessment.

Could they truly… have been observing the match this whole time while they were chatting…? Were they so far above her realm that she wasn’t even aware of their focus…? Or was this level of competition simply like an open book to them…?

“So he was also a movement specialist…” Aethon mused, while spinning a mug across his fingers. “Truly, that boy is filled with surprises.”

The Ghosthound moved faster and faster, striking more and more quickly, and very soon the woman was covered in wounds. Eventually, while she gnashed her teeth, she dropped her spear and surrendered, saving her strength for the next match. After all, this was only her 2nd loss. She could afford it. The Ghosthound slowly lowered his weapon, and then gazed at the ground with a frown.

It seemed that he was still having trouble truly capturing it. Helen’s spar with the Ghosthound had been… mixed. There were times where he was simply elusive, but there was also a moment where it had felt like her heart would stop from the sense of dread the attack produced. If he couldn’t get it to the point it was consistent, there was no point.

Although clearly, the bonus to movement was extremely useful.

One wizened old woman leaned forward, adjusting her spectacles.

“So…” She said, almost to no one in particular. “This is the inheritance of the Spear Phantom… truly fascinating. But still a hair short. The boy needs more polish. A few more matches..”

No one answered directly, each engaged in side conversations and diversions, but as Helen looked at the ground and spread her senses, it was clear that there was a very hidden conversation going on between these heads of Style.

The way they moved and sat, the way they looked, how their posture was… they were jostling about something. Something related to the Ghosthound. And it appeared that whatever side the wizened woman was on was losing.

“It is truly only fair,” One man drawled, sipping his mead. “If there are matches designed between the seeded individuals and the preliminary fights… there must also be fights between two individuals from the preliminaries. It is unavoidable, although there is a certain amount of tragedy. Do not the seeded individuals fight quite valiantly against each other?”

Aethon stood, walking over to the male spear attendant and touching his back. “Well it seems you are a pretty good gambling man, eh? What do you think, can this Randidly Ghosthound win against the only remaining individual from the preliminaries with one loss?”

The male spear attendant just nodded, and then burped, and then the whole crowd erupted with laughter, and their talks seemed to move forward. Was it that simple, deciding the fate of another…?

Helen saw an attendant bow and leave, walking towards the area where the referees congregated. Helen felt very fucking strange as she watched that individual walk over. She remembered very vividly, watching the match between the Ghosthound and Dian, who she assumed was the other individual from the preliminary that they were talking about. To see them fighting again, up on stage…

Strangely, all Helen felt was a bitter jealousy.

‘What… what am I doing here?’ She wondered. ‘When did I become a spectator?’