Chapter 235 (1/2)

Strangely, after Randidly returned to his inn, he found Bertarn already waiting for him. In the wake of his concession, Bertarn had slipped away, the man with the towering body covered in muscles moving surprisingly quietly, fading away. His Style was aghast and furious, and the crowd was raving.

After all, Randidly had worked himself into a rather popular position, simply by his identity of a participant not affiliated with the larger Styles. This, combined with Claptrap’s subtle encouragement of the support for the Ghosthound, had led the wider populace to cheer wildly for this upset.

But the reception from the Styles was unsurprisingly chilly.

Randidly had assumed that Bertarn was the type to sequester himself in a location for a while, swearing his vengeance, and coming back later. He had that sort of insatiable tenacity in the air around him. His quick departure, Randidly had originally thought, was so that he could throw himself into more training.

The Bertarn that waited for Randidly at his inn simply seemed profoundly tired. He looked up when Randidly arrived, and followed Randidly up to his room.

Slightly on edge, and curious, Randidly asked. “Why are you here?”

Bertarn’s eyes were hollow and gaunt. Although Randidly had put a good amount of pressure on him during the match, this level of exhaustion… he seemed to have aged several years in the last hour or so. Bertarn smiled slightly.

“Two reasons. One, I bring a message from the head of my Style, the High Mountain Style, to you. You can consider this a message from all of the Styles of Deardun. The second…. Well…” Bertarn sighed. “A personal warning. But let’s get to the message first.”

“Dear Randidly Ghosthound. Congratulations.” Bertarn began, speaking mechanically. “You might think us backwards minded and stubborn, but we are not enthused that we had underestimated your strength. You were not meant to win that match. But perhaps that was our own overconfidence in the individual we chose to face you. He will be appropriately punished.”

The way Bertarn delivered these words, specifically about his punishment, without even a flicker of changing expression, made Randidly narrow his eyes. But he remained silent, as Bertarn continued to recite the message that he had been told to deliver.

“But you should know that we have watched you very closely. Your associations, your companions… your associations with the renegade Engraving that you have involved yourself in,” Randidly smiled bitterly. That at least explained why the man from the Engraving Guild had had showed up. Supposing he hadn’t won, as these old codgers planned, they undoubtedly would have approached him with a deal to protect Randidly in exchange for his servitude. As it hadn’t worked out that way, they were now trying to use it as a threat to keep him in line. But what did they want…?

“To be frank, we are aware with your recent involvement with Azriel, with the stated goal of finding a way to beat Drak Wyrd. Cease this involvement. Drak Wyrd must win the tournament. But even more than that… Due to political reasons, you are not allowed to proceed past the top 8. This should be sufficient to retain the status of your father Style. Should you attempt past this level…. We will destroy you.”

Bertarn kept the same even delivery, even with the final threat. Silence reigned for several seconds, as Randidly mulled this over. He was not unfamiliar with being threatened, but this still sent a chill down his spine. Randidly suspected that he was truly moving up in the world; the people who threatened him this time were a level above the typical schmucks who dared speak out against him.

They were even probably at or above the level of Shal and Divveltian. Which meant he had to proceed carefully. Or acquire new backing, something that could give the larger Styles pause. Would they actually carry out their threat while he was still in the tournament? That was hard to say, and Randidly had hoped to be returned to his Cohort immediately on completion of the tournament, both to return to his village and to escape the vengeance of the Engraving Guild.

Randidly cursed himself for not figuring out the details of such a return earlier. It was very important that he be able to figure out how it was done and execute it, without the help of the Styles. Switching his attention, Randidly examined Bertarn, who seemed content to simply stand and wait.

“Why must I not proceed past the top 8?” Randidly asked aloud.

Bertarn hesitated for a second, and then said. “...I am not sure about the exact details. But I suspect that it is related to the fact that the Top 4… shall proceed to an Inter-School Tournament to determine who shall proceed to face the next Calamity. Perhaps your presence would throw off their plans more than they would be willing to allow. Plus, a Top 8 finish will still give you a token to enter the Spearman School Hall of Records, so...”

Randidly frowned. He truly wanted to ask about the Calamity, but he suspected that the words would again be blurred out by the strange protection of the System. But it did make a certain sense that the Styles would want to control the people who would leave from their Region to the broader tournament.

“When is the tournament?”

“About a year and a half. All of the Regions in all of the Schools will need to finish their own tournaments and travel there.” Bertarn said. “But as I said, try to put that out of mind. If you actually dare cross them, they won’t hesitate. In fact, they might even intervene directly after the match. Although they would risk public opinion turning against them, if it was done out of sight…”