Chapter 241 (2/2)

“For the peace of the Northern Region, I will stop you here!” Derrick yelled, only earning him a cool glance from Drak.

“What a declaration from Derrick!” Claptrap said excitedly, very willing to fan the flames of drama between the two contestants. “It seems that this match is more than just a matter of honor! The very peace of the Northern Region is at stake! Aethon, what do you think about Derrick’s chances of winning.”

“None.”

The word was like a heavy weight that hit Claptrap mid thought, making him falter. The crowd felt it too, and began to whisper amongst themselves. Sure, everyone believed that Drak was the favorite to win it all, destroying all competition in his way. But previously, it had been somewhat heroic, that he could face everything and overcome it all. But from the way that Aethon spoke, there seemed to be a baleful finality to it.

Drak was a simple looking man, but now, from Aethon’s reaction, they were able to see some of the monstrous strength inside of him. It seemed to gush out and fill the silence. The burning strength of the Radiant Dawn Style expanding to fill the arena like a bowl. Claptrap was frozen, his eyes locked on the man.

Was there… was there really no point in him being here to announce.

“Huhuhuhu,” The male spear attendant laughed, already partially drunk. “When there are predictions like that, it is the best time for an upset. Nothing in this world is sure.”

“Kukuku, too true, too true,” Aethon said nodding.

The ice cracked and broke, and the crowd began to cheer once more, slightly reserved at first, but then with more energy, as a referee talked individually to both contestants, checking their status. They both nodded their affirmations and assumed their own individual version of ready stances.

Drak’s was relaxed, holding his thick, unadorned iron spear loosely. Derrick held is silver spear high above his head, light reflecting in dazzling patterns off the intricate metal work that composed it.

“Begin!”

They both moved, Derrick dazzling, Drak dazzlingly fast, blurring towards his opponent. Derrick instantly paled, lowering his spear to a more reasonable stance, his spear flashing forward. But there was an innate light to Drak’s attacks, a glowing brightness, that made them extremely hard to discern.

While Derrick’s defense flashed due to his spear, Drak had an innate light.

“Drak Wyrd has reached the Artisan level.” Aethon said with conviction, finally filling the silence as everyone stared open mouthed at the fight. “Not only are his individual strikes likely based on powerful images… but his Spear Mastery has also had this image of the Radiant Dawn imbued into it. This cannot be considered a freshly grown Artisan any longer; he is experienced. For that reason… there is no chance he loses, if he wills it.”

Drak struck, smashing forwards, using pure force to send Derrick sprawling. The disparity in strength was clear, and with a calm gait, Drak walked over towards the desperate opponent.

“You filth-” Derrick began, but he went silent as Drak unleashed another barrage of attacks, pushing him slowly backwards. Injuries began to pile up as the attacks continued, slowly growing in speed and complexity.

“That control… that technique…” Claptrap said audibly, for the benefit of the audience. Aethon stayed silent, grim faced as he watched the fight.

It was only after a small delay that the male spear attendant spoke, nodding slowly. “That… that’s the ability of a champion. Look at that skill with a spear. Not even I can do that.”

The audience seemed to become animated again at that comment, laughing and chatting while watching the remainder of the match. It continued as expected. In every way, Drak slowly overmatched and crushed Derrick, facing him in a variety of ways, giving Derrick every chance to choose the battlefield to highlight his strengths. But still Drak annihilated him.

By the end, Derrick slumped over, dropping his spear. The crowd’s attention had turned away to the male spear attendant, who was extolling his own strengths, and Aethon Thai was laughing along with him, Claptrap couldn’t take his eyes away from Drak Wyrd, standing silently over the broken spearman. This was the man that the Ghosthound would need to face in the semi finals…!

With a serious face, Drak looked up, meeting Claptrap’s gaze. Then he smiled wolfishly, showing his teeth.