Chương 147: Spectacle

'God, it's sweltering in here!' June stood in a sandy divot within a miniature colosseum used to train new and old licensees in basic combat arts, survival training, and practical knowledge for common to esoteric contracts. Every few days, a workshop led by the Branch-Castallen and other professional contractors would focus on educating new trainees so that their first contracts… wouldn't be their last. Today, however, the center of the colosseum was occupied by two figures.

The esteemed Castallen of the Lengue guild hall, the taker of names and a household name within the continent of Lengue, and the monstrous ivory newcomer, the mysterious talk of the town since his recent blazing debut with the horrifying sewer cannibal case. People gathered on coiling bleachers around the ovoid colosseum; the short private meeting June had readied himself for turned into a greater spectacle than he could imagine.

"I never introduced myself! I am the Branch-Castallen of Lengue's guild; I am Marcel Thaddeus!" He flourished a training longsword and took a battle stance.

"Now that I have introduced myself, it's your turn!" June walked to oppose Marcel; he stood ten lengths away and squared his body to face him.

'I need to introduce myself… what should I name this shell?' He scried through his mind and sorted dozens of names that popped up; many that came to mind were elaborate, or layered, or characters from existing media. The shell stood squared up against Marcel; his Dreamer aura stayed retracted, but the sheer intimidation factor of the 8ft ivory carapace did well to convert his thinking pause into something more impactful.

'Wa… Wor… Wardi? Ward! Wardo—' He clicked his tongue and spat out the next progression that came to mind.

"Warden… that is my name." Audience members visibly shuddered at the sound of his Will-infused voice; Marcel's stance faltered, almost letting go of his longsword, but he managed to steel himself and tighten his poise to June's surprise. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Marcel gritted his teeth until blood dripped from the corners of his mouth; he tightened his grip on his sword and shifted his stance from aggressive to defensive.

"What… weapon will you use… Warden?" June tilted his head within the shell.

'Why is he spitting up blood? I didn't do anything yet? Is he alright?' He shook off his concern, remembering that Marcel was a professional in his field; spitting up blood could have been a courtesy in Lengue, for all he knew. He was a Nightwalker; everything in the Nightrealm was novel to him. He glanced over at a rack of training weapons set out for newcomers, a variety he himself would have access to… a variety he didn't know how to use.

Marcel's hands shook while holding his stance; June took that as impatience. He could try to learn weapons at a different time; for now, he went with what he knew best. He lowered his center of gravity and got himself into a mixed stance, priming for both defence and free-style grappling.

The Branchmaster sat in the bleachers with a concerned look. He recalled reading the report on the Qi-deviated cannibal, then he remembered seeing the aftermath of their fight. An Aspirant with Qi was able to dish out fearsome physical power, enough to be considered an imitation of a Body affinity Dreamer's natural ability. A Dreamer with access to Qi was another matter: metal became paper, bones crumbled like autumn leaves, and flesh tore and popped similarly to bubbles of soap.

Just as every creature possessed a bit of magic within them, Qi was another natural source, an internal one. It was a power to be cultivated in a linear manner, cautiously, slowly, gradually; otherwise, Qi-deviation could occur. Improper technique, rushing cultivation, external disruption, and one's own inner demons were primary causes of the condition. The most pleasant outcome of Qi-deviation was death, but one unwanted outcome was feared the most out of all by a long shot, and that was madness.

Enver Holt, Male, Age 33, height was 5'11, weighed 197lbs, right-handed… The report was uncomfortably detailed, but the suspected reason for Qi deviation was a mix of personal anguish; rushing cultivation with improper technique only propelled him faster toward his current fate. The man was an escaped battle slave from the underbelly, an unfortunate fate; he had escaped by killing his captors and gorging himself on their remains.

The man had no money, no citizenship, no aid, and was trapped in a deadlock; after a few too many ravenous meals, he had lost what little he had left. That was all that was known about him. The real focus of Enver Holt's autopsy report… Was how he died.