hotmtlnovel Chapter 2110
Chapter 2110
Chapter 2110
Drane Swacc used a napkin to wipe grease from the roast duck off his lips. After one last sip of chilled wine, he pressed himself back from the table and slid his chair a short distance back. A servant reached over his shoulder and took away the remnants of the meal. Drane examined the pristine white tablecloth in the wake of those movements and nodded with pleasure; it remained totally pristine.
He looked over at the hunched form of Coppun, who was standing over by the far wall. His mood soured somewhat. “Are we ready for that... meeting?”Thê source of this content n/o/v/(el)bi((n))
“Of course,” The man bowed. “The other party awaits your pleasure.”
Drane nodded to himself and strode across the ornate marble floor. His sash glittered diagonally across his chest, announcing him as the Undersecretary of the Council of Malloon. Several minor servants bowed to him as he followed Coppun deeper into the bowels of his manor. His brow slowly knitted together.
“Have they eaten?” Drane said mildly.
“They haven’t found the time,” Coppun replied in just as low a voice. They moved deeper into the dungeons, flowing down into the lower areas. The air around them became cold and still. Drane’s nostrils flexed, tasting the stale and coppery tang of pooling blood in the air. A small smile danced across his face.
All was silent down there except for the distant rattle of chains.
Soon they arrived at a cell. Within, a man in a torn blue Hobfootie uniform was chained up to the walls above a pool of fetid water. Drane reflected it was almost a small mercy to be so bound; not even his toes need to be tainted by the murky water. His clothes, of course, had been shredded to tatters; his bony ribs were visible. Drane folded his arms behind his back, looking at the man’s currently unmarred skin. His hands began to twitch in anticipation. “This is the team captain?”
“Yes.” Coppun bobbed his head. “We gathered up the rest, but most of them had connections to important individuals or were unaware of your involvement in the team’s development. As per your orders, they were spared. If you recall, this man was specially recruited and given precious elixirs to strengthen his body. Yet they were crushingly defeated in an exhibition game, an unforgivable offense.”
“Even worse,” Drane’s lip curled upward. “They lost to some no-name team out of that shithole Tatem. A rabble swept together from one of the robeless cities... pah! Alright, bring me two knives, short and heavy. An example must be made; my honor will not be sullied.”
Coppun bowed and moved over to the small closet next to the front cells. A glittering array of knives, saws, and spikes hung neatly from pegs. In the middle of the small room there was a wooden tub, where the used implements were deposited. Sometimes, Drane liked to use dirty blades, already crusted with dried blood, when an individual’s failings were particularly egregious.
He licked his bloodless lips. It wouldn’t be necessary to use rusted blades with this man. He was a foolish athlete, without even a Class. Utilizing clean blades was the one charity he could give the incompetent man.
It was more than he deserved, but Drane Swacc was a helplessly generous man.
“There is one other thing,” Coppun said as he returned with the blades. Drane plucked them up and admired the glitter of light off their length. “I... it is hard to know how reliable this information is, but while I was interviewing the player, I heard that the Hobfootie Association is considering a new supplier for Ara Fruits. Considering the vast amount of matches that will be occurring leading up to and during the tournament-”
“Swacc Farms has never failed to deliver the amount of Ara Fruits required for Hobfootie events,” Drane’s voice turned cold. “Why would they need a new supplier?”
Even slower and weaker in the absolute, Randidly continued to thrash Bogart. His fists found his opponent’s ribcage and left the bones there fractured. His abrupt leg sweep sent him cartwheeling helplessly through the air.
Stats couldn’t cover the difference in energy conservation and utilization, as well as familiarity with fighting. To Randidly, Bogart was telegraphing each one of his attacks with every flexed tendon bulging out from his arms. By the time he actually followed through on the blow, Randidly had already shifted his weight and prepared a counterattack.
After having his nose broken for the second time in the brief and violent series of spars, Bogart pressed himself off the ground and groaned. “Nether King, I want you to be honest with me; how long is going to take me to improve to your level at this rate?”
Randidly tilted his head to the side and considered the question seriously. Assuming he had adequate instruction and unlimited access to energy, at the current rate at which he was improving... “...probably about forty years.”
“What? Really?! That’s not very long at all.” Bogart gaped. He looked down at his fists and clenched them. A burning sort of resolve flared all around his body. “Alright. Training for forty years. Then I’ll have my revenge.”
Armel happened to be working on the new feeding area for the Arakis Beasts and raised his head. “Begging your pardon, Mister Nether King, but can I interject?”
Randidly shrugged.
Armel looked directly at Bogart. “Don’t take that number too seriously. I’m guessing the Nether King based that on his own age, which is exceedingly young for someone so powerful. I’m not sure about growth amongst Nether peoples... but for those of Aether, he is an abhorrent monster that makes others salivate with bitter envy.
“Furthermore, and this is the part you need to understand about that number, Bogart,” Armel looked back at Randidly. “My liege, how many times do you think you almost died while you were growing?”
Scratching his head, Randidly tried to answer the questions honestly. His mind started, sputtered, and then stopped a count several times. He lowered his hand and began to rub his chin. “Hum. Well... how many times I was realistically almost killed? Or how many times people tried to kill me.”
Armel pivoted back to Bogart. “Do you see what I’m saying? He doesn’t even know. One aspect of Nether culture everyone is familiar with is the competition; it is why they haven’t struck out and eradicated the Aether, despite their superior numbers and forces. Nether Kings prey on each other as much as on us. When he was born, I bet Nether King Hungry Eye was hunted constantly. He struggled to survive. When he finally gathered enough resources to protect himself, those with slightly more resources noticed and lashed out at him to plunder what he had gathered. Over and over again, he grew large enough to ignore the threats that had plagued him previously and caught the eye of even larger predators. Do not overestimate yourself: training here for forty years will not make you into a hero. The Path the Nether King walked... should not be emulated.”
The details were inaccurate, due to the assumption of him being a Nether King, but otherwise, it was right. Randidly nodded slowly and looked at Bogart. Perhaps in fifty years, if he adventured and pushed his limits, he would be a formidable character. But if he stayed here and trained? Even if Randidly constantly overmatched him?
After Bogart returned to his exercises Randidly went back to his room and meditated for a while. His Nether Core hummed.
He felt his body slowly heating up as he sunk into his mental projection. The time had come to confront his third core of negative emotion.
When he woke up in his childhood bedroom, he sat up and saw he floated on a sea of fire. Endless Rage seethed around him, greeting him with a roar of noise and heat.