Bro, I'm not an Undead!



It had become rather rowdy within the stadium, with some witnesses leaping in excitement, while others psycho-analysed the decisions and actions of the contenders as they sat down.

The food and drink sometimes became a little difficult to eat because of some of the more gruesome things that showed on the screens, but no one was detached from following the events to an almost religious degree.

The interactions between the contenders and the native Cluster beasts were among the most exciting for the crowds to watch, and it soon became pretty clear, even to the commonfolk, that the environment made this Royale a lot more fascinating than it would have been otherwise.

Aside from the unique beasts and all, the many items which were sprinkled around the Royale grounds brought about interesting scenarios too, some good for the contenders and some bad.

One such item was something called a Draw Bubble, which, as the crowds had seen, had driven contenders together over a large distance. Naturally, what followed was the manifestation of mostly baseless hostility, as the gathered combatants killed each other, earning the others' Units.

On several occasions though, a trend was beginning to form. Perhaps it was because the contenders themselves realised that it might be beneficial to help each other temporarily, given that fending off the stronger beasts, and figuring out a quicker way to the GOAL by themselves was too tall a task... whichever it was lead to team-ups becoming a thing.

Several teams were slaughtered by stronger contenders, but it didn't mean the formula was thwarted. In fact, the teams that survived – very few they were – found it easier to rack up Units, and gather some useful unique treasures Guissepo had mentioned would be within the Royale grounds as either deterrents to winning for others or supplements towards their own success.

One wouldn't believe the sheer variety of these items. The audience gasped at what some of them were capable of.

The earlier shock which had come to the commonfolk witnesses, of a young man casually surviving being torn limb from limb and then beheaded, had become a not-so-rare, or appalling sight as the elongated death battle went on.

In fact, it became a norm for some groups, as did the reveal of ridiculous powers, and some of their explanations which shattered common sense!

Nine hours had passed now, and the counter above the screens depicted that only 12 contenders remained.

From the start, it was evident that there was the possibility of there not being enough Units to float around, if too many powerful contenders remained. The meaning of strength itself in an unknown environment where there were a vast amount of unknown creatures, and items that could harm contenders, was reconceptualised, and in theory, even common folk could understand just how unique, and perhaps lucky those who reached the GOAL would have to be.

Adaptivity.

Analysis.

Endurance.

These were key.

Some among the audience began to appreciate how much work was put into the workings of this Royale, and how exactly it would determine those who would be conscripted into the EverSword House.

Despite the ruthless killing, which many had gotten used to, this was genius. Truly the event of the century.

Or so they all thought.

All this said, a conversation that had occurred only once, depicted through one of the screens, with only a few of the witnesses paying much attention to it, had showed.

Rearren had keenly given it some focus.

"The young creature spared only my clan among tens... He warned us that heathens... bloodthirsty, demonic incarnates would be sent here..."

These words.

The words of Baddan as he described what Rias had instructed him to do.

The commonfolk had missed much of the context, though a few understood it, and shared with those they were seated near them.

Rearren chuckled, recalling the words.

"Amusing," he said.

His wife at his side, the meek Millisa, turned to him.

"What amuses you?" she asked.

"Nothing truly important. I simply recalled Reon's words before he left home."

Millisa's hand tightened into a fist hiddenly at the mention of that name.

"He called me a cruel, vicious man masquerading as a caring father. He viewed being sent to solitude for years to hone his Imagining Technique as he saw fit, as cruelty. Hmph. I never imparted anything in either Rias or Reon as they grew up. They carved their own paths. Rias emerged with such a stubborn heart, and his talent helped him do as he wishes. What he desires just so happens to be what I desire. I cannot be blamed for that. I am surprised he gave the beasts here such... motivation," said Rearren.

Millisa couldn't believe her husband would sprout such self-righteous words with so much confidence.

It wasn't news that Reon died a few years after leaving his family to be free of tradition, but ironically landed in what his father planned without knowing it.

He had tried to salvage all that potential Reon had, but something had gone wrong.

No one could tell what had actually killed him several months ago.

Millisa didn't dare to voice her thoughts. She wore a calm smile, and went along as she usually did everyday.

"What Reon failed to realise, was that what he saw as cruelty, was a means to an end. Hatred, murder, madness. Things society think to be bred or built into someone from a young age, are weapons that one can forge themselves in the dark of isolation as tools to meet their goals. Rias understands that. The world of combatants cannot thrive without things like that."

Millisa gulped, and softly nodded. She trembled a little though. The thought of her sweet child Reon had almost torn down her calm facade.

"I wish to go home," she said firmly.

Rearren turned to her.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned closer to her. Millisa nearly shuddered, but she gathered enough confidence to fake a smile and meet Rearren's face.

The man gave her kiss, and stared deeply into her eyes.

"Soon, I promise. I know your heart is quite feeble. It's almost done."

*

Alaris didn't pay much focus to the other screens, especially since Skullius was beheaded.

He had hoped against hope that the Hybrid Luman hadn't died, and his faith had paid off. More than that, his hope that Skullius was steered into an awakening somehow, and that he had used the potions which he had checked in with the store keeper in the Guilds Association, before being exposed to such serious damage, had been proved correct.

That said, Alaris didn't know how one could be in their right mind after remaining as a dismembered corpse for so long. Sure, if a Supreme potion was used, maybe it could ward off the trauma, but Alaris didn't think Skullius used such a high level potion, and he was more than alright afterwards!

Besides that detail, Alaris had worn a broad grin when he saw Skullius finally exhibit what he had been trying to hint him towards.

The Hybrid Luman, from his experience, was quick to learn. His pace of growth was astounding, and that had been one of the factors that encouraged Alaris to accept Skullius as a student of sorts. However, when it came to things that weren't mana-related abilities – Mage skills – Skullius seemed to want to inspire his own, hard ideas without considering that he wasn't entirely alone in the execution.

Alaris understood why Skullius was like this.

It had come as a shock at first, but he did know – as far as Skullius had explained – that the Hybrid Luman was a Mage, Class Branching heavily into Form Using and Arma Using. Alaris hadn't bought it at first, as for a Mage to learn Swordsmanship to his current level was simply absurd, but given how much Skullius ignored the basics and fundamentals of being an Energy Former in general, the Bloodless Steel Phantom had been convinced that perhaps Skullius had chosen a Class he hadn't been that talented for.

Now, seeing him express a sword's purpose and power without his usual overbearing attitude, lightened his heart.

'I might not be the best teacher, but at least my student is clever enough to gather up the hints I serve him,' Alaris thought proudly.

He was especially happy to see in rows below him, Terese and Daggs overjoyed at Skullius being alive that they almost screamed out loud.

It was good.

However, Alaris hadn't forgotten that the worst was yet to come, and he made several prayers each hour that Skullius would survive whatever it was that would turn the cherry atmosphere sombre.

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