Chapter 144: Anger Unblemished

Chapter 144: Anger Unblemished

Chapter 144

Anger Unblemished

What once was a central chamber that forked into numerous corridors and hallways of the castle was now a makeshift arena with stands framing it circularly. The usually silent walls were alight with cheers, and just outside the stands, in the room over, a massive feast was slowly being laid out onto countless tables. Soon, the first round of the tournament would endafter nearly five hours of competition, though appearing tired, the crowd was yet to fully settle. Each strong hit or a good duel would alight it all anew, and the cycle continued.

Two young men, both yet to reach twenty years of age, were currently exchanging blows in a duel that went on for nearly five minutes by now. Both were tired and sweaty and short of breath, yet the fire in their eye burned, unwillingness to lose. After all, everyone was watchingfrom the Prince to the young maidens they fancied. The victory meant glory and loss meant being forgotten.

One of the young men somewhat awkwardly ducked and dodged a clean sweep of the blade, retaliating by stabbing toward the other man's thigh; the latter tried to deflect it, but his weary arms betrayed him, slowing down his swipe a bit too much. The strike landed squarely and blood sprayed out. Whatever little strength the young man's legs still had at that point seemed to seep out with the blood and he crashed onto the floor, dropping the blade and lying on his back.

The crowd broke into cheers, though there was no mockeryeven after tears coalesced on the lying mans face. An arm stretched out and pulled him up, helping him stand and face the cheering crowd who was applauding his effort. A moment later, several people came onto the stage bearing an invention of the castles Prophet, something he called a stretcher. It was two wooden rods tied together with some rope and cloth, extremely convenient for carrying off the wounded without disturbing them too much.

Sitting on one of the decorated stands that stood out against the rest through its fenced-off appearance and the hanging banner on the front, Sylas watched the competition absentmindedly. While for others this might be a life-changing event, for him it was just one loop and, soon enough, one that will fade into the annals of many faded histories in his mind.

On the other hand, Valen, Derrek, Ryne, and even Asha among others were extremely engaged with the general atmosphere. The young Prince would often lean to Ryne's ear and whisper along the proceedings, describing in great detail what was happening so that the young girl wouldn't feel left out. Though the image wasn't lost on anyone who glanced in their general direction, nobody spoke of it. Even Sylas knew it was neither the time nor the place for those kinds of comments. Instead, he let themand everyone elsebleed into the atmosphere.

Because were waiting for the speech from our Prophet, Valen said with a shifty smile, causing Sylas to sigh and glance at the hall. The atmosphere was different. The way they looked at him was different. With Valen, though they worshiped and loved the lad, they still saw him as humanthey saw him as a singular version of themselves. The way they looked at him, though, was different. It was difficult to put into wordsit was as though there was a massive wall between them and they dared not even knock against that wall. Rather than human, he was higherstranger.

Gods say that the limit of the man is the boundless sky above us, Sylas spoke into the pin-leveled silence, his voice deep and commanding. But gods are wrong, his claim seemed to stir something strange within everyone in the room, even Valen who knew that the strange Prophet wasnt exactly in love with the Gods. One day, those seemingly impenetrable skies will be cracked. And the man will look down upon the world and wonder wonder many things. Gods cursed me and framed it as a loving gift, Ashas lips quivered; by now, she realized, the speech was hardly about him. In my dreams, I see the worlds end in cruel fires and I cant fix it. I cant help them. I am lucky, though, that my gift led me here. And that it helped, however little. Until it didnt. All Im saying is if one day you have a choice, Sylas said, raising the glass to the stunned audience. Between obeying your gods and saving a fellow man always choose the man. Always. Cheers, he downed the cup, but nobody followed immediately. Instead, they still seemed to be slowly processing his words. Derrek was the first to do it afteremptying the cup while anger simmered in his eyes. Asha followed, holding back the tears. Then it was Ryne, her fingers trembling. And then it was Valen.

When the hall saw the central figures drink, they followed suitthough still uncertain. Sylas didnt seem too bothered by the reaction; after all, what thoughts swam in his head were leagues different, built upon a completely different understanding of the world. Even if the gods existence in this world was a complete, infallible truth, he was still a skeptic; after all, the gods werent omnipotentfar from it. The more he interacted with them and their influence, the more he realized they appeared man-like. Greedy, envious, petty, jealous, vengeful.

The atmosphere slowly unraveled as people began to eat and drink and forget the immensely awkward speech. Well, most did, anyway.

You really think that was a smart thing to say? What if you angered them? Valen asked worryingly.

Dont worry about it, Sylas smiled back. I chat with them occasionally. They know theyre big pricks.

Huuh Valen sighed deeply, shaking.

Ha ha ha, relax, relax, he hollered. Drink, little Prince. At least, by comparison, your speech will stay rooted in their minds forever. It will be your speech and then, puff, a complete blanka memory lapse. They will blame it on the booze, and my little gaffe will be forgotten just like that.

Valen smiled and shook his head, but followed the advice and started drinking. He knew why Sylas was angryand he knew that anger was varied. A whole chunk was aimed directly at himself, another chunk at the owner of that hand, and, it seemed, a good chunk at the gods themselves for not warning him. The Prince hoped that the anger, in time, would wane. For now he was simply happy that the Prophet still seemed to hold onto his sanity, even if he slipped a bit here and there on occasion.