"A what?"
"I don’t know."
"Maybe it’s a new magical race, and that’s how he’s so talented in the arts of chess."
The crowd went wild with speculation upon hearing Leumas’ answer. Meanwhile, the vampire, previously intent on sowing discord, was terrified. A pair of eyes peered directly into the core of his being. Never before had he, the Vampire Lord, experienced such horror. Who knew that dainty and fragile chess grandmaster, seemingly incapable of harming flowers, was but a cover for an ancient monstrosity? Leumas’ pitch black eyes morphed into incomprehensible, bottomless pits of despair in the mind of the vampire.
“I need to run!” he thought to himself in a hurry. The vampire disregarded all decorum, revealed his wings, before bolting into the sky. Death would inch ever closer the longer he remained, so with no time to lose, he escaped towards his manor, which is adjacent to the royal castle. There, he’d be safe. No matter the power this young Trueborn possesses, he shouldn’t have the guts to attack in such close proximity to the King himself.
“Does he think running is an option? Whenever I manage to shake off my stalker, I’ll give this little bat a present,” Leumas thought, before redirecting his attention to the crowd. “Okay, you can continue your discussions after the interview is over. Do not needlessly waste my time. Go on, commentator.”
“Of course, young Leumas. The second last question of the evening is from Mitchell Kyne, seated in the front row here. The stage is yours, Mitchell.”
“Thank you, mister commentator. My question is not nearly as invasive as the vampire’s, young grandmaster. What I would like to know is, what plans do you have for the future?” An inconspicuous old man asked his question with grandeur, poise, and elegance. There was a clear gleam in his eyes, signifying he was ready to pounce on any opportunity possible. This old man was also too powerful compared to the others present, nearing the peak of the Enlightenment stage, or their own version thereof. To compare, Millo is barely at their True Cultivation stage equivalent, and holds an esteemed position within the mightiest kingdom on the planet. That would make this old man a hidden super powerhouse, capable of ruling vast areas of land, yet he’s here, asking some random youth questions about his future. Leumas was skeptical at his motives, but would fulfill his role of answering questions, for now. The sooner he answered, the sooner this would all be over.
“Well, I don’t have any hard plans, but I would like to elevate my cultivation and abilities. Other than that, I have a few grudges to settle. I think most of my time will be spent on this. Hopefully this is a sufficient answer. Final question, please.”
“The final question of the evening comes from one Lady Isle, seated in the back row. Everyone, please part to allow Leumas a direct line of sight.”
The garden featured typical flowers and ponds on one side, while on the other side stood a massive pavilion filled with seats. Unless you possess superhuman abilities, like Leumas obviously does, then you’d be unable to see more than half the crowd due to its sheer size. As such, the crowd, out of politeness, parted to allow the speaker a ‘direct audience’ with Leumas. What would be the point of asking a question personally, if the person answering couldn’t even see you? If this was the case, then writing the questions down for the commentator to read aloud would be better.
“Hello, mister Leumas. My name is Isle Tyde, and I would like to know what your esteemed surname is,” the meek Lady Isle asked with hope in her voice. It was the simplest question asked thus far, but also the most difficult to answer. Leumas could simply not remember. He didn’t know this answer deep down, like with his race, meaning there was only one possible response left.
“I don’t remember. I have one, but can’t recall what it is.” Leumas uttered, much to the disappointment of the young lady. After a mighty pause where he pondered on giving her another question, Samuel stood up to announce his leave. “Okay, that is enough. It has been a real… pleasure to answer all your questions for these past ten hours, but it's time for us to part. Millo, is the carriage ready?”
“Of course, it’s been waiting for a couple hours already. Who would have expected you to be so popular?” Millo remained his cheery and enthusiastic self, even after this hellish period of time. “The carriage is waiting at the backgate.”
The two then left, walking rather hastily toward the carriage. “Not one more second than necessary,” Leumas thought as he powerwalked ahead of Millo. The advisor, who originally wanted to leisurely stroll through the garden while reflecting on the nature of life and beauty, was forced to keep up. Therefore, two well-dressed individuals speeding through Gol’s ancestral garden could be seen.
Within a few seconds, the duo arrived at a black-steel gate, towering at a measly two meters. It was neither tall, nor broad, appearing like a simple entrance and exit. The only thing unique about it is the pattern the steel bars form. An intricate lotus covering something similar to an egg between its petals. The egg was engraved with runes Leumas could only speculate to be of fire, dragon, and horse. Despite not understanding their written language and runes, the intent remained the same regardless of language. Leumas could feel the mightiness of dragons, the elegance of horses, and the eternal heat of fire all coming from the gate, startling him slightly. Never before had he witnessed runes engraved out of ordinary metal bars. It opened his eyes to the wider path of his forgotten profession: rune crafting.
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This was no time to dilly dally, however, so with unpracticed movements, Leumas boarded the red carriage awaiting them. Millo followed shortly, before the driver ordered the fire horses to move. Finally out, Leumas relaxed, while beginning his plot of weaseling out of the tournament spectating.
“I would need to do it in a way that my stalker can’t garner more information about me. If I just straight up say ‘Millo, I hate tournaments, there is no way I’m going. Can we take our discussion elsewhere?’ then he’ll obtain more existential traces from me. He already has too many, if I don’t stop his access, then it won’t matter where I run or what plans I have, he can just find me instantly. Hmm…”
Let’s go back a day. After being reminded of his staggering lack of wealth, Samuel set out on a mission of earning a large sum of money as quickly as possible. He searched far and wide, visiting countless—three—locations to query for such establishments or opportunities, but to no avail. He began to worry, debating whether just leaving this city or using his powers would be better, but as he did, a strange sensation nudged him. Similar to the whispers of his believers, the sensation was vague, yet simultaneously clear. ‘Do not give away further information about yourself’, it told him. Leumas was taken aback. “Since when were my instincts this sharp, and why would giving him more information matter this much? I clearly understand the concept of not revealing your weaknesses and strengths to your enemies, but he’s too powerful for me to stop, so it wouldn't matter.”
Without any answers, Samuel turned his search within. Based on the fact his warning most likely came from the Path of Faith, the solution to his ignorance was probably there as well. He began to siphon through the information that ingrained itself into him, scouring for anything remotely related, before stumbling across a section labeled Enemies and Warfare. Information on how deities fight, the way of turning your believers into vessels of war, how to devour another’s divinity, etc., were clearly detailed. It made clear to Samuel what the path he unknowingly ventured onto was truly about. This was still not the important information, however. Towards the bottom of the section was information on innate techniques and weaknesses belonging to the Path of Faith. There, marked with obvious importance, was a warning that deities leave traces of their beings upon revealing aspects of themselves. Aspects that linger for days to millennia, depending on the concentration. If another deity or sufficiently powerful being comes to possess these traces, then no matter where you disappear to, they can find you. If you die and reincarnate, they’ll find you. If you are forced into the true Nothingness, they can find you. Only if your soul is truly obliterated do they lose the opportunity to locate you. Needless to say, Samuel was not about this.
He thus commenced operation Leumas. Samuel would become a different persona entirely, changing his name, mannerisms, abilities, likes, and dislikes to something unrecognizable. He would leave traces, but they would be minor and distorted, keeping his stalker from completing his voodoo-doll of tracking. And, when the opportunity presents itself, he’ll run for dear life. The only way out of the predicament is escaping. Something Samuel was confident in, considering the significant decline in strength his stalker experienced. The once deathly, overbearing pressure threatening to destroy him at any moment, was reduced by thousands, if not millions, of times. Samuel just needed the right time, and abilities, to pull this off.
Back in the present, Samuel sure as hell was not ready to watch some damned tournament; he’d rather die! Thus the predicament thickened.
“Millo, you do not strike me as some mindless brute, ignorantly enjoying the sport of violence. So, how come we are watching the tournament?” Sowing seeds of doubt and subtly manipulating Millo was the way to go. “I’m honestly a little disappointed. For years I’ve heard about the brilliant True King of Chess, the greatest chess player known to man. You were, and are, an inspiration to many, including myself. Yet you are not much different from the other battle maniacs here. Disappointing indeed.” With a sigh, Sam—Leumas—finished his rant, playing on Millo’s ego and self-respect, hoping for a breach in character.
“Well, I do happen to abhor needless violence, but this tournament is different. Instead of old greedy bastards competing for worthless pride or treasures, these are youths fighting for the future of the kingdom and the respect of their ancestors. The two cannot be compared to one another. It, rather than be cruel and disturbing, is beautiful and hopeful. It makes my old bones feel reinvigorated. Additionally, the King has ordered my presence, so even if I didn’t want to, my duty would obligate me to attend.” He responded with a kind smile, unbothered by Leumas’ misjudgment. Millo simply thought that everyone has inconsistencies in their logic and calculating nature. “Younglings must face more setbacks, lest they grow ignorant and arrogant,” he thought, already viewing himself as a mentor to Leumas. Never in his lifetime would Millo assume Leumas was thousands of years old, far surpassing his own advanced age.
“Is that so? I find that if every country and sect guides their youths to battle and power, then the conflicts of the world will never end. Of course, if one nation alone simply lays down their arms, massacres will be the result. Therefore, my opinion is that the current generation must be raised with proper care and morals, so that after achieving power, they can influence the youths in other countries. In this way, with the exception of opportunistic, greedy, and worthless people, the future would be peaceful and calm, devoid of conflict and war. Hosting a fighting tournament with prices, instead of a friendly competition, is only furthering the problems of this morbid world.” Forced by circumstance, Leumas was needed to get philosophical with his plan, spewing things he himself had no opinions on.
“Indeed, that is a logical conclusion, one that I agree with. However, due to certain reasons you are prohibited from knowing, this is not an option. I too thought like you before the truth revealed itself to me. Perhaps in due time, you’ll come to know it as well.”
“Are you speaking about the connection this world possesses to a demonized realm? That thing is so prevalent in the air, how can you keep this a secret?” Leumas didn’t know if his assumption was correct, but hoped its weight would influence Millo into a turbulent state of mind. The carriage was getting closer and closer to the tournament's locale, and time was running out. If he doesn’t succeed rapidly, then all will be lost.
Standing up in horror and shock, Millo erupted into an uncharacteristic shout. “How can you possibly know about that?!”