"Quiet down! Everyone will have their chance, so there's no need to rush. Those who wish to question Leumas, please imprint your ballot, then deposit it into the tube under your armrests.”
The trusty commentator, who arrived some time ago, notified the rowdy audience of the rules. It was his sole responsibility to ready the heap of overly enthusiastic people before Leumas’ arrival. God knows what fate awaits him if the bratty princess or the royal advisor finds his effort lackluster.
The yells calmed to a more moderate volume, as most discussed with their friends what questions they’d ask. The interview, more than the tournament, was the highlight of this year's competition. Such a young and talented chess prodigy sparked interest in everyone here. Normally, someone like Leumas would be a continental celebrity, yet no one here was aware of his existence prior to his showcase of skill. The flame of curiosity thus burned ever brighter. Perhaps if their inquiries were well enough executed, then his impression of them would be favorable, leading to potential relations. In this dog-eat-dog world, most were willing to do anything to interact and form bonds with those of power and status. Them posing questions might not seem significant, but the potential was there nonetheless.
After everyone who thought themselves sufficiently important or lucky deposited their ballots, a click was heard from the center of the protruding platform. The immediate surroundings of the table where Leumas, Millo, and the commentator would sit parted, showcasing a set of stairs. Upon which, two of the aforementioned individuals were ascending. After they arrived in full view of the crowd, they were greeted by the usual claps and cheers from the crowd, which for some reason, became much larger. It was more than triple the size. Opportunists were everywhere, clearly.
Leumas’ eyebrows rose in confusion, as the scenery and the past five minutes finally settled in. “How did walking straight through three different doors lead underground? This place is located at a similar altitude to the arena, and there were no spatial formations affecting our movement,” he thought to himself, numbing the irrelevant external stimuli from the crowd.
Millo, ever the observant fox, thought Leumas was surprised at the newfound size of the crowd. He thus sent him a message through his spirit sense, comforting him, due to his obvious social awkwardness. “Don’t fret, Leumas, just picture these people as pawns removed from the chess board: they don’t matter much at the moment. Thus, no matter how you appear or what you say, it won’t be embarrassing. Just sit down, look as comfortable and stoic as possible, answer the questions, then we leave. Simple when you think this way, right? It’s a secret of the trade. Haha.”
“This old bastard. He must think my antisocial behavior is due to my ineptitude in public situations, not at all realizing he is the cause of it all. I’d be right to give him a good thrashing later.”
Before Leumas’ mind became consumed with different ways of teaching this grandpa a lesson, he diverted his focus onto the situation at hand. “I just need to answer their questions, how long could that possibly take? There is plenty of time to plot afterwards.”
Oh, how wrong this innocent boy is. There are thousands of spectators, of which half deposited ballots. The math speaks for itself; this will be no ordinary Q&A. Consequently, the hardest obstacle Leumas would ever need to overcome began.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
The chair, the lights, the commentator, the crowd, the damned questions, and the old man who never stopped transmitting his advice and opinions to him, would forever torment his dreams from this day forward.
“What is the meaning of your name?”
“Where were you born?”
“Are you affiliated with any sects or clans?”
“Are you a cultivator?”
“Is chess part of your dao?”
“Are you looking for a wife?
“Would you be interested in further interactions?”
All manner of worthless questions were thrown his way, souring Leumas’ mood further and further by each passing second. “Does the commentator not know to discern the clever from the fool? Ninety percent of these questions were posed by lunatics for no comprehensible reason. Please spare my sanity!”
But no such reprieve ever came. For hours, Leumas was forced to answer the same type of basic questions, over and over again, until there were only a meager three ballots remaining.
With his unrelenting gusto, the commentator permitted the third last questioner to speak. “Does he not possess eyes?! I know for a fact this commentator fella is one of those ass-kissing leeches, so how come he doesn’t discriminate against these people? Most of them were clearly in no state of mind to pose worthwhile questions, which has caused this entire disaster. Why does bad things happen to me all the time?” Leumas thought to himself after locating his next torturer.
The person Leumas would label a lunatic, was a shorter middle-aged man, dressed in completely black garments, with the exception of his white gloves. His eyes were crimson, and his skin pale as the moon; a clear opposition to the majority of the city's populace. His ears were pierced with sword-looking earrings, that were in reality vessels of blood. This guy was obviously a vampire of sorts, yet was still allowed free rein of the microphone. It was baffling to him that someone carrying hundreds of liters of human blood and multiple cursed artifacts was not removed from the premises upon sight for the sheer safety of the other spectators. Yet there was nothing he could do about it without appearing like a tyrant and potentially offending his stalker. There was no way he would allow his watcher to garner information on what he disliked and couldn’t stand.
The vampire cleared his throat with a graceful gesture. “Ahem, I would like to query the esteemed gentleman Leumas: from which race do you hail?”
Whispers consumed the audience, and shocked Leumas. “It was a proper question?” Never in a thousand years could he predict this outcome. “Indeed, discriminating based on appearance and style is foolish. If they were to do that with me, they’d assume I was a raging homosexual.”
Leumas learned something today. Something he already knew, but forgot due to his severe disconnect from the world around him. Power has clouded his mind for too long, and it’s time for him to recover his past glory. He must rise from the ashes, so to speak. But first, he would need to answer the question. The problem was, he himself did not know the answer. Too many changes have happened to his body, resulting in it turning into something different altogether. The Wheel of Pain and Happiness rewards, the weird soul-mind-body fusion, the unknown transformation after arriving in Nullspace IX; it was unclear what he’d become, but he was certain it was not human. At least not physically.
“Based on the fact that he's a vampire, he probably possesses some form of blood sense that allows him to differentiate between non-humans and humans. Meaning, his senses tell him I’m not human, but he doesn’t recognize what I am. I have a feeling that if this goes unanswered, or answered poorly, then I’ll be labeled a demon. Which appears to be a big no-no around here. Hmm…”
While his entire being began to quake due to his excessive thoughts, a notion from the distant unknown arrived. Inspired within seconds, Leumas raised his head, peering directly at the vampire, sending shivers down his spine, before uttering: “I’m a Trueborn.”