"Of course that prodigy Hayate was going to win. He was born from a hero! A hero's child wouldn't lose that easily," a youngster from the crowd asserted.

"Hero? You believe in that silly rumour? Hayate is simply too talented. His opponent was not in his league," a teenage girl argued.

"I heard the source of Hayate's power came from a sacred ritual conducted in extremely windy weather," a retired veteran knight said.

"Could it possibly be some forbidden art?" the woman next to the knight asked.

"Honestly even for someone as old as me, I do not know. All of the knowledge we have of that rising prodigy of the Swamp is that in itself. For all we know he could have eaten a super rare fruit . . . or perhaps he came from “there”."

"There? What do you mean by “there” ?" the woman inquisitively asked.

"It is the destination that everybody in the past all dreamed of _______ to . . . " Recalling the long histories his father had told him and the information not exhibited in the museum, he began to lapse.

"Sir please tell us!"

Awakening from his ephemeral departure, he saw the sight of the three young ones immersively gazing at him. When he saw this, he could only answer their eager calls.

***

The lavish VIP room protruding out from the third floor was indisputably the best location to have a seating. A single glance through the sanguine window panels allows any onlooking person in the room to set in sight the entire landscape of the arena. The glassy windows, glowing a deep blue had mysteriously powerful magnification abilities for the eye to reflect the projected scenery. Thus, no matter how far you may wish to look, there would be no detriment to one's viewing. The only real downside was that it could not capture audio.

Besides the many decorations and few furnishings in the room, there was an overt seating arrangement structured in the middle of the room for the privileged guests. There weren't too many seats to begin with, but it was more than sufficient for the arrived delegates. Naturally, each of them came from the leading nations. In the past, there would be many more guests; however, since the Great War, the numbers have greatly declined. The nations all had their hands full with many matters.

In contrast to the Knights of Kingdom Tournament bustling atmosphere, the VIP room was tense with an air of uneasy unrest. All of this unwelcome unrest originated from the lone figure occupying a seat in the first row. Three other delegates sat alongside the second row but kept a respectable distance from that dreadful figure. As for the King, he watched directly from the balustrade while Crown Prince Kayle stood aside from the seats. Even with the pleasuring ventilation, unfailing to flow into each corner of the room, the currents only served to heighten the tension as the pleasant breeze tickled the leaked perspirations trickling behind their backs. It was unknown whether it was the same for the King.

Zetral's delegate, Apostle Farden, could be seen silently and earnestly jotting down notes on a quality parchment, following the end of the face-off between Hayate and Koji. However, much like the rest, he had a hidden eye open for the unwanted one.

Next to him was Feeria's Water Elemental Master Harold. He appeared to be the same as always: carefree and easy-going. An oddball thrown in the mix of heightened pressure. Usually, Harold Mae would have no real issues associating with other people. In spite of the King standing a couple of meters away from him, he was unalarmed whatsoever. He was his unrestrained self; heck, he boldly asked the King permission to part a surprise gift to his daughter. However, after the performance and then the brief introductions to one another . . . Harold was shitting himself on the inside.

(I want to go home . . . but my cute daughter! My Daughter Alexia!) He winced tightly as though he wanted to close his eyes and escape.

Aggrieved, he “boldly” peeked a glance at the scary figure. Her raddled and supposedly brown hooded robe concealed her skin from the back. Eerily, the robe was smudged in various and corrosive appearing dull colours. The most conspicuous feature of all was that pinkish purple noxious smog around her. It manifested a very dangerous vibe. As evidence, the eroded, rough open holes of her attire were unseeable. Mustering up more courage, he gazed deeper into the holes out of curiosity.

If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

(I should stop. I don't know what's going to happen if this scary elder finds out.)

Just as he turned to look away, he sensed that his eyes had captured something. Without conscious thought, his eyes were drawn back.

(There's nothing . . . Huh?) Squinting his eyes, he saw movement within the fumes of the void. Believing that his eyes were hallucinating from his stress, he lingered his gaze. Soon, he saw a shadow of a little critter, flattened elongated body composed of many segments.

(A centi—WHAT THE #$%^&)

Harold's heart jumped in fright. He saw the shadow critter slowly uncloak to reveal its thorny and disturbing segments. It wasn't that the creature came closer to the opening, nor was the gas dissipating . . . the creature simply grew in size. It grew so big that the hole ended up showcasing a small part of its grown body as it pressed against the opening. It then started to crawl . . . crawl . . . crawl . . . crawl . . . it was like watching a passing train go by. When it revealed its head . . .

(ONE-EYED CENTIPEDE?!!)

If he wasn't an envoy in front of these particular gathered figures, he was just a strand away from jumping out of his seat, jetting that malicious beast, and sprinting away. Who cares if he was in a family meeting? Great family meeting? He didn't want to court death with that thing in close proximity.

One-eyed Centipedes were one of the most fearsome and dangerous beasts in the Pedlar Continent. They have around five hundred thorny, powerful legs, and on average, spanned fifty meters in length. In addition, their bodies were impregnable! About ten times sturdier than the average Gigan body consolidator. Although it only had a single head, its face contained two jaws with one superimposed over the other. If you were to somehow go above to look at that towering figure, the hidden ocellus on top would be exposed in view. It's giant eye would send nightmares from a mere glimpse.

The real question is . . .

(How is such a frightening beast so small?) Thinking of this very question brought deathly chills to perpetually course through Harold's spine. He swore to never get on this freakish elder's bad side. With an expression that appeared to repent for his actions, he respectfully turned back to the battlefield. The hidden “eye” at the back of the elder's head appeared to be . . . satisfied. Slowly, the body shrunk and sank back into the pinkish-purple gas. Fortunately for Harold, he did not see what lay at the end of the beast . . .

A sharp, handsome man in his thirties with long black hair was seated adjacent to Harold. He wore an emerald shaded kamishimo, hakama coloured in black, imprinted with the Gigan insignia. It's imprint on the kataginu, a sleeveless top, was located close to the heart. It signified that the man was a proud citizen from Gigan with the heart of a Gigan. This imprint was only given to those who were recognised as the “Hearts of Gigan”. He was the Head of the Ronins, one of the sect leaders representing the Five Martial Sects of Gigan—Yamada Zanko.

Yamada's eyes narrowed to slits, revealing katanas. He glared at the dreaded elder. "Speak, Deathorlie. What did you do?" The placid and dignified man interrogated.

"Kehehehe, young samurai boy put away those toys. Even someone like myself may not be able to fend off that aura. I was simply playing around with that child beside you."

"I—I—I apolgise Senior Elder! I was just a little, little curious! That's all. I will make it up for you!" Harold pleaded in panic.

Crown Prince Kayle went a little sour at Harold's attitude. Harold's display was unbecoming. (At least try to be brave . . . even my little brother would have much more backbone.

"Kehehe. Just pretend that you saw nothing." Deathorlie then returned to face the unmoving, lion-hearted boy. "Relax young boy, no need to put your guard up. As I have said before, there won't be any fun sessions with me this time around."

"Pardon us Deathorlie, but frankly, nobody is able to resist raising their guard upon facing you. You are too . . . dicey may I say. I'd hope you can understand our worries." Kayle gracefully appeased her.

"Keh you are truly not bad, the future of the Kingdom is in your hands. I look forward to your days of reign."

"If such a day comes forth, I will be sure to invite your renowned name. I believe with your long experience and wisdom, it would be insightful for all of the younger ones to take in. Some may be negligent, but are in truth happy to gain appreciation from you, regardless of your reputation. I implore Deathorlie to consider the big picture and hope it would aid as experience in your future teachings. "

"Kehehehehe." Deathorlie was well pleased. (Artful and well mannered. Perhaps I should visit the Kingdom more often.)

Deathorlie was a legendary old monster, nicknamed as the “Notorious Crazed Alchemist”. Her alchemy was said to be unparalleled on the Pedlar Continent, rivaling the Product Apostle. Unlike the godly all-round manufacturer Product Apostle, Deathorlie specialised in pill, potion, and medicine making. That was the standard for alchemists. However, Deathorlie did not simply follow the normal procedure in alchemy. In every procedure, she would utilise deadly poisonous ingredients and special arts to concoct miraculous produces. For better or worse, each of her products did not fail to come with terrifying side effects.

Yamada, alerted from their conversation, was about to speak when Apostle Farden interrupted.

"Ronin Head Yamada, I heard there were some—particular issues pertaining to the Five Martial Sects?"

Everyone in the room, with the exception of Deadorlie, concentrated their attention to Yamada. They showed signs of having ideas.

Yamada, for the time being, did not pronounce. Only the sounds of distant cheers could be heard in the background.