225. Carnival Games

Zetius strode past staff members dressed in dark red suits with their nametags on. A lively chaos of food stalls and game booths lined this section of the medieval village, their colourful banners fluttering in the evening breeze. In the distance, the spines of the sky-piercing castle loomed, its highest tip adorned with the massive arcanite harnesser — the symbol of Borealis Island. Its beautiful spark radiated like a newborn star amongst the heavens.

As they moved through the festive crowd, a loud, explosive bang, followed by a wave of applause, reverberated through the air. The sound drew them towards a platform that had attracted a sizeable crowd. At its centre, in a shallow sandpit, hung a thick, heavy gong easily ten metres in diameter, suspended in the air without any visible structural supports.

“Are you interested in the Gong of the Giants challenge?” A female staff member in a crimson suit gestured to the passing crowd, palms open and inviting.

Frain paused, her gaze shifting from the imposing gong to Zetius.

“Huh? Sounds like my kind of game,” a deep, masculine voice chimed in from the side. The big, burly lion Wildren crossed his arms. His prideful blonde mane and tail drifted majestically against the breeze.

Wait… I’ve seen this Wildren somewhere, Zetius thought, noticing a Stellius ring on the man’s finger. Swiftly, he leaned closer to Frain and whispered, “That’s the lion Wildren from the colosseum. His name is Logar or something.”

“Lothar of the Lioress clan. We met him at the Arcana Institute,” Frain whispered back, prompting a double nod from Zetius.

“Little one,” the lion Wildren spoke, his tone condescending. “If you aren’t going to take the challenge, step aside and let me.” His eyes fell to her absent pride tail, and a grimace twisted his features.

“Hey, muscle brain!” Pree snapped, planting her hands on her hips. “Don’t you dare disrespect my friend here.” And just like that, Frain had become Prima’s self-proclaimed friend.

Lothar glanced down, noticing Pree’s status as an equal. His tone softened slightly, but his words remained sharp. “She looks weak. No pride tail. A disgrace amongst our kind.”

Annoyed, Zetius puffed out his chest and confronted the accuser, “That’s just your clan’s customs. That kind of skewed prejudice isn’t going to fly here—”

Frain placed a firm hand on Zetius’s shoulder, stopping him. She faced the lion, her gaze unfazed. “I’ll show you what I can do.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit!” Lothar exclaimed with a hearty slap to his thigh. “Well, I’ll go first. Don’t chicken out and run off.”

With a confident arm raised in the air, the lion Wildren was beamed at by a staff member and led toward the pit. Zetius watched him from the crowd, his blood still boiling.

“We believe in you!” Pree slapped Frain’s lower back, a toothy smirk spreading across her face. “I know you’re stronger than you look, right?”

“Thanks, Prima,” Frain smiled nervously.

“Just call me Pree!” she insisted, pointing a thumb at her own chest.

On the platform, an announcer brought a floating microphone to her lips. “The next challenger for the Gong of the Giants… Lothar of Lioress! The warmongering Stellius of Leo who forged his path from the treacherous steppes of Mongalian!” The crowd applauded boisterously, raising their hands high.

Propping his muscular chest, Lothar rolled his arms, positioning himself before the gong. His knees bent, his toes digging into the sand until he found a firm footing. Snapping his fingers, he raised one palm, keeping the other tucked neatly at his side. He gauged the range of motion, back and forth. Satisfied, he nodded to the announcer.

“Very well,” the announcer responded with a polite nod. “STRIKE!”

Lothar mustered his strength. Veins bulged and muscles flexed as a burst of power rose from his feet, coursing through his body and into his palm.

“RRRAAAAAA!” The lion’s roar was a low, full-throated vibration that shocked the surrounding people.

His palm burst through the air, clashing against the metal with a loud, resonant chime. A gulf of wind exploded outwards, pushing the sand away in a perfect circle. A deep hum followed, lingering for a few moments. Lothar shifted into a standing pose and bowed to the crowd. Their faces were a mixture of fear and excitement.

“An 89! The highest score so far!” the staff announced, projecting the result in a holographic image above the stage. The crowd ran wild, screaming and chanting his name.

“Not bad… whatever that score means,” Zetius sucked his cheeks, eyeing Frain, who was frozen in place, her attention fixated on the gong.

“I’d say he is indeed strong… for a Stellius,” Pree added her thoughts.

Seeing the staff wave for the next challenger, Cubie nudged Frain’s cheek. “Go, Sister Frain!”

“Give ‘em hell,” Zetius said, turning partly towards her.

“Shatter that ugly gong,” Pree exaggerated with a thumbs-up.

“Hmph,” Frain hissed air through her nose. Her first step trembled slightly, but the next was rigid with determination.

On the short stairs, Lothar exited the pit as Frain stepped in. His towering figure passed her without so much as a glance. She grunted, jumping down into the sand and feeling her weight settle into the fine grains.

“And our next challenger… Frain…” The announcer muffled her mic and leaned over. “What’s your last name, dear?”

“Just Frain,” she said, circling the gong. Soft laughter trickled from the crowd, but she dismissed it. No distractions. Finding her spot, Frain fell into a striking position, one foot forward, her frame perpendicular to the target.

“I’m ready,” Frain exclaimed, her eyes maintaining focus on the centre of the gong.

“STRIKE!”

Her fist coiled to her waist, charging with explosive energy. Her toes dug into the sand as her body twisted, carrying the momentum into her attack.

“YAAAAAAAAA!” Frain let out a powerful roar of her own.

With a swift, clean motion, her fist launched, shattering the air barrier with a loud thunderclap.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Sand erupted into a storm, a thick mist that quickly dispersed.

The hit landed squarely in the centre.

A high-impact boom clashed out as the gong resonated violently. Afterwards, an errant rumbling and whirring continued, the metallic surface rippling in small waves.

The audience, on the other hand, was too stunned to even breathe. All except Zetius and Pree, who smirked and exchanged a fist bump.

As Frain returned to her standing pose and bowed to the crowd, the result was projected onto the scoreboard overhead. “And she scores a 95!” the announcer spoke into her mic, her voice uneven with shock. “The highest score was just topped in a matter of minutes! How wild is that?”

The colour on people’s faces shifted with that number, and then the crowd burst into loud cheers and claps, their eyes gleaming with ecstasy.

“Here’s the grand prize! The Platinum Coin!” A staff member handed her a commemorative coin etched with the image of the Astral Empress.

“Oh. Thanks, I guess,” Frain received it with both hands reluctantly, having not even realised a prize was involved. The staff then raised Frain’s hand high in celebration, letting the crowd cheer one more time.

As Frain stepped out of the pit, she found Lothar waiting. He pushed himself off the railing, arms still crossed over his chest, and stepped directly into her path as she tried to walk around him.

“You exceeded my expectations, Frain,” he rasped.

Frain inspected her fist, her own innate strength having clearly improved a great deal. “Honestly, I’m amazed at it too.”

Lothar softened his voice, dropping his arms to his sides and kneeling on one knee. “Then please accept my apology. Strength recognises strength. The lion does not concern itself with the misguided pride.”

Taken aback, she gasped, her hands shielding her lips. Never before had someone looked at her and seen only her strength. The validation was a physical shock, a warm and unfamiliar feeling that bloomed in her chest, leaving her momentarily breathless.

“What?” a long drawl echoed from behind as Pree joined the conversation. “You only respect her when she beats your arse? Is that how it works?” she quipped. Behind her, Zetius and Cubie approached the circle.

“I… I…” Lothar stuttered, giving up on a riposte. Agitated, he scratched his cheek as sweat trickled down his forehead. “I only know of strength and nothing else…”

“It’s alright! You’re forgiven,” Frain said, her voice soft, her eyes closed with contentment.

“May… may I ask what clan you are from?” Lothar raised his head and rose to his full height.

“Hold up a minute, are you trying to hit on her already? You tactless knucklehead!” Pree teased, poking the lion in the side. He jumped, waving his hands and shaking his head in denial.

“Don’t you know that she’s his wife?” Pree gestured with both palms at Zetius.

“Really?!” Lothar’s eyes widened.

Zetius slapped his forehead. “Pree, you are gravely mistaken. We’re family.”

“Frain is his daughter,” Cubie clarified firmly. “Sort of.”

“What an obvious lie. You look too young to have a full-grown adult as a daughter.”

“She’s adopted,” Zetius blurted, his eyes twitching slightly.

“Oh! Why didn’t you say so?!” Pree snapped, poking Zetius’s cheek, which he brushed away. “Stop with your wild assumptions. If you don’t know, just ask.”

“Nuh-uh, Rhea taught me that we should never ask stupid questions,” Pree retorted, shaking her head.

“It’s not stupid!” Zetius raised his voice.

“Ahem!” Lothar signalled, drawing them back before they derailed the topic to oblivion. “Frain, I’m just curious, since you have no clan name.”

“Umm, ah…” Frain struggled to find the right words. “I don’t know. I was taken as a slave when I was very young. I don’t have a good memory of it.”

“Oh…” Lothar looked into her eyes, an unexpected empathy softening his features. “That explains your upbringing and your absence of a pride tail. Such savagery in this world.” His hands curled up into a trembling fist.

“Aww… I didn’t know you had such a tragic backstory until the prince charming adopted you. You’re saved now!” Pree quipped, embracing Frain like they were the best of friends.

“She’s a bit daft,” Cubie whispered to Zetius, who could only agree.

“As much as I want to find her original lineage and parents, it’s proven difficult. I don’t know where to begin,” Zetius admitted.

Lothar smirked, a wide, knowing grin. “You simply need to ask the right question to the right people.”

“Do… do you know anything?” Frain interjected, her eyes shimmering with hope. “You know who my parents are?”

Lothar sniffed the air. “Not really. But I saw your essence in the sandpit. It’s Leontokratía, the same as mine.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pree asked, her tone lazy as she brushed her horse ear.

“It means… Frain must be from the same people,” Zetius concluded, forcing himself not to patronise the horse Wildren. He did tell her to be inquisitive.

“That’s still vague,” Frain said, her voice small.

“Yes. But there are only two major clans for lion Wildrens. The Savanas and the Lioress. That narrows it down,” Lothar explained, cupping his chin as his brows furrowed in thought. Then, his lips parted as an idea flashed. “Well, I guess you should visit Mongalian when you get the chance. The elders there might be able to give us some pointers. Say Lothar sent you!”

“Ask the right question to the right people,” Zetius quoted with a cheeky grin.

“Exactly.” Nimbly, Lothar fidgeted with his ring and beamed a marker to Frain’s map.

“Yeah! I will!” Frain nodded, accepting the location transfer. A soft ping marked its completion.

The burly lion took his farewell with a friendly wave, and Zetius’s party marched forth and resumed their journey. They arrived at a registration box painted with bright colours and stripes. Interested participants, both arcanists and non-arcanists, were already rallied in two unorganised rows.

“Are we competing with non-arcanists?” Zetius probed, peeking over the line.

“Hehe, no, you silly. There are two lines, if you’d open your eyes,” Pree chuckled before clarifying. “But it’s a good comparison of how awesome arcane truly is! After all, Osten is the empire of magic, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yeah… A kilometre sprint is the major event, I presume,” Zetius said, his eyes sweeping over the long street, gauging the crowd’s reaction as they patiently awaited the race to commence.

“Yep! The one and the last,” Pree confirmed with a wobble of her head.

When their turn in the queue finally arrived, a staff member in red with a prominent moustache poked his head out, holding a piece of paper. “Fill in the details there. Two or three?” he asked, his tone bored and detached.

“Just two,” Zetius responded for the group. Frain wasn’t going to compete, no matter how much Pree tried to persuade her.

It took them a few minutes to fill out the application forms. The moustached man’s eyes bulged at one of the names, his calm demeanour shattering. “You are Prima Vel Rigellion?!”

“The one and only!” Pree declared, thumbing her chest and looking down her nose at him — a high horse glare from a horse Wildren, Zetius chuckled at the thought.

“Oh! I hope to see you again in the race,” the moustache staff said, winking at her. “Go easy on them, would ya?”

“Never!” She fisted her palm and massaged it menacingly. In response, the man threw his head back and laughed before shrugging helplessly at Zetius.

“Zetius, Cubie, you must not lose!” Frain lifted her fists to her chest, her faith in them unyielding.

“We’ve got some cool stuff in our arsenal,” Cubie chirped, circling over their heads.

Soon, a staff member led Zetius and Pree to the rest area, where the two groups of participants were kept separate. The resonating chime echoed as multi-colour holograms beamed up into big ribbons, running along the road and creating two distinct lanes.

“I’ll wreck these newbies with these!” Pree declared in the background, slapping her meaty legs to energise herself.

The breeze shifted, fluttering Zetius’s hair. A sudden chill prickled his skin, and the air on his arms stood on end as his instincts flared. He spun around, his sharp red eyes searching the area in a panic.

“Let the magic begin!” a rich, seductive voice chimed from above. A single platform drifted down to the centre of the street.

Her dark elven skin glittered, adorned in ornate white and gold attire. A golden laurel wreath sat atop her sheen-like hair, reflecting the moonlight.

“This is I, Celestius Nyrethein Vale! The grandmaster of the Dreamless. The dark echo of Gemini.”

“Crap…” Zetius chewed on his lip in frustration, his fist curling up so tight his knuckles turned white.

Things were about to escalate.