Chapter 20: [18 – Laurier; unpredictable and uncontrollable]

"Bothersome." said Soren after leaving the sleeping boy. He had reassured Kat, or at least gave as much assurance as he could with his bland expression, and left the room to allow them to rest.

There seemed to be a 'link' made from the tattoo, bonding the host and the Third Religion together. Lock could not deny the Third Religion, nor remember any of the important members. In the most simple terms, the moment the tattoo was engraved in his thin arms, he was destined to become a sacrifice.

"What would you like to do, Master?" asked Damien after a moment, observing the scene.

Soren said, "Wrap this up quickly."

"Yes?"

"Let's go. I'll end this conversation by today and head back."

Celine had finished healing Deimos, but she would still stay back to keep an eye on him in case there was anything strange about his condition. She was a suspicious, reckless person, but she was not a liar.

If she agreed to something, she would fulfill it. It was the pride of a fighter, of a Saint. In her own unique way.

The mark was something Soren had been aware of, but not informed about as vividly as he could be. After all, in the novel, the mystery had been very vague. The remaining pages which may have contained all the secrets had been torn out, missing. It was a little more work because of that, Soren thought, since he had to trouble himself into bringing the child back to Celine.

Soren sighed and walked out, rolling up his sleeves as he tied his hair up in a high pony tail, aura even colder than the day before. There was also the matter related to his brothers, and Raphael, though it was likely issues within the Kingdoms, or even the Empire.

Things like that, it wasn't any of Soren's business.

True to his word, the man didn't hold back during the semi-finales. While his opponents weren't weak compared to the many he fought against previously, they weren't his match, and especially not the match of an annoyed Soren.

The semi-finals were essentially split into two groups, each fighting the winner of the previous battle until they reached the top.

One particularly arrogant man had charged at Soren head on, not minding for any tactics or skills. That had been Soren's easiest battle, lasting under ten minutes before the man surrendered with bloody wounds all over his body, dripping in sweat.

To say that nobody dared to look down on him after was an understatement. For the few who had made it to the top but had a lower physiological quality, Soren also easily demolished them with little injuries to either side. They had surrendered within minutes of being relentlessly attacked, and Soren continued to progress.

It was almost a pity, since some truly had potential. In the next competition, if they dared to try again, they could definitely make it closer to the top.

The entire crowd was roaring nonstop, some even losing their voices while screaming and had to leave to rest. Most stayed, even if their throats were raw and bleeding from cheering, eyes red and strained from watching the fast movements.

Well, Soren didn't have to go all out for the most part. He was somebody who used his natural martial ability to stand at the top of the apocalypse — these people who had skills but little experience couldn't match him.

He knew all the tricks, both clean and dirty, though his whip typically did the job in destroying his opponent. As expected, most had swords or small blades that were anything but good quality.

Two or three had decent weapons, though they couldn't compare to Soren's whip which was one of the Cursed Tattoos.

Actually, in this part of the competition, it was also partially because of luck. There were no rules, and those who obtained better armour or weapons has a better chance of winning.

Of course, Soren was aware of that. But it didn't matter — his clothes were something he decided on, and his weapon belonged to him, and him alone. Whether it seemed unfair or not wasn't his problem, all he needed was the prize.

Before long, Soren had reached the finale.

Typically, it would take place the next day, but since the crowd's momentum had been built up, the monitor moved to ask Soren, "Would you like to continue?"

"What did Laurier say?"

There was a flash of surprise in the monitor's indifferent eyes. The stages had been separated, so the participants of the finale wouldn't be known by the two people themselves until the actual battle. 

However, for Soren who knew Brioc to a certain extent, confidentially could say that the crazy magician had definitely won. Brioc wouldn't stop running around until he was drowning in his own blood and unable to stand — that, or dead.

That was also one of the reasons for his loyalty to Raphael. The protagonist was a fight-attracting magnet, and Brioc happened to be a person who loved that more than anything else.

There was no need to betray Raphael when the runaway prince was perfectly content with the constant with the everlasting flow of battles. However, because of this unbelievable addiction, regardless of whether Brioc was bleeding out of every orifice in his body or not, Soren could figure out the answer to his own question.

Even a man with the lowest EQ could predict the basic instinct of a beast.

"... Sir Laurier has chosen to continue." said the monitor finally after a moment.

Soren nodded knowingly. "Why bother ask if he's already answered?"

"Both participants must agree."

"This was never a rule."

The monitor's face slipped, looking as if he wanted to avoid Soren all together if he could help it. "It is a recently implemented rule."

"Oh." Soren tilted his head, then moved. "Ok, let's go."

Although it wasn't uncommon for a finalist to choose to fight immediately, though many also opted for the safer, wiser option of having a night's rest before the grand fight, Soren's bland yet agreeable response made the monitor a little uncomfortable.

Subconsciously, the man shifted a few centimetres away from Soren. On the other hand, the Fifth Prince who had been following noticed the action and frowned.

Clearly... he hadn't done anything wrong, had he?

This sort of avoidance seemed to happen occasionally, now that Soren thought about it. But Soren didn’t think he behaved in a scary manner — not at all. He had acted as a perfectly regular citizen, and kept a relatively low profile.

If Raphael had heard his thoughts, he would've laughed while Erlen would've gone crazy in anger.

They arrived back at the first stage; the crowd cheering and following closely behind as lights illuminated the underground city even more, casting a bright shine over the stage. However, there were also borders surrounding the stage a few meters away, most likely to prevent the watchers from being injured.

While there were no rules, if the people behind this city accidentally offended somebody of nobility, even they would find it troublesome. If the watchers chose not to listen, well, it wasn't their problem anymore.

With a large crowd of people, there were undoubtedly those who ducked under the tape to watch eagerly. The smarter ones, or the more cowardly, chosen to remain on the other side.

This competition was a death ground — there wouldn't be precautions like this for no good reason.

Soren stood calmly on the stage as a youthful-looking person strolled up, a wide smile on their face as their violet eyes glimmered with anticipation.

"I knew it would be you!" exclaimed Brioc excitedly, hopping onto the stage.

Soren looked at him and nodded.

"Well, then you must be strong right? My instincts are never wrong! Let's have a good fight, Count Raphael!"

"Hm."

The silent Soren didn't deter Brioc's excitement. After all, he cared about the battle, not the person themselves. His chin was raised, pointed up arrogantly but his posture was steady, unmovable.

Magic wasn't prohibited in the competition; it counted as a weapon.

But, Soren thought the five-minute break would be a good time to hand Brioc the weapons that Damien gave him. He intended to give it secretly, but there was no need for that. Sometimes, doing things in the open was wiser than being secretive.

Plus, if Brioc used magic, the fight would only be more troublesome. This way, Soren could propose a deal.

"Let's make a deal." said Soren, watching as Brioc's face glowed in excitement.

"A deal?"

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"I'll give you a weapon to use. If you don't use your magic, you can keep it."

Brioc laughed and looked at him thoughtfully. "I mean, it's interesting, but it'll put me at a disadvantage, won't it? Who says I'll want to keep it?"

"You will."

There was no room for argument in Soren's tone. Hearing his absolute certainty, Brioc grew more interested.

Damien stepped up, holding a box. Soren took it, but frowned a little. The way that fox predicted his movements was a little strange, since it made one feel like they were out and exposed. However, Damien said nothing about the blades that he had gifted Soren, and stepped back indifferently.

"...thanks." said Soren after a moment, before turning his attention back to Brioc. He held out the box, one hand in his pocket while he raised his head. "Here."

Brioc took the box eagerly, flipping it open. When he did, the blades pulsed more vividly, as if calling out to their master. The magician's purple eyes reflected the violent blades, widening slightly.

"Where'd you get this, Raphy?"

"...who?"

"Raphy." repeated Brioc with a smile. "Of course friends should call each other by nicknames!"

The innocent words were anything but when it came from Brioc Laurier. Soren frowned and was about to say something when Brioc repeated,

"So? Where'd you get it."

"It was a gift."

"And you're giving away a gift that somebody gave you?"

"Yeah." said Soren without hesitation.

Brioc tilted his head curiously. "By who, might I ask?"

"My butler."

Brioc raised an eyebrow in surprise, peeking behind to find Damien, who simply stared back silently. "And he's not offended?"

"Eh."

A laugh erupted from Brioc's lips, and he waved at the fox with a smile. "It seems like powerful people surround you, Raphy."

"....." Soren decided he really disliked the nickname, but also that it was better than Brioc calling him by his real name. If Brioc came up with some strange nickname for Soren’s actual name… well, he didn’t want to think about it.

"It's time to start." interrupted the monitor while Soren nodded in response.

"Begin." said the prince cooly, making Brioc shiver in excitement.

The minute the monitor begun the competition, Brioc lunged. There was no hesitation, nor any holding back, just raw, heavy bloodlust as he slashed with the blades, laughing maniacally as he did. Soren was experienced, but Brioc was a unique character. It was impossible to avoid all of his swings and predictable movements.

At times, he would sacrifice his own body to get a hit in, eyes wild with delight. This sort of opponent was honestly quiet terrifying, and more troublesome than any other. It was like fighting against a robot, somebody who only knew how to attack at whatever cost.

Soren's whip snapped against the flying daggers, throwing it to the side as Brioc flipped backwards to catch it, immediately slamming it back against the chains.

Brioc's eyes widened as the chain whipped past his cheek, grazing the skin as blood trickled down before moving his eyes back to Soren, beaming. The more deadly the fight, the more excited this psychopath became. When the blade slid past Soren's calf, leaving behind a deep gash in its wake, the prince rolled over, glancing at the wound.

Blood pooled at the cut, the smell of death lingering in the air. Neither party were without wounds, their clothes heavily soaked in sweat and blood as they continued to rush forward. The amount of blood that Soren was losing was significant, and he needed to end it quickly. It wouldn't be good for him if he were to die from blood loss and revive in front of all the people here, not to mention in front of the monitor who was all sorts of suspicious.

The next time the blade sliced through his waist, he dropped to one knee, heaving. A glimmer of disappointment crossed Brioc's eyes, but he didn't stop his movements and swung his leg down. 

The kick knocked Soren to the side, tossing him into the air, but as the prince was upside down, he stretched out his arms. Brioc twisted in surprise as he turned, and everything seemed to play in slow motion.

Long, elegant chains wrapped around his body, yanking him into the air as Soren flew backwards. Soren skidded against the stage as Brioc flew over, slamming into a wall in the crowd of people. The entire area around him cleared out immediately, a few shrieks sounding as bricks crumbled around the magician's bleeding body. 

Soren coughed, wobbling to a standing position as he wiped away the blood on his lips coldly, staring ahead. 

As expected, a few moments later, a stumbling, laughing magician climbed out of the bricks, face drenched in blood but eyes bright with delight. 

The two injured people looked at each other, one with a smile and the other with a frown.

"Hahahaha... who'd have thought I'd meet another crazy person...!" huffed Brioc joyfully, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he slowly raised his chin at Soren. "I'd like to continue, but I think I lost too much blood."

When he said that, his body fell backwards, collapsing into the crimson stained rubble that he had flown into.

Soren stared at his limp body for a moment before turning around, walking off the stage. 

The monitor chased after him and said, "Count Raphael, you have won. We will announce--"

"Shut up."

The monitor resolutely shut up.

Soren ignored the surrounding cheers, pushing through the crowd as a path parted before him, either out of respect or fear. Whatever the case, he didn't care. He walked all the way to the front of the building he stayed in before his eyes blurred, and he felt his body leaning forward unsteadily. His sense of balance had been destroyed and his ears were ringing loudly, bells roaring in his mind.

To fight a psychopath, you had to become one.

Although Soren never feared death, he did not recklessly seek blood and injure himself during battles as Brioc did. However, to combat the unpredictable, dangerous movements of the magician, he had to play the same game. 

Then, he felt his body land against something.

There was a low laugh, and a voice that sounded vaguely sarcastic and amused. "Well, little Prince, you certainly know how to put up a fight."

Soren squinted at the ground, too lazy to lift his head. "I showed you yesterday."

"Pfft— yeah, you're right. You did."

"Hm."

"Are you feeling like collapsing? I'd have to praise you if you aren't."

Soren didn't answer, feeling his body becoming heavier and heavier by the moment. The arm against his chest didn't move, and it wasn't a comfortable position either, though Soren knew the other party cared little for his comfort. He shifted his weight slightly, wanting to move away but not being able to do so. 

As his eyes started to close, he felt his body become lighter as he was flung over the person's back roughly. 

Honestly, Soren wasn't one who enjoyed revealing his weakness in front of other people, although he couldn't control his body at this moment. There was no person who would remain unwounded after losing so much blood, and Soren was not exception. He really couldn't...

"I guess it can't be helped." said a low voice with a helpless sigh.

...stay awake for any longer.

"Sleep well, little prince."