The Legend of Randidly Ghosthound

“Demonstrate your image,” The assistant overseer repeated sternly, faced with Raymund’s rather blank faced confusion. It was clear from their expressions that the three overseers were supremely unimpressed with his nonresponsiveness.

There were two things that confused Raymund about the current situation. The first was that, after the recruits finished their required twenty laps and wanted nothing more than to collapse into a degenerative stew of sweat and muscle fibers, they were brought into an underground complex below the training area that seemed just as extensive as the facilities on the surface. There, he was directed to a small training room where three unfamiliar assistant overseers were waiting at a wooden table. They each held clipboards.

They wanted him to demonstrate his image. That fact barely managed to penetrate through his bleary confusion to reach his consciousness.

But the second source of confusion was that the formation on the surface didn’t affect this area at all. Raymund’s body was once more his own to recover naturally and move. After using his image constantly for almost twenty-four hours, the shift back to being able to physically move was so pleasurable that it felt like Raymund’s every movement was buoyed by a comforting layer of clouds.

“Ah… yes.” Raymund blinked. Then he tried his best to focus. His mind was still exhausted from what he had endured in this first day of training, but the lack of the physical suppression filled him with a strange sense of calm. His numb body because the perfect vessel to house a consciousness focused upon his image. He could manage this amount of pressure with ease.

Gradually, the lids over Raymund’s eyes sank downward. His world became a rich darkness. It was his canvas for creation. He long claws flexed slowly outward, like an orange tabby luxuriously waking up from a nap in a pool of sunlight.

The first detail he conjured was the fur of the nine-tailed fox. Here was one of the smallest but the most important details to create a cohesive image. The base of each hair was a pale white, but toward the edges, it faded to a deep maroon. As the nine-tailed fox sat in darkness, it meant that the godly figure seemed to bleed directly into the surrounding world. It was a monster that existed as a natural part of the world, the grandest wound that existence had ever experienced.

Those hairs spread outward, being a part of an absolutely massive body. Each hair was as tall as the highest tree in the greatest forest. And to the nine-tailed fox, those were simply one of a million hairs that covered its body. The nine-tailed fox was like the sky or the wind. It was simply a natural presence that persisted, even as other factors around it rose and fell.

Next came the shape. Raymund and his people were bipedal, but the nine-tailed fox was a true fox: It sat on its haunches calmly, its forelegs keeping its body in an upright and dignified position. In the theology of Raymund's world, all of his people originally walked around on all fours and possessed nine tails. But the first fox, Fiero, came across a tumbling water monkey that was hanging from a tree and savoring a fat strand of grapes. The water monkey saw Fiero's nine lucious tails and was deeply jealous. So with some clever words and a dramatic feast that it made of the grapes, the water monkey convinced Fiero trade one of his tails in exchange for the knowledge of how to walk on two legs and use his hands to eat grapes.

The Chronicles of Fiero were honestly rather depressing for Raymund. It detailed all nine of the petty reasons that Fiero was convinced to part with his tails, the ultimate symbols of respecting the natural order of existence. As a foxman who was born with two tails, Raymund was considered rather special; most of his people were only born with a single tail in the modern era.

Until Techetadore, who was born with six glorious tails. Raymund’s brother changed everything, even from the beginning.

A frown crossed Raymund's face. His image wavered slightly. He berated himself and then concentrated on strengthening his dedication to his image. Even if there was no array pressuring him currently, that didn't mean all of the exhaustion of the past day had been magically healed. He couldn't afford to let himself be distracted by any ancillary information at the moment.

So Raymund forced himself to concentrate solely on his image. His exhausted mind swept away the distractions and settled once more on the nine-tailed fox. From the sitting fox with the brilliantly shaded fur, all nine tails spread outward in the surrounding air like pure rays of light from the sun. There were some subtle curves in each of the tails, but those soft details were practically invisible between the maroon furr and the deep darkness of the backdrop.

At the center of this bouquet of tails, Raymund's nine-tailed fox sat with its eyes closed, seemingly completely inert. Rather than a true biological monster, this was a natural presence in the world. Its influence gradually spread to the surrounding space, weighing heavily on the surroundings. Its snout was long and regal. An invisible halo of superiority radiated outward from the immaculate creature that Raymund conjured.

When all the details were assembled, they seemed to blend together and form a near-perfect whole. Despite the earlier distraction, this was one of the better complete nine-tailed foxes that Raymund had ever managed. He felt a flush of pride in his chest.

Releasing a breath, Raymund opened his eyes. The three assistant overseers looked at him, as though just noticing that he had been fulfilling their request while he stood with his eyes closed. The central figure, a squat man with bat wings, blinked. "Oh, are you finished?"

Raymund opened his mouth, but couldn't decide what he wanted to say to that. The fact that the assistant overseer had even asked the question...

When Raymund didn't answer, the assistant overseers seemed to take that as assent and began to take furious notes on their papers. They alternated between grimacing at the image that Raymund created, writing down some sort of observations, and then glancing meaningfully at each other's notes and nodding in agreement.

Eventually, bat-wings cleared his throat. "Alright, that's enough of that for now. I think we basically understand your image. Now, we have a few more things to investigate while we design your personal training regimen. Feel free to think deeply about your answers; when you are done here, you will be going back up to the surface immediately to continue your training. How do you intend to improve your image?"

"I-" Raymund blinked at the abrupt question. Still, his gaze quickly brightened. A few days ago, he would not have been able to articulate how he wanted to improve his image. But after being completely drained and then refreshed by the wave of warm energy from the bell, Raymund began to sense a few methods that would allow his nine-tailed fox to be even more powerful. "I want to be able to visualize the great nine-tailed fox as part of the natural world. Almost as if... the tails of the fox were the world's rivers, its spine was the great mountain range, things like that."

"Display your most powerful attack," Bat-wing announced, glancing at one of the fellow assistant overseers and not even bothering with the barest acknowledgment of Raymund's answer. "Sevet will be receiving your attack. And don't flatter yourself: there is absolutely no chance that someone like you could threaten Sevet."

"...alright then," Raymund bit back his irritation and attempted to keep his mind focused. He rolled his shoulders and his eyes flashed as the image of the nine-tailed fox behind him pulsed with power. He opened his mouth and roared, while a spectral projection of an enormous fox head rushed forward to rip into the waiting Sevet. Sevet raised a small hatchet and briefly pulsed with a massive image that Raymund was barely able to sense before he had smashed aside the attack.

Congratulations! Your Skill Furious Bite (Un) has grown to Level 279!

"Hmmm." Bat-wing made a few more notes. "What would you say is the dominant emotion of your image?"

Raymund frowned, still somewhat disappointed that his attack had been so readily dealt with. But it seemed clear that these individuals were veterans of actual fighting against Nether, so Raymund tried to console himself with that information. Yet beyond the fact that his attack had been easily neutralized, a rather unexpected question was waiting. "What do you mean, dominant emotion...?"

"Hmmm." All of the assistant overseers hummed in unison this time. Somehow, Raymund felt like he had failed a test that he hadn't been told he would be taking.

Bat-wing frowned down at his notes, not even looking at the awkward feeling foxman. "What would you consider to be the primary motivation of your image?"

"...do you mean my motivation for making the image?" Raymund asked.

That finally earned the direct focus of the assistant overseer's gaze. But it was not a positive emotion that colored the batman's face with derision. "I'm asking you why your image exists, Raymund Ballast. Does it not even have a reason to exist? If it doesn't want anything... how could you expect it to be a powerful image?"

To that, Raymund could think of no response. Even Techet had never exposed a crazy idea like a created image having its own desires. Part of Raymund was becoming increasingly frustrated, feeling like this was a joke. How could an image have a dominant emotion? What could an image want?

Yet at the same time, Raymund couldn't deny that images were deeply connected with emotion. His people had thoroughly documented that images with powerful emotional connotations could achieve significantly superior results with the same amount of effort. It was why young children were encouraged to design their images of the nine-tailed fox with features from their parents. That way, they would feel more personally connected to the image and emotionally invested.

And in a way... isn't asking what my image wants a roundabout way of asking what I want...? Raymund's subconscious had him shivering in dread before he could stop himself. And if it's what I want...

"Well anyway, that can come later," The Bat-Wing said. "What is the highest Rarity Skill you possess? And it's Skill Level?"

Raymund's mouth immediately felt very dry. He opened his mouth to say that he would prefer not to say, but he stopped himself; it would only draw more attention to Raymund's greatest shame if he did so. Besides, these overseers were not from his planet. They would not understand the connotations of his Skill’s name.

After clearing his throat, Raymund responded. "...Fiero's Audacity. It's a Legendary Skill. But... its usage is a bit... inappropriate. So it is only Level 49."

"What is its usage?"

Raymund's snout twitched. "It steals things."

That set off a flurry of note-taking, but eventually, the three assistant overseers were finished. The Bat-wing shooed Raymund away in a clear dismissal. "Alright, head back to the surface. You have more training waiting for you, soldier."

*****

Lady Iellaya cautiously walked into the room and looked around for any sort of disturbing signals in the surrounding decor. Lucky, the heavy and expensive furniture that filled the room struck her as relatively normal. The servant of the Wick household bowed and vanished into a side passage, leaving her alone in the ornate library. Despite the fact that Lady Iellaya felt very little attraction to the physical trappings of wealth, even she was swayed by the swanky decor.

The areas of wall not obscured by heavy wooden shelving were decadently strewn with wine red paint and dark wood trim. Between ancient tomes that seemed to radiate barely perceptible hints of image were heavy brass and iron instruments of indeterminate purposes. Lady Iellaya wandered closer to one in particular, her eyes scrutinizing the interlocking cranks and modules for some functionality. Yet all she could really glean was the heavy metal of its construction and the abstract complexity of its purpose; the specifics determinedly eluded her.

Lady Iellaya took a step back and spun on her heel to view the whole of the room. The entire place was strewn with similar inscrutable mechanisms, likely deriving just as much of their value from their current ambiguity as from their true purpose.

She likely would have started taking closer looks at these curios, had Commandant Wick not quickly arrived at the room, gliding confidently through one of the heavy doors. Despite his bulk, he moved quietly across the plush carpet of the room. She made a mental note of his relative stealth for future reference. Lady Iellaya habitually snapped out a salute and she registered the flicker of approval on his face.

But then Commandant Wick waved his hand. “At ease, soldier. This meeting… well, it’s more of a courtesy call than anything else. Our business here is strictly unofficial.”

If anything, this only increased Lady Iellaya’s wariness, even as she calmly nodded. Commandant Wick was a brutal authoritarian, but he safely existed within the rigid confines of military structure. Lady Iellaya was not within his chain of command, although she had worked with him on this recruitment drive. Ultimately, his ability to bring his personal power to bear was largely limited. Meanwhile, during an unofficial visit…

“Sit, please,” Commandant Wick said, gesturing at a plushy leather chair. Lady Iellaya silently sank into the seat, her entire focus on the powerful man in front of her as her weight gradually shifted to the expensive piece of furniture. With every polite action, Lady Iellaya was becoming more and more unnerved. This did not seem like the same Commandant Wick that had tortured her and snubbed her for months.

“Heh, I’ll get straight to the point,” The Commandant’s dark eyes weighed Lady Iellaya carefully, seemingly amused by her obvious suspicion. “You snuck one past me this time. This… Randidly Ghosthound is far more competent than you portrayed him at the interview. But I can see why you did it. Had I known the truth… there was no way he would have been the selected candidate.”

Even as Lady Iellaya’s pupils dilated, Commandant Wick held up a hand. “Relax. I am not so petty as to hold you accountable for taking advantage of my own hubris. But I do need a definitive and completely honest answer from you right now before this becomes even more costly to reverse: will your Ghosthound prepare the elite squad for deployment?”

For the first time, Lady Iellaya could see past her own nerves and see some of the smaller details about the Commandant. His usual poise and sense of unassailable power was a little worn at the edges. His image remained monolithic and tightly controlled, but beyond that, he truly seemed exhausted.

Lady Iellaya frowned. “...what happened?”

Commandant Wick grimaced. “The announcement will come tomorrow evening, no matter what. But even now… we don’t know the extent of the damage. We thought… we thought we had the Nether forces locked down to one corner of the Fifth Cohort. But early this morning… they somehow hijacked a portion of the Nexus Ways. Several of the reclaimed worlds have gone silent once more. In addition… Forward Command was assault directly. A Commandant… was slain by the rogue Nether King.”

Lady Iellaya froze. Even before she thought about what that fact might mean for her career, she wrestled with the enormity of the fact that a Commandant died. They were the twelve most powerful individuals in Military High Command. She had met all of the Commandants in the past. Any of them wouldn’t absolutely demolish her in a direct conflict. Yet one of those powerful Commandants had died…?

“We have underestimated the enormity of the threat this time,” Commandant Wick’s eyes hardened, and although Lady Iellaya wasn’t the target of his ire, she barely suppressed a shiver being exposed so directly to his emotion. “In one week, I will personally head to the frontlines to stabilize the situation. But because of the severity of the threat… the elite squad can no longer remain as idle as its creator’s had once hoped. So let me ask you again… will the Ghosthound prepare those soldiers for the realities of the frontlines?”

His dark eyes seemed to grip her by the throat. His voice was mild. “I hope you understand that I will both know if you lie to me and kill you for such a transgression. Now is not the time for political posturing. There is a genuine threat to the Nexus. We need to come together to handle it decisively before it spreads further.”

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!